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Title: The Christian Life: Its Course, Its Hindrances, and Its Helps

Author: Thomas Arnold

Release date: August 10, 2004 [eBook #13151]
                Most recently updated: December 18, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Charlie Kirschner and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Produced by Charlie Kirschner and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team.





THE CHRISTIAN LIFE;

ITS COURSE, ITS HINDRANCES,
AND ITS HELPS.

BY
THOMAS ARNOLD, D.D.,
HEAD MASTER OF RUGBY SCHOOL,
AND LATE FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD.

From the Fifth London Edition.

1856.



     "As far as the principle on which Archbishop Laud and his
     followers acted went to re-actuate the idea of the church, as
     a co-ordinate and living power by right of Christ's
     institution and express promise, I go along with them; but I
     soon discover that by the church they meant the clergy, the
     hierarchy exclusively, and then I fly off from them in
     a tangent.

     "For it is this very interpretation of the church, that,
     according to my conviction, constituted the first and
     fundamental apostasy; and I hold it for one of the greatest
     mistakes of our polemical divines, in their controversies
     with the Romanists, that they trace all the corruptions of
     the gospel faith to the Papacy."--COLERIDGE,

     _Literary Remains_, vol. iii. p. 386.




CONTENTS.


INTRODUCTION.


LECTURE I.

GEN. iii. 22.--And the Lord God said, Behold, the man is become as one
of us, to know good and evil.


LECTURE II.

1 COR. xiii. 11.--When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as
a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away
childish things.


LECTURE III.

1 COR. xiii. 11.--When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as
a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away
childish things.


LECTURE IV.

COL. i. 9.--We do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might
be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual
understanding.


LECTURE V.

COL. i. 9.--We do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might
be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual
understanding.


LECTURE VI.

COL. iii. 3.--Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.


LECTURE VII.

1 COR. iii. 21--23.--All things are yours; whether Paul, or Apollos, or
Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to
come; all are yours, and ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's.


LECTURE VIII.

GAL. v. 16, 17.--Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lusts
of the flesh. For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit
against the flesh; and these are contrary the one to the other, so that
ye cannot do the things that ye would.


LECTURE IX.

LUKE xiv. 33.--Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he
hath, he cannot be my disciple.


LECTURE X.

1 TIM. i. 9.--The law is not made for a righteous man, but for the
lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for the unholy
and profane.


LECTURE XI.

LUKE xxi. 36.--Watch ye, therefore, and pray always, that ye may be
accounted worthy to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and
to stand before the Son of Man.


LECTURE XII.

PROV. i. 28.--Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer: they
shall seek me early, but they shall not find me.


LECTURE XIII.

MARK xii. 34.--Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.


LECTURE XIV.

MATT. xxii. 14.--For many are called, but few are chosen.


LECTURE XV.

LUKE xi. 25.--When he cometh he findeth it swept and garnished.

JOHN v. 42.--I know you, that ye have not the love of God in you.


LECTURE XVI.

MATT. xi. 10.--I send my messenger before thy face, who shall prepare
thy way before thee.


LECTURE XVII.

1 COR. ii. 12.--We have received not the Spirit of the world, but the
Spirit which is of God.


LECTURE XVIII.

GEN. xxvii. 38.--And Esau said unto his father, Hast thou but one
blessing, my father? Bless me, even me also, O my father.

MATT. xv. 27.--And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs
which fall from their master's table.


LECTURE XIX.

MATT. xxii. 32.--God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.


LECTURE XX.

EZEK. xiii. 22.--With lies ye have made the heart of the righteous sad,
whom I have not made sad; and strengthened the hands of the wicked, that
he should not return from his wicked way, by promising him life.


LECTURE XXI.

ADVENT SUNDAY.

HEB. iii. 16.--For some when they had heard did provoke; howbeit not all
that came out of Egypt by Moses.


LECTURE XXII.

CHRISTMAS DAY.

JOHN i. 10.--He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the
world knew him not.


LECTURE XXIII.

SUNDAY NEXT BEFORE EASTER.

MATT. xxvi. 40, 41.--What, could ye not watch with me one hour? Watch
and pray, that ye enter not into temptation; the spirit indeed is
willing, but the flesh is weak.


LECTURE XXIV.

GOOD FRIDAY.

ROMANS v. 8.--God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were
yet sinners, Christ died for us.


LECTURE XXV.

EASTER DAY.

JOHN xx. 20.--Then the disciples went away again unto their own home.


LECTURE XXVI.

WHITSUNDAY.

ACTS xix. 2.--Have you received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?


LECTURE XXVII.

TRINITY SUNDAY.

JOHN iii. 9.--How can these things be?


LECTURE XXVIII.

EXOD. iii. 6.--And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look upon
God.

LUKE xxiii. 30.--Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on
us; and to the hills, Cover us.


LECTURE XXIX.

PSALM cxxxvii. 4.--- How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange
land?


LECTURE XXX.

1 COR. xi. 26.--For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup,
ye do show the Lord's death till he come.


LECTURE XXXI.

LUKE i. 3, 4.--It seemed good to me, also, having had perfect
understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in
order, most excellent Theophilus, that thou mightest know the certainty
of those things wherein thou hast been instructed.


LECTURE XXXII.

Luke i. 3, 4.--It seemed good to me, also, having had perfect
understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in
order, most excellent Theophilus, that thou mightest know the certainty
of those things wherein thou hast been instructed.


LECTURE XXXIII.

JOHN ix. 29.--We know that God spake unto Moses; as for this fellow, we
know not from whence he is.


LECTURE XXXIV.

1 COR. xiv. 20.--Brethren, be not children in understanding: howbeit, in
malice be ye children, but in understanding be men.


LECTURE XXXV.

MATT. xxvi. 45, 46.--Sleep on now and take your rest; behold the hour is
at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise,
let us be going: behold he is at hand that doth betray me.


LECTURE XXXVI.

2 COR. v. 17, 18.--Old things are passed away; behold all things are
become new, and all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself
by Jesus Christ.


LECTURE XXXVII.

EZEK. xx. 49.--Then said I, Ah, Lord God! they say of me Doth he not
speak parables?


LECTURE XXXVIII.

ISAIAH v. 1.--Now will I sing to my well-beloved a song of my beloved
touching his vineyard.


LECTURE XXXIX.

COL. iii. 17.--Whatsoever ye do in the word or deed, do all in the name
of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by Him.


NOTES.




INTRODUCTION.


The contents of this volume will be found, I hope, to be in agreement
with its title.

Amongst the helps of Christian life, the highest place is due to the
Christian church and its ordinances. I have been greatly misunderstood
with respect to my estimate of the Christian church, as distinguished
from the Christian religion. I agree so far with those, from whom I in
other things most widely differ, that I hold the revival of the church
of Christ in its full perfection, to be the one great end to which all
our efforts should be directed. This is with me no new belief, but one
which I have entertained for many years. It was impressed most strongly
upon me, as it appears to have been upon others, by the remarkable state
of affairs and of opinions which we witnessed in this country about nine
or ten years ago; and everything since that time has confirmed it in my
mind more and more.

Others, according to their own statement, received the same impression
from the phenomena of the same period. But the movement had begun
earlier; nor should I object to call it, as they do, a movement towards
"something deeper and truer than satisfied the last century[1]." It
began, I suppose, in the last ten years of the last century, and has
ever since been working onwards, though for a long time slowly and
secretly, and with no distinctly marked direction. But still, in
philosophy and general literature, there have been sufficient proofs
that the pendulum, which for nearly two hundred years had been swinging
one way, was now beginning to swing back again; and as its last
oscillation brought it far from the true centre, so it may be, that its
present impulse may be no less in excess, and thus may bring on again,
in after ages, another corresponding reaction.

[Footnote 1: See Mr. Newman's Letter to Dr. Jelf, p. 27.]

Now if it be asked what, setting aside the metaphor, are the two points
between which mankind has been thus moving to and fro; and what are the
tendencies in us which, thus alternately predominating, give so
different a character to different periods of the human history; the
answer is not easy to be given summarily, for the generalisation which
it requires is almost beyond the compass of the human mind. Several
phenomena appear in each period, and it would be easy to give any one of
these as marking its tendency: as, for instance, we might describe one
period as having a tendency to despotism, and another to licentiousness:
but the true answer lies deeper, and can be only given by discovering
that common element in human nature which, in religion, in politics, in
philosophy, and in literature, being modified by the subject-matter of
each, assumes in each a different form, so that its own proper nature is
no longer to be recognized. Again, it would be an error to suppose that
either of the two tendencies which so affect the course of human affairs
were to be called simply bad or good. Each has its good and evil nicely
intermingled; and taking the highest good of each, it would be difficult
to say which was the more excellent;--taking the last corruption of
each, we could not determine which, was the more hateful. For so far as
we can trace back the manifold streams, flowing some from the eastern
mountains, and some from the western, to the highest springs from which
they rise, we find on the one side the ideas of truth and justice, on
the other those of beauty and love;--things so exalted, and so
inseparably united in the divine perfections, that to set either two
above the other were presumptuous and profane. Yet these most divine
things separated from each other, and defiled in their passage through
this lower world, do each assume a form in human nature of very great
evil: the exclusive and corrupted love of truth and justice becomes in
man selfish atheism; the exclusive and corrupted worship of beauty and
love becomes in man a bloody and a lying idolatry.

Such would be the general theory of the two great currents in which
human affairs may be said to have been successively drifting. But real
history, even the history of all mankind, and much more that of any
particular age or country, presents a picture far more complicated.
First, as to time: as the vessels in a harbour, and in the open sea
without it, may be seen swinging with the tide at the same moment in
opposite directions; the ebb has begun in the roadstead, while it is not
yet high water in the harbour; so one or more nations may be in advance
of or behind the general tendency of their age, and from either cause
may be moving in the opposite direction. Again, the tendency or movement
in itself is liable to frequent interruptions, and short
counter-movements: even when the tide is coming in upon the shore, every
wave retires after its advance; and he who follows incautiously the
retreating waters, may be caught by some stronger billow, overwhelming
again for an instant the spot which had just been left dry. A child
standing by the sea-shore for a few minutes, and watching this, as it
seems, irregular advance and retreat of the water, could not tell
whether it was ebb or flood; and we, standing for a few years on the
shore of time, can scarcely tell whether the particular movement which
we witness is according to or against the general tendency of the whole
period. Farther yet, as these great tendencies are often interrupted, so
are they continually mixed: that is, not only are their own good and bad
elements successively predominant, but they never have the world wholly
to themselves: the opposite tendency exists, in an under-current it may
be, and not lightly perceptible; but here and there it struggles to the
surface, and mingles its own good and evil with the predominant good and
evil of its antagonist. Wherefore he who would learn wisdom from the
complex experience of history, must question closely all its phenomena,
must notice that which is less obvious as well as that which is most
palpable; must judge not peremptorily or sweepingly, but with reserves
and exceptions; not as lightly overrunning a wide region of the truth,
but thankful if after much pains he has advanced his landmarks only a
little; if he has gained, as it were, but one or two frontier
fortresses, in which he can establish himself for ever.

Now, then, when Mr. Newman describes the movement of the present moment
as being directed towards "something better and deeper than satisfied
the last century," this description, although in some sense true, is yet
in practice delusive; and the delusion which lurks in it is at the root
of the errors of Mr. Newman and of his friends. They regard the
tendencies of the last century as wholly evil; and they appear to extend
this feeling to the whole period of which the last century was the
close, and which began nearly with the sixteenth century. Viewing in
this light the last three hundred years, they regard naturally with
excessive favour the preceding period, with which they are so strongly
contrasted; and not the less because this period has been an object of
scorn to the times which have followed it. They are drawn towards the
enemy of their enemy, and they fancy that it must be in all points their
enemy's opposite. And if the faults of its last decline are too palpable
to be denied, they ascend to its middle and its earlier course, and
finding that its evils are there less flagrant, they abandon themselves
wholly to the contemplation of its good points, and end with making it
an idol. There are few stranger and sadder sights than to see men
judging of whole periods of the history of mankind with the blindness of
party-spirit, never naming one century without expressions of contempt
or abhorrence, never mentioning another but with extravagant and
undistinguishing admiration.

But the worst was yet to come. The period which Mr. Newman and his
friends so disliked, had, in its religious character, been distinguished
by its professions of extreme veneration for the Scriptures; in its
quarrel with the system of the preceding period, it had rested all its
cause on the authority of the Scripture,--it had condemned the older
system because Scripture could give no warrant for it. On the other
hand, the partizans of the older system protested against the exclusive
appeal to Scripture; there was, as they maintained, another authority in
religious matters; if their system was not supported in all its points
by Scripture, it had at least the warrant of Christian antiquity. Thus
Mr. Newman and his friends found that the times which they disliked had
professed to rely on Scripture alone; the times which they loved had
invested the Church with equal authority. It was natural then to connect
the evils of the iron age, for so they regarded it, with this notion of
the sole supremacy of Scripture; and it was no less natural to associate
the blessings of their imagined golden age with its avowed reverence for
the Church. If they appealed only to Scripture, they echoed the language
of men whom they abhorred; if they exalted the Church and Christian
antiquity, they sympathised with a period which they were resolved to
love. Their theological writings from the very beginning have too
plainly shown in this respect the force both of their sympathies and
their antipathies.

Thus previously disposed, and in their sense or apprehension of the evil
of their own times already flying as it were for refuge to the system of
times past, they were overtaken by the political storm of 1831, and the
two following years. That storm rattled loudly, and alarmed many who had
viewed the gathering of the clouds with hope and pleasure; no wonder,
then, if it produced a stormy effect upon those who viewed it as a mere
calamity, an evil monster bred out of an evil time, and fraught with
nothing but mischief. Farther, the government of the country was now,
for the first time for many years, in the hands of men who admired the
spirit of the age, nearly as much as Mr. Newman and his friends abhorred
it. Thus all things seemed combined against them: the spirit of the
period which they so hated was riding as it were upon the whirlwind;
they knew not where its violence might burst; and the government of the
country was, as they thought, driving wildly before it, without
attempting to moderate its fury. Already they were inclined to recognise
the signs of a national apostasy.

But from this point they have themselves written their own history.--Mr.
Percival's letter to the editor of the Irish Ecclesiastical Journal,
which was reprinted in the Oxford Herald of January 80, 1841, is really
a document of the highest value. It acquaints us, from the very best
authority, with the immediate occasion of the publication of the Tracts
for the Times, and with the objects of their writers. It tells us
whither their eyes were turned for deliverance; with what charm they
hoped to allay the troubled waters. Ecclesiastical history would be far
more valuable than it is, if we could thus learn the real character and
views of every church, or sect, or party, from itself, and not from its
opponents.

Mr. Percival informs us, that the Irish Church Act of 1833, which
abolished several of the Irish Bishoprics, was the immediate occasion of
the publication of the Tracts for the Times; and that the objects of
that publication were, to enforce the doctrine of the apostolical
succession, and to preserve the Prayer Book from "the Socinian leaven,
with which we had reason to fear it would be tainted by the
parliamentary alteration of it, which at that time was openly talked
of." But the second of these objects is not mentioned in the more formal
statements which Mr. Percival gives of them; and in what he calls the
"matured account" of the principles of the writers, it is only said,
"Whereas there seems great danger at present of attempts at unauthorized
and inconsiderate innovation as in other matters so especially in the
service of our Church, we pledge ourselves to resist any attempt that
may be made to alter the Liturgy on insufficient authority: i.e. without
the exercise of the free and deliberate judgment of the Church on the
alterations proposed." It would seem, therefore, that what was
particularly deprecated was "the alteration of the Liturgy on
insufficient authority," without reference to any suspected character of
the alteration in itself. But at any rate, as all probability of any
alteration in the Liturgy vanished very soon after the publication of
the tracts began, the other object, the maintaining the doctrine of the
apostolical succession, as it had been the principal one from the
beginning, became in a very short time the only one.

The great remedy, therefore, for the evils of the times, the "something
deeper and truer than satisfied the last century," or, at least, the
most effectual means of attaining to it, is declared to be the
maintenance of the doctrine of apostolical succession. Now let us hear,
for it is most important, the grounds on which this doctrine is to be
enforced, and the reason why so much stress is laid on it. I quote again
from Mr. Percival's letter.

"Considering, 1. That the only way of salvation is the partaking of the
body and blood of our sacrificed Redeemer;

"2. That the mean expressly authorized by him for that purpose is the
holy sacrament of his supper;

"3. That the security by him no less expressly authorized, for the
continuance and due application of that sacrament, is the apostolical
commission of the bishops, and under them the presbyters of the church;

"4. That under the present circumstances of the church in England, there
is peculiar danger of these matters being slighted and practically
disavowed, and of numbers of Christians being left, or tempted to
precarious and unauthorized ways of communion, which must terminate
often in vital apostasy:--

"We desire to pledge ourselves one to another, reserving our canonical
obedience, as follows:--

"1. To be on the watch for all opportunities of inculcating, on all
committed to our charge, a due sense of the inestimable privilege of
communion with our Lord, through the successors of the apostles, and of
leading them to the resolution to transmit it, by his blessing,
unimpaired to their children."

Then follow two other resolutions: one to provide and circulate books
and tracts, to familiarize men's minds with this doctrine; and the
other, "to do what lies in us towards reviving among churchmen, the
practice of daily common prayer, and more frequent participation of the
Lord's Supper."

The fourth resolution, "to resist unauthorized alterations of the
Liturgy," I have already quoted: the fifth and last engages generally to
place within the reach of all men, accounts of such points in our
discipline and worship as may appear most likely to be misunderstood or
undervalued.

These resolutions were drawn up more than seven years ago, and their
practical results have not been contemptible. The Tracts for the Times
amount to no fewer than ninety; while the sermons, articles in reviews,
stories, essays, poems, and writings of all sorts which have enforced
the same doctrines, have been also extremely numerous. Nor have all
these labours been without fruit: for it is known that a large
proportion of the clergy have adopted, either wholly or in great part,
the opinions and spirit of the Tracts for the Times; and many of the
laity have embraced them also.

It seems also, that in the various publications of their school, the
object originally marked out in the resolutions quoted above, has been
followed with great steadiness. The system has been uniform, and its
several parts have held well together. It has, perhaps, been carried on
of late more boldly, which is the natural consequence of success. It has
in all points been the direct opposite of what may be called the spirit
of English protestantism of the nineteenth century: upholding whatever
that spirit would depreciate; decrying whatever it would admire. A
short statement of the principal views held by Mr. Newman and his
friends, will show this sufficiently.

"The sacraments, and not preaching, are the sources of divine grace." So
it is said in the Advertisement prefixed to the first volume of the
Tracts for the Times, in exact conformity with the preamble to the
resolutions, which I have already quoted. But the only security for the
efficacy of the sacraments, is the apostolical commission of the
bishops, and under them, of the presbyters of the Church. So it is said
in the preamble to the resolutions. These two doctrines are the
foundation of the whole system. God's grace, and our salvation, come to
us principally through the virtue of the sacraments; the virtue of the
sacraments depends on the apostolical succession of those who administer
them. The clergy, therefore, thus holding in their hands the most
precious gifts of the Church, acquire naturally the title of the Church
itself; the Church, as possessed of so mysterious a virtue as to
communicate to the only means of salvation their saving efficacy,
becomes at once an object of the deepest reverence. What wonder if to a
body endowed with so transcendant a gift, there should be given also the
spirit of wisdom to discern all truth; so that the solemn voice of the
Church in its creeds, and in the decrees of its general councils, must
be received as the voice of God himself. Nor can such a body be supposed
to have commended any practices or states of life winch are not really
excellent; and the duty either of all Christians, or of those at least
who would follow the most excellent way. Fasting, therefore, and the
state of celibacy, are the one a christian obligation, the other a
christian perfection. Again, being members of a body so exalted, and
receiving our very salvation in a way altogether above reason, we must
be cautious how we either trust to our individual conscience rather
than to the command of the Church, or how we venture to exercise our
reason at all in judging of what the Church teaches; childlike faith and
childlike obedience are the dispositions which God most loves. What,
then, are they who are not of the Church, who do not receive the
Sacraments from those who can alone give them their virtue? Surely they
are aliens from God, they cannot claim his covenanted mercies; and the
goodness which may be apparent in them, may not be real goodness; God
may see that it is false, though to us it appears sincere; but it is
certain that they do not possess the only appointed means of salvation;
and therefore, we must consider their state as dangerous, although, we
may not venture to condemn them.

I have not consciously misrepresented the system of Mr. Newman and his
friends in a single particular; I have not, to my knowledge, expressed
any one of their tenets invidiously. An attentive reader may deduce, I
think, all the Subordinate points in their teaching from some one or
more of the principles which I have given; but I have not wilfully
omitted any doctrine of importance. And, in every point, the opposition
to what I may be allowed to call the protestantism of the nineteenth
century is so manifest, that we cannot but feel that the peculiar
character of the system is to be traced to what I have before
noticed--the extreme antipathy of its founders to the spirit which they
felt to be predominant in their own age and country.

It is worth our while to observe this, because fear and passion are not
the surest guides to truth, and the rule of contraries is not the rule
of wisdom. Other men have been indignant against the peculiar evils of
their own time, and from their strong impression of these have seemed to
lose sight of its good points; but Mr. Newman and his friends appear to
hate the nineteenth century for its own sake, and to proscribe all
belonging to it, whether good or bad, simply because it does belong to
it.--This diseased state of mind is well shown by the immediate occasion
of the organization of their party. Mr. Perceval tells us that it was
the Act for the dissolution of some of the Irish bishoprics, passed in
1833, winch first made the authors of the Tracts resolve to commence
their publication. Mr. Perceval himself cannot even now speak of that
Act temperately; he calls it "a wanton act of sacrilege," "a monstrous
act," "an outrage upon the Church;" and his friends, it may be presumed,
spoke of it at the time in language at least equally vehement. Now, I am
not expressing any opinion upon the justice or expediency of that Act;
it was opposed by many good men, and its merits or demerits were fairly
open to discussion; but would any fair and sensible person speak of it
with such extreme abhorrence as it excited in the minds of Mr. Perceval
and his friends? The Act deprived the Church of no portion of its
property; it simply ordered a different distribution of it, with the
avowed object on the part of its framers of saving the Church from the
odium and the danger of exacting Church Rates from the Roman Catholics.
It did nothing more than what, according to the constitution of the
Churches of England and Ireland, was beyond all question within its
lawful authority to do. The King's supremacy and the sovereignty of
Parliament may be good or bad, but they are undoubted facts in the
constitution of the Church of England, and have been so for nearly three
hundred years. I repeat that I am stating no opinion as to the merits of
the Irish Church Act of 1833; I only contend, that no man of sound
judgment would regard it as "a monstrous act," or as "a wanton
sacrilege." It bore upon it no marks of flagrant tyranny: nor did it
restrain the worship of the Church, nor corrupt its faith, nor command
or encourage anything injurious to men's souls in practice. Luther was
indignant at the sale of indulgences; and his horror at the selling
Church pardons for money was, by God's blessing, the occasion of the
Reformation. The occasion of the new counter-reformation was the
abolition of a certain number of bishoprics, that their revenues might
be applied solely to church purposes; and that the Church might so be
saved from a scandal and a danger. The difference of the exciting cause
of the two movements gives the measure of the difference between the
Reformation of 1517, and the views and objects of Mr. Newman and
his friends.

There are states of nervous excitement, when the noise of a light
footstep is distracting. In such a condition were the authors of the
Tracts in 1833, and all their subsequent proceedings have shown that the
disorder was still upon them. Beset by their horror of the nineteenth
century, they sought for something most opposite to it, and therefore
they turned to what they called Christian antiquity. Had they judged of
their own times fairly, had they appreciated the good of the nineteenth
century as well as its evil, they would have looked for their remedy not
to the second or third or fourth centuries, but the first; they would
have tried to restore, not the Church of Cyprian, or Athanasius, or
Augustine, but the Church of St. Paul and of St. John. Now, this it is
most certain that they have not done. Their appeal has been not to
Scripture, but to the opinions and practices of the dominant party in
the ancient Church. They have endeavoured to set those opinions and
practices, under the name of apostolical tradition, on a level with the
authority of the Scriptures. But their unfortunate excitement has made
them fail of doing even what they intended to do. It may be true that
all their doctrines may be found in the writings of those whom they call
the Fathers; but the effect of their teaching is different because its
proportions are altered. Along with their doctrines, there are other
points and another spirit prominent in the writings of the earlier
Christians, which give to the whole a different complexion. The Tracts
for the Times do not appear to me to represent faithfully the language
of Christian antiquity; they are rather its caricature.

Still more is this the case, when we compare the language of Mr. Newman
and his friends with that of the great divines of the Church of England.
Granting that many of these believed firmly in apostolical succession;
that one or two may have held general councils to be infallible; that
some, provoked by the extravagances of the puritans, have spoken
over-strongly about the authority of tradition; yet the whole works even
of those who agree with. Mr. Newman in these points, give a view of
Christianity different from that of the Tracts, because these points,
which in the Tracts stand forward without relief, are in our old divines
tempered by the admixture of other doctrines, which, without
contradicting them, do in fact alter their effect. This applies most
strongly, perhaps, to Hooker and Taylor; but it holds good also of Bull
and Pearson. Pearson's exposition of the article in the Creed relating
to the Holy Catholic Church is very different from the language of Mr.
Newman: it is such as, with perhaps one single exception, might be
subscribed by a man who did not believe in apostolical succession[2].
Again, Pearson is so far from making the creeds an independent
authority, co-ordinate with Scripture, that he declares, contrary, I
suppose, to all probability, that the Apostles' Creed itself was but a
deduction from our present Scriptures of the New Testament[3].
Undoubtedly the divines of the seventeenth century are more in agreement
with the Tracts than the Reformers are; but it is by no means true that
this agreement is universal. There is but one set of writers whose minds
are exactly represented by Mr. Newman and his friends, and these are the
nonjurors.

[Footnote 2: The sixth and last mark which he gives of the unity of the
Church is, "the unity of discipline and government." "All the Churches
of God have the same pastoral guides appointed, authorized, sanctified,
and set apart by the appointment of God, by the direction of the Spirit,
to direct and lead the people of God in the same way of eternal
salvation; as, therefore, there is no Church where there is no order, no
ministry, so where the same order and ministry is, there is the same
Church. And this is the unity of regiment and discipline." Pearson on
the Creed, Art. IX. p. 341, seventh edit. fol. 1701. It would be easy to
put a construction upon this paragraph which I could agree with; but I
suppose that Pearson meant what I hold to be an error. Yet how gently
and generally is it expressed; and this doubtful paragraph stands alone
amidst seventeen folio pages on the article of the Holy Catholic Church.
And in his conclusion, where he delivers what "every one ought to intend
when they profess to believe the Holy Catholic Church," there is not a
word about its government; nor is Pearson one of those interpreters who
pervert the perfectly certain meaning of the word "Catholic" to favour
their own notions about episcopacy. I could cordially subscribe to every
word of this conclusion.]

[Footnote 3: "To believe, therefore, as the word stands in the front of
the Creed, ... is to assent to the whole and every part of it as to a
certain and infallible truth revealed by God, ... and delivered unto us
in the writings of the blessed apostles and prophets immediately
inspired, moved, and acted by God, out of whose writings this brief sum
of necessary points of faith was first collected." (P. 12.) And in the
paragraph immediately preceding, Pearson had said, "The household of God
is built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, who are
continued unto us only in their writings, and by them alone convoy unto
us the truths which they received from God, upon whose testimony we
believe." It appears, therefore, that Pearson not only subscribed the
6th Article of the Church of England, but also believed it.]

Many reasons, therefore, concur to make it doubtful whether the authors
of the Tracts have discovered the true remedy for the evils of their
age; whether they have really inculcated "something better and deeper
than satisfied the last century." The violent prejudice which previously
possessed them, and the strong feelings of passion and fear which led
immediately to their first systematic publications, must in the first
instance awaken a suspicion as to their wisdom; and this suspicion
becomes stronger when we find their writings different from the best of
those which they profess to admire, and bearing a close resemblance only
to those of the nonjurors. A third consideration is also of much
weight--that their doctrines do not enforce any great points of moral or
spiritual perfection which other Christians had neglected; nor do they,
in any especial manner, "preach Christ." In this they offer a striking
contrast to the religious movement, if I may so call it, which began
some years since in the University at Cambridge. That movement, whatever
human alloy might have mingled with it, bore on it most clear evidence
that it was in the main God's work. It called upon men to turn from sin
and be reconciled to God; it emphatically preached Christ crucified. But
Mr. Newman and his friends have preached as their peculiar doctrine, not
Christ but the Church; we must go even farther and say, not the Church,
but themselves. What they teach has no moral or spiritual excellence in
itself; but it tends greatly to their own exaltation. They exalt the
sacraments highly, but all that they say of their virtue, all their
admiration of them as so setting forth the excellence of faith, inasmuch
as in them the whole work is of God, and man has only to receive and
believe, would be quite as true, and quite as well-grounded, if they
were to abandon altogether that doctrine which it is their avowed object
especially to enforce--the doctrine of apostolical succession.
Referring again to the preamble of their original resolutions, already
quoted, we see that the two first articles alone relate to our Lord and
to his Sacraments; the third, which is the great basis of their system,
relates only to the Clergy. Doubtless, if apostolical succession be
God's will, it is our duty to receive it and to teach it; but a number
of clergymen, claiming themselves to have this succession, and insisting
that, without it, neither Christ nor Christ's Sacraments will save us,
do, beyond all contradiction, preach themselves, and magnify their own
importance. They are quite right in doing so, if God has commanded it;
but such preaching has no manifest warrant of God in it; if it be
according to God, it stands alone amongst his dispensations; his
prophets and his apostles had a different commission. "We preach," said
St. Paul, "not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your
servants for Jesus' sake." It is certain that the enforcing apostolical
succession as the great object of our teaching is precisely to do that
very thing which St. Paul was commissioned not to do.

This, to my mind, affords a very great presumption that the peculiar
doctrines of Mr. Newman and his friends, those which they make it their
professed business to inculcate, are not of God. I am anxious not to be
misunderstood in saying this. Mr. Newman and his friends preach many
doctrines which are entirely of God; as Christians, as ministers of
Christ's Church, they preach God's word; and thus, a very large portion
of their teaching is of God, blessed both to their hearers and to
themselves. Nay, even amongst the particular objects to which their own
"Resolutions" pledge them, one is indeed most excellent--"the revival of
daily common prayer, and more frequent participation of the Lord's
Supper." This is their merit, not as Christians generally, but as a
party, (I use the word in no offensive sense;) in this respect their
efforts have done, and are doing great good. But they have themselves
declared that they will especially set themselves to preach apostolical
succession; and it is with reference to this, that I charge them with
"preaching themselves;" it was of this I spoke, when I said that there
was a very great presumption that their peculiar doctrines were not
of God.

Again, the system which they hold up as "better and deeper than
satisfied the last century" is a remedy which has been tried once
already: and its failure was so palpable, that all the evil of the
eighteenth century was but the reaction from that enormous evil which
this remedy, if it be one, had at any rate been powerless to cure.
Apostolical succession, the dignity of the Clergy, the authority of the
Church, were triumphantly maintained for several centuries; and their
full development was coincident, to say the least, with the corruption
alike of Christ's religion and Christ's Church. So far were they from
tending to realize the promises of prophecy, to perfect Christ's body up
to the measure of the stature of Christ's own fulness, that Christ's
Church declined during their ascendancy more and more;--she fell alike
from truth and from holiness; and these doctrines, if they did not cause
the evil, were at least quite unable to restrain it. For, in whatever
points the fifteenth century differed from the fourth, it cannot be said
that it upheld the apostolical succession less peremptorily, or attached
a less value to Church tradition, and Church authority. I am greatly
understating the case, but I am content for the present to do so: I will
not say that Mr. Newman's favourite doctrines were the very Antichrist
which corrupted Christianity; I will only say that they did not prevent
its corruption,--that when they were most exalted Christian truth and
Christian goodness were most depressed.

After all, however, what has failed once may doubtless be successful on
a second trial: it is within possibility, perhaps, that a doctrine,
although destitute of all internal evidence showing it to come from God,
may be divine notwithstanding;--revealed for some purposes which we
cannot fathom, or simply as an exercise of our obedience. All this may
be so; and if it can be shown to be so, there remains no other course
than to believe God's word, and obey his commandments; only the strength
of the external evidence must be in proportion to the weakness of the
internal. A good man would ask for no sign from heaven to assure him
that God commands judgment, mercy, and truth; whatsoever things are
pure, and lovely, and of good report, bear in themselves the seal of
their origin; a seal which to doubt were blasphemy. But the cloud and
the lightnings and thunders, and all the signs and wonders wrought in
Egypt and in the Red Sea, were justly required to give divine authority
to mere positive ordinances, in which, without such external warrant,
none could have recognised the voice of God. We ask of Mr. Newman and
his friends to bring some warrant of Scripture for that which they
declare to be God's will. They speak very positively and say, that "the
security by our Lord no less expressly authorized for the continuance
and due application of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, is the
apostolical commission of the bishops, and under them the presbyters of
the Church." They say that our Lord has authorized this "no less
expressly" than he has authorized the Holy Supper as the mean of
partaking in his body and blood. What our Lord has said concerning the
communion is not truly represented: he instituted it as one mean of
grace among many; not as_the_ mean; neither the sole mean, nor the
principal. But allow, for an instant, that it was instituted as_the_
mean; and give this sense to those well-known and ever-memorable words
in which our Lord commanded his disciples to eat the bread and drink of
the cup, in remembrance of him. His words commanding us to do this are
express; "not less express," we are told, is his "sanction of the
apostolical commission of the bishops, as the security for the
continuance and due application of the Sacrament." Surely these writers
allow themselves to pervert language so habitually, that they do not
consider when, and with regard to whom, they are doing it. They say that
our Lord has sanctioned the necessity of apostolical succession, in
order to secure the continuance and efficacy of the sacrament, "no less
expressly" than he instituted the sacrament itself. If they had merely
asserted that he had sanctioned the necessity of apostolical succession,
we might have supposed that, by some interpretation of their own, they
implied his sanction of it, from words which, to other men, bore no such
meaning. But in saying that he has "expressly sanctioned it," they have,
most unconsciously, I trust, ascribed their own words to our Lord; they
make Mm to say what he has not said, unless they can produce[4] some
other credible record of his words besides the books of the four
evangelists and the apostolical epistles.

[Footnote 4: "Scripture alone contains what remains to us of our Lord's
teaching. If there be a portion of revelation sacred beyond other
portions, distinct and remote in its nature from the rest, it must be
the words and works of the eternal Son Incarnate. He is the one Prophet
of the Church, as he is our one Priest and King. His history is as far
above any other possible revelation, as heaven is above earth: for in it
we have literally the sight of Almighty God in his judgments, thoughts,
attributes, and deeds, and his mode of dealing with us his creatures.
Now, this special revelation is in Scripture, and in Scripture only:
tradition has no part in it."--_Newman's Lectures on the Prophetical
Office of the Church_. 1837. Pp. 347, 348.]

That their statement was untrue, and being untrue, that it is a most
grave matter to speak untruly of our Lord's commands, are points
absolutely certain. But if they recall the assertion, as to the
expressness of our Lord's sanction, and mean to say, that his sanction
is implied, and may be reasonably deduced from what he has said, then I
answer, that the deduction ought to be clear, because the doctrine in
itself bears on it no marks of having had Christ for its author. Yet so
far is it from true, that the necessity of apostolical succession, in
order to give efficacy to the sacrament, may be clearly deduced from any
recorded words of our Lord, that there are no words[5] of his from which
it can be deduced, either probably or plausibly; none with which it has
any, the faintest, connexion; none from which it could be even
conjectured that such a tenet had ever been in existence. I am not
speaking, it will be observed, of apostolical succession simply; but of
the necessity of apostolical succession, as a security for the efficacy
of the sacrament. That this doctrine comes from God, is a position
altogether without evidence, probability, or presumption, either
internal or external.

[Footnote 5: Since this was written, I have found out, what certainly it
was impossible to anticipate beforehand, that our Lord's words, "Do this
in remembrance of me," are supposed to teach the doctrine of the
priest's consecrating power. But the passage to which I refer is so
remarkable that I must quote it in its author's own words. Mr. Newman,
for the tract is apparently one of his, observes, that three out of the
four Gospels make no mention of the raising of Lazarus. He then goes on,
"As the raising of Lazarus is true, though not contained at all in the
first three Gospels; so the gift of consecrating the Eucharist may have
been committed by Christ to the priesthood, though only indirectly
taught in any of the four. Will you say I am arguing against our own
Church, which says the Scripture 'contains all things necessary to be
believed to salvation?' Doubtless, Scripture _contains_ all things
necessary to be _believed_; but there may be things _contained_ which
are not _on the surface_, and things which belong to the _ritual_, and
not to _belief_. Points of faith may lie _under_ the surface: points of
observance need not be in Scripture _at all_. The consecrating power is
a point of ritual, yet it _is_ indirectly taught in Scripture, though
not brought out, when Christ said, 'Do this,' for he spake to the
apostles, who were priests, not to his disciples generally."--_Tracts
for the Times_. Tract 85, p. 46.

This passage is indeed characteristic of the moral and intellectual
faults which I have alluded to as marking the writings of the supporters
of Mr. Newman's system. But what is become of the assertion, that this
security of the apostolical commission was "expressly authorized" by our
Lord, when it is admitted that it is only indirectly taught in
Scripture? And what becomes of the notion, that what our Lord did or
instituted may be learned from another source than Scripture, when Mr.
Newman has most truly stated, in the passage quoted in the preceding
note, that our Lord's history, the history of his words and works, "is
in Scripture, and Scripture only: tradition has no part in it?" I pass
over the surprising state of mind which could imagine a distinction
between things necessary to be believed, and necessary to be done; and
could conceive such a distinction to be according to the meaning of our
article. It would appear that this shift has been since abandoned, and
others, no way less extraordinary, have been attempted in its place; for
an extraordinary process it must be which tries to reconcile Mr.
Newman's opinions with the declaration of the sixth article. But now for
Mr. Newman's scriptural proof, that our Lord "committed to the
priesthood the gift of consecrating the Eucharist." "When Christ said,
'Do this,' he spake to the apostles, who were priests, not to his
disciples generally." This would prove too much, for it would prove that
none but the clergy were ordered to receive the communion at all: the
words, "Do this," referring, not to any consecration, of which there had
been no word said, but to the eating the bread, and drinking of the cup.
Again, when St. Paul says, "the cup which we bless,'--the bread which we
break," it is certain that the word "we," does not refer to himself and
Sosthenes, or to himself and Barnabas, but to himself and the whole
Corinthian church; for he immediately goes on, "for we, the whole number
of us," ([Greek: oi polloi] compare Romans xii. 5,) "are one body, for
we all are partakers of the one bread." Thirdly, Tertullian expressly
contrasts the original institution of our Lord with the church practice
of his own day, in this very point. "Eucharistiæ sacramentum et in
tempore victus, et omnibus mandatum a Domino, etiam antelucanis coetibus
nee de aliorum manu quam præridentium sumimus." (_De Coroná Mililis_,
3.) I know that Tertullian believes the alteration to have been founded
upon an apostolical tradition; but he no less names it as a change from
the original institution of our Lord; nor does he appear to consider it
as more than a point of order. Lastly, what shadow of probability is
there, and is it not begging the whole question, to assume that our Lord
spoke to his apostles as priests, and not as representatives of the
whole Christian church? His language makes no distinction between his
disciples and those who were without; it repels it as dividing his
disciples from each other. His twelve disciples were the apostles of the
church, but they were not priests. In such matters our Lord's words
apply exactly, "One is your Master, even Christ, and all ye are
brethren."]

On the whole, then, the movement in the church, excited by Mr. Newman
and his friends, appears to be made in a false direction, and to be
incapable of satisfying the feeling which prompted it. I have not
noticed other presumptions against it, arising from the consequences to
which the original doctrines of the party have since led, or from
certain moral and intellectual faults which have marked the writings of
its supporters. It is enough to say, that the movement originated in
minds highly prejudiced beforehand, and under the immediate influence of
passion and fear; that its doctrines, as a whole, resemble the teaching
of no set of writers entitled to respect, either in the early church, or
in our own; that they tend, not to Christ's glory, or to the advancement
of holiness, but simply to the exaltation of the clergy; and that they
are totally unsupported by the authority of Scripture. They are a plant,
therefore, which our heavenly Father has not planted; a speaking in the
name of the Lord what the Lord has not commanded; hay and stubble,
built upon the foundation of Christ, which are good for nothing but to
be burned.

I have spoken quite confidently of the total absence of all support in
Scripture for Mr. Newman's favourite doctrine of "the necessity of
apostolical succession, in order to ensure the effect of the
sacraments." This doctrine is very different from that of the Divine
appointment of episcopacy as a form of government, or even from that of
the exclusive lawfulness of that episcopacy which has come down by
succession from the apostles. Much less is it to be confounded with any
notions, however exalted, of the efficacy of the sacraments, even though
carried to such a length as we read of in the early church, when living
men had themselves baptized as proxies for the dead, and when a portion
of the wine of the communion was placed by the side of a corpse in the
grave. Such notions may be superstitious and unscriptural, as indeed
they are, but they are quite distinct from a belief in the necessity of
a human priest to give the sacraments their virtue. And, without going
to such lengths as this, men may overestimate the efficacy of the
sacraments, to the disparagement of prayer, and preaching, and reading
the Scriptures, and yet may be perfectly clear from the opinion which
makes this efficacy depend immediately on a human administrator. And so
again, men may hold episcopacy to be divine, and the episcopacy of
apostolical succession to be the only true episcopacy, but yet they may
utterly reject the notion of its being essential to the efficacy of the
sacraments. It is of this last doctrine only that I assert, in the
strongest terms, that it is wholly without support in Scripture, direct
or indirect, and that it does not minister to godliness.

In truth, Mr. Newman and his friends are well aware that the Scripture
will not support their doctrine, and therefore it is that they have
proceeded to such, lengths in upholding the authority not of the creeds
only, but of the opinions and practices of the ancient church generally;
and that they try to explain away the clear language of our article,
that nothing "which is neither read therein (i.e. in holy Scripture,)
nor may be proved thereby, is to be required of any man that it should
be believed as an article of faith, or be thought requisite or necessary
to salvation." It would be one of the most unaccountable phenomena of
the human mind, were any man fairly to come to the conclusion that the
Scriptures and the early church were of equal authority, and that the
authority of both were truly divine. If any men resolve to maintain
doctrines and practices as of divine authority, for which the Scripture
offers no countenance, they of course are driven to maintain the
authority of the church in their own defence; and where they have an
interest in holding any particular opinion, its falsehood, however
palpable, is unhappily no bar to its reception. Otherwise it would seem
that the natural result of believing the early church to be of equal
authority with the Scripture, would be to deny the inspiration of
either. For two things so different in several points as the
Christianity of the Scriptures and that of the early church, may
conceivably be both false, but it is hard to think that they can both be
perfectly true.

I am here, however, allowing, what is by no means true, without many
qualifications, that Mr. Newman's system is that of the early church.
The historical inquiry as to the doctrines of the early church would
lead me into far too wide a field; I may only notice, in passing, how
many points require to be carefully defined in conducting such an
inquiry; as, for instance, what we mean by the term "early church," as
to time; for that may be fully true of the church in the fourth
century, which is only partially true of it in the third, and only in a
very slight degree true of it in the second or first. And again, what do
we mean by the term "early church," as to persons; for a few eminent
writers are not even the whole clergy; neither is it by any means to be
taken on their authority that their views were really those of all the
bishops and presbyters of the Christian world; but if they were, the
clergy are not the church, nor can their judgments be morally considered
as the voice of the church, even if we were to admit that they could at
any time constitute its voice legally. But, for my present purpose, we
may take for granted that Mr. Newman's system as to the pre-eminence of
the sacraments, and the necessity of apostolical succession to give them
their efficacy, was the doctrine of the early church; then I say that
this system is so different from that of the New Testament, that to
invest the two with equal authority is not to make the church system
divine, but to make the scriptural system human; or, at the best,
perishable and temporary, like the ceremonial law of Moses. Either the
church system must be supposed to have superseded the scriptural
system[6], and its unknown authors are the real apostles of our present
faith, in which case, we do not see why it should not be superseded in
its turn, and why the perfect manifestation of Christianity should not
be found in the Koran, or in any still later system; or else neither of
the two systems can be divine, but the one is merely the human
production of the first century, the other that of the second and third.
If this be so, it is clearly open to all succeeding centuries to adopt
whichever of the two they choose, or neither.

[Footnote 6: This, it is well known, has been most ably maintained by
Rothe, (_Artfãnge der Christlichen Kirche und ihrer Verfassung_,
Wittenberg, 1837,) with respect to the origin of episcopacy. He contends
that it was instituted by the surviving apostles after the destruction
of Jerusalem, as an intentional change from the earlier constitution of
the church, in order to enable it to meet the peculiar difficulties and
dangers of the times. To this belongs the question of the meaning of the
expression, [Greek: oi tais deuterais ton Apostolon diataxesi
parakolouthaekotes], in the famous Fragments of Irenæus, published by
Pfaff, from a manuscript in the library of Turin, and to be found in the
Venice edition of Irenæus, 1734, vol. ii. _Fragmentorum_, p. 10. But
then Rothe would admit that if the apostles altered what they themselves
had appointed, it would follow that neither their earlier nor their
later institutions were intended to be for all times and all places, but
were simply adapted to a particular state of circumstances, and were
alterable when that state was altered: in short, whatever institutions
the apostles changed were shown to be essentially changeable; otherwise
their early institution was defective, which cannot be conceived. And
thus it may well be that the early church may have altered, in some
points, the first institutions of the apostles, and may have been guided
by God's Spirit in doing so; but the error consists in believing that
the now institutions were to be of necessity more permanent than those
which they succeeded; in supposing that either the one or the other
belong to the eternal truths and laws of Christ's religion, when they
belong, in fact, to the essentially changeable regulations of
his church.]

To such consequences are those driven who maintain the divine authority
of the system of Mr. Newman. Assuredly the thirst for "something deeper
and truer than satisfied the last century," will not be allayed by a
draught so scanty and so vapid; but after the mirage has beguiled and
disappointed him for a season, the traveller presses on the more eagerly
to the true and living well.

In truth, the evils of the last century were but the inevitable fruits
of the long ascendency of Mr. Newman's favourite principles. Christ's
religion had been corrupted in the long period before the Reformation,
but it had ever retained many of its main truths, and it was easy, when
the appeal was once made to Scripture, to sweep away the corruptions,
and restore it in its perfect form; but Christ's church had been
destroyed so long and so completely, that its very idea was all but
lost, and to revive it actually was impossible. What had been known
under that name,--I am speaking of Christ's church, be it observed, as
distinguished from Christ's religion,--was so great an evil, that,
hopeless of drawing any good from it, men looked rather to Christ's
religion as all in all; and content with having destroyed the false
church, never thought that the scheme of Christianity could not be
perfectly developed without the restoration of the true one. But the
want was deeply felt, and its consequences were deplorable. At this
moment men are truly craving something deeper than satisfied the last
century; they crave to have the true church of Christ, which the last
century was without. Mr. Newman perceives their want, and again offers
them that false church which is worse than none at all.

The truths of the Christian religion are to be sought for in the
Scripture alone; they are the same at all times and in all countries.
With the Christian church it is otherwise; the church is not a
revelation concerning the unchangeable and eternal God, but an
institution to enable changeable man to apprehend the unchangeable.
Because man is changeable, the church is also changeable; changeable,
not in its object, which is for ever one and the same, but in its means
for effecting that object; changeable in its details, because the same
treatment cannot suit various diseases, various climates, various
constitutional peculiarities, various external influences.

The Scripture, then, which is the sole and direct authority for all the
truths of the Christian religion, is not in the same way, an authority
for the constitution and rules of the Christian church; that is, it does
not furnish direct authority, but guides us only by analogy: or it
gives us merely certain main principles, which we must apply to our own
various circumstances. This is shown by the remarkable fact, that
neither our Lord nor his apostles have left any commands with respect to
the constitution and administration of the church generally. Commands in
abundance they have left us on moral matters; and one commandment of
another kind has been added, the commandment, namely, to celebrate the
Lord's Supper. "Do this in remembrance of me," are our Lord's words; and
St. Paul tells us, if we could otherwise have doubted it, that this
remembrance is to be kept up for ever. "As often as ye eat that bread or
drink that cup ye do show the Lord's death _till he come_." This is the
one perpetual ordinance of the Christian church, and this is commanded
to be kept perpetually. But its other institutions are mentioned
historically, as things done once, but not necessarily to be always
repeated: nay, they are mentioned without any details, so that we do not
always know what their exact form was in their original state, and
cannot, therefore, if we would, adopt it as a perpetual model. Nor is it
unimportant to observe that institutions are recorded as having been
created on the spur of the occasion, if I may so speak, not as having
formed a part of an original and universal plan. A great change in the
character of the deacon, or subordinate minister's office, is introduced
in consequence of the complaints of the Hellenist Christians: the number
of the apostles is increased by the addition of Paul and Barnabas, not
appointed, as Matthias had been, by the other apostles themselves, but
by the prophets and teachers of the church of Antioch. Again, the
churches founded by St. Paul were each, at first, placed by him under
the government of several presbyters; but after his imprisonment at
Rome, finding that they were become greatly corrupted, he sends out
single persons, in two instances, with full powers to remodel these
churches, and with authority to correct the presbyters themselves: yet
it does not appear that these especial[7] visitors were to alter
permanently the earlier constitution of the churches; nor that they were
sent generally to all the churches which St. Paul had founded. Indeed,
it appears evident from the epistle of Clement, that the original
constitution of the church of Corinth still subsisted in his time; the
government was still vested not in one man, but in many[8]. Yet a few
years later the government of a single man, as we see from Ignatius, was
become very general; and Ignatius, as is well known, wishes to invest it
with absolute power[9]. I believe that he acted quite wisely according
to the circumstances of the church at that period; and that nothing less
than a vigorous unity of government could have struggled with the
difficulties and dangers of that crisis. But no man can doubt that the
system which Ignatius so earnestly recommends was very different from
that which St. Paul had instituted fifty or sixty years earlier.

[Footnote 7: The command, "to appoint elders in every city," is given to
Titus, according to Paul's practice when he first formed churches of the
Gentiles (Acts xiv, 2.) Nor did Timothy, or Titus, remain permanently at
Ephesus, or in Crete. Timothy, when St. Paul's second Epistle was
written to him, was certainly not at Ephesus, but apparently in Pontus;
and Titus, at the same period, was gone to Dalmatia: nor indeed was he
to remain in Crete beyond the summer of the year in which St. Paul's
Epistle was written; he was to meet Paul, in the winter, at Nicopolis.]

[Footnote 8: Only elders are spoken of as governing the church of
Corinth. It is impossible to understand clearly the nature of the
contest, and of the party against which Clement's Epistle is directed.
Where he wishes the heads of that party to say, [Greek: ei di eme stasis
kai eris kai schismata, ekchoro, apeimi, ou ean, boulaesthe, kai poio,
ta, prostassomena upo tou plaethous], c. 54, it would seem as if they
had been endeavouring to exercise a despotic authority over the church,
in defiance of the general feeling, as well as of the existing
government, like those earlier persons at Corinth, whom St. Paul
describes, in his second Epistle, xi. 20; and like Diotrephes, mentioned
by St. John, 3 Epist. 9, 10. But in a society where all power must have
depended on the consent of those subject to it, how could any one
exercise a tyranny against the will of the majority, as well as against
the authority of the Apostles? And [Greek: ta prostassomena upo tou
plaethous] must signify, I think, "the bidding of the society at large."
Compare for this use of [Greek: plaethos], Ignatius, Smyrna. 8;
Trallian. 1, 8. A conjecture might be offered as to the solution of this
difficulty, but it would lead mo into too long a discussion.]

[Footnote 9: Insomuch that he wished all marriages to be solemnized with
the consent and approbation of the bishop, [Greek: meta gnomaes tou
episkopou], that they might be "according to God, and not according to
passion;" [Greek: kapa Theon kai mae kat epithomian].--_Ad.
Polycarp_. 5.]

On two points, however,--points not of detail, but of principle,--the
Scripture does seem to speak decisively. 1st. The whole body of the
church was to take an active share in its concerns; the various
faculties of its various members were to perform their several parts: it
was to be a living society, not an inert mass of mere hearers and
subjects, who were to be authoritatively taught and absolutely ruled by
one small portion of its members. It is quite consistent with this,
that, at particular times, the church should centre all its own power
and activity in the persons of its rulers. In the field, the imperium of
the Roman consul was unlimited; and even within the city walls, the
senate's commission in times of imminent danger, released him from all
restraints of law; the whole power of the state was, for the moment,
his, and his only. Such temporary despotisms are sometimes not expedient
merely, but necessary: without them society would perish. I do not,
therefore, regard Ignatius's epistles as really contradictory to the
idea of the church conveyed to us in the twelfth chapter of St. Paul's
First Epistle to the Corinthians: I believe that the dictatorship, so to
speak, which Ignatius claims for the bishop in each church, was required
by the circumstances of the case; but to change the temporary into the
perpetual dictatorship, was to subvert the Roman constitution; and to
make Ignatius's language the rule, instead of the exception, is no less
to subvert the Christian church. Wherever the language of Ignatius is
repeated with justice, there the church must either be in its infancy,
or in its dotage, or in some extraordinary crisis of danger; wherever it
is repeated, as of universal application, it destroys, as in fact it has
destroyed, the very life of Christ's institution.

But, 2d, the Christian church was absolutely and entirely, at all times,
and in all places, to be without a human priesthood. Despotic government
and priesthood are things perfectly distinct from one another. Despotic
government might be required, from time to time, by this or that portion
of the Christian church, as by other societies; for government is
essentially changeable, and all forms, in the manifold varieties of the
condition of society, are, in their turn, lawful and beneficial. But a
priesthood belongs to a matter not so varying--the relations subsisting
between God and man. These relations were fixed for the Christian church
from its very foundation, being, in fact, no other than the main truths
of the Christian religion; and they bar, for all time, the very notion
of an earthly priesthood. They bar it, because they establish the
everlasting priesthood of our Lord, which leaves no place for any other;
they bar it, because priesthood is essentially mediation; and they
establish one Mediator between God and man--the Man Christ Jesus. And,
therefore, the notion of Mr. Newman and his friends, that the sacraments
derive their efficacy from the apostolical succession of the minister,
is so extremely unchristian, that it actually deserves to be called
anti-christian; for there is no point of the priestly office, properly
so called, in which the claim of the earthly priest is not absolutely
precluded. Do we want him for sacrifice? Nay, there is no place for him
at all; for our one atoning Sacrifice has been once offered; and by its
virtue we are enabled to offer daily our spiritual sacrifices of
ourselves, which no other man can by possibility offer for us. Do we
want him for intercession? Nay, there is One who ever liveth to make
intercession for us, through whom we have access to ([Greek:
prosalogaen], admission to the presence of) the Father, and for whose
sake, Paul, and Apollos, and Peter, and things present, and things to
come, are all ours already. His claim can neither be advanced or
received without high dishonour to our true Priest and to his blessed
gospel. If circumcision could not be practised, as necessary, by a
believer in Christ, without its involving a forfeiture of the benefits
of Christ's salvation; how much more does St. Paul's language apply to
the invention of an earthly priesthood--a priesthood neither after the
order of Aaron, nor yet of Melchisedek; unlawful alike under the law and
the gospel.

It is the invention of the human priesthood, which falling in,
unhappily, with the absolute power rightfully vested in the Christian
church during the troubles of the second century, fixed the exception as
the rule, and so in the end destroyed the church. It pretended that the
clergy were not simply rulers and teachers,--offices which, necessarily
vary according to the state of those who are ruled and taught,--but that
they were essentially mediators between God and the church; and as this
language would have sounded too profanely,--for the mediator between
God and the church can be none but Christ,--so the clergy began to draw
to themselves the attributes of the church, and to call the church by a
different name, such as the faithful, or the laity; so that to speak of
the church mediating for the people did not sound so shocking, and the
doctrine so disguised found ready acceptance. Thus the evil work was
consummated; the great majority of the members of the church, were
virtually disfranchised; the minority retained the name, but the
character of the institution was utterly corrupted.

To revive Christ's church, therefore, is to expel the antichrist of
priesthood, (which, as it was foretold of him, "as God, sitteth in the
temple of God, showing himself that he is God,") and to restore its
disfranchised members,--the laity,--to the discharge of their proper
duties in it, and to the consciousness of their paramount importance.
This is the point which I have dwelt upon in the XXXVIII^{th} Lecture,
and which is closely in connection with the point maintained in the
XL^{th}; and all who value the inestimable blessings of Christ's church
should labour in arousing the laity to a sense of their great share in
them. In particular, that discipline, which is one of the greatest of
those blessings, never can, and, indeed, never ought to be restored,
till the Church resumes its lawful authority, and puts an end to the
usurpation of its powers by the clergy. There is a feeling now awakened
amongst the lay members of our Church, which, if it can but be rightly
directed, may, by God's blessing, really arrive at something truer and
deeper than satisfied the last century, or than satisfied the last
seventeen centuries. Otherwise, whatever else may be improved, the laity
will take care that church discipline shall continue to slumber, and
they will best serve the church by doing so. Much may be done to spread
the knowledge of Christ's religion; new churches may be built; new
ministers appointed to preach the word and administer the sacraments;
those may hear who now cannot hear; many more sick persons may be
visited; many more children may receive religious instruction: all this
is good, and to be received with sincere thankfulness; but, with a
knowledge revealed to us of a still more excellent power in Christ's
church, and with the abundant promises of prophecy in our hands, can we
rest satisfied with the lesser and imperfect good, which strikes thrice
and stays? But, if the zeal of the lay members of our Church be directed
by the principles of Mr. Newman, then the result will be, not merely a
lesser good, but one fearfully mixed with evil--Christian religion
profaned by anti-christian fables, Christian holiness marred by
superstition and uncharitableness; Christian wisdom and Christian
sincerity scoffed at, reviled, and persecuted out of sight. This is
declared to us by the sure voice of experience; this was the fruit of
the spirit of priestcraft, with its accompaniments of superstitious
rites and lying traditions, in the last decline of the Jewish church;
this was the fruit of the same spirit, with the same accompaniments, in
the long decay of the Christian church; although, the indestructible
virtue of Christ's gospel was manifest in the midst of the evil, and
Christ, in every age and in every country, has been known with saving
power by some of his people, and his church, in her worst corruptions,
has taught many divinest truths, has inculcated many holiest virtues.

When the tide is setting strongly against us, we can scarcely expect to
make progress; it is enough if we do not drift along with it. Mr.
Newman's system is now at the flood; it is daily making converts; it is
daily swelled by many of those who neither love it nor understand it in
itself, but who hope to make it serve their purposes, or who like to
swim with the stream. A strong profession, therefore, of an opposite
system must expect, at the present moment, to meet with little favour;
nor, indeed, have I any hope of turning the tide, which will flow for
its appointed season, and its ebb does not seem to be at hand. But
whilst the hurricane rages, those exposed to it may well encourage one
another to hold fast their own foundations against it; and many are
exposed to it in whose welfare I naturally have the deepest interest,
and in whom old impressions may be supposed to have still so much force
that I may claim from them, at least, a patient hearing. I am anxious to
show them that Mr. Newman's system is to be opposed not merely on
negative grounds, as untrue, but as obstructing that perfect and
positive truth, that perfection of Christ's church, which the last
century, it may be, neglected, but which I value and desire as earnestly
as it can be valued and desired by any man alive. My great objection to
Mr. Newman's system is, that it destroys Christ's church, and sets up an
evil in its stead. We do not desire merely to hinder the evil from
occupying the ground, and to leave it empty; that has been, undoubtedly,
the misfortune, and partly the fault of Protestantism; but we desire to
build on the holy ground a no less holy temple, not out of our own
devices, but according to the teaching of Christ himself, who has given
us the outline, and told us what should be its purposes.

The true church of Christ would offer to every faculty of our nature its
proper exercise, and would entirely meet all our wants. No wise man
doubts that the Reformation was imperfect, or that in the Romish system
there were many good institutions, and practices, and feelings, which it
would be most desirable to restore amongst ourselves. Daily church
services, frequent communions, memorials of our Christian calling
continually presented to our notice, in crosses and way-side oratories;
commemorations of holy men, of all times and countries; the doctrine of
the communion of saints practically taught; religious orders, especially
of women, of different kinds, and under different rules, delivered only
from the snare and sin of perpetual vows; all these, most of which are
of some efficacy for good, even in a corrupt church, belong no less to
the true church, and would there be purely beneficial. If Mr. Newman's
system attracts good and thinking men, because it seems to promise them
all these things, which in our actual Church are not to be found, let
them remember, that these things belong to the perfect church no less
than to that of the Romanists and of Mr. Newman, and would flourish in
the perfect church far more healthily. Or, again, if any man admires Mr.
Newman's system for its austerities, if he regards fasting as a positive
duty, he should consider that these might be transferred also to the
perfect church, and that they have no necessary connexion with the
peculiar tenets of Mr. Newman. We know that the Puritans were taunted by
their adversaries for their frequent fasts, and the severity of their
lives; and they certainly were far enough from agreeing with Mr. Newman.
Whatever there is of good, or self-denying, or ennobling, in his system,
is altogether independent of his doctrine concerning the priesthood. It
is that doctrine which is the peculiarity of his system and of Romanism;
it is that doctrine which constitutes the evil of both, which
over-weighs all the good accidentally united with it, and makes the
systems, as such, false and anti-christian. Nor can any human being find
in this doctrine anything of a beneficial tendency either to his
intellectual, his moral, or his spiritual nature. If mere reverence be a
virtue, without reference to its object, let us, by all means, do
honour to the virtue of those who fell down to the stock of a tree; and
let us lament the harsh censure which charged them with "having a lie in
their right hand[10]."

[Footnote 10: The language which Mr. Newman and his friends have allowed
themselves to hold, in admiration of what they call reverential and
submissive faith, might certainly be used in defence of the lowest
idolatry; what they have dared to call rationalistic can plead such high
and sacred authority in its favour, that if I were to quote some of the
language of the "Tracts for the Times," and place by the side of it
certain passages from the New Testament, Mr. Newman and his friends
would appear to have been writing blasphemy. It seems scarcely possible
that they could have remembered what is said in St. Matthew xv. 9-20,
and who said it, when they have called it rationalism to deny a
spiritual virtue in things that are applied to the body.]

What does the true and perfect church want, that she should borrow from
the broken cisterns of idolatry? Holding all those truths in which the
clear voice of God's word is joined by the accordant confession of God's
people in all ages; holding all the means of grace of which she was
designed to be the steward--her common prayers, her pure preaching, her
uncorrupted sacraments, her free and living society, her wise and
searching discipline, her commemorations and memorials of God's mercy
and grace, whether shown in her Lord himself, or in his and her
members;--looking lovingly upon her elder sisters, the ancient churches,
and delighting to be in communion with them, as she hopes that her
younger sisters, the churches of later days, will delight to be in
communion with her;--what has she not, that Christ's bride should have?
what has she not, that Mr. Newman's system can give her? But because she
loves her Lord, and stands fast in his faith, and has been enlightened
by his truth, she will endure no other mediator than Christ, she will
repose her trust only on his word, she will worship in the light, and
will abhor the words, no less than the works, of darkness. Her sisters,
the elder churches, she loves and respects as she would be herself loved
and respected; but she will not, and may not, worship them, nor even,
for their sakes, believe error to be truth, or foolishness to be wisdom.
She dare not hope that she can be in all things a perfect guide and
example to the churches that shall come after her; as neither have the
churches before her been in all things a perfect guide and example to
herself. She would not impose her yoke upon future generations, nor will
she submit her own neck to the yoke of antiquity. She honours all men,
but makes none her idol; and she would have her own individual members
regard her with honour, but neither would she be an idol to them. She
dreads especially that sin of which her Lord has so emphatically warned
her--the sin against the Holy Ghost. She will neither lie against him by
declaring that he is where his fruits are not manifested; nor blaspheme
him, by saying that he is not where his fruits are. Rites and ordinances
may be vain, prophets may be false, miracles may be miracles of Satan;
but the signs of the Holy Spirit, truth and holiness, can never be
ineffectual, can never deceive, can never be evil; where they are, and
only where they are, there is God.

There are states of falsehood and wickedness so monstrous, that, to use
the language of Eastern mythology, the Destroyer God is greater than the
Creator or the Preserver, and no good can be conceived so great as the
destruction of the existing evil. But ordinarily in human affairs
destruction and creation should go hand in hand; as the evergreen shrubs
of our gardens do not cast their old leaves till the young ones are
ready to supply their place. Great as is the falsehood of Mr. Newman's
system, it would be but an unsatisfactory work to clear it away, if we
had no positive truth to offer in its room. But the thousands of good
men whom it has beguiled, because it professed to meet the earnest
craving of their minds for a restoration of Christ's church with power,
need not fear to open their eyes to its hollowness; like the false
miracles of fraud or sorcery, it is but the counterfeit of a real truth.
The restoration of the church, is, indeed, the best consummation of all
our prayers, and all our labours; it is not a dream, not a prospect to
be seen only in the remotest distance; it is possible, it lies very near
us; with God's blessing it is in the power of this very generation to
begin and make some progress in the work. If the many good, and wise,
and influential laymen of our Church would but awake to their true
position and duties, and would labour heartily to procure for the church
a living organization and an effective government, in both, of which the
laity should be essential members, then, indeed, the church would become
a reality[11]. This is not Erastianism, or rather, it is not what is
commonly cried down under that name; it is not the subjection of the
church to the state, which, indeed, would be a most miserable and most
unchristian condition; but it would be the deliverance of the church,
and its exaltation to its own proper sovereignty. The members of one
particular profession are most fit to administer a system in part, most
unfit to legislate for it or to govern it: we could ill spare the
ability and learning of our lawyers, but we surely should not wish to
have none but lawyers concerned even, in the administration of justice,
much less to have none but lawyers in the government or in parliament.
What is true of lawyers with regard to the state, is no less true of the
clergy with regard to the church; indispensable as ministers and
advisers, they cannot, without great mischief, act as sole judges, sole
legislators, sole governors. And this is a truth so palpable, that the
clergy, by pressing such a claim, merely deprive the church of its
judicial, legislative, and executive functions; whilst the common sense
of the church will not allow them to exercise these powers, and, whilst
they assert that no one else may exercise them, the result is, that they
are not exercised at all, and the essence of the church is destroyed.

[Footnote 11: The famous saying, "extra ecclesiam nulla salus," is, in
its idea, a most divine truth; historically and in fact it may be, and
often has been, a practical falsehood. If the truths of Christ's
religion were necessarily accessible only to the members of some visible
church, then it would be true always, inasmuch as to be out of the
church would then be the same thing as to be without Christ; and, as a
society, the church ought so to attract to itself all goodness, and by
its internal organization, so to encourage all goodness, that nothing
would be without its pale but extreme wickedness, or extreme ignorance;
and he who were voluntarily to forfeit its spiritual advantages, would
be guilty of moral suicide; so St. Paul calls the church the pillar and
ground of truth; that is, it was so in its purpose and idea; and he
therefore conjures Timothy to walk warily in it, and to take heed that
what ought to be the pillar and ground of truth should not be profaned
by fables, and so be changed into a pillar of falsehood. But to say
universally, as an historical fact, that "extra ecclesiam nulla salus,"
may be often to utter one of the worst of falsehoods. A ferry is set up
to transport men over an unfordable river, and it might be truly said
that "extra navem nulla salus;" there is no other safe way, speaking
generally, of getting over; but the ferryman has got the plague, and if
you go in the boat with him, you will catch it and die. In despair, a
man plunges into the water, and swims across; would not the ferryman be
guilty of a double falsehood who should call out to this man, "extra
navem nulla salus," insisting that he had not swum over, when he had,
and saying that his boat would have carried him safely, whereas it would
have killed him?]

The first step towards the restoration of the church seems to be the
revival of the order of deacons; which might be effected without any
other change in our present system than a repeal of all laws, canons, or
customs which prohibit a deacon from following a secular calling, which
confer on him any civil exemptions, or subject him to any civil
disqualifications. The Ordination Service, with the subscription to the
Articles, would remain perfectly unaltered; and as no deacon can hold
any benefice, it is manifest that the proposed measure would in no way
interfere with the rights or duties of the order of presbyters, or
priests, which would remain precisely what they are at present. But the
benefit in large towns would be enormous, if, instead of the present
system of district visiting by private individuals, excellent as that is
where there is nothing better, we could have a large body of deacons,
the ordained ministers of the church, visiting the sick, managing
charitable subscriptions, and sharing with their presbyter in those
strictly clerical duties, which now, in many cases, are too much for the
health and powers of the strongest. Yet a still greater advantage would
be found in the link thus formed between the clergy and laity by the
revival of an order appertaining in a manner to both. Nor would it be a
little thing that many who now become teachers in some dissenting
congregation, not because they differ from our Articles, or dislike our
Liturgy, but because they cannot afford to go to the universities, and
have no prospect of being maintained by the church, if they were to give
up their secular callings, would, in all human probability, be glad to
join the church, as deacons, and would thus be subject to her
authorities, and would be engaged in her service, instead of being
aliens to her, if not enemies.

When we look at the condition of our country: at the poverty and
wretchedness of so large a portion of the working classes; at the
intellectual and moral evils which certainly exist among the poor, but
by no means amongst the poor only; and when we witness the many partial
attempts to remedy these evils--attempts benevolent indeed and wise, so
far as they go, but utterly unable to strike to the heart of the
mischief; can any Christian doubt that here is the work for the church
of Christ to do; that none else can do it; and that with the blessing of
her Almighty Head she can? Looking upon the chaos around us, one power
alone can reduce it into order, and fill it with light and life. And
does he really apprehend the perfections and high calling of Christ's
church; does he indeed fathom the depths of man's wants, or has he
learnt to rise to the fulness of the stature of their divine remedy, who
comes forward to preach to us the necessity of apostolical succession?
Grant even that it was of divine appointment, still as it is
demonstrably and palpably unconnected with holiness, as it would be a
mere positive and ceremonial ordinance, it cannot be the point of most
importance to insist on; even if it be a sin to neglect this, there are
so many far weightier matters equally neglected, that it would be
assuredly no Christian prophesying which were to strive to direct our
chief attention to this. But the wholly unmoral character of this
doctrine, which if it were indeed of God, would make it a single
mysterious exception to all the other doctrines of the Gospel, is, God
be thanked, not more certain than its total want of external evidence;
the Scripture disclaims it, Christ himself condemns it.

I have written at considerable length: yet so vast is the subject, that
I may seem to some to have written superficially, and to have left my
statements without adequate support. I can only say that no one
paragraph has been written hastily, nor in fact is there one the
substance of which has not been for several years in my mind; indeed, in
many instances, not only the substance, but the proofs in detail have
been actually written: but to have inserted them here would have been
impracticable, as they would have been in themselves a volume. Neither
have I knowingly remained in ignorance of any argument which may have
been used in defence of Mr. Newman's system; I have always desired to
know what he and his friends say, and on what grounds they say it;
although, as I have not read the Tracts for the Times regularly, I may
have omitted something which it would have been important to notice.
Finally, in naming Mr. Newman as the chief author of the system which I
have been considering, I have in no degree wished to make the question
personal; but Mr. Percival's letter authorizes us to consider him as one
of the authors of it; and as I have never had any personal acquaintance
with him, I could mention his name with no shock to any private feelings
either in him or in myself. But I have spoken of him simply as the
maintainer of certain doctrines, not as maintaining them in any
particular manner, far less as actuated by any particular motives. I
believe him to be in most serious error; I believe his system to be so
destructive of Christ's church, that I earnestly pray, and would labour
to the utmost of my endeavours for its utter overthrow: but on the other
hand, I will not be tempted to confound the authors of the system with
the system itself; for I know that the most mischievous errors have been
promulgated by men who yet have been neither foolish nor wicked; and I
nothing doubt that there are many points in Mr. Newman, in which I might
learn truth from his teaching, and should be glad if I could come near
him in his practice.



NOTE.

In order to prevent the possibility of misunderstanding, it is proper to
repeat what has been often said by others, that the English word
"priest" has two significations,--the one according to its etymology,
through the French _prêtre_, or _prestre_, and the Latin _presbyterus_,
from the Greek [Greek: presbuteros]; in which sense it is used in our
Liturgy and Rubrics, and signifies merely "one belonging to the order of
Presbyters," as distinguished from the other two orders of bishops and
deacons. But the other signification of the word "priest," and which we
use, as I think, more commonly, is the same with the meaning of the
Latin word _sacerdos_, and the Greek word [Greek: iepeus], and means,
"one who stands as a mediator between God and the people, and brings
them to God by the virtue of certain ceremonial acts which he performs
for them, and which they could not perform for themselves without
profanation, because they are at a distance from God, and cannot, in
their own persons, venture to approach towards him." In this sense of
the word "priest," the term is not applied to the ministers of the
Christian church, either by the Scripture, or by the authorized
formularies of the Church of England; although, in the other sense, as
synonymous with Presbyters, it is used in our Prayer Book repeatedly. Of
course, not one word of what I have written is meant to deny the
lawfulness and importance of the order of Presbyters in the church; I
have only spoken against a priesthood, in the other sense of the word,
in which a "priest" means "a mediator between God and man;" in that
sense, in short, in which the word is not a translation of [Greek:
presbuteros], but [iereus].




LECTURE I.

       *       *       *       *       *

GENESIS iii. 22.

_And the Lord God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know
good and evil_.


This is declared to be man's condition after the Fall. I will not
attempt to penetrate into that which is not to be entered into, nor to
pretend to discover all that may be concealed beneath the outward, and
in many points clearly parabolical, form of the account of man's
temptation and sin. But that condition to which his sin brought him is
our condition; with that, undoubtedly, we are concerned; that must be
the foundation of all sound views of human nature; the double fact
employed in the word fall is of the last importance; the fact on the one
hand of our present nature being evil, the fact on the other hand that
this present nature is not our proper nature; that the whole business of
our lives is to cast it off, and to return to that better and holy
nature, which, in truth, although not in fact, is the proper nature
of man.

All individual experience, then, and all history begins in something
which is evil; all our course, whether as individuals or as nations, is
a progress, an advance, a leaving behind us something bad, and a going
forwards towards something that is good. But individual experience, and
history apart from Christianity, would make us regard this progress as
fearfully uncertain. Clear it is that we are in an evil case; we have
lost our way; we are like men who are bewildered in those endless
forests of reeds which line some of the great American rivers; if we
stay where we are, the venomous snakes may destroy us; or the deadly
marsh air when night comes on will be surely fatal; it is death to
remain, but yet if we move, we know not what way will lead us out, and
it may be that, while seeming to advance, we shall but be going round
and round, and shall at last find ourselves hard by the place from which
we set out in the beginning. Nay, we may even feel a doubt,--a doubt, I
say, though not a reasonable belief,--but a doubt which at times would
press us sorely, whether the tangled thicket in which we are placed has
any end at all; whether our fond notions of a clear and open space, a
pure air, and a fruitful and habitable country, are not altogether
merely imaginary; whether the whole world be not such a region of death
as the spot in which we are actually prisoned; whether there remains any
thing for us, but to curse our fate, and lie down and die. Under such
circumstances, although we should admire the spirit which hoped against
hope; which would make an effort for deliverance; which would, at any
rate, flee from the actual evil, although, other evil might receive him
after all his struggles; yet we could forgive those who yielded at once
to their fate, and who sat down quietly to wait for their death, without
the unavailing labour of a struggle to avoid it.

But when the declaration has been made to us by God himself, that this
dismal swamp in which we are prisoners is but an infinitely small
portion of his universe, that there do exist all those goodly forms
which we fancied; and more, when God declares too that we were in the
first instance designed to enjoy them; that our error brought us into
the thicket, having been once out of it; that we may escape from it
again; nay, much more still, when He shows us the true path to escape,
and tells us, that the obstacles in our way have been cleared, and that
he will give us strength to accomplish, the task of escaping, and will
guide us that we do not miss the track; then what shall we say to those
who insist upon, remaining where they are, but that they are either
infatuated, or indolent and cowardly even to insanity; that they are
refusing certain salvation, and are, by their own act, giving themselves
over to inevitable death.

This, then, is the truth taught us by the doctrine of the Fall; not so
much that it is our certain destruction to remain where we are, for that
our own sense and reason declare to us, if we will but listen to them;
but that our present position is not that for which God designed us, and
that to rest satisfied with it is not a yielding to an unavoidable
necessity, but the indolently or madly shrinking from the effort which
would give us certain deliverance.

Now it is a part of our present evil condition from which we must
escape, that we know good and evil. We are in the world where evil
exists within us, and about us; we cannot but know it. True it is, that
it was our misfortune to become acquainted with it; this noisome
wilderness of reeds, this reeking swamp; it would have been far happier
for us, no doubt, had we never become aware of their existence. But that
wish is now too late. We are in the midst of this dismal place, and the
question now is, how to escape from it. We may shut our eyes, and say we
will not see objects so unsightly; but what avails it, if the marsh
poison finds its way by other senses, if we cannot but draw it in with
our breath, and so we must die? And such is the case of those who now
in this present world confound ignorance with innocence. This is a fatal
mistaking of our present condition for our past; there was a time when
to the human race ignorance was innocence; but now it is only folly and
sin. For as I supposed that a man lost in one of those noxious swamps
might shut his eyes, and so keep himself in some measure in ignorance,
yet the poison would be taken in with his breath, and so he would die:
even thus, whilst we would fain shut the eyes of our understanding, and
would so hope to be in safety, our passions are all the time alive and
active, and they catch the poison of the atmosphere around us, and we
are not innocent, but foolishly wicked.

We must needs consider this carefully; for, to say nothing of wider
questions of national importance, who that sees before him, as we must
see it, the gradual change from childhood to boyhood, who that sees
added knowledge often accompanied with added sin, can help wishing that
the earlier ignorance of evil might still be continued; and fancying
that knowledge is at best but a doubtful blessing?

But our path is not backwards, but onwards. Israel in the desert was
hungry and thirsty, while in Egypt he had eaten bread to the full;
Israel in the desert saw a wide waste of sand, or sandy rock, around
him, while in Egypt he had dwelt in those green pastures and watered
gardens to which the Nile had given freshness and life. But that
wilderness is his appointed way to Canaan; its dreariness must be
exchanged for the hills and valleys of Canaan, and must not drive him
back again to the low plain of Egypt. There is a moral wilderness which
lies in the early part of our Christian course; but we must not hope to
escape from it but by penetrating through it to its furthest side.

Undoubtedly this place, and other similar places, which receive us when
we have quitted the state of childhood, and before our characters are
formed in manhood, do partake somewhat of the character of the
wilderness; and it is not unnatural that many should shrink back from
them in fear. We see but too often the early beauty of the character
sadly marred, its simplicity gone, its confidence chilled, its
tenderness hardened; where there was gentleness, we see roughness and
coarseness; where there was obedience, we find murmuring, and self-will,
and pride; where there was a true and blameless conversation, we find
now something of falsehood, something of profaneness, something of
impurity. I can well conceive what it must be to a parent to see his
child return from school, for the first time, with the marks of this
grievous change upon him: I can well conceive how bitterly he must
regret having ever sent him to a place of so much, danger; how fondly he
must look back to the days of his early innocence. And if a parent feels
thus, what must be our feelings, seeing that this evil has been wrought
here? Are we not as those who, when pretending to give a wholesome
draught, have mixed the cup with poison? How can we go on upholding a
system, the effects of which appear to be so merely mischievous?

Believe me, that such questions must and ought to present themselves to
the mind of every thinking man who is concerned in the management of a
school: and I do think that we could not answer them satisfactorily,
that our work would absolutely be unendurable, if we did not bear in
mind that our eyes should look forward, and not backward; if we did not
remember that the victory of fallen man is to be sought for, not in
innocence, but in tried virtue. Comparing only the state of a boy after
his first half-year, or year, at school, with his earlier state as a
child, and our reflections on the evil of our system would be bitter
indeed; but when we compare a boy's state after his first half-year, or
year, at school, with what it is afterwards; when we see the clouds
again clearing off; when we find coarseness succeeded again by delicacy;
hardness and selfishness again broken up, and giving place to affection
and benevolence; murmuring and self-will exchanged for humility and
self-denial; and the profane, or impure, or false tongue, uttering again
only the words of truth and purity; and when we see that all these good
things are now, by God's grace, rooted in the character; that they have
been tried, and grown up amidst the trial; that the knowledge of evil
has made them hate it the more, and be the more aware of it; then we can
look upon our calling with patience, and even with thankfulness; we see
that the wilderness has been gone through triumphantly, and that its
dangers have hardened and strengthened the traveller for all his
remaining pilgrimage.

For the truth is, that to the knowledge of good and evil we are born;
and it must come upon us sooner or later. In the common course of
things, it comes about that age with which we are here most concerned. I
do not mean that there are not faults in early childhood--we know that
there are;--but we know also that with the strength and rapid growth of
boyhood there is a far greater development of these faults, and
particularly far less of that submissiveness which belonged naturally to
the helplessness of mere childhood. I suppose that, by an extreme care,
the period of childhood might be prolonged considerably; but still it
must end; and the knowledge of good and evil, in its full force, must
come. I believe that this must be; I believe that no care can prevent
it, and that an extreme attempt at carefulness, whilst it could not
keep off the disorder, would weaken the strength, of the constitution to
bear it. But yet you should never forget, and I should never forget,
that although the evils of schools in some respects must be, yet, in
proportion as they exceed what must be, they do become at once
mischievous and guilty. And such, or even worse, is the mischief when,
with the evil which must be, there is not the good which ought to be;
for, remember, our condition is to know good and evil. If we know only
evil, it is the condition of hell; and therefore, if schools present an
unmixed experience, if there is temptation in abundance, but no support
against temptation, and no examples of overcoming it; if some are losing
their child's innocence, but none, or very few, are gaining a man's
virtue; are we in a wholesome state then? or can we shelter ourselves
under the excuse that our evil is unavoidable, that we do but afford, in
a mild form, the experience which must be learned sooner or later? It is
here that we must be acquitted or condemned. I can bear to see the
overclouding of childish simplicity, if there is a reasonable hope that
the character so clouded for a time will brighten again into Christian
holiness. But if we do not see this, if innocence is exchanged only for
vice, then we have not done our part, then the evil is not unavoidable,
but our sin: and we may be assured, that for the souls so lost, there
will be an account demanded hereafter both of us and you.




LECTURE II.

       *       *       *       *       *

1 CORINTHIANS xiii. 11.

_When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I
thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away
childish things_.


Taking the Apostle's words literally, it might appear that no words in
the whole range of Scripture were less applicable to the circumstances
of this particular congregation: for they speak of childhood and of
manhood; and as all of us have passed the one, so a very large
proportion of us have not yet arrived at the other. But when we consider
the passage a little more carefully, we shall see that this would be a
very narrow and absurd objection. Neither the Apostle, nor any one else,
has ever stepped directly from childhood into manhood; it was his
purpose here only to notice the two extreme points of the change which
had taken place in him, passing over its intermediate stages; but he,
like all other men, must have gone through those stages. There must have
been a time in his life, as in all ours, when his words, his thoughts,
and his understanding were neither all childish, nor all manly: there
must have been a period, extending over some years, in which they were
gradually becoming the one less and less, and the other more and more.
And as it suited the purposes of his comparison to look at the change in
himself only when it was completed, so it will suit our object here to
regard it while in progress, to consider what it is, to ask the two
great questions, how far it can be hastened, and how far it ought to
be hastened.

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I
thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish
things." It will be seen at once, that when the Apostle speaks of
thought and understanding, ([Greek: erronoun elogizomeaen],) he does not
mean the mere intellect but all the notions, feelings, and desires of
our minds, which partake of an intellectual and of a moral character
together. He is comparing what we should call the whole nature and
character of childhood with those of manhood. Let us see, for a moment,
in what they most strikingly differ.

Our Lord's well-known words suggest a difference in the first place,
which is in favour of childhood. When he says, "Except ye be converted,
and become as little children, ye can in no case enter into the kingdom
of heaven," he must certainly ascribe some one quality to childhood, in
which manhood is generally deficient. And the quality which he means is
clearly humility; or to speak perhaps more correctly, teachableness. It
is impossible that a child can have that confidence in himself, which
disposes him to be his own guide. He must of necessity lean on others,
he must follow others, and therefore he must believe others. There is in
his mind, properly speaking, nothing which can be called prejudice; he
will not as yet refuse to listen, as thinking that he knows better than
his adviser. One feeling, therefore, essential to the perfection of
every created and reasonable being, childhood has by the very law of its
nature; a child cannot help believing that there are some who are
greater, wiser, better than himself, and he is disposed to follow
their guidance.

This sense of comparative weakness is founded upon truth, for a child
is of course unfit to guide himself. Without noticing mere bodily
helplessness, a child knows scarcely what is good and what is evil; his
desires for the highest good are not yet in existence; his moral sense
altogether is exceedingly weak, and would yield readily to the first
temptation. And, because those higher feelings, which are the great
check to selfishness, have not yet arisen within him, the selfish
instinct, connected apparently with all animal life, is exceedingly
predominant in him. If a child then on the one hand be teachable, yet he
is at the same time morally weak and ignorant, and therefore
extremely selfish.

It is also a part of the nature of childhood to be the slave of present
impulses. A child is not apt to look backwards or forwards, to reflect
or to calculate. In this also he differs entirely from the great quality
which befits man as an eternal being, the being able to look before
and after.

Not to embarrass ourselves with too many points, we may be content with
these four characteristics of childhood, teachableness, ignorance,
selfishness, and living only for the present. In the last three of
these, the perfect man should put away childish things; in the first
point, or teachableness, while he retained it in principle, he should
modify it in its application. For while modesty, humility, and a
readiness to learn, are becoming to men no less than to children; yet it
should be not a simple readiness to follow others, but only to follow
the wise and good; not a sense of utter helplessness which catches at
the first stay, whether sound or brittle; but such a consciousness of
weakness and imperfection, as makes us long to be strengthened by Him
who is almighty, to be purified by Him who is all pure.

I said, and it is an obvious truth, that the change from childhood to
manhood is gradual; there is a period in our lives, of several years,
in which we are, or should be, slowly exchanging the qualities of one
state for those of the other. During this intermediate state, then, we
should expect to find persons become less teachable, less ignorant, less
selfish, less thoughtless. "Less teachable," I would wish to mean, in
the sense of being "less indiscriminately teachable;" but as the evil
and the good are, in human things, ever mixed up together, we may be
obliged to mean "less teachable" simply. And, to say the very truth, if
I saw in a young man the changes from childhood in the three other
points, if I found him becoming wiser, and less selfish, and more
thoughtful, I should not be very much disturbed if I found him for a
time less teachable also. For whilst he was really becoming wiser and
better, I should not much wonder if the sense of improvement rather than
of imperfection possessed him too strongly; if his confidence in himself
was a little too over-weening. Let him go on a little farther in life,
and if he really does go on improving in wisdom and goodness, this
over-confidence will find its proper level. He will perceive not only
how much he is doing, or can do, but how much there is which he does not
do, and cannot. To a thoughtful mind added years can scarcely fail to
teach, humility. And in this the highest wisdom of manhood may be
resembling more and more the state of what would be perfect childhood,
that is, not simply teachableness, but tractableness with respect to
what was good and true, and to that only.

But the danger of the intermediate state between childhood and manhood
is too often this, that whilst in the one point of teachableness, the
change runs on too fast, in the other three, of wisdom, of
unselfishness, and of thoughtfulness, it proceeds much too slowly: that
the faults of childhood thus remain in the character, whilst
that quality by means of which these faults are meant to be
corrected,--namely, teachableness,--is at the same time diminishing.
Now, teachableness as an instinct, if I may call it so, diminishes
naturally with the consciousness of growing strength. By strength, I
mean strength of body, no less than strength of mind, so closely are our
body and mind connected with, each other. The helplessness of childhood,
which presses upon it every moment, the sense of inability to avoid or
resist danger, which makes the child run continually to his nurse or to
his mother for protection, cannot but diminish, by the mere growth of
the bodily powers. The boy feels himself to be less helpless than the
child, and in that very proportion he is apt to become less teachable.
As this feeling of decreased helplessness changes into a sense of
positive vigour and power, and as this vigour and power confer an
importance on their possessor, which is the case especially at schools,
so self-confidence must in one point at least, arise in the place of
conscious weakness; and as this point is felt to be more important, so
will the self-confidence be likely to extend itself more and more over
the whole character.

And yet, I am bound to say, that, in general, the teachableness of youth
is, after all, much greater than we might at first sight fancy. Along
with much self-confidence in many things, it is rare, I think, to find
in a young man a deliberate pride that rejects advice and instruction,
on the strength of having no need for them. And therefore, the faults of
boyhood and youth are more owing, to my mind, to the want of change in
the other points of the childish character, than to the too great change
in this. The besetting faults of youth appear to me to arise mainly from
its retaining too often the ignorance, selfishness, and thoughtlessness
of a child, and having arrived at the same time at a degree of bodily
vigour and power, equal, or only a very little inferior, to those
of manhood.

And in this state of things, the questions become of exceeding interest,
whether the change from childhood to manhood can be hastened. That it
ought to be hastened, appears to me to be clear; hastened, I mean, from
what it is actually, because in this respect, we do not grow in general
fast enough; and the danger of over-growth is, therefore, small.
Besides, where change of one sort is going on very rapidly; where the
limbs are growing and the bones knitting more firmly, where the strength
of bodily endurance, as well as of bodily activity, is daily becoming
greater; it is self-evident that, if the inward changes which ought to
accompany these outward ones are making no progress, there cannot but be
derangement and deformity in the system. And, therefore, when I look
around, I cannot but wish generally that the change from childhood to
manhood in the three great points of wisdom, of unselfishness, and of
thoughtfulness, might be hastened from its actual rate of progress in
most instances.

But then comes the other great question, "Can it be hastened, and if it
can, how is it to be done?" "Can it be hastened" means, of course, can
it be hastened healthfully and beneficially, consistently with the due
development of our nature in its after stages, from life temporal to
life eternal? For as the child should grow up into the man, so also
there is a term of years given in which, according to God's will, the
natural man should grow up into the spiritual man; and we must not so
press the first change as to make it interfere with the wholesome
working of the second. The question then is, really, can the change
from childhood to manhood be hastened in the case of boys and young men
in general from its actual rate of progress in ordinary cases, without
injury to the future excellence and full development of the man? that
is, without exhausting prematurely the faculties either of body or mind.

And this is a very grave question, one of the deepest interest for us
and for you. For us, as, according to the answer to be given to it,
should depend our whole conduct and feelings towards you in the matter
of your education; for you, inasmuch as it is quite clear, that if the
change from childhood to manhood can be hastened safely, it ought to be
hastened; and that it is a sin in every one not to try to hasten it:
because, to retain the imperfections of childhood when you can get rid
of them, is in itself to forfeit the innocence of childhood; to exchange
the condition of the innocent infant whom Christ blessed, for that of
the unprofitable servant whom Christ condemned. For with the growth of
our bodies evil will grow in us unavoidably; and then, if we are not
positively good, we are, of necessity, positively sinners.

We will consider, then, what can be done to hasten this change in us
healthfully; whether we can grow in wisdom, in love, and in
thoughtfulness, faster in youth, than we now commonly do grow: and
whether any possible danger can be connected with such increased
exertion. This shall be our subject for consideration next Sunday.
Meantime, let it be understood, that however extravagant it might be to
hope for any general change in any moral point, as the direct result of
setting truth before the mind; yet, that it never can be extravagant to
hope for a practical result in some one or two particular cases; and
that, if one or two even be impressed practically with what they hear,
the good achieved, or, rather, the good granted us by God, is really
beyond our calculation. It is so strictly; for who can worthily
calculate the value of a single human soul? but it is so in this sense
also, that the amount of general good which may be done in the end by
doing good first in particular cases is really more than we can
estimate. It was thus that Christ's original eleven apostles became, in
the end, the instruments of the salvation of millions: and it is on this
consideration that we never need despair of the most extensive
improvements in society, if we are content to wait God's appointed time
and order, and look for the salvation of the many as the gradual fruit
of the salvation of a few.




LECTURE III.

       *       *       *       *       *

1 CORINTHIANS xiii. 11.

_When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I
thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away
childish things_.


After having noticed last Sunday what were those particular points in
childhood, which in manhood should be put away, and having observed that
this change cannot take place all at once, but gradually, during a
period of several years, I proposed to consider, as on this day, whether
it were possible to hasten this change, that is, whether it could be
hastened without injury to the future development of the character; for
undoubtedly, there is such, a thing in minds, as well as in bodies, as
precocious growth; and although it is not so frequent as precocious
growth in the body, nor by any means so generally regarded as an evil,
yet it is really a thing to be deprecated; and we ought not to adopt
such measures as might be likely to occasion it.

Now I believe the only reason which could make it supposed to be
possible that there could be danger in hastening this change, is drawn
from the observation of what takes place sometimes with regard to
intellectual advancement. It is seen that some young men of great
ambition, or remarkable love of knowledge, do really injure their
health, and exhaust their minds, by an excess of early study. I always
grieve over such cases exceedingly; not only for the individual's sake
who is the sufferer, but also for the mischievous effect of his example.
It affords a pretence to others to justify their own want of exertion;
and those to whom it is in reality the least dangerous, are always the
very persons who seem to dread it the most. But we should clearly
understand, that this excess of intellectual exertion at an early age,
is by no means the same thing with hastening the change from
childishness to manliness. We are all enough aware, in common life, that
a very clever and forward boy may be, in his conduct, exceeding
childish; that those whose talents and book-knowledge are by no means
remarkable, may be, in their conduct, exceedingly manly. Examples of
both these truths instantly present themselves to my memory, and perhaps
may do so to some of yours. I may say farther, that some whose change
from childhood to manhood had been, in St. Paul's sense of the terms,
the most remarkably advanced, were so far from being distinguished for
their cleverness or proficiency in their school-work, that it would
almost seem as if their only remaining childishness had been displayed
there. What I mean, therefore, by the change from childhood to manhood,
is altogether distinct from a premature advance in book-knowledge, and
involves in it nothing of that over-study which is dreaded as so
injurious.

Yet it is true that I described the change from childhood to manhood, as
a change from ignorance to wisdom. I did so, certainly; but yet, rare as
knowledge is, wisdom is rarer; and knowledge, unhappily, can exist
without wisdom, as wisdom can exist with a very inferior degree of
knowledge. We shall see this, if we consider what we mean by knowledge;
and, without going into a more general definition of it, let us see what
we mean by it here. We mean by it, either a knowledge of points of
scholarship, of grammar, and matters connected with grammar; or a
knowledge of history and geography; or a knowledge of mathematics: or,
it may be, of natural history; or, if we use the term, "knowledge of the
world," then we mean, I think, a knowledge of points of manner and
fashion; such a knowledge as may save us from exposing ourselves in
trifling things, by awkwardness or inexperience. Now the knowledge of
none of these things brings us of necessity any nearer to real
thoughtfulness, such as alone gives wisdom, than the knowledge of a
well-contrived game. Some of you, probably, well know that there are
games from which chance is wholly excluded, and skill in which is only
the result of much thought and calculation. There is no doubt that the
game of chess may properly be called an intellectual study; but why does
it not, and cannot, make any man wise? Because, in the first place, the
calculations do but respect the movements of little pieces of wood or
ivory, and not those of our own minds and hearts; and, again, they are
calculations which have nothing to do whatever with our being better
men, or worse, with our pleasing God or displeasing him. And what is
true of this game, is true no less of the highest calculations of
Astronomy, of the profoundest researches into language; nay, what may
seem stranger still, it is often true no less of the deepest study even
of the actions and principles of man's nature; and, strangest of all, it
may be, and is often true, also, of the study of the very Scripture
itself; and that, not only of the incidental points of Scripture, its
antiquities, chronology, and history, but of its very most divine
truths, of man's justification and of God's nature. Here, indeed, we are
considering about things where wisdom, so to speak, sits enshrined. We
are very near her, we see the place where she abides; but her very self
we obtain not. And why?--but because, in the most solemn study, no less
than in the lightest, our own moral state may be set apart from our
consideration; we may be unconscious all the while of our great want;
and forgetting our great business, to be reconciled to God, and to do
his will: for wisdom, to speak properly, is to us nothing else than the
true answer to the Philippian jailor's question, "What must I do to
be saved?"

Now then, as knowledge of all kinds may be gained without being
received, or meant at all to be applied, as the answer to this question,
so it may be quite distinct from wisdom. And when I use the term
thoughtfulness, as opposed to a child's carelessness, I mean it to
express an anxiety for the obtaining of this wisdom. And farther, I do
not see how this wisdom, or this thoughtfulness, can be premature in any
one; or how it can exhaust before their time any faculties, whether of
body or mind. This requires no sitting up late at night, no giving up of
healthful exercise; it brings no headaches, no feverishness, no strong
excitement at first, to be followed by exhaustion afterwards. Hear how
it is described by one who spoke of it from experience. "The wisdom that
is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, easy to be
entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without
hypocrisy." There is surely nothing of premature exhaustion
connected-with any one of these things.

Or, if we turn to the third point of change from childhood to a
Christian manhood, the change from selfishness to unselfishness, neither
can we find any possible danger in hastening this. This cannot hurt our
health or strain our faculties; it can but make life at every age more
peaceful and more happy. Nor indeed do I suppose that any one could
fancy that such a change was otherwise than wholesome at the earliest
possible period.

There may remain, however, a vague notion, that generally, if what we
mean by an early change from childishness to manliness be that we should
become religious, then, although it may not exhaust the powers, or
injure the health, yet it would destroy the natural liveliness and
gaiety of youth, and by bringing on a premature seriousness of manner
and language, would be unbecoming and ridiculous. Now, in the first
place, there is a great deal of confusion and a great deal of folly in
the common notions of the gaiety of youth. If gaiety mean real happiness
of mind, I do not believe that there is more of it in youth than in
manhood; if for this reason only, that the temper in youth being
commonly not yet brought into good order, irritation and passion are
felt, probably, oftener than in after life, and these are sad drawbacks,
as we all know, to a real cheerfulness of mind. And of the outward
gaiety of youth, there is a part also which is like the gaiety of a
drunken man; which is riotous, insolent, and annoying to others; which,
in short, is a folly and a sin. There remains that which strictly
belongs to youth, partly physically--the lighter step and the livelier
movement of the growing and vigorous body; partly from circumstances,
because a young person's parents or friends stand between him and many
of the cares of life, and protect him from feeling them altogether;
partly from the abundance of hope which belongs to the beginning of
every thing, and which continually hinders the mind from dwelling on
past pain. And I know not which of these causes of gaiety would be taken
away or lessened by the earlier change from childhood to manhood. True
it is, that the question, "What must I do to be saved?" is a grave one,
and must be considered seriously; but I do not suppose that any one
proposes that a young person should never be serious at all. True it is,
again, that if we are living in folly and sin, this question may be a
painful one; we might be gayer for a time without it. But, then, the
matter is, what is to become of us if we do not think of being
saved?--shall we be saved without thinking of it? And what is it to be
not saved but lost? I cannot pretend to say that the thought of God
would not very much disturb the peace and gaiety of an ungodly and
sinful mind; that it would not interfere with the mirth of the bully, or
the drunkard, or the reveller, or the glutton, or the idler, or the
fool. It would, no doubt; just as the hand that was seen to write on the
wall threw a gloom over the guests at Belshazzar's festival. I never
meant or mean to say, that the thought of God, or that God himself, can
be other than a plague to those who do not love Him. The thought of Him
is their plague here; the sight of Him will be their judgment for ever.
But I suppose the point is, whether the thought of Him would cloud the
gaiety of those who were striving to please Him. It would cloud it as
much, and be just as unwelcome and no more, as will be the very actual
presence of our Lord to the righteous, when they shall see Him as He is.
Can that which we know to be able to make old age, and sickness, and
poverty, many times full of comfort,--can that make youth and health
gloomy? When to natural cheerfulness and sanguineness, are added a
consciousness of God's ever present care, and a knowledge of his rich
promises, are we likely to be the more sad or the more unhappy?

What reason, then, is there for any one's not anticipating the common
progress of Christian manliness, and hastening; to exchange, as I said
before, ignorance for wisdom, selfishness for unselfishness,
carelessness for thoughtfulness? I see no reason why we should not; but
is there no reason why we should? You are young, and for the most part
strong and healthy; I grant that, humanly speaking, the chances of early
death to any particular person among you are small. But still,
considering what life is, even to the youngest and strongest, it does
seem a fearful risk to be living unredeemed; to be living in that state,
that if we should happen to die, (it may be very unlikely, but still it
is clearly possible,)--that if we should happen to die, we should be
most certainly lost for ever. Risks, however, we do not mind; the
chances, we think, are in our favour, and we will run the hazard. It may
be so; but he who delays to turn to God when the thought has been once
put before him, is incurring something more than a risk. He may not die
these fifty or sixty years; we cannot tell how that may be; but he is
certainly at this very present time hardening his heart, and doing
despite unto the Spirit of Grace. By the very wickedness of putting off
turning to God till a future time, he lessens his power of turning to
Him ever. This is certain; no one can reject God's call without becoming
less likely to hear it when it is made to him again. And thus the
lingering wilfully in the evil things of childhood, when we might be at
work in putting them off, and when God calls us to do so, is an infinite
risk, and a certain evil;--an infinite risk, for it is living in such a
state that death at any moment would be certain condemnation;--and a
certain evil, because, whether we live or not, we are actually raising
up barriers between ourselves and our salvation; we not only do not draw
nigh to God, but we are going farther from Him, and lessening our power
of drawing nigh to Him hereafter.




LECTURE IV.

       *       *       *       *       *

COLOSSIANS i. 9.

_We do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled
with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual
understanding_.


This is the first of three verses, all of them forming a part of the
Epistle which was read this morning, and containing St. Paul's prayer
for the Colossians in all the several points of Christian excellence.
And the first thing which he desires for them, as we have heard, is,
that they should be filled with the knowledge of God's will in all
wisdom and spiritual understanding; or, as he expresses the same thing
to the Ephesians, that they should be not unwise, but understanding what
the will of the Lord is. He prays for the Colossians that they should
not be spiritually foolish, but that they should be spiritually wise.

The state of spiritual folly is, I suppose, one of the most universal
evils in the world. For the number of those who are naturally foolish is
exceedingly great; of those, I mean, who understand no worldly thing
well; of those who are careless about everything, carried about by every
breath of opinion, without knowledge, and without principle. But the
term spiritual folly includes, unhappily, a great many more than these;
it takes in not those only who are in the common sense of the term
foolish, but a great many who are in the common sense of the term
clever, and many who are even in the common sense of the terms, prudent,
sensible, thoughtful, and wise. It is but too evident that some of the
ablest men who have ever lived upon earth, have been in no less a degree
spiritually fools. And thus, it is not without much truth that Christian
writers have dwelt upon the insufficiency of worldly wisdom, and have
warned their readers to beware, lest, while professing themselves to be
wise, they should be accounted as fools in the sight of God.

But the opposite to this notion, that those who are, as it were, fools
in worldly matters are wise before God; although this also is true in a
certain sense, and under certain peculiar circumstances, yet taken
generally, it is the very reverse of truth; and the careless and
incautious language which has been often used on this subject, has been
extremely mischievous. On the contrary, he who is foolish in worldly
matters is likely also to be, and most commonly is, no less foolish in
the things of God. And the opposite belief has arisen mainly from that
strange confusion between ignorance and innocence, with which many
ignorant persons seem to solace themselves. Whereas, if you take away a
man's knowledge, you do not bring him to the state of an infant, but to
that of a brute; and of one of the most mischievous and malignant of the
brute creation. For you do not lessen or weaken the man's body by
lowering his mind; he still retains his strength and his passions, the
passions leading to self-indulgence, the strength which enables him to
feed them by continued gratification. He will not think it is true to
any good purpose; it is very possible to destroy in him the power of
reflection, whether as exercised upon outward things, or upon himself
and his own nature, or upon God. But you cannot destroy the power of
adapting means to ends, nor that of concealing his purposes by fraud or
falsehood; you take only his wisdom, and leave that cunning which marks
so notoriously both the savage and the madman. He, then, who is a fool
as far as regards earthly things, is much more a fool with regard to
heavenly things; he who cannot raise himself even to the lower height,
how is he to attain to the higher? he who is without reason and
conscience, how shall he be endowed with the spirit of God?

It is my deep conviction and long experience of this truth, which makes
me so grieve over a want of interest in your own improvement in human
learning, whenever I observe it, over the prevalence of a thoughtless
and childish spirit amongst you. I grant that as to the first point
there are sometimes exceptions to be met with; that is to say, I have
known persons certainly whose interest in their work here was not great,
and their proficiency consequently was small; but who, I do not doubt,
were wise unto God. But then these persons, whilst they were indifferent
perhaps about their common school-work, were anything but indifferent as
to the knowledge of the Bible: there was no carelessness there; but they
read, and read frequently, books of practical improvement, or relating
otherwise to religious matters, such as many, I believe, would find even
less inviting than the books of their common business. So that although
there was a neglect undoubtedly of many parts of the school-work, yet
there was no spirit of thoughtlessness or childishness in them, nor of
general idleness; and therefore, although I know that their minds did
suffer and have suffered from their unwise neglect of a part of their
duty, yet there was so much attention bestowed on other parts, and so
manifest and earnest a care for the things of God, that it was
impossible not to entertain for them the greatest respect and regard.
These, however, are such rare cases, that it cannot be necessary to do
more than thus notice them. But the idleness and want of interest which
I grieve for, is one which extends itself but too impartially to
knowledge of every kind: to divine knowledge, as might be expected, even
more than to human. Those whom we commonly find careless about their
general lessons, are quite as ignorant and as careless about their
Bibles; those who have no interest in general literature, in poetry, or
in history, or in philosophy, have certainly no greater interest, I do
not say in works of theology, but in works of practical devotion, in the
lives of holy men, in meditations, or in prayers. Alas, the interest of
their minds is bestowed on things far lower than the very lowest of all
which I have named; and therefore, to see them desiring something only a
little higher than their present pursuits, could not but be encouraging;
it would, at least, show that the mind was rising upwards. It may,
indeed, stop at a point short of the highest, it may learn to love
earthly excellence, and rest there contented, and seek for nothing more
perfect; but that, at any rate, is a future and merely contingent evil.
It is better to love earthly excellence than earthly folly; it is far
better in itself, and it is, by many degrees, nearer to the kingdom
of God.

There is another case, however, which I cannot but think is more
frequent now than formerly; and if it is so, it may be worth while to
direct our attention to it. Common idleness and absolute ignorance are
not what I wish to speak of now, but a character advanced above these; a
character which does not neglect its school-lessons, but really attains
to considerable proficiency in them; a character at once regular and
amiable, abstaining from evil, and for evil in its low and grosser
forms, having a real abhorrence. What, then, you will say, is wanting
here? I will tell you what seems to be wanting--a spirit of manly, and
much more of Christian, thoughtfulness. There is quickness and
cleverness; much pleasure, perhaps, in distinction, but little in
improvement; there is no desire of knowledge for its own sake, whether
human or divine. There is, therefore, but little power of combining and
digesting what is read; and, consequently, what is read passes away, and
takes no root in the mind. This same character shows itself in matters
of conduct; it will adopt, without scruple, the most foolish,
commonplace notions of boys, about what is right and wrong; it will not,
and cannot, from the lightness of its mind, concern itself seriously
about what is evil in the conduct of others, because it takes no regular
care of its own, with reference to pleasing God; it will not do anything
low or wicked, but it will sometimes laugh at those who do; and it will
by no means take pains to encourage, nay, it will sometimes thwart and
oppose any thing that breathes a higher spirit, and asserts a more manly
and Christian standard of duty.

I have thought that this character, with its features more or less
strongly marked, has shown itself sometimes amongst us, marring the good
and amiable qualities of those in whom we can least bear to see such a
defect, because there is in them really so much to interest in their
favour. Now the number of persons of extraordinary abilities who may be
here at any one time can depend on no calculable causes: nor, again, can
we give any reason more than what we call accident, if there were to be
amongst us at any one time a number of persons whose whole tendency was
decidedly to evil. But if, in these respects, the usual average has
continued, if there is no lack of ability, and nothing like a prevalence
of vice, then we begin anxiously to inquire into the causes, which,
while other things remain the same, have led to a different result. And
one cause I do find, which, is certainly capable of producing such a
result: a cause undoubtedly in existence now, and as certainly not in
existence a few years back; nor can I trace any other besides this which
appears likely to have produced the same effect. This cause consists in
the number and character and cheapness, and peculiar mode of
publication, of the works of amusement of the present day. In all these
respects the change is great, and extremely recent. The works of
amusement published only a very few years since were comparatively few
in number; they were less exciting, and therefore less attractive; they
were dearer, and therefore less accessible; and, not being published
periodically, they did not occupy the mind for so long a time, nor keep
alive so constant an expectation; nor, by thus dwelling upon the mind,
and distilling themselves into it as it were drop by drop, did they
possess it so largely, colouring even, in many instances, its very
language, and affording frequent matter for conversation.

The evil of all these circumstances is actually enormous. The mass of
human minds, and much more of the minds of young persons, have no great
appetite for intellectual exercise; but they have some, which by careful
treatment may be strengthened and increased. But here to this weak and
delicate appetite is presented an abundance of the most stimulating and
least nourishing food possible. It snatches it greedily, and is not only
satisfied, but actually conceives a distaste for anything simpler and
more wholesome. That curiosity which is wisely given us to lead us on to
knowledge, finds its full gratification in the details of an exciting
and protracted story, and then lies down as it were gorged, and goes to
sleep. Other faculties claim their turn, and have it. We know that in
youth the healthy body and lively spirits require exercise, and in this
they may and ought to be indulged: but the time and interest which
remain over when the body has had its enjoyment, and the mind desires
its share, this has been already wasted and exhausted upon things
utterly unprofitable: so that the mind goes to its work hurriedly and
languidly, and feels it to be no more than a burden. The mere lessons
may be learnt from a sense of duty; but that freshness of power which,
in young persons of ability would fasten eagerly upon some one portion
or other, of the wide field of knowledge, and there expatiate, drinking
in health and strength to the mind, as surely as the natural exercise of
the body gives to it bodily vigour,--that is tired prematurely,
perverted, and corrupted; and all the knowledge which else it might so
covet, it now seems a wearying effort to attain.

Great and grievous as is the evil, it is peculiarly hard to find the
remedy for it. If the books to which I have been alluding were books of
downright wickedness, we might destroy them wherever we found them; we
might forbid their open circulation; we might conjure you to shun them
as you would any other clear sin, whether of word or deed. But they are
not wicked books for the most part; they are of that class which cannot
be actually prohibited; nor can it be pretended that there is a sin in
reading them. They are not the more wicked for being published so cheap,
and at regular intervals; but yet these two circumstances make them so
peculiarly injurious. All that can be done is to point out the evil;
that it is real and serious I am very sure, and its effects are most
deplorable on the minds of the fairest promise; but the remedy for it
rests with yourselves, or rather with each of you individually, so far
as he is himself concerned. That an unnatural and constant excitement of
the mind is most injurious, there is no doubt; that excitement involves
a consequent weakness, is a law of our nature than which none is surer;
that the weakness of mind thus produced is and must be adverse to quiet
study and thought, to that reflection which alone is wisdom, is also
clear in itself, and proved too largely by experience. And that without
reflection there can be no spiritual understanding, is at once evident;
while without spiritual understanding, that is, without a knowledge and
a study of God's will, there can be no spiritual life. And therefore
childishness and unthoughtfulness cannot be light evils; and if I have
rightly traced the prevalence of these defects to its cause, although
that cause may seem to some to be trifling, yet surely it is well to
call your attention to it, and to remind you that in reading works of
amusement, as in every other lawful pleasure, there is and must be an
abiding responsibility in the sight of God; that, like other lawful
pleasures, we must beware of excess in it; and not only so, but that if
we find it hurtful to us, either because we have used it too freely in
times past, or because our nature is too weak to bear it, that then we
are bound most solemnly to abstain from it; because, however lawful in
itself, or to others who can practise it without injury, whatever is to
us an hindrance in the way of our intellectual and moral and spiritual
improvement, that is in our case a positive sin.




LECTURE V.

       *       *       *       *       *

COLOSSIANS i. 9.

_We do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled
with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual
understanding_.


These words, on which I spoke last Sunday, appeared to contain so much,
which concerns us all so deeply, and to suit the peculiar ease of many
of us here so entirely, that I thought they might well furnish us with
matter for farther consideration to-day. And though I noticed one
particular cause, which seemed to have acted mischievously, in the last
few years, upon the growth and freshness of the mind in youth, yet it
would be absurd to suppose that before this cause came into existence
all was well; or that if it could be removed, our progress even in
worldly knowledge would henceforth be unimpeded. There are many other
causes no doubt which oppose our growth in worldly wisdom; and still
more which oppose our growth in the wisdom of God.

One of these causes meets us at the very beginning; it exists at this
very moment; it makes it difficult even to gain your attention for what
is to be said. This cause is to be found in the want of sympathy between
persons of very different ages, between what must be, therefore, in the
common course of nature, different degrees of thoughtfulness. It is the
want of sympathy, properly speaking, which creates in these matters a
difficulty of understanding; for the attention and memory are alike apt
to be careless where the mind is not interested; and how can we
understand that to which we scarcely listened, and which we imperfectly
remember? Nature herself seems to lead the old and the young two
different ways: and when the old call upon the young to be thoughtful,
it seems as if they were but calling them to a state contrary to their
nature; and the call is not regarded.

Is it then that we have here an invincible obstacle, which renders all
attempts to inspire thoughtfulness utterly vain? and if it be so, what
use can there be in dwelling upon it? None, certainly, if it were
actually and in all cases invincible; but if it be every thing short of
invincible, there is much good in noticing it. There is much good surely
in trying to impress the great truth, that nature must be overcome by a
mightier power, or we perish. There is much good in meeting and allowing
to its full extent what we are so apt in our folly to regard as an
excuse, and which really is the earnest of our condemnation. It is very
true, and to be allowed to the fullest extent, that it is against the
nature of youth in all ordinary cases to be thoughtful; that it is very
difficult for you even to give your attention to serious things when
spoken of, more difficult still to remember them afterwards and always.
It is for the very reason because it is so difficult, because it is a
work so against nature, to raise the young and careless mind to the
thought of God; because it is so certain that, in the common course of
things, you will not think of Him, but will follow the bent of your own
several fancies or desires, that therefore He, who wills in his love to
bring us to himself, knowing that without the knowledge of Him we must
perish for ever, was pleased to give his only-begotten Son, that
through Him we might overcome nature, and might turn to God and live.

I wish that I could increase, if it were possible, the sense which, you
have of the difficulty of becoming thoughtful, so that you could but see
that out of this very difficulty, and indissolubly connected with it,
comes the grace of Christ's redemption. You have not strength of purpose
enough to shake off folly and sin; surely you have not, or else, why
should Christ have died? It is so hard to come to God; undoubtedly, so
hard that no man can come unto God except God will draw him. Nature
herself leads us to be careless, our very strength and spirits of
themselves will not allow us to reflect. Most true; for that which is
born of the flesh, is flesh; and we inherit a nature derived from him in
whom we all die.

I believe that it is not idle to dwell upon tins; for it is scarcely
possible but that good and earnest resolutions should often enter the
minds of many of you; or, if not resolutions, yet at least wishes,
wishes chilled but too soon, I fear, by the thought or feeling, that
however much to will may be present with you, yet how to perform it you
find not. Now, if this true sense of weakness might but lead any one to
seek for strength where it may be found, then indeed it would be a
feeling no less blessed than true; for it would urge you to seek God's
help and Christ's redemption, instead of desperately yielding to your
weakness, and so remaining weak for ever.

You may look at the prospect before you in all its reality: you may see
how much must be given up, how much withstood, bow much, endured; how
hard it is to alter old ways, not in itself only, but because the change
attracts attention, and is received, it may be, with doubts as to its
sincerity, with irony, and with sneers. There is all this before you: it
cannot be denied; it must not be concealed. The way to life is not broad
and easy; it is not that way which is most trodden. To pass from what we
are to what we may be hereafter, from an earthly nature to an heavenly,
cannot be an easy work, to be done at any time, with no effort, with no
pain. It is the greatest work which is done in the whole world, it is
the mightiest change; death and birth are, as it were, combined in it;
but the Lord of birth and of death is at hand, to enable us to effect
it. Think that this is so; and the more you feel how hard a task is set
before you, the more you will be able to understand the language of joy
and thankfulness with which the Scripture speaks of a human soul's
redemption.

This great work may be wrought for every soul here assembled; the want
of sympathy in sacred and serious things may be changed to sympathy the
most intense; the carelessness of fools may be changed into spiritual
wisdom. It may be wrought for all; but it is more happy to think that it
will be wrought for some;--for whom, no mortal eye or judgment can
discern; but it will be wrought for some. If many should yield in
despair to their enemy, yet some will resist him: if Christ be to many
no more than foolishness, if his name convey nothing more than a vague
sense of something solemn, which passes over the mind for an instant,
and then vanishes, yet to some undoubtedly, he will be found to be the
wisdom of God, and the power of God. There are some here, we may be
quite sure, who will be witnesses for ever to all the world of men and
angels, that what truly was impossible to nature, is possible to nature
renewed and strengthened by grace.

Without such a change, it is vain, I fear, to look for any thing like
wisdom or spiritual understanding; for how can such a seed be expected
to grow in a soil so shallow as common thoughtlessness? and how can
merely human motives have force to overcome so strong a tendency of
nature? nay, how can such motives be brought to act upon the mind? for
it is absolutely impossible that the middle-aged and the young should be
brought into entire sympathy with each other, unless Christ's love be
their common bond. Human wisdom in advanced life may be, and is to
persons of strong faculties of mind, naturally pleasant: but how can it
be made so to persons of ordinary faculties in early youth? There are
faults which society condemns strongly, while the temptation to them in
after life is slight. Persons in middle age may resist these easily, and
abhor them sincerely; but how can we make young persons do the same when
the temptation to commit them is strong, and the condemnation of them by
their society is either very slight, or does not exist at all? And,
therefore, we find that, do what we will, the same faults' continue to
be common in schools, the same faults both of omission and commission;
there is the same inherent difficulty of bringing persons of different
ages and positions to think and feel alike, unless Christ has become
possessed of the thoughts and feelings of both, and so they become one
with each other in him.

But it was our Lord's charge to Peter, "Thou, when thou art converted,
strengthen thy brethren." As sure as it is that some who hear me are
turned, or turning, or will turn, to God, so sure is it that these, be
they few or many, will do something towards the strengthening of their
brethren. Whatever good is to be done amongst us on a large scale, it
must be done only in this way, the many half despairing prayer may be,
"Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief;" but if any one is moved by
Christ's call, and feels within himself that he should like to follow
Christ, and to be with him always, let him cherish that work of the Holy
Spirit within him, which has given him if it be only so much of the will
to be saved. It is a spark which may be quenched in a moment; in itself
it can give no assurance; but if any one watches it carefully, and prays
that it may live and be kindled into a stronger spark, till at last it
break out into a flame, then for him it is full of assurance; God has
heard his prayer; and he has received the gift of the Holy Spirit, an
earnest of his eternal inheritance. Will he not then watch and pray the
more anxiously, lest the fruit which, is now partly formed should never
ripen? Will he not see and feel that there is some reality in the things
of God, that strength, and peace, and victory, are not vainly promised?
Will he not hold fast the things which he has now not heard only, but
known, lest by any means he should let them slip? May God strengthen
such, whoever they may be, with all the might of his Spirit; and may he
be with them even to the end.

But for those,--who they are, again, we know not, nor how many; but
here, also, there will too surely be some,--for those who hear now, as
they have often heard before, words which, they scarcely heed, which,
have at times partially caught their attention, but have not produced in
them the slightest real effect, for them the words are coming to an end;
they will soon be released from the irksome bondage of hearing them; and
another opportunity of grace will have been offered to them in vain.
Tomorrow, and the day after, they will walk as they have walked before,
the wretched slaves of folly and passion; half despairing prayer may
be, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief;" but if any one is moved
by Christ's call, and feels within himself that he should like to follow
Christ, and to be with him always, let him cherish that work of the Holy
Spirit within him, which has given him if it be only so much of the will
to be saved. It is a spark which may be quenched in a moment; in itself
it can give no assurance; but if any one watches it carefully, and prays
that it may live and be kindled into a stronger spark, till at last it
break out into a flame, then for him it is full of assurance; God has
heard his prayer; and he has received the gift of the Holy Spirit, an
earnest of his eternal inheritance. Will he not then watch and pray the
more anxiously, lest the fruit which is now partly formed should never
ripen? Will he not see and feel that there is some reality in the things
of God, that strength, and peace, and victory, are not vainly promised?
Will he not hold fast the things which he has now not heard only, but
known, lest by any means he should let them slip? May God strengthen
such, whoever they may be, with all the might of his Spirit; and may he
be with them even to the end.

But for those,--who they are, again, we know not, nor how many; but
here, also, there will too surely be some,--for those who hear now, as
they have often heard before, words which they scarcely heed, which have
at times partially caught their attention, but have not produced in them
the slightest real effect, for them the words are coming to an end; they
will soon be released from the irksome bondage of hearing them; and
another opportunity of grace will have been offered to them in vain.
Tomorrow, and the day after, they will walk as they have walked before,
the wretched slaves of folly and passion; leaving undone all Christ's
work, and greedily doing his enemy's. Yet even these Christ yet spares,
he still calls them, he has died for them. Still the word must be spoken
to them, whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear. It may
be, that they will some day turn; and if not, Christ has perfected his
mercy towards them; and Christ's servants have delivered their own souls
in warning them. May there be but few of us on whom this horrible
portion will fall; yet, is it not an awful thing to think of, that it
will, in all human probability, fall on some? and that whoever hardens
his heart, and resists the word spoken to him this day, he is one who
has done as much as in him lies to make himself among that number.




LECTURE VI.

       *       *       *       *       *

COLOSSIANS iii. 3.

_Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God_.


When I have spoken, from time to time, of denying ourselves for the sake
of relieving others, although self-denial and charity are, in their full
growth, amongst the highest of Christian graces, yet I have felt much
hope that, up to a certain degree, in their lowest and elementary forms
at least, there might be many that would be disposed to practise them.
For these are virtues which do undoubtedly commend themselves to our
minds as things clearly good: so much so that I am inclined to think
that the much-disputed moral sense, the nature of which is said to be so
hard to ascertain, exists most clearly in the universal perception that
it is good to deny ourselves and to benefit others. I do not say merely
that there is a perception that it is good to deny ourselves in order to
benefit others; but that there is in self-denial, simply, something
which commands respect; an unconscious tribute, I suppose, to the truth,
that the self which, is thus denied is one which, if indulged, would
run to evil.

But a point of far greater difficulty, of absolutely the greatest
difficulty, is to impress upon our minds the excellence of
another quality, which is known by the name of spiritual or
heavenly-mindedness. In fact, this,--and this almost singly,--is the
transcendent part of Christianity; that part of it which is not
according to, but above, nature; which, conscience, I think, itself, in
the natural man, does not acknowledge. When Christianity speaks of
purity, of truth, of justice, of charity, of faith and love to God, it
speaks a language which, however belied by our practice, is at once
allowed by our consciences: the things so recommended are, beyond all
doubt, good and lovely. But when it says, in St. Paul's words, "Set your
affections on things above, not on things on the earth: for ye are dead,
and your life is hid with Christ in God," the language sounds so strange
that it is scarcely intelligible; and if we do get to understand it, yet
it seems to give a wrench, as it were, to our whole being, to command a
thing extravagant and impossible.

I am persuaded that this would be so, more or less, everywhere; but in
how extreme a degree must it hold good amongst us! Even in poverty, in
sickness, and old age, where this life would seem to be nothing but a
burden, and the command to "set the affections on things above" might
appear superfluous, still the known so prevails over the unknown, the
familiar over the incomprehensible, that hope and affection find
continually their objects in this world, there is still a clinging to
life, and an unwillingness to die. But in a state the very opposite to
this, in plenty, in health, in youth; with much of enjoyment actually in
our hands, and more in prospect; with just so much mystery over our
coming life as to keep alive interest, yet with enough known and
understood in its prospects to awaken sympathy; what deafest ear of the
deaf adder could ever be so closed against the voice of the charmer, as
our minds, so engrossed with the enjoyments and the hopes of earth, are
closed against the voice which speaks of the things of heaven?

Again, I have said, when speaking of other subjects, that I looked upon
the older persons among you as a sort of link between me and the
younger, who communicated, in some instances, by their language and
example, something of an impression of the meaning of Christian
teaching. But when we speak of a thing so high as spiritual-mindedness,
it seems as if none of us can be a link between Christ's words and our
brethren's minds: as if we all stand alike at an infinite distance from
the high and unapproachable truth. The mountain of God becomes veiled,
as it were, with the clouds which rested upon Sinai; we cannot approach
near it, but stand far off, for a moment, perhaps, in awe; but soon in
neglect and indifference.

Let any one capable of thinking, but in the full vigour of health of
body and mind, placed far above want, and with the prospect, according
to all probability, of many years of happy life before him, let such an
one go forth, at this season of the year above all, let him see the vast
preparation for life in all nature, amongst all living creatures, in
every tree, and in every plant of grass; let him feel the warmth of the
sun, becoming every day stronger and stronger; let him be possessed, in
every sense, with an impression of the vigour and beauty and glory
around him; and let him feel no less a vigour in himself, too, of body
and mind, and infinitely varied power of enjoyment in so many faculties
of repose and of energy,--and then let him calmly consider what St. Paul
could mean, when he says generally to Christians, "Set your affections
on things above, not on things on the earth; for ye are dead, and your
life is hid with Christ in God."

Let a person capable of thinking, and such as I have supposed in all
other respects, consider what St. Paul could mean by calling him "dead."
With an almost thrilling consciousness of life, with an almost bounding
sense of vigour in body and mind, he is told that he is "dead." And
stranger still, he is told so by one whose recorded life, and existing
writings declare that he too must have had in himself a consciousness of
life no less lively; that there was in him an activity and energy which
neither age nor sufferings could quell; that he wielded an influence
over the minds of thousands, such as kings or conquerors might envy. If
St. Paul could stand by our side, think we that he, any more than
ourselves, would be insensible to the power within him, and to the
beauty and the glory without? Yet his words are recorded; he bids us not
set our affections on things on the earth; he declares of himself, and
of us equally, if we are Christ's servants, that we are dead, and that
our life is hid with Christ in God.

I have put the difficulty in its strongest form, for it is one well
worth considering. What St. Paul here urges is indeed the highest
perfection of Christianity, and therefore of human nature; but it is not
an impossible perfection, and St. Paul's own life and character are our
warrant that it is nothing sickly, or foolish, or fanatical. But let us
first hear the whole of St. Paul's language: "If ye, then, be risen with
Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth at the
right hand of God. Set your affections on things above, not on things on
the earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.
When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall we also appear
with him in glory. Mortify therefore your members which are upon the
earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil
concupiscence, and covetousness, which is idolatry." "Mortify," I need
not say, is to make dead, to destroy. "Ye are dead;" therefore let your
members on earth be dead; "fornication, uncleanness, inordinate
affection," &c. As if he had said, By becoming Christians ye engaged to
be dead; and therefore see to it that ye are so. But what he requires us
to make dead or to destroy, are our evil affections and desires; it is
manifest, then, that it is to these that, by becoming Christians, we
engage to become dead.

This is true; and it is most certain that Christ requires us to be dead
only to what is evil. But the essence of spiritual-mindedness consists
in this, that it is assumed that with earth, and all things earthly,
evil or imperfection are closely mixed; so that it is not possible to
set our affections keenly upon, or to abandon ourselves to the enjoyment
of, any earthly thing without the danger of those affections and that
enjoyment becoming evil. In other words, there is that in the state of
things within and around us, which, renders it needful to be ever
watchful; and watchfulness is inconsistent with an intensity of delight
and enjoyment.

For, consider the case which I was just supposing; that lively sense of
the beauty of all nature, that indescribable feeling of delight which
arises out of the consciousness of health, and strength and power.
Suppose that we abandon ourselves to such impressions without restraint,
and is it not manifest that they are the extreme of godless pride and
selfishness? For do we not know that in this world, and close to us
wherever we are, there is, along with all the beauty and enjoyment which
we witness, a large portion also of evil, and of suffering? And do we
not know that He who gave to the earth its richness, and who set the sun
to shine in the heavens, and who gave to us that wonderful frame of body
and mind, whose healthful workings are So delightful to us, that He gave
them that we might use both body and mind in His service; that the
soldier has something else to do than to gaze like a child on the
splendour of his uniform or the brightness of his sword; that those
faculties which we feel as it were burning within us, have their work
before them, a work far above their strength, though multiplied a
thousand fold; that the call to them to be busy is never silent; that
there is an infinite voice in the infinite sins and sufferings of
millions which proclaims that the contest is raging around us; that
every idle moment is treason; that now it is the time for unceasing
efforts; and that not till the victory is gained may Christ's soldiers
throw aside their arms, and resign themselves to enjoyment and to rest?

Then when we turn to the words, "our life is hid with Christ in God,"
the exceeding greatness of Christ's promises rises upon us in something
of the fulness of their reality. Some may know the story of that German
nobleman[12], whose life had been distinguished alike by genius and
worldly distinctions, and by Christian holiness; and who, in the last
morning of his life, when the dawn broke into his sick chamber, prayed
that he might be supported to the window, and might look once again upon
the rising sun. After looking steadily at it for some time, he cried
out, "Oh! if the appearance of this earthly and created thing is so
beautiful and so quickening, how much more shall I be enraptured at the
sight of the unspeakable glory of the Creator Himself!" That was the
feeling of a man whose sense of earthly beauty had all the keenness of a
poet's enthusiasm; but who, withal, had in his greatest health and
vigour preserved the consciousness that his life was hid with Christ in
God; that the things seen, how beautiful soever, were as nothing to the
things which are not seen. And so, if from the feeling of natural
enjoyment we turn, at once thankfully and earnestly, to remember God's
service, and to address ourselves to his work; and sadly remember, that,
although we can enjoy, yet that many are suffering; and that, whilst
they are so, enjoyment in us for more than a brief space of needful rest
cannot but be sin; then there must come upon us, most strongly, the
impression of that life where sin and suffering are not; where not God's
works only, but God Himself is visible; where the vigour and faculties
which we feel within us are not the passing strength of a decaying body,
nor the brief prime of a mind which in a few years must sink into
dotage; but the strength of a body incorruptible and eternal, the
ripeness of a spirit which shall go on growing in wisdom and love
for ever.

[Footnote 12: The Baron Von Canitz.]

Thus, then, if we consider again St. Paul's meaning, we shall find that,
high and pure as it is, it is nothing unreasonable or impossible; that
what he requires us to be dead to absolutely is that which is evil;
that, because of the mixture of evil with ourselves and all around us,
this life must not and cannot be a life of entire enjoyment without
becoming godless and selfish; that, therefore, our affections cannot be
set upon earthly things so as to enjoy them in and for themselves
entirely, without becoming inordinate, and therefore evil. He does
require us, old and young alike, to set our affection on things above:
to remember that with God, and with Him alone, can be our rest, and the
fulness of our joy; and amidst our pleasure in earthly things to retain
in our minds, first, a grateful sense of their Giver; secondly, a
remembrance of their passing nature; and thirdly, a consciousness of the
evil that is in the world, which makes it a sin to resign ourselves to
any enjoyment, except as a permitted refreshment to strengthen us for
duty to come. Above all, let one feeling be truly cherished, and it
will do more, perhaps, than any other to moderate our pleasure in
earthly things, and to render it safe, and wholesome, and Christianlike.
That feeling is the remembrance of our own faults. Let us bear these in
mind as God does; let us consider how displeasing they are in His sight;
how often they are repeated; how little they deserve the enjoyments
which are given us. If this does not change our selfish pleasure into a
zealous gratitude, then, indeed, sin must have a dominion over us; for
the natural effect would be, that our hearts should burn within us for
very shame, and should enkindle us to be thankful with all our strength
for blessings so undeserved; to show something of our love to God who
has so richly shown his love to us.




LECTURE VII.

       *       *       *       *       *

CORINTHIANS iii. 21-23.

_All things are yours; whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the
world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are
yours; and ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's_.


It is very possible, that all may not distinctly understand the force of
the several clauses of this passage, yet, all, I suppose, would derive a
general impression from it, that it spoke of the condition of Christians
in very exalted language, and made it to extend to things in this world,
as well as to things in the world to come. But can it be good for us to
dwell on our exaltation? And if we do, may we not dread lest such
language might be used towards us as that which St. Paul uses in the
very next chapter to the Corinthians, "Now ye are full, now ye are rich,
ye have reigned as kings without us; and I would to God ye did reign,
that we also might reign with you." It would seem, however, that it
would be good for us to dwell on the greatness of our condition and
privileges, because St. Paul, who thus upbraids the Corinthians with
their pride, had yet himself immediately before laid the picture of
their high privileges, in the words of the text, in full detail before
them, as if he wished them carefully to consider it. And so indeed it
is. It feeds pride to dwell upon our good qualities or advantages, as
individuals, or as a class in society, or as a nation, or as a sect or
party; but, to speak generally, our advantages and privileges, as
Christians, have not a tendency to excite pride; for some reasons in the
nature of the case; for this reason amongst ourselves particularly,
because the very essence of pride consists in contrast; we are proud
that we are, in some one or more points, superior to others who come
immediately under our observation. Now, we have so little to do with any
who are not Christians, that the contrast is in this case wanting; we
have none over whom to be proud; none whom we can glory in surpassing;
and, therefore, a consideration of our Christian advantages, in the
absence of that one element which might feed pride, is likely with us to
work in a better manner, and to lead rather to thankfulness and
increased exertion.

I say to increased exertion; for what would stop exertion is pride. It
is the turning back, and pausing to look with satisfaction on what is
below us, rather than the looking upward to the summit, and thinking how
much our actual elevation has brought us on the way towards it. And,
further, there is coupled with every consideration of Christian
privileges, the thought of what it must be to leave such privileges
unimproved. In this respect, how well does the language of the two
lessons from Deuteronomy suit the lesson from the Epistle to the
Corinthians. We heard the description of the beauty and richness of the
land which God gave to his people,--there were their advantages and
privileges,--we heard also, the declaration of their unworthiness, and
the solemn threatening of vengeance if, after having received good, they
did evil. And as the vengeance has fallen upon them to the utmost, so we
are taught expressly to apply their example to ourselves. "If God spared
not the natural branches," such was St. Paul's language to the church at
Rome, "take heed lest he also spare not thee."

Let us not fear, then, to consider more nearly the high privileges
which, as Christians, we enjoy: let us endeavour to understand, not
merely generally, but in detail, the exalted language of the text, where
it is said, that all things are ours; Paul, Apollos, and Cephas, the
world, and life, and death, the things of time, and the things of
eternity. These are ours because we are Christ's, and Christ is God's;
they are ours so long as we are Christ's, and so far as we are his
truly. They are not ours so far as we are not his: they are ours in no
degree whatever the moment that he shall declare that we are his
no longer.

"Paul, and Apollos, and Peter, are ours." This, perhaps, is the
expression which we should understand least distinctly of any. It is an
expression, however, of deep importance, though perhaps less so here
than in congregations of a different sort. I need not, therefore, dwell
on it long now. But the Corinthians, as many Christians have done since,
were apt to think more of their being Christians of a certain sort, than
of being Christians simply: some said, "We have Paul's view of
Christianity, the true and sound view of it, free from superstition:"
others said, "But we have Peter's view of Christianity, one of Christ's
own apostles, who were with him on earth; ours is the true and earliest
view of it, free from all innovations:" and others, again, said, "Nay,
but we have been taught by Apollos, an eloquent man, and mighty in the
Scriptures; one who best understands how to unite the law and the
gospel; one who has given us the full perfection of Christianity." No
doubt there were some differences of views even between Paul, and Peter,
and Apollos; for while, on the one hand, they were all enlightened by
the Spirit of God, yet, on the other hand, they retained still their
human differences of character and disposition, which must on several
occasions have been manifest. But St. Paul does not tell us what these
were, nor how far they extended, nor to what degree they had been
exaggerated by those who heard them. He does not insist upon the truth
of his own view, nor wish the Corinthians to lay aside their divisions,
after the manner so zealously enforced by some persons now, namely, that
those who said they were of Peter, or of Apollos, should confess that
they had been in error, and declare themselves to be now only of Paul.
Such a condemnation of schism he would have held to be in itself in the
highest degree schismatical. But St. Paul was earnest, that schism
should be ended after another way than this, by all parties remembering,
that whatever became of the truth or falsehood of their own particular
views of Christianity, yet, that Christianity according to any of their
views was the one great thing which was their glory and their salvation.
"Paul, and Apollos, and Peter, are all yours: but you are Christ's." You
should not glory in men; that you belong to a purer church than other
Christians; but that you belong to the church of Christ; that church,
which, in its most pure particular branches, has never been free from
some mixture of human infirmity and error; nor yet, in its worst
branches, has ever lost altogether the seal of Christ's Spirit, nor
ceased to believe in Christ crucified.

But the next words are of more particular concern to us here. "The
world, and life, and death, and things present, and things to come, are
all ours." They are all ours, so far as we are Christ's. The world is
ours; its manifold riches and delights, its various wisdom, all are
ours. They are ours, not as a thing stolen, and which will be taken from
us with a heavy over-payment of penalty, because we stole it when it did
not belong to us; but they are ours by God's free gift, to minister to
our comfort, and to our good. And this is the great difference; the good
things of this world are stolen by many; but they belong, by God's gift,
to those only who are Christ's: and there is the sure sign, generally,
to be seen of their being stolen,--an unwillingness that He to whom of
right they belong should see them. What a man steals, he enjoys, as it
were, in fear: if the owner of it finds him with it, then all his
enjoyment is gone; he wishes that he had never touched it; it is no
source of pleasure to him, but merely one of terror. And so it is often
with our stolen pleasures,--stolen, I mean, not in respect of man, but
of God,--stolen, because we do not feel them to be God's gift, nor
receive them, as from him, with thankfulness. They may be very lawful
pleasures, so far as other men are concerned; pleasures bought, it may
be, with our own money, or given to us by our own friends, and enjoyed
without any injury to any one. They may be the very simplest enjoyments
of life, our health, the fresh air, our common food, our common
amusements, our common society; things most permitted to us all, as far
as man is concerned, but yet things which are constantly stolen by us,
because we take them without God's leave, and enjoy them not as his
gifts. They are all his, and he gives them freely to his children. If we
are his children, he gives them to us; and delights in our enjoyment of
them, as any human father loves to see the pleasure of his children in
those things which it is good for them to enjoy. But then, is any child
afraid of his father so seeing him? or is the thought of his father any
interruption to his enjoyment? If it would be, we should be sure that
there was something wrong; that the enjoyment, either in itself, or with
respect to the particular case of that child, was a stolen one. And even
as simple is the state of our dread of God, of our wish to keep his
name and his thought away from us. It is the sure sign that our
pleasures are stolen, either as being wrong in themselves, or much
oftener, because we have taken them without being fit for them, have
snatched them for ourselves, instead of receiving them at the hands of
God. Two of us may be daily doing the very same thing in most
respects,--enjoying actually the very same pleasures, whether of body or
of mind; the same exercises, the same studies, the same indulgences, the
same society,--and yet these very same things may belong rightfully to
the one, and be stolen by the other. To the one they may come with a
double blessing, as the assurance of God's greater love hereafter: to
the other, they are but an addition to that sad account, when all good
things enjoyed here, having been not our own rightly, but stolen, shall
be paid for in over measure, by evil things to be suffered hereafter.

And what I have said of the world, will apply also to life and to death.
Oh, the infinite difference whether life is ours, or but stolen for an
instant; whether death is ours, our subject, ministering only to our
good; or our fearful enemy, our ever keen pursuer, from whose grasp we
have escaped for a few short years, but who is following fast after us,
and when he has once caught us will hold us fast for ever! Have we ever
seen his near approach--has he ever forced himself upon our notice
whether we would or no? But two days since he was amongst us,--we were,
as it were, forced to look upon him. Did we think that he was ours, or
that we were his? If we are his, then indeed he is fearful: fearful to
the mere consciousness of nature; a consciousness which no arguments can
overcome; fearful if it be merely the parting from life, if it be
merely the resigning that wonderful thing which we call our being. It is
fearful to go from light to darkness, from all that we have ever known
and loved, to that of which we know and love nothing. But if death, even
thus stingless, is yet full of horror, what is he with his worst sting
beside, the sting of our sins? What is he when he is taking us, not to
nothingness, but to judgment? He is indeed so fearful then, that no
words can paint him half so truly as our foreboding dread of him, and no
arguments which the wit of man can furnish can strip him of his terrors.

But what if death too, as well as life, be ours?--which he is, if we are
Christ's; for Christ has conquered him. If he be ours, our servant, our
minister, sent but to bring us into the presence of our Lord, then,
indeed, his terrors, his merely natural terrors, the outside roughness
of his aspect, are things which the merest child need not shrink from.
Then disease and decay, however painful to living friends to look upon,
have but little pain for him who is undergoing them. For it is not only
amidst the tortures of actual martyrdom that Christians have been more
than conquerors,--in common life, on the quiet or lonely sick bed, under
the grasp of fever or of consumption, the conquest has been witnessed as
often and as completely. It is not a little thing when the faintest
whisper of thought to which expiring nature can give utterance breathes
of nothing but of peace and of forgiveness. It is not a little thing
when the name of Christ possesses us wholly; not distinctly, it may be,
for reason may be too weak for this; but with an indescribable power of
support and comfort. Or even if there be a last conflict,--a season of
terror and of pain, a valley of the shadow of death, dark and
gloomy,--yet even there Christ is with his servants, and as their trial
is so is his love. Thus it is, if death be ours; and death is ours, if
we be Christ's. And are we not Christ's? We bear his name, we have his
outward seal of belonging to his people,--can we refuse to be his in
heart and true obedience? Would we rather steal our pleasures than enjoy
them as our own; steal life for an instant, rather than have it our sure
possession for ever? Would we rather be fugitives from death, fugitives
whom he will surely recover and hold fast, than be able to say and to
feel that death, as well as life is ours, things to come, as well as
things present, because we are truly Christ's?




LECTURE VIII.

       *       *       *       *       *

GALATIANS V. 16, 17.

_Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh. For
the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh;
and these are contrary the one to the other, so that ye cannot do the
things that ye would_.


"We cannot do the things that we would." These are words of familiar and
common use; this is the language in which we are all apt to excuse,
whether to ourselves or to others, the various faults of our conduct. We
should be glad to do better, so we say and think, but the power to do so
fails us. And so far it may seem that we are but echoing the apostle's
language; for he says the very same thing, "Ye cannot do the things that
ye would." Yet the words as we use them, and as the apostle used them,
have the most opposite meaning in the world. We use them as a reason why
we should be satisfied, the apostle as a reason why we should be
alarmed; we intend them to be an excuse, the apostle meant them to be a
certain sign of condemnation.

The reasons of this difference may be understood very easily. We, in the
common course of justice, should think it hard to punish a man for not
doing what he cannot do. We think, therefore, that if we say that we
cannot do well, we establish also our own claim to escape from
punishment. But God declares that a state of sin is and must be a state
of misery; and that if we cannot escape the sin, we cannot escape the
misery. According to God's meaning, then, the words, "Ye cannot do the
things which ye would," mean no other than this: "Ye cannot escape from
hell; ye cannot be redeemed from the power of death and of Satan; the
power is wanting in you, however much you may wish it: death has got
you, and it will keep you for ever." So that, in this way, sickness or
weakness of the soul is very like sickness or weakness of the body. We
cannot help being ill or weak in many cases: is that any reason why,
according to the laws of God's providence, we should not suffer the pain
of illness? Or is it not, rather, clear that we suffer it just because
we have not the power to get rid of it; if we had the power to be well,
we should be well. A man's evils are not gone because he wishes them
away; it is not he who would fain see his chains broken, that escapes
from his bondage; but he who has the strength to rend them asunder.

Thus, then, in St. Paul's language, "Ye cannot do the things that ye
would," means exactly, "Ye are not redeemed, but in bondage; ye are not
saved, but lost." But he goes on to the reason why we cannot do the
things which we would, which is, "because the flesh and the Spirit are
contrary to one another," and pull us, as it were, different ways. Just
as we might say of a man in illness, that the reason why he is not well,
as he wishes to be, is because his healthy nature and his disease are
contrary to one another, and are striving within him for the mastery.
His blood, according to its healthy nature, would flow calmly and
steadily; his food, according to his healthy nature, would be received
with appetite, and would give him nourishment and strength; but, behold,
there is in him now another nature, contrary to his healthy nature: and
this other nature makes his blood flow with feverish quickness, and
makes food distasteful to him, and makes the food which he has eaten
before to become, as it were, poison; it does not nourish him or
strengthen, but is a burden, a weakness, and a pain. As long as these
two natures thus struggle within him, the man is sick; as soon as the
diseased nature prevails, the man sinks and dies. He does not wish to
die,--not at all,--most earnestly, it may be, does he wish to live; but
his diseased nature has overcome his healthy nature, and so he must die.
If he would live, in any sense that deserves to be called life, the
diseased nature must not overcome, must not struggle equally; it must be
overcome, it must be kept down, it must be rendered powerless; and then,
when the healthy nature has prevailed, its victory is health
and strength.

So far all is alike; but what follows afterwards? As "ye cannot do the
things which ye would, because the flesh and the Spirit are contrary to
one another,"--what then? "Therefore," says the apostle, "walk in the
Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh." Surely there is
some thing marvellous in this. For, let us speak the same language to
the sick man: tell him, "Follow thy healthy nature, and them shalt not
be sick," what would the words be but a bitter mockery? "How can you bid
me," he would say, "to follow my healthy nature, when ye know that my
diseased nature has bound me? Have ye no better comfort than this to
offer me? Tell me rather how I may become able to follow my healthy
nature; show me the strength which may help my weakness; or else your
words are vain, and I never can recover." Most true would be this
answer; and therefore disease and death do make havoc of us all, and the
healthy nature is in the end borne down by the diseased nature, and
sooner or later the great enemy triumphs over us, and, in spite of all
our wishes and fond desires for life, we go down, death's conquered
subjects, to the common grave of all living.

This happens to the bodies of us all; to the souls of only too many. But
why does it not happen also to the souls of all? How is it that some do
fulfil the apostle's bidding? that they do walk in the Spirit, and
therefore do not fulfil the lusts of the flesh; and therefore having
conquered their diseased nature, they do walk according to their
healthful nature, and are verily able to do, and do continually, the
very things that they would? Surely this so striking difference, between
the universal conquest of our diseased nature in the body, and the
occasional victory of the healthy nature in the soul, shows us clearly
that for the soul there has appeared a Redeemer already, while for the
body the redemption is delayed till death shall be swallowed up
in victory.

For most true is it that in ourselves we could not deliver ourselves
either soul or body. "Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the
lusts of the flesh," might have been as cruel a mockery to us, as the
similar words addressed to the man bodily sick,--"Walk according to thy
healthy nature, and thou shalt not suffer from disease." They might have
been a mockery, but blessed be God, they are not. They are not, because
God has given us a Redeemer; they are not, because Christ has died, yea
rather has risen again; and because the Spirit of Christ helpeth our
infirmities, and gives us that power which by ourselves we had not.

Not by wishing then to be redeemed, but by being redeemed, shall we
escape the power of death. Not by saying, "Alas! we cannot do the things
that we would!" but by becoming able to do them. Walk in the Spirit, and
ye shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh; but if ye do fulfil them,
ye must die.

The power to walk in the Spirit is given by the Spirit; but either all
have not this power, or all do not use it. I think rather it is that all
have it not, for if they had it, a power so mighty and so beneficent,
they surely could not help using it. All have it not; but I do not say
that they all might not have it; on the contrary, all might have it, but
in point of fact they have it not. They have it not because they seek it
not: for an idle wish is one thing; a steady persevering pursuit is
another. They seek not the Spirit by the appointed means, the means of
prayer and attending to God's holy word, and thinking of life and death
and judgment.

Do those seek the spirit of God who never pray to God? Clearly they do
not. For they who never pray to God never think of Him; they who never
think of Him, by the very force of the terms it follows that they cannot
seek his help. And yet they say, "Oh, I wish to be good, but I cannot!"
But this, in the language of the Scripture, is a lie. If they did wish
to be good they would seek the help that could make them so. There is no
boy so young as not to know that, when temptation is on him to evil,
prayer to God will strengthen him for good. As sure as we live, if he
wished really to overcome the temptation, he would seek the strength.

Consider what prayer is, and see how it cannot but strengthen us. He who
stands in a sheltered place, where the wind cannot reach him, and with
no branches over his head to cause a damp shade, and then holds up his
face or his hands to the sun, in his strength, can he help feeling the
sun's warmth? Now, thus it is in prayer: we turn to God, we bring our
souls, with all their thoughts and feelings, fully before Him; and by
the very act of so doing, we shelter ourselves from every chill of
worldly care, we clear away every intercepting screen of worldly thought
and pleasure. It is an awful thing so to submit ourselves wholly to the
influence of God. But do it; and as surely as the sun will warm us if we
stand in the sun, so will the Giver of light and life to the soul pour
his Spirit of life into us; even as we pray, we become changed into
his image.

This is not spoken extravagantly. I ask of any one who has ever prayed
in earnest, whether for that time, and while he was so praying, he did
not feel, as it were, another man; a man able to do the things which he
would; a man redeemed and free. But most true is it that this feeling
passes away but too soon, when the prayer is done. Still for the time,
there is the effect; we know what it is to put ourselves, in a manner,
beneath the rays of God's grace; but we do not abide there long, and
then we feel the damp and the cold of earth again.

Therefore says the Apostle, "Pray without ceasing." If we could
literally pray always, it is clear that we should sin never: it may be
thus that Christ's redeemed, at his coming, as they will be for ever
with him and with the Father, can therefore sin no more. For where God
is, there is no place left for sin. But we cannot pray always: we cannot
pray the greatest portion of our time; nay, we can pray, in the common
sense of the term, only a very small portion of it. Yet, at least, we
can take heed that we do pray sometimes, and that our prayer be truly in
earnest. We can pray then for God's help to abide with us when we are
not praying: we can commit to his care, not only our hours of sleep, but
our hours of worldly waking. "I have work to do, I have a busy world
around me; eye, ear, and thought will be all needed for that work, done
in and amidst that busy world; now, ere I enter upon it, I would commit
eye, ear, thought and wish to Thee. Do thou bless them, and keep their
work thine; that as, through thy natural laws, my heart beats and my
blood flows without my thought for them, so my spiritual life may hold
on its course, through, thy help, at those times when my mind cannot
consciously turn to Thee to commit each particular thought to
thy service."

But I dare not say that by any the most urgent prayers, uttered only at
night and morning, God's blessing can thus be gained for the whole
intervening day. For, in truth, if we did nothing more, the prayers
would soon cease to be urgent; they would become formal, that is, they
would be no prayers at all. For prayer lives in the heart, and not in
the mouth; it consists not of words, but wishes. And no man can set
himself heartily to wish twice a day for things, of which he never
thinks at other times in the day. So that prayer requires in a manner to
be fed, and its food is to be found in reading and thinking; in reading
God's word, and in thinking about him, and about the world as being
his work.

Young men and boys are generally, we know, not fond of reading for its
own sake; and when they do read for their own pleasure, they naturally
read something that interests them. Now, what are called serious books,
including certainly the Bible, do not interest them, and therefore they
are not commonly read. What shall we say, then? Are they not interested
in becoming good, in learning to do the things which, they would? If
they are not, if they care not for the bondage of sin and death, there
is, of course, nothing to be said; then they are condemned already; they
are not the children of God. But one says, "I wish I could find interest
in a serious book, but I cannot." Observe again, "Ye cannot do the
things that ye would," because the flesh and the Spirit are contrary to
one another. However, to return to him who says this, the answer to him
is this,--"The interest cannot come without the reading; it may and
will come with it." For interest in a subject depends very much on our
knowledge of it; and so it is with, the things of Christ. As long as the
life and death of Christ are strange to us, how can we be interested
about them? but read them, thinking of what they were, and what were
their ends, and who can help being interested about them? Read them
carefully, and read them often, and they will bring before our minds the
very thoughts which we need, and which the world keeps continually from
us, the thoughts which naturally feed our prayers; thoughts not of self,
nor selfishness, nor pleasure, nor passion, nor folly, but of such
things as are truly God's--love, and self-denial, and purity, and
wisdom. These thoughts come by reading the Scriptures; and strangely do
they mingle at first with the common evil thoughts of our evil nature.
But they soon find a home within us, and more good thoughts gather round
them, and there comes a time when daily life with its various business,
which, once seemed to shut them out altogether, now ministers to their
nourishment.

Wherefore, in conclusion, walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil
the lusts of the flesh; but do even the things which ye would. And ye
can walk in the Spirit, if ye seek for the Spirit; if ye seek him by
prayer, and by reading of Christ, and the things of Christ. If we will
do neither, then most assuredly we are not seeking him; if we seek him
not, we shall never find him. If we find him not, we shall never be able
to do the things that we would; we shall never be redeemed, never made
free, but our souls shall be overcome by their evil nature, as surely as
our bodies by their diseased nature; till one death shall possess us
wholly, a death of body and of soul, the death of eternal misery.




LECTURE IX.

       *       *       *       *       *

LUKE xiv. 33.

_Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot
be my disciple_.


In order to show that these words were not spoken to the apostles alone,
but to all Christians, we have only to turn to the 25th and 26th verses,
which run thus:--"And there went great multitudes with him, and he
turned and said unto them, If any man come to me, and hate not his
father and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, yea
and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." The words were not,
then, spoken to the twelve apostles only, as if they contained merely
some rule of extraordinary piety, which was not to be required of common
Christians; they were spoken to a great multitude; they were spoken to
warn all persons in that multitude that not one of them could become a
Christian, unless he gave himself up to Christ body and soul. Thus
declaring that there is but one rule for all; a rule which the highest
Christian can never go beyond; and which the lowest, if he would be a
Christian at all, must make the foundation of his whole life.

Now take the words, either of the text or of the 26th verse, and is it
possible to avoid seeing that, on the very lowest interpretation, they
do insist upon a very high standard; that they do require a very entire
and devoted obedience? Is it possible for any one who believes what
Christ has said, to rest contented, either for himself or for others,
with that very low and very unchristian standard which he sees and knows
to prevail generally in the world? Is it possible for him not to wish,
for himself and for all in whose welfare he is interested, that they may
belong to the small minority in matters of principle and practice,
rather than to the large majority?

And because he so wishes, one who endeavours to follow Christ sincerely
can never be satisfied with the excuse that he acts and thinks quite as
well as the mass of persons about him; it can never give him comfort,
with regard to any judgment or practice, to be told, in common language,
"Everybody thinks so; everybody does so." If, indeed, this expression
"everybody" might be taken literally; if it were quite true, without any
exception, that "everybody thought or did so;" then I grant that it
would have a very great authority; so great that it would be almost a
mark of madness to run counter to it. For what all men, all without a
single exception, were to agree in, must be some truth which the human
mind could not reject without insanity,--like the axioms of science, or
some action which if we did not we could not live, as sleeping and
eating; or if there be any moral point so universally agreed upon, then
it must be something exceedingly general: as, for instance, that truth
is in itself to be preferred to falsehood; which to dispute would be
monstrous. But, once admit a single exception, and the infallible virtue
of the rule ceases. I can conceive one single good and wise man's
judgment and practice, requiring, at any rate, to be carefully attended
to, and his reasons examined, although millions upon millions stood
against him. But go on with the number of exceptions, and bring the
expression "everybody," to its real meaning, which is only "most
persons," "the great majority of the world;" then the rule becomes of
no virtue at all, but very often the contrary. If in matters of morals
many are on one side and some on the other, it is impossible to
pronounce at once which are most likely to be right: it depends on the
sort of case on which the difference exists; for the victories of truth
and of good are but partial. It is not all truth that triumphs in the
world, nor all good; but only truth and good up to a certain point. Let
them once pass this point, and their progress pauses. Their followers,
in the mass, cannot keep up with them thus far: fewer and fewer are
those who still press on in their company, till at last even these fail;
and there is a perfection at which they are deserted by all men, and are
in the presence of God and of Christ alone.

Thus it is that, up to a certain point, in moral matters the majority
are right; and thus Christ's gospel, in a great many respects, goes
along with public opinion, and the voice of society is the voice of
truth. But this, to use the expression of our Lord's parable, this is
but half the height of that tower whose top should reach unto heaven.
Christianity ascends a great deal higher; and therefore so many who
begin to build are never able to finish. Christ's disciples and the
world's disciples work for a certain way together; and thus far the
world's disciples call themselves Christ's, and so Christ's followers
seem to be a great majority. But Christ warns us expressly that we are
not his disciples merely by going a certain way on the same road with
them. They only are His, who follow Him to the end. They only are His,
who follow him in spite of everything, who leave all rather than leave
him. For the rest, He does not own them. What the world can give they
may enjoy; but Christ's kingdom is shut against them.

Speaking, then, according to Christ's judgment, and we must hold those
to be of the world, and not of Him,--and therefore in God's judgment, to
be the evil and not the good,--who do not make up their minds to live in
His service, and to refer their actions, words, and thoughts to His
will. Who these are it is very true that we many times cannot know: only
we may always fear that they are the majority of society; and therefore
we are rather anxious in any individual's case to get a proof that he is
not one of them, because, as they are very many, there is always a sort
of presumption that any given person is of this number, unless there is
some evidence, or some presumption at any rate, for thinking
the contrary.

When we speak, then, of the good and of the evil side in human life, in
any society, whether smaller or larger,--this is what we mean, or should
mean. The evil side contains much that is, up to a certain point, good:
the good side,--for does it not consist of human beings?--contains,
unhappily, much in it that is evil. Not all in the one is to be
avoided,--far from it; nor is all in the other by any means to be
followed. But still those are called evil in God's judgment who live
according to their own impulses, or according to the law of the society
around them; and those are to be called good, who, in their principles,
whatever may be the imperfections of their practice, endeavour in all
things to live according to the will of Christ.

And in this view the characters of Jacob and Esau are, as it seems to
me, full of instruction; and above all to us here. For I have often
observed that the early age of an individual bears a great resemblance
to the early age of the human race, or of any particular nation; so that
the characters of the Old Testament are often more suited, in a
Christian country, for the instruction of the young than for those of
more advanced years. To Christian men, looking at Jacob's life, with the
faults recorded of it, it is sometimes strange that he should be spoken
of as good. But it seems that in a rude state of society, where
knowledge is very low, and passion very strong, the great virtue is to
be freed from the dominion of the prevailing low principle, to see and
resolve that we ought and will live according to knowledge, and not
according to passion or impulse. The knowledge may be very imperfect,
and probably is so: the practice may in many respects offend against
knowledge, and probably will do so: yet is a great step taken; it is
_the_ virtue of man, in such a state of society, to follow, though
imperfectly, principle, where others follow instinct, or the opinion of
their fellows. It is the great distinguishing mark, in such a state of
things, between the good and the evil; for this reason, amongst many
others, that it is the virtue, under such, circumstances, of the hardest
attainment.

Now, the Scripture judgment of Jacob and Esau, should be in an especial
manner the basis of our judgment with regard to the young. None can
doubt, that amongst the young, when they form a society of their own,
the great temptation is to live by impulse, or according to the opinion
of those around them. It is like a light breaking in upon darkness, when
a young person is led to follow a higher standard, and to live according
to God's will. Esau, in his faults and amiable points alike, is the very
image of the prevailing character amongst boys; sometimes violently
revengeful, as when Esau looked forward with satisfaction to the
prospect of his father's death, because then we should be able to slay
his brother Jacob; sometimes full of generosity, as when Esau forgot all
his grounds of complaint against his brother, and received him on his
return from Mesopotamia with open arms;--but habitually careless, and
setting the present before the future, the lower gratification before
the higher, as when Esau sold his birth-right for a mess of pottage. And
the point to be noted is, that, because of this carelessness, this
profaneness or ungodliness, as it is truly called in the New Testament,
Esau is distinguished from those who were God's people; the promises
were not his, nor yet the blessing. This is remarkable, because Esau's
faults, undoubtedly were just the faults of his age: he was no worse
than the great majority of those around him; he lived as we should say,
in our common language, that it was natural for him to live. He had,
therefore, precisely all those excuses which are commonly urged for the
prevailing faults of boys; yet it is quite certain that the Scripture
holds him out as a representative of those who were not on the side
of God,

If the Scripture has so judged of Esau and Jacob, it must be the model
for our judgments of those whose circumstances, on account of their
belonging to a society consisting wholly of persons young in age,
greatly resemble the circumstances of the early society of the world. I
lay the stress on the belonging to a society wholly formed of young
persons; for the case of young persons brought up at home, is extremely
different; and their circumstances would be best suited by a different
scriptural example. But here, with you, I am quite sure that the great
distinguishing mark between good and evil, is the endeavouring, or not
endeavouring, to rise above the carelessness of the society of which you
are members; the determining, or not determining, to judge of things by
another rule than that of school morality or honour; the trying, or not
trying, to please God, instead of those around you: for the notions and
maxims of a society of young persons are like the notions and maxims of
men in a half-civilized age, a strange mixture of right and wrong; or
rather wrong in their result, although with some right feeling in them,
and therefore as a guide, false and mischievous. That it is natural to
follow these maxims, is quite obvious: they are the besetting sin of
your particular condition; and it is always according to our corrupt
nature to follow our besetting sin. It is quite natural that you should
be careless, profane, mistaking evil for good, and good for evil; but
salvation is not for those who follow their nature, but for those in
whom God's grace has overcome its evil; it is for those, in Christ's
language, who take up their cross and follow him; that is, for those who
struggle against their evil nature, that they may gain a better nature,
and be born, not after the flesh, but after the Spirit of God.

What is to be said to this? or what qualification, or compromise, is to
be made in it? The words of the text will authorize us, at any rate, to
make none: their language is not that of indulgent allowance; but it is
a call, a loud and earnest, even a severe, call, it may be, in the
judgment of our evil nature,--to shake off the weight that hangs about
us; to deliver our hearts from the dominion of that which cannot profit,
and to submit them to Christ alone. This is God's judgment, this is
Christ's word; and we cannot and dare not qualify it. They are evil, for
God and Christ declare it, who judge and live after the maxims of the
society around them, and not after Christ; they are evil who are
careless; they are evil who live according to their own blind and
capricious feelings, now hot, now cold; they are evil who call evil
good, and good evil, because they have not known the Father nor Christ.
This, and nothing less, we say, lest we should be found false witnesses
of God: but if this language, which is that of Scripture, seem harsh, to
any one, oh! let him remember how soon he may change it into the
language of the most abundant mercy, of the tenderest love; that if he
calls upon God, God is ready to hear; that if he seeks to know and to do
God's will, God will be found by him, and will strengthen him; that it
is true kindness not to disguise from him his real danger, but earnestly
to conjure him to flee from it, and to offer our humblest prayers to
God, for him and ourselves, that our judgments and our practice may be
formed only after his example.




LECTURE X.

       *       *       *       *       *

1 TIMOTHY i. 9.

_The law is not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and
disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for the unholy
and profane_.


These words explain the meaning of a great many passages in St. Paul's
Epistles, in which also he speaks of the law, and of not being under the
law, and other such expressions. And it is clear also, that he is not
speaking solely, or chiefly, or, in any considerable degree, of the
ceremonial law; but much more of the law of moral good, the law which
told men how they ought to live, and how they ought not. This law, he
says, is not made for good men, but for evil: a thing so plain, that we
may well wonder how any could ever have misunderstood it. It is so
manifest, that strict rules are required, just exactly in proportion to
our inability or want of will to rule ourselves; it is so very plain,
that, with regard to those crimes which we are under no temptation to
commit, we feel exactly as if there were no law. Which of us ever
thinks, as a matter of personal concern, of the law which sentences to
death murderers, or housebreakers, or those who maliciously set fire to
their neighbours' property? Do we not feel that, as far as our own
conduct is concerned, it would be exactly the same thing if no such law
were in existence? We should no more murder, or rob, or set fire to
houses and barns, if the law were wholly done away, than we do now that
it is in force.

There are, then, some points in which we feel practically that we are
not under the law, but dead to it; that the law is not made for us: but
do we think, therefore, that we may murder, and rob, and burn? or do we
not rather feel that such a notion would be little short of madness? We
are not under the law, because we do not need it; not because there is
in reality no law to punish us if we do need it. And just of this kind
is that general freedom from the law, of which St. Paul speaks, as the
high privilege of true Christians.

But yet St. Paul would not at all mean that any Christian is altogether
without the law: that is, that there are no points at all in which his
inclination is not to evil, and in which, therefore, he needs the fear
of God to restrain him from it. When he says of himself, that he kept
under his body lest that by any means he should become a castaway; just
so far as this fear of being a castaway possessed him, that is, just so
far as there were any evil tendencies in him, which required him to keep
them under by an effort, just so far was he under the law. And this is
so, as we full well know, with us all; for as there is none of us in
whom sin is utterly dead, so neither can there be any of us who is
altogether dead to the law.

Yet, although this be so, there is no doubt that the gospel wishes to
consider us as generally dead to the law, in order that we really may
become so continually more and more. It supposes that the Spirit of God,
presenting to our minds the sight of God's love in Christ, sets us free
from the law of sin and death; that is, that a sense of thankfulness to
God, and love of God and of Christ, will be so strong a motive, that we
shall, generally speaking, need no other; that it will so work upon us,
as to make us feel good, easy, and delightful, and thus to become dead
to the law. And there is no doubt also, that that same freedom from the
law, which we ourselves experience daily, in respect of some particular
great crimes, (for, as I said, we do not feel that it is the fear of the
law which keeps us from murder or from robbing,) that very same freedom
is felt by good men in many other points, where it may be that we
ourselves do not feel it. A common instance may be given with respect to
prayer, and the outward worship of God. There are a great many who feel
this as a duty; but there are many also to whom it is not so much a
duty, as a privilege and a pleasure; and these are dead to the law which
commands us to be instant in prayer, just as we, in general, are dead to
the law which commands us to do no murder.

This being understood, it will be perfectly plain, why St. Paul, along
with all his language as to the law being passed away, and our being
become dead to it, yet uses, very frequently, language of another kind,
which shows that the law is not dead in itself, but lives, and ever will
live. He says, "We must all stand before the judgment seat of Christ,
that every one may receive according to what he has done in the body."
And he adds, "Knowing therefore the terror of the Lord, we persuade
men." But the judgment, and the terror of the Lord, mean precisely what
are meant by the law. And this language of St. Paul shows more clearly,
that, unless we are first dead to the law, the law is not, and never
will be dead to us.

I should not have thought it useless, to have offered merely this
explanation of a language, which is very common in the New Testament,
which, forms one of its characteristic points, (for St. John's
expression of "Perfect love casteth out fear," is exactly equivalent to
St. Paul's, "That we are dead to the law,") and which has been often
misunderstood, or misrepresented. But yet I am well aware, that mere
explanations of Scripture cannot be expected to interest those to whom
Scripture is not familiar. The answer to a riddle would be very soon
forgotten, unless the riddle had first at once amused and puzzled us.
Just so, explanations of Scripture, to be at all valued, must suppose a
previous knowledge of, and desire to understand, the difficulty; and
this we cannot expect to find in very young persons. Thus far, then,
what I have said has been necessarily addressed, I do not say, or mean,
to the oldest part of my hearers only, but yet to the older, and more
considering part of them. But the subject is capable, I think, of being
brought much more closely home to us; for what St. Paul says of the law,
with reference to all mankind, is precisely that state of mind which one
would wish to see here; and the mistakes of his meaning are just such as
are often prevalent, and are likely to do great mischief, with regard to
the motives to be appealed to in education.

Now, what is the case in the Scripture? Men had been subject to a strict
law of rewards and punishments, appealing directly to their hopes, and
to their fears. The gospel offered itself to them, as a declaration of
God's love to them; so wonderful, that it seemed as though it could not
but excite them to love him in return. It also raised their whole
nature; their understandings, no less than their affections; and thus
led them to do God's will, from another and higher feeling than they had
felt heretofore; to do it, not because they must, but because they loved
it. And to such as answered to this heavenly call, God laid aside, if I
may venture so to speak, all his terrors; he showed himself to them only
as a loving father, between whom and his children there was nothing but
mutual affection; who would be loved by them, and love them forever. But
to those who answered not to it, and far more, who dared to abuse it;
who thought that God's love was weakness; that the liberty to which they
were called, was the liberty of devils, the liberty of doing evil as
they would; to all such, God was still a consuming fire, and their most
merciful Saviour himself was a judge to try their very hearts and reins;
in short, the gospel was to them, not salvation, but condemnation; it
awakened not the better, but the baser parts of their nature; it did not
do away, but doubled their guilt, and therefore brought upon them, and
will bring through all eternity, a double measure of punishment.

Now all this applies exactly to that earlier and, as it were,
preparatory life, which ends not in death, but in manhood. The state of
boyhood begins under a law. It is a great mistake to address always the
reason of a child, when you ought rather to require his obedience. Do
this, do not do that; if you do this, I shall love you; if you do not, I
shall punish you;--such is the state, most clearly a state of law, under
which we are, and must be, placed at the beginning of education. But we
should desire and endeavour to see this state of law succeeded by
something better; we should desire so to unfold the love of Christ as to
draw the affections towards him; we should desire so to raise the
understanding as that it may fasten itself, by its own native tendrils,
round the pillar of truth, without requiring to be bound to it by
external bands. We should avoid all unnecessary harshness; we should
speak and act with all possible kindness; because love, rather than
fear, love both of God and man, is the motive which we particularly wish
to awaken. Thus, keeping punishment in the background and, as it were,
out of sight, and putting forward encouragement and kindness, we should
attract, as it were, the good and noble feelings of those with, whom we
are dealing, and invite them to open, and to answer to, a system of
confidence and kindness, rather than risk the chilling and hardening
them by a system of mistrust and severity.

And for those who do answer to this call, how really true is it that
they do soon become dead, in great measure, to the law of the place
where they are living! How little do they generally feel its restraints,
or its tasks, burdensome! How very little have they to do with its
punishments! Led on by degrees continually higher and higher, their
relations with us become more and more relations of entire confidence
and kindness; and when at last their trial is over, and they pass from
this first life, as I have ventured to call it, into their second life
of manhood, how beautifully are they ripened for that state! how
naturally do all the restraints of this first life fall away, like the
mortal body of the perfected Christian; and they enter upon the full
liberty of manhood, fitted at once to enjoy and to improve it!

But observe, that St. Paul does not suppose even the best Christian to
be without the law altogether: there will ever be some points in which
he will need to remember it. And so it is unkindness, rather than
kindness, and a very mischievous mistake, to forget that here, in this
our preparatory life, the law cannot cease altogether with any one; that
it is not possible to find a perfect sense and feeling of right existing
in every action; nay, that it is even unreasonable to seem to expect it.
Little faults, little irregularities, there always will be, with which
the law is best fitted to deal; which should be met, I mean, by a system
of rules and of punishments, not severe, certainly, nor one at all
inconsistent with general respect, kindness, and confidence; but which
check the particular faults alluded to better, I think, than could be
done by seeming to expect of the individual that he should, in all such
cases, be a law to himself. There is a possibility of our over-straining
the highest principles, by continually appealing to them on very
trifling occasions. It is far better, here, to apply the system of the
law; to require obedience to rules, as a matter of discipline; to visit
the breach of them by moderate punishment, not given in anger, not at
all inconsistent with general confidence and regard, but gently
reminding us of that truth which we may never dare wholly to
forget,--that punishment will exist eternally so long as there is evil,
and that the only way of remaining for ever entirely strangers to it, is
by adhering for ever and entirely to good.

This applies to every one amongst us; and is the reason why rules,
discipline, and punishments, however much they may be, and are, kept in
the background for such, as have become almost wholly dead to them, must
yet continue in existence, because none are, or can be, dead to them
altogether. But now, suppose that we have a nature to deal with, which,
cannot answer to a system of kindness, but abuses it; which, when
punishment is kept at a distance, rejoices, as thinking that it may
follow evil safely; a nature not to be touched by the love of God or
man, not to be guided by any perception of its own as to what is right
and true. Is the law dead really to such as these? or should it be so?
Is punishment a degradation to a nature which, is so self-degraded as to
be incapable of being moved by anything better? For this is the real
degradation which we should avoid; not the fear of punishment, which is
not at all degrading, but the being insensible to the love of Christ and
of goodness; and so being capable of receiving no other motive than the
fear of punishment alone. With such natures, to withhold punishment,
would be indeed to make Christ the minister of sin; to make mercy, that
is, lead to evil, and not to good. For them, the law never is dead, and
never will be. Here, of course, in this first life, as I have called it,
punishment indeed goes but a little way: it is very easy for a hardened
nature to defy all that could be laid upon it here in the way of actual
compulsion. Our only course is to cut short the time of trial, when we
find a nature in whom that trial cannot end in good. Still there may be
those in whom this life here, like their greater life which shall last
for ever, will have far more to do with punishment than with kindness;
they will be living all their time under the law. Continue this to our
second life, and the law then will be no less alive, and they will never
be dead to it, nor will it be ever dead to them. And however a hardened
nature may well despise the punishments of its first life,--punishments,
whose whole object is correction, and not retribution,--yet, where is
the nature so hard as to endure, in its relations with God, to feel more
of his punishment than of his mercy; to know him for ever as a God of
judgment, and not as a Father of love?




LECTURE XI.

       *       *       *       *       *

ST. LUKE xxi. 36.

_Watch ye, therefore, and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy
to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before
the Son of Man_.


This might be a text for a history of the Christian Church, from its
foundation to this hour, or to the latest hour of the world's existence.
We might observe how it Lad fulfilled its Lord's command; with what
steadiness it had gone forward on its course, with the constant hope of
meeting Him once again in glory. We might see how it had escaped all
these things that were to come to pass: tracing its course amidst the
manifold revolutions of the world, inward and outward. In the few words,
"all these things that shall come to pass," are contained all the events
of the last eighteen hundred years: indistinct and unknown to us, as
long as they are thus folded up together; but capable of being unrolled
before our eyes in a long order, in which should be displayed all the
outward changes of nations, the spread of discovery, the vicissitudes of
conquest; and yet more, the inward changes of men's minds, the various
schools of philosophy, the successive forms of public opinion, the
influences of various races, all the manifold elements by which the
moral character of the Christian world has been affected. We might
observe how the Church had escaped all these things, or to what degree
it had received from any of them good or evil. And then, stopping at
the point at which it has actually arrived, we might consider how far it
deserves the character of that Church, "without spot, or wrinkle, or any
such thing," which should be presented before the Son of Man at his
coming again.

This would be a great subject; and one, if worthily executed, full of
the deepest instruction to us all. But our Lord's words may also be made
the text for a history or inquiry of another sort, far less
comprehensive in time and space, far less grand, far less interesting to
the understanding; yet, on the other hand, capable of being wrought out
far more completely, and far more interesting to the spiritual and
eternal welfare of each of us. They may be made the text for an inquiry
into the course hitherto held, not by the Church as a body, but by each
of us individual members of it; an inquiry how far we, each of us, have
watched and prayed always, that we might be accounted worthy to escape
all the things which should come to pass, and to stand before the Son of
Man. And, in this view of the words, the expression "all these things
which shall come to pass" has reference no longer to great political
revolutions, nor to schools of philosophy, nor to prominent points of
national character; but to those humbler events, to those lesser
changes, outward and inward, through which we each, pass between our
cradle and our grave. How have we escaped these, or turned them to good
account? Have earthly things so ministered to our eternal welfare, that
if we were each one of us, by a stroke from heaven, cut off at that very
point in our course to which we have severally attained this day, we
should be accounted worthy to stand before the Son of Man?

Here is, indeed, a very humble history for us each to study; yet what
other history can concern us so nearly? And as, in the history of the
world, experience in part supplies the place of prophecy, and the fate
of one nation is in a manner a mirror to another, so in our individual
history, the experience of the old is a lesson to the middle-aged, and
that of the middle-aged a lesson to the young. If you wish to know what
are the things which shall come to pass with respect to you, we can draw
aside the veil from your coming life, because what you will be is no
other than what we are. If we would go onwards, in like manner, and ask
what are the things which shall come to pass with respect to us, our
coming life may be seen in the past and present life of the old; for
what we shall be is no other than what they have been, or than what
they are.

Let us take, then, the actual moment with, each of us, and suppose that
our Lord speaks to each of us as he did to his first disciples: "Watch
and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these
things which shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man." We
ask, naturally, "What are the things which shall come to pass?" and it
is to this question that I am to try to suggest the answer.

Those arrived at middle age may ask the question, "What are the things
which shall come to pass to us?" Now, setting aside extraordinary
accidents, on which we cannot reckon, and the answer would, I think, be
something of this sort: There will not come to pass, it is likely, any
great change in our condition or employment in life. In middle age our
calling, with all the duties which it involves, must generally be fixed
for each of us. Our particular kind of trial will not, it is probable,
be much altered. We must not, as in youth, fancy that, although our
actual occupation does not suit us, although its temptations are often
too strong for us, yet a change may take place to another line of duty,
and the temptations in that new line may be less formidable. In middle
age it will not do to indulge such fond hopes as these. On the contrary,
our hope must lie, not in escape, but in victory. If our temptations
press us hard, we cannot expect to have them exchanged for others less
powerful: they will remain with us, and we must overcome them, or
perish. Have we tastes not fully reconciled to our calling,--faculties
which seem not to have found their proper field? We must seek our remedy
not from without, humanly speaking, but from within: we must discipline
ourselves; we must teach our tastes to cling gracefully around that duty
to which else they must be helplessly fastened. If any faculties appear
not to have found their proper field, we must think that God has, for
certain wise reasons, judged it best for us that they should not be
exercised; and we must be content to render him the service of others.
In this respect, then, the immediate prospect for middle age is not so
much change as steadfastness. Fortune will not suit herself to our
wishes: we must learn to suit our wishes to her.

But go on a little farther, and what are the things which must come to
pass then? A new and most solemn interest arising to us in the entrance
of our children into active life. Hitherto they have lived under our
care, and our duty to them was simple; but now there comes the choice of
a profession, the watching and guiding them, as well as we can, at this
critical moment of their course. What cares await us here; and yet what
need of avoiding over care! What a trial for us, how we value our
children's worldly interests when compared with their eternal--whether
we prefer for them the path which may lead most readily to worldly
wealth and honour, or that in, which they may best and safest follow
Christ! This is a danger which will come to pass to us ere long: do we
watch and pray that we may be delivered from it?

The interest of life, which had, perhaps, something begun to fade for
ourselves, will revive with vigour at this period in behalf of our
children; but after this it will go on steadily ebbing. What life can
offer we have tasted for ourselves; we have seen it tasted, or in the
way to be tasted, by them. The harvest is gathered, and the symptoms of
the fall appear. Is it that some faculty becomes a little impaired, some
taste a little dulled; or is it that the friends and companions of our
life are beginning to drop away from us? Long since, those whom we loved
of the generation before us have been gathered to the grave; now those
of our own generation are falling fast also--brothers, sisters, friends
of our early youth, a wife, a husband. We are surrounded by a younger
generation, to whom the half of our lives, with all their recollections
and sympathies, are a thing unknown. Impatience, weariness, a clinging
to the past, a vain wish to prolong it in an earthly future,--these are
the things which shall befal us then: and they will befal us too surely,
and too irresistibly, unless, by earlier watchfulness and prayer, we may
have been enabled to avoid them. For vain will it be, with faculties at
once weakened by the decay of nature and perverted by long habits of
worldliness, to essay, for the first time, to force our way into the
kingdom of heaven. Old age is not the season for contest and victory;
nor shall we then be so able to escape unharmed from the temptations of
life as to stand before the Son of Man.

These are the things which will come to pass for us and for you. But for
you there is much more to come, which to us is not future now, but past
or present. With you, for a time, it will be all a course forwards and
upwards. From the preparation for life, you will come to the reality;
from a state of less importance, you will be passing on to one of
greater. Your temptations, whatever they may be now, will not certainly
become weaker. As outward restraint is more and more taken off from you,
so your need of inward restraint will be greater. Will those who are
extravagant now on a small scale, be less extravagant on a large scale?
Will those who are selfish now, become less selfish amidst a wider field
of enjoyment? Will those who know not or care not for Christ, while yet,
as it were, standing quietly on the shore, be led to think of him more
amidst the excitement of the first setting sail, amidst the interest of
the first newly-seen country?

You know not yet, nor can know, the immense importance of that period of
life on which many of you are entering, or have just entered. You are
coming, or come, to what may be called the second beginning of life: to
which, in the common course of things, there will succeed no third.
Ignorance, absence of temptation, the presence of all good impressions,
constitute much of the innocence of mere childhood,--so beautiful while
it lasts, so sure to be soon blighted! It is blighted in the first
experience of life, most commonly when a boy first goes to school. Then
his mere innocence, which indeed he may be said to have worn rather
instinctively than by choice, becomes grievously polluted. Then come the
hardness, the coarseness, the intense selfishness; sometimes, too, the
falsehood, the cruelty, the folly of the boy: then comes that period, so
trying to the faith of parents, when all their early care seems blasted;
when the vineyard, which they had fenced so tenderly, seems all
despoiled and trodden under foot. It is indeed a discouraging season,
the exact image of the ungenial springs of our natural year. But after
this there comes, as it were, a second beginning of life, when principle
takes the place of innocence. There is a time,--many of you must have
arrived at it,--when thought and inquiry awaken; when, out of the mere
chaos of boyhood, the elements of the future character of the man begin
to appear. Blessed are they for whom the confusion and disarray of their
boyish life is quickened into a true life by the moving of the Spirit of
God! Blessed are they for whom the beginnings of thought and inquiry are
the beginnings also of faith and love; when the new character receives,
as it is forming, the Christian seed, and the man is also the Christian.
And, then, this second beginning of life, resting on faith and conscious
principle, and not on mere passive innocence, stands sure for the middle
and the end: those who so watch and pray as to escape out of this
critical period, not merely unharmed, but, as it were, set clearly on
their way to heaven, will, with God's grace, escape out of the things
which shall befal them afterwards, till they shall stand before the
Son of Man.

But the word is, "Watch and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy
to escape." We see the time with many of you come, or immediately
coming; out of your present state _a_ character will certainly be
formed; as surely as the innocence of childhood has perished, so surely
will the carelessness of boyhood perish too. _A_ character will be
formed, whether you watch and pray, or whether you do neither; but the
great point is what this character may be. If you do not watch the
process, it will surely be the character of death eternal. Thought and
inquiry will satisfy themselves very readily with an answer as far as
regards spiritual things: their whole vigour will be devoted to the
things of this world, to science or to business, or to public matters,
all alike hardening rather than softening to the mind, if its thoughts
do not go to something higher and deeper still. And as years pass on, we
may think on these our favourite or professional subjects more and more
earnestly; our views on them may be clearer and sounder, but there comes
again nothing like the first free burst of thought in youth; the
intellect in later life, if its tone was not rightly taken earlier,
becomes narrowed in proportion to its greater vigour; one thing it sees
clearly, but it is blind to all beside. It is in youth that the after
tone of the mind is happily formed, when that natural burst of thought
is sanctified and quickened by God's Spirit, and we set up within us to
love and adore, all our days, the one image of the truth of God, our
Saviour Jesus. Then, whatever else may befal us afterwards, it rarely
happens that our faith will fail; his image, implanted in us, preserves
us amid every change; we are counted worthy to escape all the things
which may come to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man.




LECTURE XII

       *       *       *       *       *

PROVERBS i. 28.

_Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me
early, but they shall not find me_.


Christ's gospel gives out the forgiveness of sins; and as this is its
very essence, so also in what we read connected with Christ's gospel,
the tone of encouragement, of mercy, of loving-kindness to sinners, is
ever predominant. What was needed at the beginning of the gospel is no
less needed now; we cannot spare one jot or one tittle of this gracious
language; now, as ever, the free grace, that most seems to be without
the law, does most surely establish the law. But yet there is another
language, which is to be found alike in the Old Testament and in the
New; a language not indeed so common as the language of mercy, but yet
repeated many times; a language which we also need as fully as it was
ever needed, and of whose severity we can no more spare one tittle than
we can spare anything of the comfort of the other. And yet this language
has not, I think, been enforced so often as it should have been. Men
have rather shrunk from it, and seemed afraid of it; they have connected
it sometimes with certain foolish and presumptuous questions, which we,
indeed, do well to turn from; but they have not seen, that with such it
has no natural connexion, but belongs to a certain fact in the
constitution of our nature, and is most highly moral and practical.

The language to which. I allude is expressed, amongst other passages,
by the words of the text. They speak of men's calling upon God, and of
his refusing to hear them; of men's seeking God, and not finding him.
Remember, at the same time, our Lord's words, "Ask, and ye shall
receive; seek, and ye shall find." I purposely put together these
opposite passages, because the full character of God's Revelation is
thus seen more clearly. Do we doubt that our Lord's words are true, and
do we not prize them as some of the most precious which he has left us?
We do well to do so; but shall we doubt any more the truth of the words
of the text; and shall we not consider them as a warning no less needful
than the comfort in the other case? Indeed, as true as it is, that, if
we seek God, we shall find him; so true is it that we may seek him, and
yet not find him.

Now, then, how to explain this seeming contradiction? We can see at
once, that these things are not said of the same persons, or rather of
the same characters at the same time. They are said of the same persons:
that is, there is no one here assembled who is not concerned with both,
and to whom both may not be applicable. Only they are not and cannot be
both applicable to the same person at the very same time. If God will be
found by us, at any given moment, on our seeking him, it is impossible
that, at that same moment, he should also not be found. Thus far is
plain to every one.

And now, is it true of us, at this present time, that God will be found
by us if we seek him, or that he will not be found? If we say that he
will be found, then the words of the text are not applicable to us at
present, although at some future time they may be; and then we have that
well-known difficulty to encounter, to attempt to draw the mind's
attention to a future and only contingent evil. If we say that he will
not be found, then of what avail can it be to say any word more? Why sit
we in this place, to preach, or to listen to preaching, if God, after
all, will not be found? Or, again, should we say that there are some by
whom he will not be found, then who are they that are thus horribly
marked out from among their brethren? Can we dare to conceive of any one
amongst us that he is such an one; that there are some, nay, that there
is any one amongst us, to whom it is the same thing whether he will
hear, or whether he will forbear; who may close his ears as safely as
open them, because God has turned his face from him for ever? It were
indeed horrible to suppose that any one of us were in such a state; and
happily it is a thought of horror which the truth may allow us to repel.

But what, if I were to say, that now, at this very moment, the words of
the text are both applicable to us, and not applicable? Is this a
contradiction, and therefore impossible? Or is it but a seeming
contradiction only, and not only possible, but true? Let us see how the
case appears to be.

We should allow, I suppose, that the words of the text were at no time
in any man's earthly life so true as they will be at the day of
judgment. The hardest heart, the most obdurate in sin, the most closed
against all repentance, is yet more within the reach of grace, we should
imagine, whilst he is alive and in health, than he will be at the day of
the resurrection. We can admit, then, that the words of the text may be
true, in a greater or less degree; that they will be more entirely true
at the last day, than at any earlier period, but yet that they may be
substantially true, true almost beyond exception, in the life that now
is. Now carry this same principle a little farther, and we come to our
very own case. The words of the text will be more true at the day of
judgment, than they ever are on earth; and yet on earth they are often
true substantially and practically. And even so, they may be more true
to each of us a few years hence, than they are at this moment; and yet,
in a certain degree, they may be true at this moment; true, not
absolutely and entirely, but partially; so true as to give a most solemn
earnest, if we are not warned in time, of their more entire truth
hereafter,--first, in this earthly life; then most perfectly of all,
when we shall arise at the last day.

It may be, then, that the words of the text, although not applicable to
us in their full and most fatal sense, may yet be applicable to us in a
certain degree: the evil which they speak of may be, not wholly future
and contingent, and a thing to be feared, but present in part, actual,
and a matter of experience. This is not contradiction: it is not
impossible; it _may be_ our case. Let us see whether it really is so,
that is, whether it is in any degree true of us, that when we call upon
God he will not answer; that when we seek him, we shall in any manner be
unable to find him.

It is manifest that, in proportion as Christ's words "Seek, and ye shall
find," are true to any man, so are the words of the text less true to
him; and in proportion as Christ's words are less true to any one, so
are the words of the text more true to him. Now, is Christ's promise,
"Seek, and ye shall find," equally true to all of us? Conceive of
one--the thing is rare, but not impossible,--of one who had been so kept
from evil, and so happily led forward in good, that when arrived at
boyhood, his soul had scarcely more stain upon it than when it was first
fully cleansed, and forgiven, in baptism! Conceive him speaking truth,
without any effort, on all occasions; not greedy, not proud, not
violent, not selfish, not feeling conscious that he was living a life
of sin, and therefore glad to come to God, rather than shrinking away
from him! Conceive how completely to such an one would Christ's words be
fulfilled, "Seek, and ye shall find!" When would his prayers be
unblessed or unfruitful? When would he turn his thoughts to God without
feeling pleasure in doing so; without a lively consciousness of God's
love to him; without an assured sense of the reality of things not seen,
of redemption and grace and glory? Would not the communion with God,
enjoyed by one so untainted, come up to the full measure of those high
promises, "It shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer,
and while they are yet speaking, I will hear?" Would it not be plain,
that God was as truly found, by such a person, as he was sought in
sincerity and earnestness?

But now, take the most of us: suppose us not to have been kept carefully
from evil, nor led on steadily in good; suppose us to have reached
boyhood with bad dispositions, ready for the first temptation, with
habits of good uncultivated; suppose us to have no great horror of a
lie, when it can serve our turn; with much love of pleasure, and little
love of our duty; with much, selfishness, and little or no thought of
God: suppose such an one, so sadly altered from a state of baptismal
purity, to be saying his prayers as he had been taught to say them, and
saying them sometimes with a thought of their meaning and a wish that
God would hear them. But does God hear them? I ask of your own
consciences, whether you have had any sense that he has heard you?
whether death and judgment, Christ and Christ's service, have become
more real to you after such prayers? If not, then is it not manifest,
that you have sought God, and have not found him; that you have called
upon him and he has not heard? You know by experience, that you are not
as those true children who are ever with him, who listen to catch the
lightest whisper of his Spirit, for whom, he, too, vouchsafes to bless
the faintest breathing of their prayer.

Or, again, in trying to turn from evil to good, have you ever found your
resolutions give way, the ground which you had gained slide from under
your feet, till you fell back again to what you were at the beginning?
Has this ever happened to us? If it has, then in that case, also, we
sought God, but failed to find him; the victory was not yours, but the
enemy's; the Spirit of Christ did not help you so as to conquer.

Take another case yet again. Has it ever happened to any of you, to have
done a mischief to yourselves which you could not undo? It need not be
one of the very highest kind; but has it ever happened, that, by
neglect, you have lost ground in the society in which you are placed,
which you cannot recover; that your contemporaries have gained an
advance upon you, while you have not time left to overtake them? Does it
ever happen that, from neglecting some particular element of learning in
its proper season, and other things claiming your attention afterwards,
you go on with a disadvantage, which you would fain remove, but cannot?
Does it, in short, ever happen to any, that his complete success here is
become impossible; that whatever prospects of another kind may be open
to him elsewhere, yet that he cannot now be numbered amongst those who
have turned the particular advantages here afforded them to that end
which they might and ought to have done?

To whomsoever this has happened, the truth of the words of the text is
matter of experience, not in their full and most dreadful extent, but
yet quite enough to prove that they are true; and that just as he now
feels them in part, so, if he continues to be what he is, he will one
day feel them wholly. He feels that it is possible to seek God, and not
to find him; he has learnt by experience that neglected good, or
committed evil, may be beyond the power of after-regret to undo. It is
true, that as yet, to him, other prospects may be open: prospects which,
probably, he may deem no less fair than those which he has forfeited.
This may be so; but the point to observe is, that one prospect was lost
so irretrievably by his own fault, that afterwards, when he wished to
regain it, he could not. Now God gives him other prospects, which he may
realize: but as he forfeited his first prospect beyond recovery, so he
may do also with his last: and though ill-success at school may be made
up by success in another sphere, yet what is to make up for ill-success
in the great business of life, when that, too, has been forfeited as
irrecoverably; when his last chance is gone as hopelessly as his first?

Now, surely there is in all this an intelligible lesson. I am not at all
exaggerating the importance of the particular prospect forfeited here:
but I am pressing upon you, that this prospect may be, and often is,
forfeited irrecoverably; that when you wish to regain it, it is too
late, and you cannot. And I press this, because it is a true type of the
whole of human life; because it is just as possible to forfeit salvation
irrecoverably, as to forfeit that earthly good which is the prize of
well-doing here, with this infinite difference, that the last forfeit is
not only irretrievable, but fatal; it can no more be made up for, than
it can be regained. Here, then, your present condition is a type of the
complete truth of the text: but there are other points, to which I
alluded before, in which it is more than a type; it is the very truth
itself, although, happily, only in an imperfect measure. That unanswered
prayer, of which I spoke, those broken resolutions,--are they not
actually a calling on God, without his hearing us; a seeking him,
without finding him? We remember who it was that could say with truth to
his Father, "I know that thou nearest me always." We know what it is
that hinders God from hearing us always; because we are not thoroughly
one in his Son Christ Jesus. But this unanswered prayer is not properly
the State of Christ's redeemed: it is an enemy that hath brought us to
this; the same enemy who will, in time, make all our prayers to be
unanswered, as some are now; who will cause God, not only to be slow to
listen, but to refuse to listen for ever. Now we are not heard at once,
we must repeat our prayers, with more and more earnestness, that God, at
last, may hear, and may bless us. But if, instead of repeating them the
more, we do the very contrary, and repeat them the less; if, because we
have no comfort, and no seeming good from them, we give them up
altogether; then the time will surely come when all prayer will be but
the hopeless prayer of Esau, because it will be only the prayer of fear;
because it will be only the dread of destruction that will, or can, move
us:--the love of good will have gone beyond recall. Such prayer does but
ask for pardon without repentance; and this never is, or can
be, granted.

So then, in conclusion, that very feeling of coldness, and unwillingness
to pray, because we have often prayed in vain, is surely working in us
that perfect death, which is the full truth of the words of the text. Of
all of us, those who the least like to pray, who have prayed with the
least benefit, have the most need to pray again. If they have sought
God, without finding him, let them take heed that this be not their case
for ever; that the truth, of which the seed is even now in them, may not
be ripened to their everlasting destruction, when all their seeking, and
all their prayer, will be as rejected by God, as, in part, it has
been already.




LECTURE XIII.

       *       *       *       *       *

MARK xii. 34.

_Thou art not far from the kingdom of God_.


Whoever has gone up any hill of more than common height, may remember
the very different impression which the self-same point, whether bush,
or stone, or cliff, has made upon him as he viewed it from below and
from above. In going up it seemed so high, that we fancied, if we were
once arrived at it, we should be at the summit of our ascent; while,
when we had got beyond it, and looked down upon it, it seemed almost
sunk to the level of the common plain; and we wondered that it could
ever have appeared high to us.

What happens with any natural object according to the different points
from which we view it, happens also to any particular stage of
advancement in our moral characters. There is a goodness which appears
very exalted or very ordinary, according as it is much above or much
below our own level. And this is the case with the expression of our
Lord in the text, "Thou art not far from the kingdom of God." Does this
seem a great thing or a little thing to be said to us? Does it give us a
notion of a height which we should think it happiness to have readied;
or of a state so little advanced, that it would be misery to be forced
to go back to it? For, according as it seems to us the one or the other,
so we may judge of the greater or less progress which we have made in
ascending the holy mountain of our God.

But while I say this, it is necessary to distinguish between two several
senses, in which we may be said to be near to the kingdom of God, or
actually in it. These two are in respect of knowledge, and in respect of
feeling and practice. And our Lord's words seem to refer particularly to
knowledge. The scribe to whom he used them, had expressed so just a
sense of the true way of pleasing God, had so risen above the common
false notions of his age and country, that his understanding seemed to
be ripe for the truths of that kingdom of God, which was to make the
worship of God to consist in spirit and in truth. Now as far as the
knowledge of the kingdom of God is concerned, although, undoubtedly,
there are many amongst us who are deficient in it, yet it is true also,
that a great many of us are in possession of it; we are familiar enough
with the truths of the kingdom of God, and our understandings fully
approve them. But we may be near to or far from the kingdom of God, in
respect also of feeling and practice; and this is the great matter that
concerns us. It is here, then, that we should ask ourselves what we
think of our Lord's words in the text; and whether he to whom they were
spoken appears to us an object of envy or of compassion; one whom we
envy for having advanced so far, or pity for not being advanced further.

"Not far from the kingdom of God." Again, if we take the words Kingdom
of God in their highest sense, then the expression contains all that we
could desire to have said of us in this life; hope itself on this side
of the grave can go no higher. For as, in this sense, the kingdom of God
cannot be actually entered before our death; so the best thing that can
be said of us here, is, that we are not far from it; but we are in the
land of Beulah, so happily imagined in the Pilgrim's Progress; all of
our pilgrimage completed, save the last act of crossing the river; with
the city of God full in sight, and with hearts ready to enter into it.
In this sense, even St. Paul himself, when he wrote his last epistle
from Rome, could say no more, could hope for, could desire no more, than
to be not far from the kingdom of God.

Yet again, take the words "Kingdom of God" in their lowest sense, and
then it is woe to us all, if the expression in the text is all that can
be said of us; if, in this sense, we are only not far from the kingdom
of God. For take the kingdom of God as God's visible Church, and then,
if we are not Christians at all, but only not far from becoming so; if
we have not received Christ, but are not far from receiving him; this is
a state so imperfect, that he who is in it, has not yet reached to the
beginning of his Christian course; and we need not say how far he must
be from its end, if he have not yet come as far as its beginning.

Thus, in one sense, the words express something so high that nothing can
be higher; in another, something so low, that, to us, nothing can be
lower. We have yet to seek that sense, in which they may afford us a
useful criterion of our own several states, by appearing high, perhaps,
to some of us, and to others low.

The sense which we seek is given by our Lord, when he declares that the
kingdom of God is within us; or by St. Paul, when he tells us, that it
is righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. And now it is no
more a thing which we cannot yet have reached, or, on the other hand,
which we all have reached: there is now a great difference in us, some
are far from it, some are near it, and some are in it; and thus it is,
that they who are near it, seem in it to those who are afar off, and
far from it to those who are in it.

Now, first, do they seem far from it? Then, indeed, ours is a happy
state, as many of us as can truly feel that they live so constantly in
holy and heavenly tempers, in such lively faith and love, so tasting all
the blessings of God's kingdom, its peace, and its hope, and its joy,
that they cannot bear to think of that time, when these blessings were
not enjoyed except in prospect; when they rather desired to have faith
and love, than could be said actually to have them; when their tempers
were not holy and heavenly, although they were fully alive to the
excellence of their being so, and had seen them already cleansed from
the opposites of such a state, from ill-nature, and passion, and pride.

If any such there be, in whom good resolutions have long since ripened
into good actions, and the continued good actions have now led to
confirmed good habits, how miserable will they think it to be only "not
far from the kingdom of God!" How ill could they bear to go over again
the struggle which used to accompany every action, when it was done in
defiance of habits of evil; or to be called back to that condition when
resolutions for good were formed over and over again, because they were
so often broken, but had as yet rarely led to any solid fruit! How
thankful will they be to have escaped from that season when they were
seeking, but had not yet found; when they were asking of God, but had
not yet received; when they were knocking, but the door had not yet been
opened! They were then, indeed, not far from the kingdom of God, but
they were still without its walls; they were still strangers, and not
citizens. It had held out to them a refuge, and they had fled to it as
suppliants to the sanctuary; but they had not yet had the word of peace
spoken, to bid them no more kneel without, as suppliants, but to enter
and go in and out freely; for that all things were theirs, because they
were Christ's.

I have dwelt purposely somewhat the longer upon this, because the more
that we can feel the truth of this picture, the more that we can put
ourselves into the position of those who are within the kingdom of God,
and who, living in the light of it, look back with pity upon those who
are only kneeling without its gates,--the more strongly we shall feel
what must be our condition, if those who are without its gates appear to
us to be objects of envy rather than pity, because they are so near to
that place from which we feel ourselves to be so distant. Or, to speak
without a figure, if we could but understand how persons advanced in
goodness would shrink from the thought of being now only resolving to be
good, then we shall perceive how very evil must be our condition, if
this very resolving to be good seems to us to be an advance so
desirable; if we are so far from being good actually, that the very
setting ourselves in earnest to seek for good strikes us as a point of
absolute proficiency in comparison of our present degradation.

Yet is not this the case with many of us? Do we not consider it a great
point gained, if we can be brought to think seriously, to pray in
earnest, to read the Bible, to begin to look to our own ways and lives?
We feel it for ourselves, and others also feel it for us: it is natural,
it is unavoidable, that we feel great joy, that we think a great deal is
done, if we see any of you, after leading a life of manifest
carelessness, and therefore of manifest sin, beginning to take more
pains with himself, and so becoming what is called somewhat more steady
and more serious. I know that the impression is apt to be too strong
upon us: we are but too apt to boast for him who putteth on his armour
as for him who putteth it off; because he who putteth on his armour at
least shows that he is preparing for the battle, which so many never do
at all. We observe some of these signs of seriousness: we see perhaps,
that a person begins to attend at the Communion; that he pays more
attention to his ordinary duties; that he becomes more regular. We see
this, and we are not only thankful for it,--this we ought to be,--but we
satisfy ourselves too readily that all is done: we reckon a person,
somewhat too hastily, to be already belonging to the kingdom of God,
because we have seen him turning towards it. Then, if he afterwards does
not appear to be entered into it; if we see that he is not what we
expected, that he is no longer serious, no longer attentive to his
common duties, we are overmuch disappointed; and, perhaps are tempted
too completely to despair for him. Is it not that we confounded together
the beginning and the end; the being good, and the trying to become so:
the resolution with the act; the act with the habit? Did we not forget
that he is not at once out of danger who begins to mend: that the first
softening of the dry burning skin, the first abating of the hard quick
pulse, is far removed from the coolness, and steadiness, and even vigour
of health restored, or never interrupted?

But what made us forget truths so obvious? What made us confound things
so different that the most ignorant ought to be able to distinguish
them? Cannot we tell why it is? Is it not because there are so many in
whom we cannot see even as good signs as these,--of whom we cannot but
feel that it would be a great advance for them, a matter of earnest
thankfulness, if we could only see that they were not far from the
kingdom of God,--nay, even that their steps were tending thither? Let us
look ever so earnestly, let us watch ever so carefully, let us hope
ever so charitably, we cannot see, we can scarcely fancy that we see,
even the desire to turn to God. We do not see gross wickedness; it is
well; we see much that is amiable; that is well also: but the desire to
turn to God, the tending of the steps towards the kingdom of
heaven,--that we cannot see. But this is a thing, it may be said, that
man cannot see: it may exist, although we cannot perceive it. Oh, that
it might and may be so! Yet, surely, as out of the abundance of the
heart the mouth speaketh, so a principle so mighty as the desire of
turning to God cannot leave itself without a witness: some symptoms must
be shown to those who are eagerly watching for them; some ground for
hope must be afforded where hope is so ready to kindle. If no sign of
life appears, can the life indeed be stirring? And if the life be not
stirring; if the disorder is going on in so many cases, raging, with no
symptom of abatement; is it not natural, that when we do see such
symptoms, we should rejoice even with over-measure, that we should
forget how much is yet to be done, when we see that something has
been done.

To such persons, it would be an enviable state, to be not far from the
kingdom of God. But what, then, must be their state actually? A hopeful
one, according to many standards of judgment; a state that promises
well, it may be, for a healthy and prosperous life, with many friends,
perhaps with much distinction. We know that all this prospect may be
blighted; still it exists at present;--the healthy constitution, the
easy fortune, the cheerful and good-humoured temper, the quickness and
power of understanding; all these, no doubt, are hopeful signs for a
period of forty, or fifty, or perhaps sixty years to come. But what is
to come then? what is the prospect for the next period, not of fifty, or
sixty, not of a hundred, not of a thousand, years; not of any number
that can be numbered, but of time everlasting? Is their actual state one
of hopeful promise for this period, for this life which no death shall
terminate? Nay, is it a state of any promise at all, of any chance at
all? Suppose, for a moment, one with a crippled body, full of the seeds
of hereditary disease, poor, friendless, irritable in temper, low in
understanding; suppose such an one just entering upon youth, and ask
yourselves, for what would you consent that his prospects should be
yours? What should you think would be your chance of happiness in life,
if you were beginning in such a condition? Yet, I tell you that poor,
diseased, irritable, friendless cripple has a far better prospect of
passing his fifty, or sixty, years, tolerably, than they who have not
begun to turn towards God have of a tolerable eternity. Much more
wretched is the promise of their life; much more justly should we be
tempted, concerning them, to breathe that fearful thought, that it were
good for them if they had never been born. And now if, as by miracle,
that cripple's limbs were to be at once made sound, if the seeds of
disease were to vanish, if some large fortune were left him, if his
temper sweetened, and his mind became vigorous, should not we be
excused, considering what he had been and what he now was, if we, for a
moment, forgot the uncertainty of the future; if we thought that a
promise so changed, was almost equivalent to performance? And may not
this same excuse be urged for some over-fondness of confidence for their
well-doing whom we see so near to the kingdom of God, when we consider
how utter is the misery, how hopeless the condition of those who do not
appear to have, as yet, stirred one single step towards it?




LECTURE XIV.

       *       *       *       *       *

MATTHEW xxii. 14.

_For many are called, but few are chosen_.


The truth here expressed is one of the most solemn in the world, and
would be one of the most overwhelming to us, if habit had not, in a
manner, blunted our painful perception of it. There is contained in it
matter of thought more than we could exhaust, and deeper than we could
ever fathom. But on this I will not attempt to enter. I will rather take
that view of the text which concerns us here; I will see in how many
senses it is true, and with what feeling we should regard it.

"Many are called, but few are chosen." The direct application of this
was to the parable of those invited to the supper; in which it had been
related, how a great multitude had been invited, but how one among
them--and the application as well as the fact in human life, require
that this _one_ should be taken only as a specimen of a great
number--had been found unworthy to enjoy the feast prepared for them.
They had not on the wedding garment; they had not done their part to fit
themselves for the offered blessing: therefore they were called, but not
chosen. God had willed to do them good, but they would not; and
therefore, though he had called them at the beginning, he, in the end,
cast them out.

We have to do, then, not with an arbitrary call and an arbitrary choice,
as if God called many in mockery, meaning to choose out of them only a
few, and making his choice independently of any exertion of theirs. The
picture is very different; it is a gracious call to us all, to come and
receive the blessing; it is a reluctant casting out the greatest part of
us, because we would not try to render ourselves fit for it.

I said, that we would take the words of the text in reference to
ourselves, for here, too, it is true, that many are called, but few are
chosen. It is a large number of you, which I see before me; and if we
add to it all those who, within my memory, have sat in the same places
before you, we shall have a number very considerable indeed. All these
have been called; they have been sent here to enjoy the same advantages
with each other; and those advantages have been put within their reach.
They have entered into a great society which, on the one hand, might
raise them forward, or, on the other, depress them. There has been a
sufficient field for emulation: there have been examples and
instructions for good; there have been results of credit and of real
improvement made attainable to them, which might have lasted all their
lives long. To this, they have been all, in their turns, called; and out
of those so called, have all, or nearly all, been chosen? I am not
speaking of those, who, I trust, would be a very small number, to whom
the trial has failed utterly, who could look back on their stay here
with no feelings but those of shame. But would there not be a very large
number, to whom their stay here has been a loss, compared with what it
might have been; who have reaped but a very small part of those
advantages to which they had been at first called? Are there not too
many who must look back on a part, at least, of their time here as
wasted; on the seeds of bad habits sown, which, if conquered by
after-care, yet, for a long time, were injurious to them? Are there not
too many who carry away from here, instead of good notions, to be
ripened and improved, evil notions, to be weeded out and destroyed? Are
there not, in short, a great number who, after having had a great
advantage put within their reach, and purchased for them by their
friends, at a great expense, have made such insufficient use of their
opportunities, to say nothing stronger, as to make it a question
afterwards, whether it might not have been better for them had they
never come here at all?

Thus far I have been speaking of what are called the advantages of this
place in our common language. That argument, which Butler has so nobly
handled, in one of the greatest works in our language, the resemblance,
namely, between the course of things earthly and that of things
spiritual, is one which we should never fail to notice. We can discern
the type, as it were, of the highest truth of our Lord's sayings in the
experience of our common life in worldly things. When he tells us,
speaking of things spiritual, that "many are called, but few are
chosen;" that "whoso hath, to him shall be given; but from him that hath
not shall be taken away even that which he hath,"--although the highest
truth contained in these words be yet, in part, matter of faith, for we
have not yet seen the end of God's dealings with us: yet what we do see,
the evident truth of the words, that is, in respect to God's dealings
with us in the course of his earthly providence, may reasonably assure
us of their truth no less in respect to those dealings of God which as
yet are future. I began, therefore, with reminding you of the truth of
the words of the text with regard to worldly advantages; that even here,
on this small scale, the general law holds good; that more things are
provided for us than we will consent to use; that, in short, "many are
called, but few are chosen."

But it were ill done to limit our view to this: we are called to much
more than worldly advantages; and what if here, too, we add one more
example to confirm our Lord's words, that "many are called, but few
chosen?" Now here, as I said, it is very true that God's choice is as
yet not a matter of sight or of certainty to us; we cannot yet say of
ourselves, or of any other set of living men, that "few are chosen." But
though the full truth is not yet revealed, still, as there is a type of
it in our worldly experience, so there is also a higher type, an
earnest, of it in our spiritual experience: there is a sense, and that a
very true and a very important one, in which we can say already, say
now, actually, in the life that now is; say, even in the early stage of
it, that some are, and some are not, "chosen."

We have all been called, in a Christian sense, inasmuch as we have been
all introduced into Christ's church by Baptism; and a very large
proportion of us have been called again, many of us not very long since,
at our Confirmation. We have been thus called to enter into Christ's
kingdom: we have been called to lead a life of holiness and happiness
from this time forth even for ever. Nothing can be stronger than the
language in which the Scripture speaks of the nature of our high
calling: "All things," says St. Paul to the Corinthians, "all things are
yours; whether Paul, or Apollos, or Peter, or the world, or life, or
death, or things present, or things to come, all are yours; and ye are
Christ's, and Christ is God's." Now, if this be the prize to which we
are called, who are they who are also chosen to it? In the first and
most complete sense, no doubt, those who have entered into their rest;
who are in no more danger, however slight; with whom the struggle is
altogether past, and the victory securely won. These are entered within
the veil, whither we can as yet penetrate only in hope. But hope, in
its highest degree, differs little from assurance; and even, as we
descend lower and lower, still, where hope is clearly predominant, there
is, if not assurance, yet a great encouragement; and the Scripture,
which delights to carry encouragement to the highest pitch to those who
are following God, allows of our saying of even these that they are
God's chosen. It gives them, as it were, the title beforehand, to make
them feel how doubly miserable it must be not only not to obtain it, but
to forfeit it after it had been already ours. So then, there are senses
in which we may say that some are chosen now; although, strictly
speaking, the term can by us be applied, in its full sense, to those
only who are passed beyond the reach of evil.

Those, then, we may call chosen, who, having heard their call, have
turned to obey it, and have gone on following it. Those we may call
chosen,--I do not say chosen irrevocably, but chosen now; chosen so that
we may be very thankful to God on their behalf, and they thankful for
themselves,--who, since their Confirmation, or since a period more
remote, have kept God before their face, and tried to do His will. Those
are, in the same way, chosen, who having found in themselves the sin
which did most easily beset them, have struggled with it, and wholly, or
in a great measure, have overcome it. Thus, they are chosen, who, having
lived either in the frequent practice of selfish, extravagance, or of
falsehood, or of idleness, or of excess in eating and drinking, have
turned away from these things, and, for Christ's sake, have renounced
them. They are chosen, I think, in yet a higher sense, who, having found
their besetting sin to be, not so much any one particular fault, as a
general ungodly carelessness, a lightness which for ever hindered them
from serving God, have struggled with this most fatal enemy; and, even
in youth, and health, and happiness, have learnt what it is to be
sober-minded, what it is to think. Now, such as these have, in a manner,
entered into their inheritance; they are not merely called, but chosen.
God and spiritual things are not mere names to them, they are a reality.
Such persons have tasted of the promises; they have known the
pleasure--and what pleasure is comparable to it?--of feeling the bonds
of evil passion or evil habit unwound from about their spirit; they have
learnt what is that glorious liberty of being able to abstain from the
things which we condemn, to do the things which we approve. They have
felt true sense of power succeed to that of weakness. It is a delightful
thing, after a long illness, after long helplessness, when our legs have
been unable to support our weight, when our arms could lift nothing, our
hands grasp nothing, when it was an effort to raise our head from the
pillow, and it tired us even to speak in a whisper,--it is a delightful
thing to feel every member restored to its proper strength; to find that
exercise of limb, of voice, of body, which had been so long a pain,
become now a source of perpetual pleasure. This is delightful; it pays
for many an hour of previous weakness. But it is infinitely more
delightful to feel the change from weakness to strength in our souls; to
feel the languor of selfishness changed for the vigour of benevolence;
to feel thought, hope, faith, love, which before were lying, as it were,
in helplessness, now bounding in vigorous activity; to find the soul,
which had been so long stretched as upon the sick bed of this earth, now
able to stand upright, and looking and moving steadily towards heaven.

These are chosen; and they to whom this description does in no degree
apply, they are not chosen. They are not chosen in any sense, they are
called only. And, now, what is the proportion between the one and the
other; are there as many chosen as there have been many called? Or do
Christ's words apply in our case no less than in others; that though
they who are called are many, yet they who are chosen are few?

This I dare not answer; there is a good as well as an evil which is
unseen to the world at large, unseen even by all but those who watch us
most nearly and most narrowly. All we can say is, that there are too
many, who we must fear are not chosen; there are too few, of whom we can
feel sure that they are. Yet hope is a wiser feeling than its opposite;
it were as wrong as it would be miserable to abandon it. How gladly
would we hope the best things of all those whom we saw this morning at
Christ's holy table! How gladly would we believe of all such, that they
were more than called merely; that they had listened to the call: that
they had obeyed it; that they had already gained some Christian
victories; that they were, in some sense, not called only, but chosen.
But this we may say; that hope which we so long to entertain, that hope
too happy to be at once indulged in, you may authorize us to feel it;
you may convert it into confidence. Do you ask how? By going on steadily
in good, by advancing from good to better, by not letting impressions
fade with time. Now, with many of you, your confirmation is little more
than three months distant; when we next meet at Christ's table, it will
have passed by nearly half-a-year. It may be, that, in that added
interval, it will have lost much of its force; that, from various
causes, evil may have abounded in you more than good; that then shame,
or a willing surrender of yourselves to carelessness, will keep away
from Christ's Communion, many who have this day joined in it. But, if
this were not to be so; if those, whom we have seen with joy this day
communicating with us in the pledges of Christian fellowship, should
continue to do so steadily; if, in the meantime, traits shall appear in
you in other things that our hope was well founded; if the hatred of
evil and the love of good were to be clearly manifest in you; if by
signs not to be mistaken by those who watch earnestly for them, we might
be assured that your part was taken, that you were striving with us in
that service of our common Master, in which we would fain live and die;
if evil was clearly lessened among us--not laughed at, but discouraged
and put down; if instead of those turning away, who have now been with
us at Christ's table, others, who have now turned away, should then be
added to the number; then we should say, not doubtingly, that you were
chosen: that you had tasted of the good things of Christ; that the good
work of God was clearly begun in you. We might not, indeed, be without
care, either for you or for ourselves: God forbid, that, in that sense,
any of us should deem that we were chosen, until the grave has put us
beyond temptation. But how happy were it to think of you as Christ's
chosen, in that sense which should be a constant encouragement to us
all: to think of you as going on towards God; to think of you as living
to him daily; to think of you as on his side against all his enemies; to
think of you as led by his Spirit, as living members of his holy and
glorious Church,--militant now, in heaven triumphant!




LECTURE XV.

       *       *       *       *       *

LUKE xi. 25.

_When he cometh, he findeth it swept and garnished_.


JOHN v. 42.

_I know you, that ye have not the love of God in you_.


These passages, of which the first is taken from the gospel of this
morning's service, the other from the second lesson, differ in words,
but their meaning is very nearly the same. The house which was empty,
swept and garnished, was especially one empty of the love of God.
Whatever evil there may not have been in it; whatever good there may
have been in those of whom Christ spoke in the second passage: yet it
and they agreed in this; one thing they had not, which alone was worth,
all the rest besides; they had not the love of God.

And so it is still; many are the faults which we have not; many are the
good qualities which we have; but the life is wanting. What is so rare
as to find one who is not indifferent to God? What so rare, even rarer
than the other, as to find one who actually loves him?

Therefore it is that those who go in at the broad gate of destruction
are many, and those who go in at the narrow gate of life are few. For
destruction and life are but other terms for indifference to God on the
one hand, and love to him on the other. All who are indifferent to him,
die; a painless death of mere extinction, if, like the brute creation,
they have never been made capable of loving him; or a living death of
perpetual misery, if, like evil spirits and evil men, they might have
loved him and would not. And so all who love him, live a life, from
first to last, without sin and sorrow, if, like the holy angels, they
have loved him always; a life partaking at first of death, but
brightening more and more unto the perfect day, if, like Christians,
they were born in sin, but had been redeemed and sanctified to
righteousness.

Whoever has watched human character, whether in the young or the old,
must be well aware of the truth of this: he will know that the value of
any character is in proportion to the existence or to the absence of
this feeling, or rather, I should say, this principle. An exception may,
perhaps, be made for a small, a very small number of fanatics; an
apparent exception likewise exists in the case of many who seem to be
religious, but who really are not so. The few exceptions of the former
case are so very few, that we need not now stop to consider them, nor to
inquire how far even these would be exceptions if we could read the
heart as God reads it. The seeming exceptions being cases either of
hypocrisy, or of very common self-deceit, we need not regard either; for
they are, of course, no real objection to the truth of the general
statement. It remains true, then, generally, that the value of any
character is in proportion to the existence, or to the absence, in it of
the love of God.

But is there not another exception to be made for the case of children,
and of very young persons? Are they capable of loving God? and are not
their earthly relations, their parents especially, put to them, as it
were, in the place of God, as objects of trust, of love, of honour, of
obedience, till their minds can open to comprehend the love of their
Father who is in heaven? And does not the Scripture itself, in the few
places in which it seems directly to address children, content itself
with directing them to obey and honour their parents? Some notions of
this sort are allowed, I believe, to serve sometimes as an excuse, when
young persons are blamed for being utterly wanting in a sense of duty
to God.

The passages which direct children to obey their parents, are of the
same kind with those, directing slaves to obey their masters, and
masters to be kind to their slaves; like those, also, which John the
Baptist addressed to the soldiers and publicans: in none of all which
there is any command to love God, but merely a command to fulfil that
particular duty which most arose out of the particular relation, or
calling of the persons addressed. In fact, when parents are addressed,
they are directed only to do their duties to their children, just as
children are directed to do theirs to their parents; in both cases
alike, the common duty of parents and children to God is not dwelt upon,
because that is a duty which does not belong to them as parents, or as
children, but as human beings; and as such, it belongs to all alike. In
fact, the very language of St. Paul's command to children implies this;
for he says, "Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is
right:" right, that is, in the sight of God: so that the very reason for
which children are to discharge their earthly duties is, because that
earthly duty is commanded by, or involved in, their heavenly duty; if
they do not do it, they will not please God. But it is manifest that, in
this respect, there is for all of us one only law, so soon as we are
able to understand it. The moment that a child becomes capable of
understanding anything about God and Christ,--and how early that is,
every parent can testify,--that moment the duty to love God and Christ
begins. It were absurd to say, that this duty has not begun at the age
of boyhood. A boy is able to understand the force of religious motives,
as well as he can that of earthly motives: he cannot understand either,
perhaps, so well as he will hereafter; but he understands both enough,
for the purposes of his salvation; enough, to condemn him before God, if
he neglects them; enough to make him derive the greatest benefit from
faithfully observing them.

And what can have been the purpose with which the only particular of our
Lord's early life has been handed down to us, if it were not to direct
our attention to this special truth, that our youth, no less than our
riper age, belongs to God? "Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's
business?" were words spoken by our Lord when he was no more than twelve
years old. At twelve years old, he thought of preparing himself for the
duties of his after-life; and of preparing himself for them, because
they were God's will. He was to be about his Father's business. This is
Christ's example for the young; this, and scarcely anything more than
this, is recorded of his early years. Those are not like Christ who, at
that same age, or even older, never think at all of the business of
their future lives, still less would think of it, not as the means of
their own maintenance or advancement, but as the duty which they owe
to God.

Such as these are the very persons whose hearts are like the house in
the parable, empty, swept, and garnished. The house so described in the
parable is one out of which an evil spirit has just departed. In case of
the young, the evil spirit in this sense, that is, as representing some
one particular favourite sin, may perhaps have never entered it. That
empty, swept, and garnished house, how like is it to what I have seen,
to what I am seeing so continually, when a boy comes here with much
still remaining of the innocence of childhood! Evil spirit, in the sense
of any one particular vice, there is none to be found in that heart, nor
has there been any ever. It is empty, swept, and garnished: there is the
absence of evil; there are the various faculties, the furniture, as they
may be called, of the house of our spirits, which the spirit uses either
for evil or for good. There is innocence, then; there is, also, the
promise of power. God hath richly endowed the earthly house of our
tabernacle: various and wonderful is the furniture of body and mind with
which it is supplied. How can we help admiring that open and cheerful
brow which, as yet, no care or sin has furrowed; those light and active
limbs, full of health and vigour; the eye so quick; the ear so undulled;
the memory so ready; the young curiosity so eager to take in new
knowledge; the young feelings, not yet spoiled by over-excitement, ready
to admire, ready to love? There is the house, the house of God's
building, the house which must abide for ever; but where is the spirit
to inhabit it? Evil spirit there is none: is it, then, possessed by the
Spirit of God? Has the fire from heaven as yet descended upon that
house,--the living sign of God's presence, which alone can convert the
house of perishable clay into the everlasting temple?

Can that blessed Spirit of God be indeed there, and yet no sign of his
presence be manifest? It may be so, or to speak more truly, it might
have been supposed to be so, if God's word had not declared the
contrary. What God's secret workings are; in how many ways, to us
inscrutable, he may pervade all nature; in how many cases he may be near
us, and we know it not; may, perhaps, be amongst those real mysteries,
those truths revealed to none, nor to be revealed; those yet uncleared
forests, so to speak, of the world of nature, into which the light of
grace has not been permitted to penetrate. But all such mysteries are to
us as if they did not exist at all: we have nothing to do with them. God
has told us nothing of his unseen and undiscernible presence; when and
where he is so present, he is to us as if he were not present at all.
God was in the wilderness of Horeb before the bush was kindled; but he
was not there for Moses. God, in some sense discernible, it may be, to
other beings, may be in that house which, to us is empty; but God, our
own God, the Holy Spirit, into whose service we were baptized, where he
is, the house is not empty to us, but full of light. Invisible in
himself, the signs of his presence are most visible: where no works, no
fruits of the Holy Spirit are to be discerned, there, according to our
Lord's express declaration, there the Holy Spirit is not.

But the light which declares his presence may indeed be a little spark;
just to be seen, and no more. It may show that he has not abandoned all
his right to the house of our tabernacle as yet; that he would desire to
possess us fully. Such a little spark, such an evidence of the Holy
Spirit's presence, is to be found in the outward profession of
Christianity. They who call Jesus Lord, do it by the Holy Ghost; and,
therefore, it is quite true in this sense, that in every baptized
Christian, who has not utterly apostatized, there is that faint sign of
the Holy Spirit's still having a claim upon him; he is not yet utterly
cast off. This is true; but it is not to our present purpose; such a
feeble sign is a sign of God's yet unwearied mercy, but no sign of our
salvation. The presence with which the parable is concerned, is a far
more effectual presence than this; the house in which there is no more
than such a faint sign of a divine inhabitant, is, in the language of
the parable, empty. To no purpose of our salvation is the Spirit of God
present in the house, when the light of his presence does not flash
forth from every part of it, when it is not manifest, not only that he
has not quite cast it off to go to ruin, but that he has been pleased to
make it his temple.

In this sense, therefore, in this practical, scriptural, Christian
sense, those many young minds, which we have seen so often, may truly be
called empty. But will they remain so long? How often have I seen the
early innocence of boyhood overcast; the natural simplicity of boyhood,
its open truth, its confident affection, its honest shame, perverted,
blunted, hardened! How often have I seen the seven evil spirits enter in
and dwell there,--I know not, and never may know, whether to be cast out
again, or to abide for ever. But I have seen them enter, and, whilst the
person was yet within my view, I have not seen them depart. And why have
they entered; why have they marred that which was so beautiful? For one
only reason,--because the house was empty, because the Spirit of God was
not there: there was no love of God, no thought of God. Mere innocence
taints and spoils as surely before the influence of the world, as true
principle flourishes in spite of it, and strengthens. This, too, I have
seen, not once only: I have seen the innocence of early boyhood
sanctified by something better than innocence, which gave a promise of
abiding. I have seen, in other words, that the house was not empty; that
the Spirit of God was there. I have watched the effect of those
influences, which you know so well: the second half-year came, a period
when mere innocence is sure to be worn away, greatly tainted, if not
utterly gone; but still, in the cases which I am now alluding to, the
promise of good was not less, but greater, there was a more tried, and,
therefore, a stronger goodness. I have watched this, too, till it passed
on, out of my sight. I never saw the blessed Spirit of God depart from
the house which he had chosen: I well believe that he abides in it
still, and will abide in it even to the day of Jesus Christ.

This I have seen, and this I shall continue to see; for still the great
work of evil and of good is going on; still the house, at first empty,
is possessed by the spirits of evil, or by the Spirit of God. And if we
do not see the signs of the Spirit of God, we are but too sure that the
evil spirit is there. We know him by the manifold signs of folly,
coarseness, carelessness; even when we see not, as yet, his worse fruits
of falsehood and profligacy. We know him by the sign of an increased,
and increasing selfishness, the everlasting cry of the thousand passions
of our nature, all for ever calling out, "Give, give;" all for ever
impatient, complaining, when their gratification is withheld, when the
call of duty is set before them. We know him by pride and
self-importance, as if nothing was so great as self, as if our own
opinions, judgment, feelings were to be consulted in all things. We know
him by the deep ungodliness which he occasions--no thought of God, much
less any love of him; living utterly without him in the world, or, at
least, whilst health and prosperity continue. These are the fatal signs
which show that the house is no longer empty; that the evil spirits have
entered in, and dwell there, to make it theirs, as too often happens,
for time and for eternity.




LECTURE XVI.

       *       *       *       *       *

MATHEW xi. 10.

_I send my messenger before thy face, who shall prepare thy way before
thee_.


If it was part of God's dispensation, that there should be one to
prepare the way before Christ's first coming, it may be expected much
more, that there should be some to prepare the way before his second.
And so it is expressed in the collect for the third Sunday in Advent: "O
Lord Jesus Christ, who at thy first coming didst send thy messenger to
prepare thy way before thee; grant that the ministers and stewards of
thy mysteries may likewise so prepare and make ready thy way, by turning
the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, that at thy
second coming to judge the world we may be found an acceptable people in
thy sight, who livest and reignest with the Father and the Holy Spirit,
ever one God, world without end. Amen." NOW, in what does this preparing
for him consist; and what is its object? The Scripture will inform us as
to both. The object is, "Lest he come and smite the earth with a curse;"
lest, when he shall come, his coming, which should be our greatest joy
and happiness, should be our everlasting destruction; for there can
abide before him nothing that is evil. This is the object of preparing
for Christ's coming. Next, in what does the preparation consist? It
consists in teaching men to live above the common notions of their age
and country; to raise their standard higher; to live after what is right
in God's judgment, which often casts away, as faulty and bad, what men
were accustomed to think good. And as the people of Israel, although
they had God's revelation among them, had yet let their standard of good
and evil become low, even so it has been in the Christian Israel. We
have God's will in our hands, yet our judgments are not formed upon it;
and, therefore, they who would prepare us for Christ's coming, must set
before us a commandment which is new, although old: in one sense old, in
every generation, inasmuch as it is the same which we had from the
beginning; in another sense, in every generation more new, inasmuch, as
the habits opposed to it have become the more confirmed; and the longer
the night has lasted, the more strange to our eyes is the burst of the
returning light.

But when we thus speak of the common notions of our age and country
being deficient, and thus, in effect, commend notions which would be
singular, do we not hold a language inconsistent with our common
language and practice? Do we not commonly regard singularity as a fault,
and attach a considerable authority to the consent of men in general?
Nay, do we not often appeal to this consent as to a proof which a sane
mind must admit as decisive? Even in speaking of good and evil, have not
the very words gained their present sense because the common consent of
mankind has agreed to combine notions of self-satisfaction, of honour,
and of love, with what we call good, and the contrary with what we
call evil?

A short time may, perhaps, not be misapplied in endeavouring to explain
this matter; in showing where, and for what reasons, the common opinion
of our society is to be followed, where it is to be suspected, and
where it is absolutely to be shunned or trampled under foot, as clearly
and certainly evil.

I must begin with little things, in order to show the whole question
plainly. Take those tastes in us which most resemble the instincts of a
brute; and you will find that in these, as with instinct, common consent
becomes a sure rule. When I speak of those tastes which most resemble
instincts, I mean those in which nature, doing most for us at first,
leaves least for us to learn for ourselves. This seems the character of
instinct: it is far more complete than reason in its first stage, but it
admits of no after improvement; the brute in the thousandth generation
is no way advanced beyond the brute in the first. Of our tastes, even of
those belonging to our bodily senses, that which belongs to what are
called particularly our organs of taste is the one most resembling an
instinct: we have less to do for its improvement than in any other
instance. Men being here, then, upon an equality, with a faculty given
to all by nature, and improved particularly by none, those who differ
from the majority are likely to differ not from excellence but from
defect: not because they have a more advanced reason, but because they
have a less healthy instinct, than their neighbours. Thus, in those
matters which relate to the sense of taste--I am obliged to take this
almost trivial instance, because it so well illustrates the principle of
the whole question--we hold the consent of men in general to be a good
rule. If any one were to choose to feed upon what this common taste had
pronounced to be disgusting, we should not hesitate to say that such an
appetite was diseased and monstrous.

Now, let us take our senses of sight and hearing, and we shall find that
just in the proportion in which these less resemble instincts than the
sense of taste, so is common consent a less certain rule. Up to a
certain point they are instincts: there are certain sounds which, I
suppose, are naturally disagreeable to the ear; while, on the other
hand, bright and rich colours are, perhaps, naturally attractive to the
eye. But, then, sight and hearing are so connected with our minds that
they are susceptible of very great cultivation, and thus differ greatly
from instincts. As the mind opens, outward sights and sounds become
connected with a great number of associations, and thus we learn to
think the one or the other beautiful, for reasons which really depend
very much on the range of our own ideas. Consider, for a moment, the
beautiful in architecture. If the model of the leaning tower of Pisa
were generally adopted in our public buildings, all men's common sense
would cry out against it as a deformity, because a leaning wall would
convey to every mind the notion of insecurity, and every body would feel
that it was unpleasant to see a building look exactly as if it were
going to fall down. Now, what I have called common sense is, in a
manner, the instinct of our reason: it is that uniform level of reason
which all sane persons reach to, and the wisest in matters within its
province do not surpass. But go beyond this, and architecture is no
longer a matter of mere common sense, but of science, and of cultivated
taste. Here the standard of beauty is not fixed by common consent; but,
in the first instance, devised or discovered by the few: and, so far as
it is received by the many, received by them on the authority of the
few, and sanctioned, so to speak, not so much from real sympathy and
understanding, as from a reasonable trust and deference to those who are
believed the best judges.

Here, then, we suppose that the common judgment is right; but we
perceive a difference between this case and the one mentioned before,
inasmuch as in the first instance the right judgment of the mass of
mankind is their own; in the second instance, they have adopted it out
of deference to others. Not only, then, will men's common judgment be
right in matters of instinct and of common sense, but also in higher
matters, where, although they could not have discovered what was right,
yet they were perfectly willing to adopt it, when discovered by others.
And this opens a very wide field. For in all matters which come under
the dominion of fashion, where the avowed object is the convenience or
gratification of society, men listen to those who profess to teach them
with almost an excess of docility: they will adopt sometimes fashions
which are not convenient. But yet, as men can tell well enough by
experience whether they do find a thing convenient and agreeable or not,
so it is most likely that fashions which continue long and generally
prevalent are founded upon sound principles; because else men, being
well capable of knowing what convenience is, and being also well
disposed to follow it, would neither have been very long or very
generally mistaken in this matter; nor would have acquiesced in their
mistake contentedly.

We do perfectly right, then, to regard the common opinion as a rule in
all points of dress, in our houses and furniture, in those lighter
usages of society which come under the denomination of manners, as
distinguished from morals. In all these, if the mass of mankind could
not find out what would best suit them, yet they are quite ready to
adopt it when it is found out; and so they equally arrive at truth. But
take away this readiness, and the whole case is altered. If there be any
point in which men are not ready to adopt what is best for them; if they
are either indifferent, or still more, if they are averse to it; if
they thus have neither the power of discovering it for themselves, nor
the will to avail themselves of it, when discovered for them; then it is
clear that, in such a point, the common judgment will be of no value,
nay, there will even be a presumption that it is wrong.

Now as the common consent of mankind was most sure in matters where
their sense most resembled instinct, that is, where nature had done most
for them, and left them least to do for themselves; as here, therefore,
they who are sound are the great majority, and the exceptions are no
better than disease; so if there be any part of us which is the direct
opposite to instinct, a part in which nature has done next to nothing
for us, and all is to be done by ourselves; then, here the common
consent of mankind will be of the least value; here the majority will be
helpless and worthless; and they who are happy enough to be exceptions
to this majority, will be no other than Christ's redeemed.

Now, again, if this deficient part of our nature could be seen purely
distinct from every other; if it alone dictated our language, and
inspired our actions, then it would follow, that language which must
ever be fixed by the majority, would be, in fact, the language of the
world of infinite evil; and our actions those of mere devils. Then,
whoever of us would be saved, must needs begin by forswearing,
altogether, both the language and the actions of his fellow-men. But
this is not so; in almost every instance this deficient part of our
nature acts along with others that are not so corrupted; it mars their
work, undoubtedly; it often confuses and perverts our language; it
always taints our actions; but it does not wholly usurp either the one
or the other; and thus, by God's blessing, man's language yet affords a
high witness to divine truth, and even men's judgments and actions
testify, though with infinite imperfection, to the existence and
excellence of goodness.

And this it is which forms one of the great perplexities of life; for as
there is enough of what is right in men's judgments and conduct to
forbid us from saying, that we must take the very rule of contraries,
and think and do just the opposite to the opinions and practice of men
in general; so, on the other hand, there is always so much wrong in
them, that we may never dare to follow them as a standard, but shall
find, that if trusted to as such, they will inevitably betray us. So
that in points of greater moment than mere manners and fashion, it will
ever be true, that if we would be prepared for Christ's coming, we must
rise to a far higher standard than that of society in general; that in
the greatest concerns of human life, the practice of the majority,
though always containing something of good, is yet in its prevailing
character, as regards God, so evil, that they who are content to follow
it cannot be saved.

This is the explanation of the apparent difficulty in the general, and
thus, while acknowledging that there are points in which men, by common
consent, make out what is best; and others in which, although they do
not make it out, nor at first appreciate it, yet they are very willing
to adopt it upon trust, and so come by experience to value it; while,
therefore, there are a great many things in which singularity is either
a disease or a foolishness; so again there are other points in which men
in general have not the power to make out what is good, nor yet the
docility to adopt it; and, therefore, in these points, which relate to
the great matters of life, singularity is wisdom and salvation, and he
who does as others do, perishes. That is what is called the corruption
of human nature. I shall attempt, on another occasion, to go into some
further details, and show, by common examples, how strangely our
judgment and practice contain, with much that is right, just that one
taint or defect which, as a whole, spoils them. And this one defect will
be found to be, as the Scripture declares, a defect in our sense of our
relation towards God.




LECTURE XVII.

       *       *       *       *       *

1 CORINTHIANS ii. 12.

_We have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit which is
of God_.


And, therefore, he goes on to say, our language is different from that
of others, and not always understood by them; the natural man receiveth
not the things of God, for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he
know them, because they are spiritually discerned. That is, they are
discerned only by a faculty which he has not, namely, by the Spirit;
and, therefore, as beings devoid of reason cannot understand the truths
of science, or of man's wisdom, for they are without the faculty which
can discern them; so beings devoid of God's Spirit cannot understand the
truths of God.

Now, in order to turn this passage to our profit, we need not consider
those who are wholly without God's Spirit, or inquire whether, indeed,
there be any such; it is not that there are two broadly marked divisions
of all men, those who have not the Spirit of God at all, and those who
have it abundantly: if it were so, the separation of the great day of
judgment would be begun already, nor would it require, in order to
effect it rightly, the wisdom of Him who trieth the very hearts and
reins. No doubt there will be at last but two divisions of us all, the
saved and the lost; but now the divisions are infinite; so much so that
the great body of us offer much matter for hope as well as for fear. We
cannot say, that they are without the Spirit of God; yet neither can we
say that they are led by the Spirit, so as to be God's true servants. We
cannot say, that the things of God's are absolutely to them as
foolishness; yet certainly, we cannot say either, that they are to them
as the divinest wisdom.

And here we return to the subject on which I was speaking last Sunday.
It is because we are not led by the Spirit of God, but have within us
much of the spirit of the world, that our judgments of right and wrong
are so faulty; and that this faultiness is particularly seen in our
faint sense of our relations to God. These relations seem continually
foolishness to us, because they are spiritually discerned, and we have
so little of God's Spirit to enable us to discern them. And our
blindness here affects our whole souls; we have, in consequence of it, a
much fainter perception even of those truths which reason can discern by
herself; or, at any rate, if we do not doubt them, they have over us
much less influence.

Now we will first see how much of natural reason, and even of the Spirit
of God, does exist in our common judgments; for it is fair to see and to
allow what there is of right in our language and sentiments, as well as
to note what is wrong. Reason influences thus much, that we not only
commend good generally, and blame evil; but even, in particular cases,
we commend, I think, each separate virtue, and we blame each separate
vice. I never heard of justice, truth, kindness, self-denial, &c., being
other than approved of in themselves; or injustice, falsehood, malice,
and selfishness being other than condemned. And the Spirit of God
influences at least thus much, that we shrink from direct blasphemy and
profaneness; we cannot but respect those whom we believe to be living
sincerely in the fear of God; and further, if we thought our death
near, we should desire to hear of God, and to depart from this life
under his favour. No doubt, all such feelings, so far as they go, are
the work of God's Spirit: whatever is good and right in our minds
towards God, that proceeds not from the spirit of the world, but from
the Spirit of God.

Where, then, is the great defect which yet continually makes our
practical judgments quite wrong; which makes us, in fact, so often
countenance and support evil, and discountenance and discourage good?
First, it is owing to the spirit of carelessness. One of the most
emphatic terms by which a good man is expressed in the language of the
Greek philosophers, is that of [Greek: opdouiaos], "one who is in
earnest." To be in earnest is, indeed, with, most of us, the same as to
be good; it is not that we love evil, but that we are indifferent both
to it and to good. Now, many of us are very seldom in earnest. By this I
mean, that the highest part of our minds, and that which judges of the
highest things, is generally slumbering or but half awake. We may go
through, a very busy day, and yet not be, in this true sense, in earnest
at all; our best faculties may, as it were, be all the while sleeping or
playing. It is notorious how much this is so in the common intercourse
of society in the world. Light anecdotes; playful remarks; discussions,
it may be, about the affairs of the neighbourhood, or, in some
companies, on questions of science or party politics; all these may be
often heard; but we may talk on all these brilliantly and well, and yet
our best nature may not once be called to exert itself. So again, in
mere routine business, it is the same: the body may toil; the pen move
swiftly; the thoughts act in the particular matter before them
vigorously; and yet we our proper selves, beings understanding and
choosing between good and evil, have never bestirred ourselves at all.
It has been but a skirmishing at the outposts; not a sword had been
drawn in the main battle. Take younger persons, and the same thing is
the case even more palpably. Here there is less of business in the
common sense of the term; the mind is almost always unbraced and
resting. We pass through the good and evil of our daily life, and our
proper self scarcely ever is aroused to notice either the one or
the other.

But the worst of it is, that this carelessness is not altogether
accidental: it is a carelessness which we do not wish to break. So long
as it lasts, we manage to get the activity and interest of life, without
a sense of its responsibility. We like exceedingly to lay the reins, as
it were, upon the neck of our inclinations, to go where they take us,
and to ask no questions whether we are in the right road or no.
Inclination is never slumbering: this gives us excitement enough to save
us from weariness, without the effort of awakening our conscience too.
Therefore society, expressing in its rules the feelings of its
individual members, prescribes exactly such a style of conversation as
may keep in exercise all other parts of our nature except that one which
should be sovereign of all, and whose exercise is employed on
things eternal.

Not being, then, properly in earnest,--that is, our conscience and our
choice of moral good and evil being in a state of repose,--our language
is happily contrived so as that it shall contain nothing to startle our
sleeping conscience, if her ears catch any of its sounds. We still
commend good and dispraise evil, both in the general and in the
particular. But as good and evil are mixed in every man, and in various
proportions, he who commends, the little good of a bad man, saying
nothing of his evil,--or he who condemns the little evil of a good man,
saying nothing of his good,--leads us evidently to a false practical
conclusion; he leads us to like the bad man and to dislike the good.
Again, the lesser good becomes an evil if it keeps out a greater good;
and, in the same way, the lesser evil becomes a good. If we have no
thought of comparing good things together, if our sovereign nature be
asleep, then we shall most estimate the good to which we are most
inclined; and where we find this we shall praise it, not observing that
it is taking up the place of a greater good which the case requires,
and, therefore, that it is in fact an evil. So that our moral judgments
may lead practically to great evil: we may join with bad men and despise
good; we may approve of qualities which, are, in fact, ruining a man;
and despise others which, in the particular case, are virtues; without
ever in plain words condemning virtue or approving vice.

But, farther, this habit of never being in earnest greatly lowers the
strength of our feelings even towards the good which we praise and
towards the evil which we condemn. It was an admirable definition of
that which excites laughter, that it was that which is out of rule, that
which is amiss, that which is unsightly, (these three ideas, and other
similar ones, are alike contained in the single Greek word [Greek:
aischron],) provided that it was unaccompanied by pain. This definition
accounts for the otherwise extraordinary fact, that there is something
in moral evil which, in some instances, affects the mind ludicrously.
That is to say, if moral evil affects us with no pain; if we see in it
nothing, so to speak, but its irregularity, its strange contrast with
what is beautiful, its jarring with the harmony of the system around us;
then it does acquire that character which is well defined as being
ridiculous. Thus it is notorious that trifling follies, and even gross
vices, are often so represented in works of fiction as to be
exceedingly ludicrous. It is enough, as an instance of what I mean, to
name the vice of drunkenness. Get rid for the moment of the notions of
vice or sin which, accompany it, and which give moral pain; get rid also
of those points in it which awaken physical disgust; retain merely the
notion of the incoherent language, and the strange capricious gait of
intoxication; and we have then an image merely ridiculous, as much, so
as the rambling talk and absurd gestures of the old buffoons.

Here, then, we have the secret of vice becoming laughable; and of things
which are really wicked, disgusting, hateful, being expressed by names
purely ludicrous. Where no great physical pain or distress is occasioned
by what is evil, our sense of its ludicrousness will be exactly in
proportion to the faintness of our sense of moral evil; or, in other
words, to our want of being in earnest. The evil that does not seriously
pain or inconvenience man, is very apt to be regarded with feelings
approaching to laughter, if we have no sense of pain at the notion of
its being an offence against God.

Thus, then, we have seen how, from the want of being in earnest, from
the habitual slumber of conscience, or that sovereign part of us which
looks upon our whole state with reference to its highest interests, and
passes judgment upon all our actions,--how, from the practical absence
of these, we may get to follow evil persons, and be indifferent to the
good; to admire qualities which, from usurping the place of better ones,
are actually ruinous; and, finally, to regard all common evil not so
much with deep abhorrence, as with a disposition to laugh at it. And
thus the practical judgment and influence of the society around us may
be fatally evil; while the society all the time shall contain, even in
its very perversion, various elements of truth and of good.

I have kept to general language, to general views, perhaps too much; but
all the time my mind has been fixed on the particular application of
this, which lies scarcely beneath the surface, but which I cannot well
bear more fully to unveil. But whoever has attended to what I have been
saying, will be able, I should trust, to make the application, for
himself, to those points in our society which most need correction. He
will be able to understand how it is that the influence of the place is
not better, while it undoubtedly contains so much of good; how the
public opinion of a Christian school may yet be, in many respects, very
unchristian. If he has attended at all to what I have said about our so
rarely being in earnest, he will see something of the mischief of some
of those publications, of those books, of that tone of conversation,
which, I suppose, are here, as elsewhere, in fashion. Utterly impossible
is it to lay down a rule for others in such matters: to say this book is
too light, or this is an excess of light reading, or this laugh was too
unrestrained, or that tone of trifling too perpetual. But, in these
things, we should all judge ourselves; and remember that you are so
little under outward restraint, your choice of reading is so free, your
intercourse with one another so wholly uncontrolled, that, enjoying thus
the full liberty of more advanced years, you incur also their
responsibility. There is, doubtless, an excess of light reading, both in
kind and in quantity; there is such a thing as a tone of conversation
and manner too entirely, and too frequently, trifling. And you must be
quite aware that we are placed here for something else than to indulge
such a temper as this. Cheerfulness and thoughtlessness have no
necessary connexion; the lightest spirits, which are indeed one of the
greatest of earthly blessings, often play around the most earnest
thought and the tenderest affection, and with far more grace than when
they are united with the shallowness and hardness of him who is, in the
sight of God, a fool. It were a strange notion, that we could never be
merry without intoxication, yet not stranger than to think that mirth is
the companion only of folly or of sin. But, setting God in Christ before
us, then the conscience is awake; then we are in earnest; then we
measure things rightly; then we feel them strongly; then we love those
that are good, and shun those that are evil; then we learn that sin is
no matter of laughter, that it ill deserves to be clothed under a
ludicrous name; for that thing which we laugh at, that which we so
miscall, is indeed the cause of infinite evil; for that Christ died; for
that there are some who die that death which lasts for ever.




LECTURE XVIII.

       *       *       *       *       *

GENESIS xxvii. 38.

_And Esau said unto his father, Hast thou but one blessing, my father?
Bless me, even me also, O my father_.


MATTHEW xv. 27.

_And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall
from their master's table_.


Of these two passages, the first, as we must all remember, is taken from
the first lesson of this morning's service; the second is from the
morning's gospel. Both speak the same language, and point out, I think,
that particular view of the story of Jacob obtaining the blessing which
is most capable of being turned to account; for, as to the conduct of
Jacob and his mother, it is manifestly no more capable of affording us
benefit, as a matter of example, than the conduct, in some respects
similar, of the unjust steward in our Lord's parable. The example,
indeed, is of the same kind as that. If the steward was so anxious about
his future worldly welfare, and Jacob about the worldly welfare of his
descendants, that they did not scruple to obtain their ends, the one by
dishonesty, the other by falsehood, much more should we be anxious about
the true welfare of ourselves and those belonging to us, which no such
unworthy means can be required to gain. But the point of the story to
which the text refers, and which is illustrated also by the words of
the Syrophoenician woman, is one which very directly concerns us all,
being no other than this,--what should be the effect upon our own minds
of witnessing others possessed of greater advantages than ourselves,
whether obtained by the immediate gift of God, through the course of his
ordinary providence, or acquired directly by some unjust or unlawful act
of those who are in possession of them?

Now, it is evident that, as equality is not the rule either of nature or
of human society, there must be many in every congregation who are so
far in the condition of Esau and of the Syrophoenician woman, as to be
inferior to others around them in some one or more advantages. The
inferiority may consist in what are called worldly advantages, or in
natural advantages, or in spiritual advantages, or in some or all of
these united. And it is not to be doubted that the sense of this
inferiority is a hard trial, both as respects our feelings towards God
and towards men. It is a hard trial; but yet, no trial overtakes us but
such as is common to man: and here, as in all other cases, God will,
with the trial, also make a way for us to escape, that we may be able
to bear it.

Let us consider, then, some of the most common cases in which this
inferiority exists amongst us. With regard to worldly advantages, the
peculiar nature of this congregation makes it less necessary than it
generally would be, to dwell upon inequality in these: in fact, speaking
generally, we are a very unusual example of equality in these respects;
the advantages of station and fortune are enjoyed not, literally, in an
equal degree by all of us, but equally as compared with, the lot of the
great mass of society; we all enjoy the necessaries, and most of the
comforts of life. What differences there are would, probably, appear in
instances seemingly trifling, if, indeed, any thing were really
trifling by which the temper and feelings, and through them the
principles, of any amongst us may be affected for good or for evil. It
may possibly happen that, in the indulgences, or means of indulgence,
given to you by your friends at home, there may be sometimes, such a
difference as to excite discontent or jealousy. It may be, that some are
apt to exult over others, by talking of the pleasures, or the liberty,
which they enjoy; and which the friends of others, either from necessity
or from a sense of duty, are obliged to withhold. If this be ever felt
by any of you as a trial; if it gall your pride, as well as restrict
your enjoyments; then remember, that here, even in this seemingly little
thing, the inferiority of which you complain may be either increased
ten-fold, or changed into a blessed superiority. Increased ten-fold,
even as from him that hath not, shall be taken away even that which he
hath, if by discontent, and evil passions towards God and man, you make
yourselves a hundred times more inferior spiritually than you were in
outward circumstances; but changed into a blessed superiority, if it be
borne with meekness, and patience, and thankfulness, even as it was said
of the Gentile centurion, that there had not been found faith equal to
his, no, not in Israel.

But turning from worldly advantages to those which are called natural,
and the inequality here is at once as great as elsewhere. In all
faculties of body and mind; in the vigour of the senses, of the limbs,
of the general constitution; in the greater or less liability to disease
generally, or to any particular form of it; or, again, in powers of
mind, in quickness, in memory, in imagination, in judgment; the
differences between different persons in this congregation must be
exceedingly wide. But, with regard to bodily powers, the trial is little
felt, till the inferiority is shown in actual suffering from pain or
from disease. So long as we are in health, our enjoyments are so many,
and we so easily accommodate our habits to our powers, that a mere
inferiority of strength, whether it be of limb or of constitution, is
not apt to make us dissatisfied. But if it comes to actual illness or to
pain, if we are deprived of the common enjoyments and occupations of our
age, then perhaps the trial begins to be severe; and when we look at
others who have taken the same liberties with their health as we have
done, and see them notwithstanding perfectly well and strong, while we
are disabled or suffering, we may think that God has dealt hardly with
us, and may be inclined to ask with Esau, "Hast thou but one blessing,
my Father? bless me, even me also, O my Father!" Now this language,
according to the sense in which we use it, is either blameable or
innocent. If we mean to say, "Hast thou health to give to others only
and not to me? give me this blessing also, as thou hast given it to my
brethren:" then it has in it somewhat of discontent and murmuring; it
implies a claim to which God never listens. But if we mean, "Hast thou
only one kind of blessing, my father? If thou hast blest others in one
way, I murmur not nor complain: but out of thine infinite store, give me
also such a blessing as may be convenient for me;" then God hears the
prayer, then he gives the blessing, and gives it so richly, and makes it
bear so evidently the mark of his love, that they who were last are
become first; if others have health, and we have sickness, yet the
spirit of patience and cheerful submission which God gives with it is so
great a blessing, and makes us so certainly happy, that the strongest
and healthiest of our friends have often far more reason to wish to
change places with us, than we with them.

Let us now take inequality in powers of mind. And here, undoubtedly, the
difference is apt to be a trial. Not that, probably, it excites
discontent or murmuring against God; nor jealousy against those whose
faculties are better than our own: the trial is of another kind; we are
tempted to make our inferiority an excuse for neglect; because we cannot
do so much nor so easily as others, we do far less than we might do. But
the parable shows us plainly, that if one talent only has been given us,
while others have ten, yet that the one, no less than the ten, must be
made to yield its increase. Here is the feeling expressed so earnestly
by the woman entreating Christ to heal her daughter. "The dogs eat of
the crumbs which fall from their master's table." Small as may be the
portion of power given us, when compared with the plenty vouchsafed to
others, still it is capable of nourishing us if we make use of it; still
it shows that we too have our blessing. And if using it with
thankfulness, if doing our very best with it, knowing that "a man is
accepted according to what he hath, and not according to what he hath
not," we labour humbly and diligently; then, not only does the talent
itself become increased, so that our Lord, when he comes to reckon with
us, may receive his own with usury: but a blessing of another kind is
added to our labours, again, as in the former case, making those who
were last to become first. For if there be one thing on earth which is
truly admirable, it is to see God's wisdom blessing an inferiority of
natural powers, when they have been honestly, humbly, and zealously
cultivated. From how many pains are they delivered, to which great
natural talents are continually exposed; irritation, jealousy, a morbid
and nervous activity, bearing fruits not of peace, but of gall! With
what blessings are they crowned, to which, the most powerful natural
understanding is a stranger! the love of truth gratified, without the
fear that truth will demand the sacrifice of personal vanity; the line
of duty clearly discerned, because those mists of passion and
selfishness which obscure it so often from the view of the keenest
natural perception, have been dispersed by the spirit of humility and
love; imperfect knowledge patiently endured, because whatever knowledge
is enjoyed is known to be God's gift, and what he gives, or what he
withholds, is alike welcome. This is the blessing of those who having
had inferior natural powers, have so laboured to improve them according
to God's will, that on all there has been grafted, as it were, some
better power of grace, to yield a fruit most precious both for earth
and heaven.

But I spoke of an equality of spiritual advantages also, and this is
perhaps the hardest trial of all. Oh, how great is this inequality in
truth, when it seems to be so little! All of you, the children of
Christian parents; all members of the Christian Church; all partaking
here of the same worship, the same prayers, the same word of God, the
same sacrament; are you not all the Israel of God, and not, like Esau,
or the Syrophoenician woman, strangers to the covenant of blessing? Yet
your real condition is, notwithstanding, very unequal. How unlike are
your friends at home; how, unlike, also, are your friends here! Are
there not some to whom their homes, both by direct precept and by
example, are a far greater help than to others? Are there not some,
whose immediate companions here may encourage them in all good far more
than may be the case with, others? So, then, there may be some to whom
this great blessing has been denied, whilst others enjoy it. What then?
Shall we say, that, because we have it not, we will refuse to go in to
our Father's house; that we will not walk as our brother walks, unless
we have his advantages? Then must we remain cast out; vessels fashioned
to dishonour; rejected of God, and cursed. Nay rather let us put a
Christian sense on Esau's prayer, and cry, "'Hast thou but one blessing,
my Father? bless me, even me also, O my Father.' If thou hast given to
others earthly helps, which thou hast denied to me, give me thyself and
thy own Spirit the more! If father and mother forsake my most precious
interest, do thou take me up. If my nearest friends will not walk with
me in the house of God, be thou my friend, and abide with, me always,
making my house as thine. Outward and earthly means thou givest or
takest away at thy pleasure; but give me help according to my need, that
I yet may not lose thee."

How naturally are we interested at the thought of any one so
circumstanced, and uttering such a prayer! How earnestly do we wish to
help him, to show our respect and true love for a faith so tried and so
enduring! And think we that God cares for it less than we do? or have we
not already the record of his love towards it, when Christ answered the
Syrophoenician woman, "O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even
as thou wilt?" He may not, indeed, see fit to give the very same
blessing which was in the first instance denied: we may still have fewer
spiritual advantages than others, as far as human helps are concerned;
fewer good and earnest friends; fewer examples of holiness around us;
fewer to join with us in our prayers and in our struggles against evil.
But though this particular blessing may be denied,--as Esau could not
gain that blessing which had been given to Jacob,--yet there is a
blessing for us also, which may prove, in the end, even better than our
brother's. He who serves God steadily, amidst many disadvantages, enjoys
the blessing of a more confirmed and hardier faith; he has gone through
trials, and been found conqueror; and for him that overcometh is
reserved a more abundant measure of glory.

But on the other side, we who, like Jacob, or Jacob's posterity, have
the blessing,--whether it be natural, worldly, or spiritual,--let us
consider what became of it when it was not improved. What was the sin
of Esau,--speaking not of the individual, but of the less favoured
people of Edom,--compared with the sin of Jacob? Nay, not of Edom only;
but it shall be more tolerable for Sodom, in the day of judgment, than
for the unbelieving cities of Israel. So it is, not only with the
literal, but with the Christian Israel; so it is, not only with the
Church as a whole compared with heathens, but with all those individuals
amongst us, who enjoy in any larger measure than others any of God's
blessings. They are blessings; but they may be made fatal curses. This
holds true with blessings of every kind: with station and wealth, with
bodily health and vigour, with, great powers of mind, with large means
of spiritual improvement. To whom much is given, of him shall be much,
required. It is required of us to enjoy our blessings by using them: so
will they be blessings indeed. So it is with money and influence, with
health, with talents, with spiritual knowledge, and good friends and
parents. There are first who shall be last; that is, those who began
their course with advantages which set them before their brethren, if
they do not exert themselves, will fall grievously behind them: for the
blessing denied may be, in effect, a blessing given; and the blessing
given, in like manner, becomes too often a blessing taken away.




LECTURE XIX.

       *       *       *       *       *

MATTHEW xxii. 32.

_God is not the God of the dead, but of the living_.


We hear these words as a part of our Lord's answer to the Sadducees;
and, as their question was put in evident profaneness, and the answer to
it is one which to our minds is quite obvious and natural, so we are apt
to think that in this particular story there is less than usual that
particularly concerns us. But it so happens, that our Lord, in answering
the Sadducees, has brought in one of the most universal and most solemn
of all truths,--which is indeed implied in many parts of the Old
Testament, but which the Gospel has revealed to us in all its
fulness,--the truth contained in the words of the text, that "God is not
the God of the dead, but of the living."

I would wish to unfold a little what is contained in these words, which
we often hear even, perhaps, without quite understanding them; and many
times oftener without fully entering into them. And we may take them,
first, in their first part, where they say that "God is not the God of
the dead."

The word "dead," we know, is constantly used in Scripture in a double
sense, as meaning those who are dead spiritually, as well as those who
are dead naturally. And, in either sense, the words are alike
applicable: "God is not the God of the dead."

God's not being the God of the dead signifies two things: that they who
are without him are dead, as well as that they who are dead are also
without him. So far as our knowledge goes respecting inferior animals,
they appear to be examples of this truth. They appear to us to have no
knowledge of God; and we are not told that they have any other life than
the short one of which our senses inform us. I am well aware that our
ignorance of their condition is so great that, we may not dare to say
anything of them positively; there may be a hundred things true
respecting them which we neither know nor imagine. I would only say
that, according to that most imperfect light in which we see them, the
two points of which I have been speaking appear to meet in them: we
believe that they have no consciousness of God, and we believe that they
will die. And so far, therefore, they afford an example of the
agreement, if I may so speak, between these two points; and were
intended, perhaps, to be to our view a continual image of it. But we had
far better speak of ourselves. And here, too, it is the case that "God
is not the God of the dead." If we are without him we are dead; and if
we are dead we are without him: in other words, the two ideas of death
and absence from God are in fact synonymous.

Thus, in the account given of the fall of man, the sentence of death and
of being cast out of Eden go together; and if any one compares the
description of the second Eden in the Revelation, and recollects how
especially it is there said, that God dwells in the midst of it, and is
its light by day and night, he will see that the banishment from the
first Eden means a banishment from the presence of God. And thus, in the
day that Adam sinned, he died; for he was cast out of Eden immediately,
however long he may have moved about afterwards upon the earth where
God was not. And how very strong to the same point are the words of
Hezekiah's prayer, "The grave cannot praise thee, Death cannot celebrate
thee; they that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth;" words
which express completely the feeling that God is not the God of the
dead. This, too, appears to be the sense generally of the expression
used in various parts of the Old Testament, "Thou shalt surely die." It
is, no doubt, left purposely obscure; nor are we ever told, in so many
words, all that is meant by death; but, surely, it always implies a
separation from God, and the being--whatever the notion may extend
to--the being dead to him. Thus, when David had committed his great sin,
and had expressed his repentance for it, Nathan tells him, "The Lord
also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die:" which means, most
expressively, thou shalt not die to God. In one sense, David died, as
all men die; nor was he, by any means, freed from the punishment of his
sin: he was not, in that sense, forgiven; but he was allowed still to
regard God as his God; and, therefore, his punishments were but fatherly
chastisements from God's hand, designed for his profit, that he might be
partaker of God's holiness. And thus although Saul was sentenced to lose
his kingdom, and although he was killed with his sons on Mount Gilboa,
yet I do not think that we find the sentence passed upon him, "Thou
shalt surely die;" and, therefore, we have no right to say that God had
ceased to be his God, although be visited him with severe chastisements,
and would not allow him to hand down to his sons the crown of Israel.
Observe, also, the language of the eighteenth chapter of Ezekiel, where
the expressions occur so often, "He shall surely live," and "He shall
surely die." We have no right to refer these to a mere extension, on the
one hand, or a cutting short, on the other, of the term of earthly
existence. The promise of living long in the land, or, as in Hezekiah's
case, of adding to his days fifteen years, is very different from the
full and unreserved blessing, "Thou shalt surely live." And we know,
undoubtedly, that both the good and the bad to whom Ezekiel spoke, died
alike the natural death of the body. But the peculiar force of the
promise, and of the threat, was, in the one case, Thou shalt belong to
God; in the other, Thou shalt cease to belong to him; although the veil
was not yet drawn up which concealed the full import of those terms,
"belonging to God," and "ceasing to belong to him:" nay, can we venture
to affirm that it is fully drawn aside even now?

I have dwelt on this at some length, because it really seems to place
the common state of the minds of too many amongst us in a light which is
exceedingly awful; for if it be true, as I think the Scripture implies,
that to be dead, and to be without God, are precisely the same thing,
then can it be denied, that the symptoms of death are strongly marked
upon many of us? Are there not many who never think of God, or care
about his service? Are there not many who live, to all appearance, as
unconscious of his existence as we fancy the inferior animals to be? And
is it not quite clear, that to such persons, God cannot be said to be
their God? He may be the God of heaven and earth, the God of the
universe, the God of Christ's church; but he is not their God, for they
feel to have nothing at all to do with him; and, therefore, as he is not
their God, they are, and must be, according to the Scripture, reckoned
among the dead.

But God is the God "of the living." That is, as before, all who are
alive, live unto him; all who live unto him, are alive. "God said, I am
the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob;" and,
therefore, says our Lord, "Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, are not and
cannot be dead." They cannot be dead, because God owns them: he is not
ashamed to be called their God; therefore, they are not cast out from
him; therefore, by necessity, they live. Wonderful, indeed, is the truth
here implied, in exact agreement, as we have seen, with the general
language of Scripture; that, as she who but touched the hem of Christ's
garment was, in a moment, relieved from her infirmity, so great was the
virtue which went out from him; so they who are not cast out from God,
but have any thing whatever to do with him, feel the virtue of his
gracious presence penetrating their whole nature; because he lives, they
must live also.

Behold, then, life and death set before us; not remote, (if a few years
be, indeed, to be called remote,) but even now present before us; even
now suffered or enjoyed. Even now, we are alive unto God, or dead unto
God; and, as we are either the one or the other, so we are, in the
highest possible sense of the terms, alive or dead. In the highest
possible sense of the terms; but who can tell what that highest possible
sense of the terms is? So much has, indeed, been revealed to us, that we
know now that death means a conscious and perpetual death, as life means
a conscious and perpetual life. But greatly, indeed, do we deceive
ourselves, if we fancy that, by having thus much told us, we have also
risen to the infinite heights, or descended to the infinite depths,
contained in those little words, life and death. They are far higher,
and far deeper, than ever thought or fancy of man has reached to. But,
even on the first edge of either, at the visible beginnings of that
infinite ascent or descent, there is surely something which may give us
a foretaste of what is beyond. Even to us in this moral state, even to
you advanced but so short a way on your very earthly journey, life and
death have a meaning: to be dead unto God, or to be alive to him, are
things perceptibly different.

For, let me ask of those who think least of God, who are most separate
from him, and most without him, whether there is not now actually,
perceptibly, in their state, something of the coldness, the loneliness,
the fearfulness of death? I do not ask them whether they are made
unhappy by the fear of God's anger; of course they are not: for they who
fear God are not dead to him, nor he to them. The thought of him gives
them no disquiet at all; this is the very point we start from. But I
would ask them whether they know what it is to feel God's blessing. For
instance: we all of us have our troubles of some sort or other, our
disappointments, if not our sorrows. In these troubles, in these
disappointments,--I care not how small they may be,--have they known
what it is to feel that God's hand is over them; that these little
annoyances are but his fatherly correction; that he is all the time
loving us, and supporting us? In seasons of joy, such, as they taste
very often, have they known what it is to feel that they are tasting the
kindness of their heavenly Father, that their good things come from his
hand, and are but an infinitely slight foretaste of his love? Sickness,
danger,--I know that they come to many of us but rarely; but if we have
known them, or at least sickness, even in its lighter form, if not in
its graver,--have we felt what it is to know that we are in our Father's
hands, that he is with us, and will be with us to the end; that nothing
can hurt those whom he loves? Surely, then, if we have never tasted
anything of this: if in trouble, or in joy, or in sickness, we are left
wholly to ourselves, to bear as we can, and enjoy as we can; if there is
no voice that ever speaks out of the heights and the depths around us,
to give any answer to our own; if we are thus left to ourselves in this
vast world,--there is in this a coldness and a loneliness; and whenever
we come to be, of necessity, driven to be with our own hearts alone, the
coldness and the loneliness must be felt. But consider that the things
which, we see around us cannot remain with us, nor we with them. The
coldness and loneliness of the world, without God, must be felt more and
more as life wears on: in every change of our own state, in every
separation from or loss of a friend, in every more sensible weakness of
our own bodies, in every additional experience of the uncertainty of our
own counsels,--the deathlike feeling will come upon us more and more
strongly: we shall gain more of that fearful knowledge which tells us
that "God is not the God of the dead."

And so, also, the blessed knowledge that he is the God "of the living"
grows upon those who are truly alive. Surely he "is not far from every
one of us." No occasion of life fails to remind those who live unto him,
that he is their God, and that they are his children. On light occasions
or on grave ones, in sorrow and in joy, still the warmth of his love is
spread, as it were, all through the atmosphere of their lives: they for
ever feel his blessing. And if it fills them with joy unspeakable even
now, when they so often feel how little they deserve it; if they delight
still in being with God, and in living to him, let them be sure that
they have in themselves the unerring witness of life eternal: God is the
God of the living, and all who are with him must live.

Hard it is, I well know, to bring this home, in any degree, to the minds
of those who are dead: for it is of the very nature of the dead that
they can hear no words of life. But it has happened that, even whilst
writing what I have just been uttering to you, the news reached me that
one, who two months ago was one of your number, who this very half-year
has shared in all the business and amusements of this place, is passed
already into that state where the meanings of the terms life and death
are become fully revealed. He knows what it is to live unto God, and
what it is to die to him. Those things which are to us unfathomable
mysteries, are to him all plain: and yet but two months ago he might
have thought himself as far from attaining this knowledge as any of us
can do. Wherefore it is clear, that these things, life and death, may
hurry their lesson upon us sooner than we deem of, sooner than we are
prepared to receive it. And that were indeed awful, if, being dead to
God, and yet little feeling it, because of the enjoyments of our worldly
life, those enjoyments were on a sudden to be struck away from us, and
we should find then that to be dead to God was death, indeed, a death
from which there is no waking, and in which there is no sleeping
for ever.




LECTURE XX.

       *       *       *       *       *

EZEKIEL xiii. 22.

_With lies ye have made the heart of the righteous sad, whom I have not
made sad; and strengthened the hands of the wicked, that he should not
return from his wicked way, by promising him life_.


The verses which immediately precede this, require explanation, but
perhaps our knowledge is hardly sufficient to enable us to give it
fully. There are allusions to customs,--to fashions rather,--common
amongst the Israelites at the time, which we can now scarcely do more
than guess at; but we may observe, that there was a general practice,
which even God's own prophets were directed often to comply with, of
enforcing what was said in word by some corresponding outward action, in
which the speaker made himself, as it were, a living image of the idea
which he meant to convey. Thus, when Zedekiah, the son of Chenaanah, was
assuring Ahab, that he should drive the Syrians before him, he made
himself horns of iron, and said, "With these shalt thou push the
Syrians, until thou have consumed them." In the same way, it is imagined
that the false prophetesses spoken of in the text were in the habit of
wearing pillows, or cushions, fastened to their arms, and directed those
who came to consult them to do the same, as a sign of rest and peace;
that they who trusted to them had nothing to fear, but might lie down
and enjoy themselves at their feasts, or in sleep, with entire security.
Or, again, if we connect what is said of the pillows with what
immediately follows about the kerchiefs put upon the head, we may
suppose that both are but parts of a fantastic dress, such as was often
worn by pretended prophets and fortune-tellers, and which they may have
made those wear, also, who came before them. We know that the covering
on the head was, for instance, a part of the ceremonial law of the Roman
augurs, when they began their divinations. But, however this be, the
exact understanding of these particular points is not necessary to our
deriving the lesson of the passage in general. I know that there is
something naturally painful to an active mind in being obliged to
content itself with an indistinct notion, or still more, with no notion
at all, of the meaning of any words presented to it. But, whilst we
should highly value this sensitiveness, as, indeed, few qualities are
more essential in the pursuit of truth, yet we must be careful not to
let our disappointment carry us too far, so as to pass over a whole
passage, or portion, of Scripture, as if in despair, because we cannot
understand every part of it. Much of the supposed obscurity of the
prophets arises from this cause--that we find in them particular
expressions and allusions, which, whether from a, fault in the
translation, or from our imperfect knowledge of the times of which the
prophets speak, and of the language in which they wrote, are certainly
quite unintelligible. But these are only a few expressions, occurring
here and there; and it is a great evil to fancy that their writings, in
general, are not to be understood, because of the difficulty of
particular passages in them. Thus, with the very chapter of which we are
now speaking, the expression to which I have alluded can only be
uncertainly interpreted, yet the lesson of the chapter, as a whole, is
perfectly clear, notwithstanding. The dress, or fashions, or particular
rites, of the false prophets of Jerusalem and their votaries, may offer
no distinct image to our minds; but the evil of their doings, how they
deceived others, and were themselves deceived; the points, that is,
which alone concern us practically, these are set before us plainly.
"With their lies they made the heart of the righteous sad, whom God had
not made sad; and they strengthened the hands of the wicked, that he
should not return from his wicked way, by promising him life." Where the
way of life was broad, they strove to make it narrow; and where it was
narrow, they strove to make it broad: by their solemn and superstitious
lies, they frightened and perplexed the good, while, by their lives of
ungodliness, they emboldened and encouraged the wicked.

It may not, at first sight, seem necessary that these two things should
go together; there might be, it seems, either the fault of making the
heart of the righteous sad, without that of strengthening the hands of
the wicked: or there might be the strengthening of the hands of the
wicked, without making sad the heart of the righteous. And so it
sometimes has been: there has been a wickedness which has not tried to
keep up superstition: there has been a superstition, the supporters of
which have not wilfully encouraged wickedness. Yet, although this has
been so, with respect to the intention of the parties concerned, yet in
their own nature, the tendency of either evil to produce the other is
sure and universal. We cannot exist without some influences of fear and
restraint, on the one hand, and without some indulgence of freedom, on
the other. God has provided for both these wants, so to speak, of our
nature; he has told us whom we should fear, and where we should be
restrained, and where, also, we may be safely in freedom: there is the
fruit forbidden, and the fruit which we may eat freely. But if the
restraint and the liberty be either of them put in the wrong place, the
double evil is sure to follow. Restrained in his lawful liberty,
debarred from the good and wholesome fruit of the garden, man breaks out
into a liberty which is unlawful; he eats of the forbidden fruit, whose
taste is death; or, surfeited with an unholy freedom, and let to run
wild in a space far too vast for his strength to compass, he turns
cravingly for that support to his weariness which a narrowed range would
afford him; and he limits himself on that very quarter in which alone he
might expatiate freely. Superstition, in fact, is the rest of
wickedness, and wickedness is the breaking loose of superstition.

But, however true this may be, are we concerned in it? First of all,
when we find an evil dwelt upon often in the Prophets, and find it dwelt
upon again by our Lord and his Apostles with no less earnestness, there
is, at least, a strong presumption, that an evil of this sort is nothing
local or passing, but that it is fixed in man's nature, and is apt to
grow up in all times, and in all countries. Now, the double evil spoken
of in the text, occurs again in the gospel; there we find men spoken of,
who, in like manner, insisted upon what was trifling, and were careless
of what was important; and in the epistles, we find, again, the same
characters holding up as righteous others than those who worked
righteousness: men, who spoke lies in hypocrisy, having their conscience
seared with a hot iron. We may presume, therefore, that this evil is of
an enduring character; but if we look back to the history of the
Christian Church, or look around us, the presumption becomes the sad
conviction of experience.

Nor is the evil merely one which exists in the country at large; a thing
which might be fully dwelt upon any where but here. On the contrary, I
hardly know of an age more exposed to it than youth. There exist in
youth, in a very high degree, those opposite feelings of our nature,
which I have before spoken of; a tendency to respect, to follow, to be
led, on the one hand; and on the other, a lively desire for independence
and freedom. These feelings often exist in the greatest strength in the
same individual; and when they are not each turned in their proper
direction, ruin is the consequence. Nothing is more common than to see
great narrowness of mind, great prejudices, and great disorderliness of
conduct, united in the same person. Nothing is more common than to see
the same mind utterly prostrated before some idol of its own, and
supporting that idol with the most furious zeal, and at the same time
utterly rebellious to Christ, and rejecting with scorn the enlightening,
the purifying, and the loving influences of Christ's Spirit.

The idols of various minds are infinitely various, some seducing the
loftiest natures and some the vilest. But of this we may be sure, that
every one of us has a tendency to some one idol or other, if not to
many; and our business is especially each to watch, ourselves, lest we
be enslaved to our peculiar idol. I will now, however, speak of those
which, tempt the highest minds; which, by their show of sacredness and
excellence, make us fancy, that while following them we are following
Christ. And let none be surprised, if I rank among idols many things,
which, in themselves and in their proper use and order, are indeed to be
loved and reverenced. It was most right to respect the Apostle Peter,
and listen to his word; but that great Apostle would have been ruin to
Cornelius, and not salvation, if he had suffered him, without reproof,
to fall down before him, and render to him the service due to Christ
alone. How many good and pious feelings must have been awakened from age
to age in many minds, at the sight of the brazen serpent on the pole,
the memorial of their fathers' deliverance in the wilderness! But when
this awakening, this solemn memorial was corrupted into an idol, when
men bowed down before it in superstition, it was the part of true piety
to do as Hezekiah did, to dash it, notwithstanding all its solemn
associations, into a thousand pieces.

Thus things good, things noble, things sacred, may all become idols. To
some minds truth is an idol, to others justice, to others charity or
benevolence; and others are beguiled by objects of a different sort of
sacredness: some have made Christ's mother their idol; some, Christ's
servants; some, again, Christ's sacraments, and Christ's own body, the
Church. If these may all be idols, where can we find a name so holy, as
that we may surrender up our whole souls to it; before which obedience,
reverence, without measure, intense humility, most unreserved adoration,
may all be duly rendered. One name there is, and one only; one alone in
heaven and in earth; not truth, not justice, not benevolence, not
Christ's mother, not his holiest servants, not his blessed sacraments,
not his very mystical body, but Himself only, who died for us and rose
again, Jesus Christ, both God and Man.

He is truth, and he is righteousness, and he is love; he gives his grace
to his sacraments, and his manifold gifts to his Church; whoever hath
him hath all things; but if we do not take heed, whenever we turn our
mind to any other object, we shall make it an idol and lose him. Take
him in all his fulness, not as God merely, not as man merely; not in his
life on earth only, not in his death only, not in his exaltation at
God's right hand only; but in all his fulness, the Christ of God, God
and Man, our Prophet, our Priest, our King and Lord, redeeming us by his
blood, sanctifying us by his Spirit; and then worship him and love him
with all the heart, and with, all the soul, and with all the strength;
and we shall see how all evil will be barred, and all good will abound.
No man who worships Christ alone, can be a fanatic, nor yet can be a
more philosopher; he cannot be bigoted, nor yet can he be indifferent;
he cannot be so the slave of what be calls amiable feelings as to cast
truth and justice behind him; nor yet can he so pursue truth and justice
as to lose sight of humbler and softer feelings, self-abasement,
reverence, devotion. There is no evil tendency in the nature of any one
of us, which has not its cure in the true worship of Christ our Saviour.
Let us look into our hearts, and consider their besetting faults. Are we
indolent, or are we active; are we enthusiastic, or are we cold; zealous
or indifferent, devout or reasonable; whatever the inclination, or bias
of our nature be, if we follow its kindred idol, it will be magnified
and grow on to our ruin; if we worship Christ, it will be pruned and
chastened, and made to grow up with opposite tendencies, all alike
tempered, none destroyed; none overgrowing the garden, but all filling
it with their several fruits; so that it shall be, indeed, the garden of
the Lord, and the Spirit of the Lord shall dwell in the midst of it.

And who shall dare to make sad the heart of him who is thus drinking
daily of the well-spring of righteousness, by telling him that he is not
yet saved, nor can be, unless he will come and bow down before his idol?
And if, rather than do so, he break the idol in pieces, who shall dare
to call him profane, or cold in love to his Lord, when it was in his
very jealousy for his Lord, and in his full purpose to worship him
alone, that he threw down all that exalted itself above its due
proportion against him? And if a man be not so worshipping Christ only,
who shall dare to encourage him in his evil way, by magnifying the
sacredness of his idol, and ascribing to it that healing virtue which
belongs to Christ alone?

What has been here said might bear to be followed up at far greater
length than the present occasion will admit of. But the main point is
one, I think, of no small importance, that all fanaticism and
superstition on the one hand, and all unbelief and coldness of heart on
the other, arise from what is in fact idolatry,--the putting some other
object, whether it be called a religious or moral one,--and an object
often in itself very excellent,--in the place of Christ himself, as set
forth to us fully in the Scriptures. And as no idol can stand in
Christ's place, or in any way save us, so whoever worships Christ truly
is preserved from all idols and has life eternal. And if any one demand
of him further, that he should worship his idol, and tells him that he
is not safe if he does not; his answer will be rather that he will
perish if he does; that he is safe, fully safe, and only safe, so long
as he clings to Christ alone; and that to make anything else necessary
to his safety, is not only to minister to superstition, but to
ungodliness also; not only to lay on us a yoke which neither our fathers
nor we were able to bear; but, by the very act of laying this
unchristian yoke upon us, to tear from us the easy yoke and light burden
of Christ himself, our Lord and our life.




LECTURE XXI.

       *       *       *       *       *

ADVENT SUNDAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

HEBREWS in. 16.

_For some, when they had heard, did provoke: howbeit not all that came
out of Egypt by Moses_.


I take this verse as my text, rather than those which immediately go
before or follow it, because it affords one of the most serious
instances of mistranslation that are to be met with in the whole New
Testament. For the true translation of the words is this: "For who were
they who, when they had heard, did provoke? nay, were they not all who
came out of Egypt through Moses?" And then it goes on--"And with whom
was he grieved forty years? was it not with them that had sinned, whose
carcases fell in the wilderness? And to whom sware he that they should
not enter into his rest, but to them that believed not?" I call this a
serious mistranslation, because it lessens the force of the writer's
comparison. So far from meaning to say that "some, but not all did
provoke," he lays a stress on the universality of the evil: it was not
only a few, but the whole people who came out of Egypt, with only the
two individual exceptions of Caleb and Joshua. All the rest who were
grown up when they came out of Egypt did provoke God; and the carcases
of that whole generation, fell in the wilderness.

Had the lesson from the Hebrews been actually chosen for the service of
this day, it could hardly have suited it better. For this day is the
New-year's day of the Christian year; and it is probably for this reason
that the service of the first day of the common year is confined
entirely to the commemoration of our Lord's circumcision, and takes no
notice of the beginning of a new year. It is manifest that it could not
do so without confusion: for the first of January is not the beginning
of the Christian year, but Advent Sunday; the last Sunday of the
Christian year is not Christmas-day, as it would be this year if we
reckoned by the common divisions of time; but it is the last Sunday
after Trinity. Now, then, we are at the beginning of our year; and well
it is that, as our trial is now become shorter by another year, as
another division of our lives has passed away, we should fix our eyes on
that which makes every year so valuable,--the Judgment, for which it
ought to be a preparation. In fact, if we observe, we shall see that
these Sundays in Advent are much more regarded by the Church as the
beginning of a new year, than as a mere prelude to the celebration of
the festival of Christmas. That is, Christmas-day is regarded, so to
speak, in a two-fold light, as representing both the comings of our
Lord, his first coming in the flesh, and his second coming to judgment.
When the day actually arrives, it commemorates our Lord's first coming:
and this is the beginning of the Christian year, historically regarded,
that is, so far as it is a commemoration of the several events of our
Lord's life on earth. But before it comes, it is regarded as
commemorating our Lord's second coming: and wisely, for his first coming
requires now no previous preparation for it; we cannot well put
ourselves into the position of those who lived before Christ appeared.
But our whole life is, or ought to be, a preparation for his second
coming; and it is this state, of which the season of Advent in the
Church services is intended to be the representation.

There is something striking in the season of the natural year at which
we thus celebrate the beginning of another Christian year. It is a true
type of our condition, of the insensible manner in which all the changes
of our lives steal upon us, that nature, at this moment, gives no
outward signs of beginning: it is a period which does not manifest any
striking change in the state of things around us. The Christian Spring
begins ere we have reached the half of the natural winter. Nature is not
bursting into life, but rather preparing itself for a long period of
death. And this is a type of an universal truth, that the signs and
warnings which we must look to, must come from within us, not from
without: that neither sky nor earth, will arouse us from our deadly
slumber, unless we are ourselves aroused already, and more disposed to
make warnings for ourselves than to find them.

If this be true of nature, it is true also of all the efforts of man. As
nature will give no sign, so man cannot. Let the Church do all that she
may; let her keep her solemn anniversaries, and choose out for her
services all such passages of Scripture as may be most fitted to impress
the lesson which she would teach; still we know that these are alike
powerless and unheeded; that unless there be in our own minds something
beforehand disposed to profit by them, they are but the words of
unavailing affection, vainly spoken to the ears of the dead.

Oh that we would remember this, all of us; that there is no voice in
nature, no voice in man, that can really awaken the sleeping soul. That
is the work of a far mightier power, to be sought for with most earnest
prayers for ourselves and for each other: that the Holy Spirit of God
would speak, and would dispose our hearts to hear; that so being
awakened from death and our ears being truly opened, all things outward
may now join in language which we can hear; and nature, and man, life
and death, things present and things to come, may be but the manifold
voices of the Spirit of God, all working for us together for good. Till
this be so, we speak in vain; our words neither reach our own hearts,
nor the hearts of our hearers; they are but recorded in God's book of
judgment, to be brought forward hereafter for the condemnation of
us both.

Yet we must still speak; for the Spirit of God, who alone works in us
effectually, works also secretly; we know not when, nor how, nor where.
But we know, that as the Father worketh hitherto, and the Son worketh
hitherto, so the Holy Spirit worketh hitherto, and is still working
daily. We know that, every year, he creates in thousands of God's people
that work which alone shall abide for ever. We know that in the year
that is just past he has done this; that in the year which is just
beginning he will do it. Have we not here, also, many in whom he has
wrought this work? may we not hope, and surely believe, that there are
many in whom he is even now preparing to work it?

We know not who these are; still less do we know, what were the
occasions which the Holy Spirit so blessed as to work in them his work
of life. But this we know, that we are bound to minister all the
occasions which we can; we must not spare our labour, although it is God
alone who gives the increase. We must speak of life and of death, of
Christ and of judgment, not forgetting that we speak often, and shall
speak, utterly in vain; yet knowing that it is by these very thoughts,
though long unheeded, that God's Spirit does in his own good time awaken
the heart; he takes of the things of Christ and shows them to us; and
then, what was before like a book in a strange language--we saw the
figures, but they conveyed no meaning to our minds--becomes, on a
sudden, instinct with the language of God, which we hear and understand
as readily as if it were our own tongue wherein we were born.

Therefore, we speak and say, that another year has now dawned upon us;
and we would remind you, and remember, ourselves, in what words the
various Scriptures of this day's service point out its inestimable
value. "Now is our salvation nearer than when we believed." So says St.
Paul in the epistle of this day; and how blessed are all those amongst
us who can feel that this is truly said of them! Then, indeed, a new
year's day is a day of rejoicing; we are so much nearer that period when
all care, all anxiety, all painful labour will be for ever ended. But
there is other language of a different sort, which, it may be, will suit
us better. "I have nourished and brought up children, and they have
rebelled against me." "Their land is full of idols; they worship the
work of their own hands, that which their own fingers have made;" which
means to us, the work of our own hearts, that which our own fancies and
desires have made. "Enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, for
fear of the Lord, and for the glory of his majesty." For in the very
temple of God, his Church, all manner of profane thoughts and words and
works are crowded together; the din of covetousness and worldliness is
loud and constant, and will ill abide the day of his coming, who will, a
second time, cast out of his temple all that is unclean. And is there
not also in us that evil heart of unbelief and disobedience which
departs from the living God? are there not here those who are becoming
daily hardened through the deceitfulness of sin? How are they passing
their time in the wilderness, and with what prospects when they come to
the end of it? God said, "I sware in my wrath, that they shall not enter
into my rest." By the way that they came, by the same shall they return;
they shall go back to that bondage from which they were once redeemed,
and from which they will be redeemed again no more for ever.

These are some of the passages of this day's service which speaks to us
at the beginning of this new Christian year. Let me add to all this
language of warning, the language in which God, by his apostle Paul,
answers every one of us, if we ask of him in sincerity of heart, "Lord,
what wilt thou have me to do?" He answers, "The night is far spent, the
day is at hand: let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and
drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and
envying: but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for
the flesh, to fulfil the works thereof." Now, I grant, that this day, of
which the apostle speaks, has never yet shone so brightly, as he had
hoped and imagined; clouds have, up to this hour, continually
overshadowed it. I mean, that the lives of Christians have hindered them
from being the light of the world. It has been a light pale and dim, and
therefore the works of darkness have continued to abound. But admit
this, and what follows? Is it, or can it be, anything else but a more
earnest desire not to be ourselves children of darkness, lest what we
see to have happened in part should happen altogether; namely, that the
day should never shine on us at all? We see that God's promises have
been in part forfeited; we see that Christ's kingdom has not been what
it was prophesied it should be. Is not this a solemn warning, that for
us, too, individually, God's promises may be forfeited? that all we read
in Scripture of light, and life, and glory, and happiness, should really
prove to us words only, and no reality? that whereas the promise of
salvation has been made to us, we should be in the end, not saved, but
lost? If, indeed, God's kingdom were shining around us, in its full
beauty; if every evil thing were driven out of his temple; if we saw
nothing but holy lives and happy, the fruits of his Spirit, truth, and
love, and joy; then we might be less anxious for ourselves; our course
would be far smoother; the very stream would carry us along to the end
of our voyage without our labour: what evil thoughts would not be
withered, and die long ere they could ripen into action, if the very air
which we breathed were of such, keen and heavenly purity! It is because
all this is not so, that we have need of so much watchfulness; it is
because the faults of every one of us make our brethren's task harder;
because there is not one bad or careless person amongst us who is not a
hindrance in his brother's path, and does not oblige him to exert
himself the more. Therefore, because the day is not bright, but
overclouded; because it is but too like the night, and too many use it
as the night for all works of darkness; let us take the more heed that
we do not ourselves so mistake it; let us watch each of us the light
within us, lest, indeed, we should wholly stumble; let us put on the
Lord Jesus Christ. You know how often I have dwelt on this; how often I
have tried to show that Christ is all in all to us; that to put on
Christ, is a truer and fuller expression, by far, than if we had been
told to put on truth, or holiness, or goodness. It includes all these,
with something more, that nothing but itself can give--the sense of
safety, and joy unspeakable, in feeling ourselves sheltered in our
Saviour's arms, and taken even into himself. Assuredly, if we put on the
Lord Jesus Christ, we shall not make provision for the flesh to fulfil
the lusts thereof; such a warning would then be wholly unnecessary. Or,
if we do not like language thus figurative, let us put it, if we will,
into the plainest words that shall express the same meaning; let us call
it praying to Christ, thinking of him, hoping in him, earnestly loving
him; these, at least, are words without a figure, which all can surely
understand. Let us be Christ's this year that is now beginning; be his
servants, be his disciples, be his redeemed in deed; let us live to him,
and for him; setting him before us every day to do his will, and to live
in his blessing. Then, indeed, if it be his pleasure that we should
serve him throughout this year, even to its end, we may repeat, with a
deeper feeling of their truth, the words of St. Paul; we may say, when
next Advent Sunday shall appear, that now is our salvation nearer than
when we became believers.




LECTURE XXII.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHRISTMAS DAY.

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JOHN i. 10.

_He was in the world, and the world was made by Him, and the world knew
Him not_.


When we use ourselves, or hear others use, the term "mystery," as
applied to things belonging to the gospel, we should do well to consider
what is meant by it. For our common notion of the word mystery is of
something dark; whereas Christ and his gospel are continually spoken of
as being, above all other things, light. Then come others, and say,
"Light and darkness cannot go together: what you call the mysteries of
Christianity are no part of it, but the fond inventions of man:
Christianity is all simple and clear:" and thus they strike away some of
the very greatest truths which God has revealed to us. Thus they deal in
particular with the great truth declared in the text, that He who made
the world visited it in the likeness of man. Now, if this truth were a
mystery, in the common notion of that term; if it were a thing full of
darkness, defying our minds to understand it, or to draw any good from
it; then, indeed, it would be of little consequence whether we received
it or no. It is because it is a mystery in a very different sense, in
the sense in which the word is used commonly in the Scriptures; that
is, a thing which was a secret, but which God has been pleased to
reveal, and to reveal for our benefit, that therefore the loss of it
would be the loss of a real blessing, a loss at once of light
and comfort.

But we must go a little further, and explain from what this sad
confusion in the use of the term "mystery" has arisen. There are many
things relating to ourselves and to things around us, which by nature we
cannot understand; and of God we can scarcely understand anything. Now,
while the gospel has revealed much that we did not know before, it yet
has not revealed everything: of God, in particular, it has given us much
most precious knowledge, yet it has not removed all the veil. It has
furnished us with a glass, indeed, to use the apostle's comparison; but
the glass, although, a great help, although reflecting a likeness of
what, without it, we could not see at all, is yet a dark and imperfect
manner of seeing, compared with, the seeing face to face. So, when the
gospel tells us that He who made the world visited it in our nature, it
does not indeed enable us yet fully to conceive what He is who made us,
and then became as one of us; there is still left around the name of God
that light inaccessible which is to our imperfections darkness; and so
far as we cannot understand or conceive rightly of God, so far it is
true that we cannot understand all that is conveyed in the expression
that God was in the world dwelling among us. Yet it is still most true
that by the revelation thus made to us we have gained immensely. God, as
he is in himself, we cannot understand; but Jesus Christ we can. When we
are told to love God, if we look to the life and death of Christ, we can
understand and feel how truly he deserves our love; when we are told to
be perfect as God is perfect, we have the image of this perfection so
truly set before us in his Son Jesus, that it may be well said, "Whoso
hath seen Him hath seen the Father;" and why, then, should we ask with
Philip, that "He should show us the Father?"

What, then, the festival of Christmas presents to us, as distinct from
that of Easter, is generally the revelation of God in the flesh. True it
is, that we may make it, if we will, the same as Easter: that is, we may
celebrate it as the birth of our Saviour, of him who died and rose again
for us; but then we only celebrate our Lord's birth with reference to
his death and resurrection: that is, we make Christmas to be Easter
under another name. And so everything relating to our Lord may be made
to refer to his death and resurrection; for in them consists our
redemption, and for that reason Easter has ever been considered as the
great festival of the Christian year. But yet apart from this, Christmas
has something peculiarly its own: namely, as I said before, the
revelation of God in the flesh, not only to make atonement for our
sins,--which is the peculiar subject of the celebration of the season of
Easter,--but to give us notions of God at once distinct and lively; to
enable us to have One in the invisible world, whom we could conceive of
as distinctly as of a mere man, yet whom we might love with all our
hearts, and trust with all our hearts, and yet be guilty of no idolatry.

It is not, then, only as the beginning of an earthly life of little more
than thirty years, that we may celebrate the day of our Lord's birth in
the flesh. His own words express what this day has brought to us:
"Henceforth shall ye see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending
and descending upon the Son of man." The words here, like so many of our
Lord's, are expressed in a parable; but their meaning is not the less
clear. They allude evidently to Jacob's vision, to the ladder reaching
from earth to heaven, on which the angels were ascending and descending
continually. But this vision is itself a parable; showing, under the
figure of the ladder reaching from earth to heaven, and the angels going
up and down on it, a free communication, as it were, between God and
man, heaven brought nearer to earth, and heavenly things made more
familiar. Now, this is done, in a manner, by every revelation from God;
most of all, by the revelation of his Son. Nor is it only by his Spirit
that Christ communicates with us even now; though, he is ascended again
into heaven, yet the benefits of his having become man, over and above
those of his dying and rising again for us, have not yet passed away. It
is still the man Christ Jesus who brings heaven near to earth, and earth
near to heaven.

It has been well said by Augustine, that babes in Christ should so think
of the Son of man as not to lose sight of the Son of God; that more
advanced Christians should so think of the Son of God as not to lose
sight of the Son of man. Augustine well understood how the thought of
the Son of man is fitted to our weakness; and that the best and most
advanced of us in this mortal life are never so strong as to be able to
do without it. Have we ever tried this with our children? We tell them
that God made them, and takes care of them, and loves them, and hears
their prayers, and knows what is in their hearts, and cannot bear what
is evil. These are such notions of God as a child requires, and can
understand. But, if we join with them some of those other notions which
belong to God as he is in himself; that he is a Spirit, not to be seen,
not to be conceived of as in any one place, or in any one form; what do
we but embarrass our child's mind, and lessen that sense of near and
dear relation to God which, our earlier accounts of God had given him?
Yet we must teach him something of this sort, if we would prevent him
from forming unworthy notions of God, such as have been the beginning
of all idolatry. Here, then, is the blessing of the revelation of God in
Christ. All that he can understand of God, or love in him, or fear in
him--that is to be found in Christ. Christ made him, takes care of him,
can hear his prayers, can read his little heart, loves him tenderly; yet
cannot bear what is evil, and will strictly judge him at the last day.
But what we must teach when we speak of God, yet which has a tendency to
lessen the liveliness of our impressions of him, this has no place when
we speak of Christ. Christ has a body, incorruptible and glorified
indeed, such as they who are Christ's shall also wear at his coming, yet
still a body. Christ is not to be seen, indeed, for the clouds have
received him out of our sight: yet he may be conceived of as in one
place--at the right hand of God; as in one certain and well-known
form--the form of the Son of man. Yet let us observe again, and be
thankful for the perfect wisdom of God. Even while presenting to us God
in Christ; that is to say, God with all those attributes which we can
understand, and fear, and love; and without those which, throw us, as it
were, to an infinite distance, overwhelming our minds, and baffling all
our conceptions; even then the utmost care is taken to make us remember
that God in himself is really that infinite and incomprehensible Being
to whom we cannot, in our present state, approach; that even his
manifestation of himself in Christ Jesus, is one less perfect than we
shall be permitted to see hereafter; that Christ stands at the right
hand of the Majesty on high; that he has received from the Father all
his kingdom and his glory; finally, that the Father is greater than he,
inasmuch as any other nature added to the pure and perfect essence of
God, must, in a certain measure, if I may venture so to speak, be a
coming down to a lower point, from the very and unmixed Divinity.

I have purposely mentioned this last circumstance, although it is not
the view that I wish particularly to take to-day, because such passages
as that which I quoted, where Christ tells his disciples that his Father
was greater than he, and many others of the same sort, throughout the
New Testament, are sometimes apt to embarrass and perplex us, if we do
not consider their peculiar object. It was very necessary, especially at
a time when men were so accustomed to worship their highest gods under
the form of men, that whilst the gospel was itself holding out the man
Christ Jesus as the object of religious faith, and fear, and love, and
teaching that all power was given to him, in heaven and in earth,--it
should, also, guard us against supposing that it meant to represent God
as, in himself, wearing a human form, or having a nature partaking of
our infirmities; and, therefore, it always speaks of there being
something in God higher, and more perfect, than could possibly be
revealed to man; and for this eternal and infinite, and inconceivable
Being, it claims the reserve of our highest thoughts, or, rather, it
commands us to believe, that they who shall hereafter see God face to
face, shall be allowed to see something still greater than is now
revealed to us, even in him who is the express image of God, and the
brightness of his glory.

But, now, to return to what I was dwelling on before. It is not only for
children, that the revelation of God in Christ is so valuable; it is
fitted to the wants of us all, at all times, and under all
circumstances. Say, that we are in joy; say, that we are enjoying some
of the festivities of this season. It is quite plain, that, at whatever
moment the thought of God is unwelcome to us, that moment is one of sin
or unbelief: yet, how can we dare to mix up the notion of the most high
God with any earthly merriment, or festivity? Then, if we think of him
who was present at the marriage in Cana of Galilee, and who worked a
miracle for no other object than to increase the enjoyment of that
marriage supper, do we not feel how the highest thoughts may be joined
with the most common occasions? how we may bring Christ home with, us to
our social meetings, to bless us, and to sanctify them? Imagine him in
our feasts as he was in Cana:--we may do it without profaneness; being
sure, from that example, that he condemns not innocent mirth; that it is
not merely because there is a feast, or because friends and neighbours
are gathered together, that Christ cannot, therefore, be in the midst of
us. This alone does not drive him away; but, oh consider, with what ears
would he have listened to any words of unkindness, of profaneness, or of
impurity! with what eyes would he have viewed any intemperance, or
revelling; any such, immoderate yielding up of the night to pleasure,
that a less portion of the next day can be given to duty and to God!
Even as he would have heard or seen such things in Cana of Galilee, so
does he hear and see them amongst us; the same gracious eye of love is
on our moderate and permitted enjoyments; the same turning away from,
the same firm and just displeasure at every word or deed which turns
pleasure into sin.

But if I seek for instances to show how God in Christ is brought very
near to us, what can I choose more striking than that most solemn act of
Christian communion to which we are called this day? For, what is there
in our mortal life, what joy, what sorrow, what feeling elated or
subdued, which is not in that communion brought near to Christ to
receive his blessing? What is the first and outward thing of which it
reminds us? Is it not that last supper in Jerusalem, in which men,--the
twelve disciples, the first members of our Christian brotherhood,--were
brought into such solemn nearness to God, as seems to have begun the
privileges of heaven upon earth? They were brought near at once to
Christ and to one another: united to one another in him, in that double
bond which, is the perfection at once of our duty and of our happiness.
And so in our communion we, too, draw near to Christ and to each other;
we feel--who is there at that moment, at least, that does not
feel?--what a tie there is to bind each of us to his brother, when we
come to the table of our common Lord. So far, the Lord's Supper is but a
type of what every Christian meeting should be: never should any of us
be gathered together on any occasion of common life, in our families or
with our neighbours; we should sit down to no meal, we should meet in no
company, without having Christ also in the midst of us; without
remembering what we all are to him, and what we each therefore are to
our brethren. But when we further recollect what there is in the Lord's
Supper beyond the mere meeting of Christ and his disciples; what it is
which the bread and the wine commemorate; of what we partake when, as
true Christians, we eat of that bread, and drink of that cup; then we
shall understand that God indeed is brought very near to us; inasmuch,
as he who is a Christian, and partakes sincerely of Christian communion,
is a partaker also of Christ: and as belonging to his body, his living
spiritual body, the universal Church, receives his share of all those
blessings, of all that infinite love which the Father shows continually
to the head of that body, his own well-beloved Son.

Say not then in your hearts, Who can ascend up into heaven, that is, to
bring Christ down? As on this day, when he took our nature upon him, he
came down to abide with us for ever; to abide with, us, even when we
should see him with our eyes no more: for whilst he was on earth he so
took part in all the concerns of life, in all its duties, its sorrows,
and its joys, that memory, when looking back on the past, can fancy him
present still; and then let the liveliest fancy do its work to the
utmost, it cannot go beyond the reality; he is present still, for that
belongs to his almightiness; he is present with us, because he is God;
and we can fancy him with us, because he is man. This is the way to
lessen our distance from God and heaven, by bringing Christ continually
to us on earth: the sky is closed, and shows no sign; all things
continue as they were from the beginning of the world; evil abounds, and
therefore the faith of many waxes cold; but Christ was and is amongst
us; and we need no surer sign than that sign of the prophet
Jonah--Christ crucified and Christ risen--to make us feel that we may
live with God daily upon earth, and doing so, shall live with him for an
eternal life, in a country that cannot pass away.




LECTURE XXIII.

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SUNDAY NEXT BEFORE EASTER.

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MATTHEW xxvi. 40, 41.

_What, could ye not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, that ye
enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the
flesh is weak_.


These words, we cannot doubt, have an application to ourselves, and to
all Christians, far beyond the particular occasion on which they were
actually spoken. They are, in fact, the words which Christ addresses
daily to all of us. Every day, when he sees how often we have gone
astray from him, he repeats to us, Could ye not watch with me one hour?
Every day he commands us to watch and pray, that we enter not into
temptation; every day he reminds us, that however willing may be our
spirits, yet our flesh is weak; and that through that weakness, sin
prevails over it, and having triumphed over our flesh, proceeds to
enslave our spirit also.

And as the words are applicable to us every day, so also are they in a
particular manner suitable now, when the season of Lent is so nearly
over, and Easter is so fast approaching. Have we been unable to watch,
with Christ one hour? Already are the good resolutions with which, we,
perhaps, began Lent, broken in many instances; and the impressions, if
any such were made in us, are already weakened. They have been a
burden, which we have shaken off, because the weakness of our nature
found it too heavy to bear. Sad it is to think how often this same
process has been repeated in all time, how often it will be repeated
to the end.

Let us just review what the course of this process has probably been.
Now, as the parable of the Sower describes three several sorts of
persons, who never bring forth, fruit; so in the very same persons,
there is at different times something of each of the three characters
there described. We, the very same persons, are at one time hard, at
another careless, and at another over-busy; although, if compared with,
other persons, and in the general form of their characters, some are
hard, and others are careless, and others over-busy; different persons
having different faults predominantly. But even the hardness of the road
side, although God forbid that it should be our prevailing temper, yet
surely it does sometimes exist in too many of us. In common speech, we
talk of a person showing a hard temper, meaning, generally, a hard
temper towards other men. We have done wrong, but being angry when we
are reproved for it, we will not acknowledge it at all, and cheat our
consciences, by dwelling upon the supposed wrong that has been done to
us in some over-severity of reproof or punishment, instead of confessing
and repenting of the original wrong which we ourselves did. But is it
not true, that a hard temper towards man is very often, even
consciously, a hard temper towards God? Does it never happen, that if
conscience presents to us the thought of God, whether as a God of
judgment to terrify us, or as a God of love to melt us, we repel it with
impatience, or with sullenness? Does not the heart sometimes almost
speak aloud the language of blasphemy: Who is God, that I should mind
him? I do not care what may happen, I will not be softened. Do not all
sorts of unbelieving thoughts pass rapidly through the mind at such
moments; first in their less daring form, whispering, as the serpent did
to Eve, that we shall not surely die; that we shall have time to repent
by and by; that God will not be so strict a judge as to condemn us for
such a little; that by some means or other, we shall escape? But then
they come, also, in their bolder form: What do I or any man know about
another world, or God's judgments? may it not be all a fiction, so that
I have, in reality, nothing to fear? In short, under one form or
another, is it not true, that our hearts have sometimes displayed
actually hardness towards God; that the thought of God has been actually
presented to our minds, but that we have turned it aside, and have not
suffered it to make any impression upon us? And thus, we have not only
not watched with Christ according to his command, but have actually told
him that we would not. But this has been in our worst temper, certainly;
it may not have happened,--I trust that it has not happened often. More
commonly, I dare say, the fault has been carelessness. We have gone out
of this place; sacred names have ceased to sound in our ears; sights in
any degree connected with, holy things have been all withdrawn from us.
Other sounds and other sights have been before us, and our minds have
yielded to them altogether. There are minds, indeed, which have no
spring of thought in themselves; which are quiet, and in truth empty,
till some outward objects come to engage them. Take them at a moment
when they are alone, or when there is no very interesting object before
them, and ask them of what they are thinking. If the answer were truly
given, such a mind would say, "Of nothing." Certain images may be
faintly presented to it; it may be that it is not altogether a blank;
yet it could not name anything distinctly. No form had been vivid enough
to produce any corresponding resolution in us; we were, as it were, in a
state between sleeping and waking, with neither thoughts nor dreams
definite enough to affect us. This state finds exactly all that it
desires in the presence or the near hope of outward objects; the mind
lives in its daily pursuits, and companions, and amusements. What
impressions have been once produced are soon worn away; and in a soil so
shallow nothing makes a durable impression: everything can, as it were,
scratch upon its surface, while nothing can strike deeply down within.

Or, again, take the rarer case of those who are over-busy. There are
minds, undoubtedly, which are as incapable of rest as those of the
generality of men are prone to it; there are minds which enter keenly
into everything presented to them by their outward senses, and which,
when their senses cease to supply them, have an inexhaustible source of
thought within, which furnishes them with abundant matter of reflection
or of speculation. To such a mind, doing is most delightful; whether it
be outward doing, or the mere exercise of thought, either supplies alike
the consciousness of power. Where, then, is there room for the less
obtruding things of God? Into that restless water, another and another
image is for ever stepping down, pushing aside and keeping at a distance
the sobering reflections of God and of Christ. Alas! the thorns grow so
vigorously in such a soil, that they altogether choke and kill the seed
of God's word.

So, then, we are either asleep, or, if we are awake, we are not waking
with Christ. On one side, in that garden of Gethsemane were the
disciples sleeping; below, and fast ascending the hill,--not sleeping,
certainly, but with lanterns and torches and weapons,--were those whose
waking was for evil. Where were they who watched with Christ one hour
then,--or where are those who watch with him now?

HOW gently, yet how earnestly, does he call upon us to "watch and pray,
lest we enter into temptation." To watch and to pray: for of all those
around him some were sleeping, and none were praying; so that they who
watched were not watching with him, but against him. In our careless
state of mind the call to us is to watch; in our over-busy state the
call to us is to pray; in our hard state there is equal need for both.
And even in our best moods, when we are not hard, nor careless, nor
over-busy, when we are at once sober and earnest and gentle, then not
least does Christ call upon us to watch and to pray, that we may retain
that than which else no gleam of April sunshine was ever more fleeting;
that we may perfect that which else is of the earth, earthly, and when
we lie down in the dust will wither and come to dust also.

Jesus Christ brought life and immortality, it is said, to light through
the gospel. He brought life and immortality to light:--is this indeed
true as far as we are concerned? What do we think would be the
difference in this point between many of us--who will dare say how
many?--and a school, I will not say of Jewish, but even of Greek or
Roman or Egyptian boys, eighteen hundred, or twenty-four hundred, or
three or four thousand years ago? Compare us at our worship with them,
and then, I grant, the difference would appear enormous. We have no
images, making the glory of the incorruptible God like to corruptible
man; we have no vain stream of incense; no shedding of the blood of
bulls and calves in sacrifice: the hymns which are sung here are not
vain repetitions or impious fables, which gave no word of answer to
those questions which it most concerns mankind to know. Here, indeed,
Jesus Christ is truly set forth, crucified among us; here life and
immortality are brought to light. But follow us out of this place,--to
our respective pursuits and amusements, to our social meetings, or our
times of solitary thought,--and wherein do we seem to see life and
immortality more brightly revealed than to those heathen schools of old?
Do we enjoy any worldly good less keenly, or less shrink from any
worldly evil? Death, which to the heathen view was the end of all
things, is to us (so our language goes) the gate of life. Do we think of
it with more hope and less fear than the heathen did? Christ has risen,
and has reconciled us to God. Is God more to us?--God now revealed to us
as our reconciled Father--do we oftener think of him, do we love him
better, than he was thought of and loved in those heathen schools, which
had Homer's poetry for their only gospel? We talk of light, of
revelation, of the knowledge of God, while verily and really we are
walking, not in light, but in darkness: not in knowledge of God, but in
blindness and hardness of heart.

"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." How great is the
loving-kindness of these words,--how gently does Christ bear with the
weakness of his disciples! But this thought may be the most blessed or
the most dangerous thought in the world; the most blessed if it touches
us with love, the most dangerous if it emboldens us in sin. He is full
of loving-kindness, full of long-suffering; for days, and weeks, and
months, and years he bears with us: we grieve him, and he entreats; we
crucify him afresh, yet he will not come down from the cross in power
and majesty; he endures and spares. So it is for days, and months, and
years; for some years it may be to most of us,--for many years to some
of the youngest. There may be some here who may go on grieving Christ,
and crucifying him afresh, for as much as seventy years; and he will
bear with them all that time, and his sun will daily shine upon them,
and his creatures and his word will minister to their pleasure; and he
himself will say nothing to them but to entreat them to turn and be
saved. This may last, I say, to some amongst us for seventy years; to
others it may last fifty; to many of us it may last for forty, or for
thirty; none of us, perhaps, are so old but that it may last with us
twenty, or at the least ten. Such is the prospect before us, if we like
it: not to be depended upon with certainty, it is true, but yet to be
regarded as probable. But as these ten, or twenty, or fifty, or seventy
years pass on, Christ will still spare us, but his voice of entreaty
will be less often heard; the distance between him and us will be
consciously wider. From one place after another where we once used
sometimes to see him, he will have departed; year after year some object
which used once to catch the light from heaven, will have become
overgrown, and will lie constantly in gloom; year after year the world
will become to us more entirely devoid of God. If sorrow, or some
softening joy ever turns our minds towards Christ, we shall be startled
at perceiving there is something which keeps us from him, that we cannot
earnestly believe in him; that if we speak of loving him, our hearts,
which can still love earthly things, feel that the words are but
mockery. Alas, alas! the increased weakness of our flesh, has destroyed
all the power of our spirit, and almost all its willingness: it is bound
with chains which it cannot break, and, indeed, scarcely desires to
break. Redemption, Salvation, Victory,--what words are these when
applied to that enslaved, that lost, that utterly overthrown and
vanquished soul, which sin is leading in triumph now, and which will
speedily be given over to walk for ever as a captive in the eternal
triumph of death!

Not one word of what I have said is raised beyond the simplest
expression of truth; this is our portion if we will not watch with
Christ. We know how often we have failed to do so, either sleeping in
carelessness, or being busy and wakeful, but not with him or for him.
Still he calls us to watch and pray, lest we enter into temptation; to
mark our lives and actions; to mark them often; to see whether we have
done well or ill in the month past, or in the week past, or in the day
past; to consider whether we are better than we were, or worse; whether
we think Christ loves us better, or worse; whether we are more or less
cold towards him. I know not what else can be called watching with
Christ than such a looking into ourselves as we are in his sight. It is
very hard to be done;--yes, it is hard--harder than anything probably
which we ever attempted before; and, therefore, we must pray withal for
his help, whose strength is perfected in our weakness. And if it be so
hard, and we have need so greatly to pray for God's help, should we not
all also be anxious to help one another? And knowing, as we do from our
own consciences, how difficult it is to watch with Christ, and how
thankful we should be to any one who were to make it easier to us,
should we not be sure that our neighbour is in like case with ourselves;
that our help may be as useful to him as we feel that his would be to
us? This is our bounden duty of love towards one another; what then
should be said of us if we not only neglect this duty, but do the very
contrary to it; if we actually help the evil in our brother's heart to
destroy him more entirely; if we will not watch with Christ ourselves,
and strive to prevent others from doing so?




LECTURE XXIV.

       *       *       *       *       *

GOOD FRIDAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROMANS v. 8.

_God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us_.


We all remember the story in the Gospel, of the different treatment
which our Lord met with in the same house, from the Pharisee, who had
invited him into it, and from the woman who came in and knelt at his
feet, and kissed them, and bathed them with her tears. Our Lord
accounted for the difference in these words, "To whom little is
forgiven, the same loveth little;" which means to speak of the sense or
feeling in the person's own mind, "He who feels that little is or needs
to be forgiven him, he also loves little." And this same difference
which existed toward him when he was present on earth, exists no less
now, whenever he is brought before our thoughts. The same sort of
persons who saw him with indifference, think of him also with
indifference; they who saw him with love, think of him also with love.
There is no art, no power in the world, which can give an interest to
words spoken concerning him, for those who feel that little is and that
little needs to be forgiven them, or to those who never consider about
their being forgiven at all. To such, this day, with its services, what
they hear from the Scriptures, or what they hear from men, must be
alike a matter of indifference: it is not possible that it should be
otherwise. Yet, God forbid that we should design what we are saying this
day only for a certain few of our congregation, as if the rest neither
would nor could be interested in it. So long as any one is careless, he
cannot, it is true, be interested about the things of Christ; but who
can say at what moment, through God's grace, he may cease to be
careless? Is it too much to say, that scarcely a service is performed in
any congregation in the land, which does not awaken an interest in some
one who before was indifferent? I do rot say a deep interest, nor a
lasting one, but an interest; there is a thought, a heeding, an
inclination of the mind to listen, created probably by the Church
services in some one or other, every time that they are performed. As we
never can know in whom this may be so created, as all have great need
that it should be created, as all are deeply concerned whether they feel
that they are so or no, so we speak to all alike; and if the language
does pass over their ears like an unknown or indistinct sound, the fault
and the loss are theirs; but the Church has borne her witness, and has
so far done her duty.

But again, for ears not careless, but most interested; for hearts to
whom Christ is more than all in the world besides; for minds, before
whom the wisdom of the gospel is ever growing, rising to a loftier
height, and striking downwards to a depth more profound,--yet without
end in its height or its depth; is there not, also, a difficulty in
speaking to them of that great thing which the Church celebrates to-day?
Is there no difficulty in awakening their interest, or rather how can we
escape even from wearying or repelling them, when their own affections
and deep thoughts must find all words of man, whether of themselves or
others, infinitely unworthy to express either the one or the other? To
such, then, the words of the preacher may be no more than music without
any words at all; which does but serve to lead and accompany our own
thoughts, without distinctly suggesting any thoughts of another to
interrupt the workings of our own minds. We would speak of Christ's
death; most good it is for us and for you to think upon it; so far as
our words suit the current of your own thoughts, use them and listen to
them; so far as they are a too unworthy expression of what we ought to
think and feel, follow your own reflections, and let the words neither
offend you nor distract you.

I would endeavour just to touch, upon some of the purposes for which the
Scripture tells us that Christ died, and for which his death was
declared to be the great object of our faith. This done in the simplest
and fewest words will best show the infinite greatness of the subject;
and how truly it is, so to speak, the central point of Christianity.

First of all, Christ died as a proper sacrifice for sin; as a sacrifice,
the virtue of which, is altogether distinct from our knowledge of it, or
from any effect which it has a tendency to produce on our own minds. We
are forgiven for his sake; we are acquitted through his death, and
through faith in his blood. What a view does this open, partially,
indeed,--for what mortal eye can reach to the end of it?--of the evil of
sin, and of God's love! of what God's justice required, and of what
God's love fulfilled! This great sacrifice was made once, but it will
not be made again; for those who despise this there remains no more
offering for sin, but their sin abideth with them for ever.

Secondly, Christ's death is revealed to us as a motive capable of
overcoming all temptations to evil. "How much more shall the blood of
Christ purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?"
"He suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us
to God;" that is, that a consideration of what Christ's death declares
to us should have power to melt the hardest heart, and to sober the
lightest: that, when we think of Christ dying, dying for us, and so
purchasing for us the forgiveness of sins, and everlasting life, such a
love, and such a prospect of peace with God, and of glory, should in the
highest degree soften and enkindle us; and from love for him, and
confidence of hope through the prospect which he has given us, we should
be able to overcome all temptations. "I am persuaded," says St. Paul,
"that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor
powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth,
nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of
God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Thirdly, Christ suffered for as, leaving us an example that we should
follow his steps. He left us an example of all meekness, and patience,
and humility; he left us an example of perfect submission to God's will;
he left us an infinite comfort by letting us feel when we are in any
trouble, or pain, or affliction, that he was troubled too; that he knew
pain, and endured affliction. Above all, in that hour which must come to
all of us, he has left us the greatest of all supports;--for he endured
to die; and we may enter with less fear into the darkness of the grave,
for even there Christ has been for our sakes, and arose from out of it a
conqueror.

Fourthly, Christ died that he might gather together in one the children
of God that were scattered abroad; he died to purchase to himself his
universal Church. So it is said in the Scriptures: and on this
particular purpose of his death, it may not be amiss to dwell, for none
so needs to be held in remembrance. Many there are, and ever have been,
who have rested their whole hope towards God on his sacrifice; many who
have learnt from his cross to overcome sin; from his resurrection to
overcome the world; many who, amidst all the troubles of life, and in
the hour of death, have been supported by the thought of his example.
But where is his universal Church? where the company of God's children
gathered together into one? where is the city set upon the hill, that
cannot be hid? where is the visible kingdom of God, where all its people
are striving under one Divine Head, against sin, the world, and the
devil? This is the sign which we look for and cannot find; this is the
fulfilment of the prophecies for which we seem destined to wait in vain.

And what if, on the contrary, that which is called the Church act rather
the part of the world; if our worst foes be truly those of our own
household: if they who should have been for our help, be rather an
occasion of falling: if one of our greatest difficulties in following
Christ steadily, arise from the total want of encouragement, yea, often
from the direct opposition of those who are themselves pledged to follow
him to the death; if that Church, which was to have been the clearest
sign to the world of the truth of Christ's gospel, be now, in many
respects, rather a stumbling-block to the adversary and unbeliever, so
that the name of God is through us blasphemed among the heathen, rather
than glorified; may we not humble ourselves before God in sorrow and in
shame? and must we not confess, that through our sin, and the sin of our
fathers, Christ, in respect of this one purpose of his death, has as yet
died in vain?

Israel after the flesh, lamenting their Jerusalem which is now not
theirs, and mourning over their ruined temple, in all their synagogues
repeat constantly the prayer, O Lord, build thou the walls of Jerusalem!
O Lord, build! O Lord, build! O Lord, build! is the solemn chorus,
marking by its repetition the earnestness of their desire. And should
not this be the prayer of the Israel of God, scattered now as they are
into their thousand divided and corrupted synagogues, and no token to be
seen of the pure and universal Church, the living temple of the Spirit
of God; should not we too, privately and publicly, join in the prayer of
the earthly Israel, and pray that Christ would build for us the walls of
our true Jerusalem? For only think what it would be, if Christ's Church
existed more than in name; consider what it would be if baptism were a
real bond; if we looked on one another as brethren, redeemed by one
ransom, pledged to one service; if we bore with one another's
weaknesses; if we helped one another's endeavours; if each saw and
heard, in the words and life of his neighbour, an image of Christ, and a
pledge of the truth of his promises. Consider what it would be, if, with
no quarrels, with no jealousies, with no unkindness, we sought not every
man his own, but every man also another's welfare; as true members one
of another,--of one body, of which Christ is the head. Consider what it
would be, if our judgments of men and things were like Christ's
judgments; neither strengthening the heart of the careless and sinful by
our laxity, nor making sad the heart of God's true servant by our
uncharitableness; not putting little things in the place of great, nor
great things in the place of little; not neglecting the unity of the
Spirit; not stickling for a sameness in the form. Or, if we carry our
views a little wider; if we look out upon the world at large, and hear
of rumours of wars, and see the signs of internal disorders, and
perhaps may think that the clouds are gathering which, herald one of the
comings of the Son of man to judgment, whether the last of all or not it
were vain to ask; how blessed would it be, if we could see such an ark
of Christ's Church as should float visibly upon, the stormy waters;
gathering within it, in peace and safety, men of various dispositions
and conditions, and opinions; those who held much of truth, and those
who had mixed with it much of error: those whom Christ would call clean,
and those, too, whom some of their brethren call unclean, but whom
Christ has redeemed, and will save no less than their despisers; all, in
short, who fled from sin and from the world to Christ, and to the
company of Christ's people! O if we could but see such an ark preparing
while God's long-suffering yet withholds the flood! O that all God's
scattered and divided children would join together in one earnest
prayer, O Lord, build thou the walls of Jerusalem! O Lord, build! O
Lord, build! O Lord, build!

Yet, for this, among other purposes of mercy, did the Son of God, as on
this day, suffer death upon the cross: he died that we might be one in
him. Let us turn, then, from the thought of the general temple in ruins,
and let us see whether we cannot, at any rate, within the walls of our
own little particular congregation, fulfil also this object of Christ's
death, and be one in him. Let us consider one another, to provoke unto
love and to good works: we too often consider one another for the very
contrary purpose, to provoke to contempt or ill-will. True it is, that
if we look for it we can find much of evil in our brethren, and they can
find much also in us; and we might become all haters of one another, all
in some sort deserving to be hated. But where is he who is entitled to
hate another's evil when he has evil in himself; and when Christ, who
had none, did not hate the evil of us all, but rather died to save it?
And is it not true also, that, if we look for it, we can also find in
every one something to love? something, undoubtedly, even in him who has
in himself least: but much, infinitely much in all, when we look upon
them as Christ's redeemed. Not more beautifully than truly has it been
said, that Christian souls--

     "Though worn and soiled by sinful clay,
     Are yet, to eyes that see them true,
     All glistening with baptismal dew."

They have the seal of belonging to Christ; they are his and our
brethren. And, as his latest command, and his beloved Apostle's also,
was that we should love one another; so, if we would bring all our
solemn thoughts of Christ's death to one point, and endeavour to derive
from it some one particular lesson for our daily lives, I know not that
any would be more needed or better for us, than that we should
especially apply the thought of Christ dying on the cross for us to
soften our angry, and proud, and selfish feelings; to restrain us from
angry or sneering words; from unkind, offensive, rude, or insulting
actions; to excite us to gentleness, courtesy, kindness; remembering
that he, be he who he may, whom we allow ourselves to despise, or to
dislike, or to annoy, or to neglect, was one so precious in Christ's
sight, that he laid down his life for his sake, and invites him to be
for ever with, him and with his Father.




LECTURE XXV.

       *       *       *       *       *

EASTER DAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN xx. 20.

_Then the disciples went away again unto their own home_.


With this verse ends the portion of the scripture chosen for the gospel
in this morning's service. It finishes the account of the visit of Peter
and John to the sepulchre; and, therefore, the close of the extract at
this point is sufficiently natural. Yet the effect of the quiet tone of
these words, just following the account of the greatest event which
earth has ever witnessed, is, I think, singularly impressive; the more
so when we remember that they were written by one of the very persons,
whose visit had been just described; and that the writer, therefore,
could tell full well, to how intense an interest there had succeeded
that solemn calm. They went away from the very sight, if I may so speak,
of Christ risen, to their own homes. And what thoughts do we suppose
that they carried with them? Let us endeavour to recall them, for our
benefit, also, who, like them, are going, as it were, to the ordinary
tenure of our daily lives from this day's high solemnity.

The disciples went away to their own homes; and there they waited,
either in Jerusalem or in Galilee, pursuing, as we find from the last
chapter of St. John, their common occupations, till, after their Lord's
ascension, power was given them from on high, and the great work of
their apostleship began. During this period, Christ appeared to them
several times: he conversed with them, he ate and drank with them: but
he did not live continually with them, as he had done before his
crucifixion: he did not take them about with him as before, while he was
performing the part of the great prophet of the house of Israel. They
were now at their own homes waiting for his call to more active duties.
They had seen him dead, and they had seen, him risen, and they were
receiving into their souls all the lessons of his life and death and
resurrection, brought before them, and impressed upon them by that Holy
Spirit, who, according to Christ's promise, was to take of the things
which are Christ's, and to show them to Christ's disciples.

It is true that there came upon them, after this, an especial visitation
of the Spirit of power, to fit them for their particular work of
apostles or messengers to mankind. Having been converted themselves,
they were to strengthen their brethren. And as this especial visitation
of the Holy Spirit was given to them only, and to those on whom they
themselves laid their hands, so none have ever since been called to that
particular work to which they were called, in any thing of the same
degree of fulness. What is peculiar to them as apostles is not
applicable exactly to us; but we are all concerned in what belongs to
them as Christians: in this respect, their case is ours; and they, when
at their own homes, and engaged in their own callings, stand in the same
situation as we all.

We may, however, still make a two-fold division; we may regard the
apostles going away to their own homes, as a temporary thing, as a mere
term of preparation for the duties which they were afterwards called to;
or we may look upon it as complete so far as earth is concerned, since,
taking them as Christians only and not as apostles, they might have so
lived on to the end of their lives, having received all those helps
which were needed for their own personal salvation, and having only to
use them daily for their soul's benefit. This same distinction we may
apply to ourselves. We may consider ourselves as going to our own homes
for a time only, awaiting our call to active life; or we may consider
ourselves as withdrawing, after every celebration of Christ's
resurrection, to that round of daily duties which on earth shall never
alter; and to which all the helps derived from our communion with Christ
are to be applied, with nothing future, so for as earth is concerned,
for which we may need them. So then, of whatever age we may be, what is
said of the apostles in the text may apply to us also: after having
witnessed, as it were, Christ's resurrection, we go away to our own
homes. Let us first take that part of the text which is common to us
all, though not in the same degree--the having been witnesses of
Christ's resurrection. John and Peter found him not in the sepulchre;
they found the linen clothes and the napkin lying there, but he was
gone. And upon this, as John assures us, both for himself and his
companion, "they believed." They believed, we should observe, when as
yet they had no more seen Jesus himself after his resurrection, than we
Lave now. They only knew that he had been dead, and that he was not in
the sepulchre. And this we know also; we have not seen him, indeed,
since his resurrection: but we are sure he is not in the sepulchre. We
are sure that the malice of his enemies did not do its work: we are
sure, for we are ourselves witnesses of it, that that name, and that
word, which they hoped would have been destroyed for ever, like the
names of many, not only of false prophets and deceivers, but even of
good men and of wise, have not perished, but have brought forth fruit
more abundantly, from the very cause that was intended to put them out.
Christ's gospel, assuredly, is a living thing, full of vigour and full
of power; it has worked mightily for good, and is working; it is so full
of blessing, it tends so largely towards the happiness that is enjoyed
upon earth, that we are quite sure it is not lying still buried in
Christ's sepulchre.

They (the two disciples) then went away believing, because they found
that he was not in the sepulchre. But Mary Magdalene came and told them,
that she had seen him risen, and had heard his voice with her ears. What
she told Peter and John, Peter and John are now telling to us. They tell
us that they have heard him, have seen him with their eyes, have looked
upon him, yea, that their hands have handled him. They tell us even more
than Mary Magdalene told them; for she had not been allowed to touch
him. We may well trust their testimony, as they trusted hers, being
quite ready indeed to believe that he was alive, because they had found
that he was not amongst the dead. And so we, finding that he is not
amongst the dead, seeing and knowing the fruits of his gospel, the
living and ever increasing fruits of it, may well believe that its
author is risen, and that the pains of death were loosed from off him,
because it was not possible that he should be holden by them.

In this way, we, like the two disciples, may be all said to be witnesses
of Christ's resurrection. May it not be said still more of those amongst
us who assembled this morning round Christ's table, to keep alive the
memory of his death; when we partook of that bread, and drank of that
cup, of which so many thousands and millions, in every age and in every
land, have eaten and drunken, all receiving them, with nearly the same
words,--the body that was given for us, the blood that was shed for
us,--all, making allowances for human weakness, finding in that
communion the peace and the strength of God; all alike receiving it with
penitent hearts, and with faith, and purposes of good for the time to
come? Did we not then witness that Christ is not perished? that he has
been ever, and still is, mighty to save? That command given to twelve
persons, in an obscure chamber in Jerusalem, by one who, the next day,
was to die as a malefactor, has been, and is obeyed from one end of the
world to another; and wherever it has been obeyed, there, in proportion
to the sincerity of the obedience, has been the fulness of the blessing.

But this is now past, as with the two disciples, and we are going again
to our own homes. There, neither the empty sepulchre nor the risen
Saviour are present before us, but common scenes and familiar
occupations, which, in themselves have nothing in them of Christ. So it
must be; we cannot be always within these walls; we cannot always be
engaged in public prayer; we cannot always be hearing Christ's word, nor
partaking of his communion; we must be going about our several works,
and must be busied in them; some of us in preparation for other work to
come, others to go on till the end of their lives with this only. May we
not hope that Christ, and Christ's Spirit, will visit us the while in
these our daily callings, as he came to his disciples Peter and John,
when following their business as fishers on the lake of Gennesareth?

How can we get him to visit us? There is one answer--by prayer and by
watchfulness. By prayer, whether we are in our preparatory state, or our
fixed one; by prayer, and I think I may add, by praying in our own
words. Of course, when we pray together, some of us must join in the
words of others; and it makes little difference, whether those words be
spoken or read. But when we pray alone, some, perhaps, may still use
none but prayers made by others, especially the Lord's prayer. We should
remember, however, that the Lord's prayer was given for this very
purpose, to teach us how to pray for ourselves. But it does not do this,
if we use it alone, and still more, if we use it without understanding
it. If we do understand it, and study it, it will indeed teach us to
pray; it will show us what we most need in prayer, and what are our
greatest evils; but surely it may be said, that no man ever learnt this
lesson well without wishing to practise it; no man ever used the Lord's
prayer with understanding and with earnestness, without adding to it
others of his own. And this is not a trifling matter. We know the
difficulty of attending in prayer; and if we use the words of others
only, which we must, therefore, repeat from memory, it is perfectly
possible to say them over without really joining with them in our minds:
we may say them over to ourselves, and be actually thinking of other
things the while. And the same thing holds good, of course, even with
prayers that we have made ourselves, if we accustom ourselves to repeat
them without alteration; they then become, in fact, the work of another
than our actual mind, and may be repeated by memory alone. Therefore, it
seems to be of consequence to vary the words, and even the matter of our
private prayers, that so we may not deceive ourselves, by repeating
merely, when we fancy that we are praying. Ten words actually made by
ourselves at the moment, and not remembered, are a real prayer; for it
is not hypocrisy that is the most common danger; our temper, when we are
on our knees, is apt indeed to be careless, but not, I hope and believe,
deceitful. This, of course, must be well known to a very large
proportion of us; but, perhaps, there are some to whom it may be
useful; some to whom the advice may not yet have suggested itself, that
they should make their own prayers, in part, at least, whenever they
kneel down to their private devotions.

And this sort of prayer, with God's blessing, is likely to make us
watchful. We rise in the morning: we say some prayers of our own; we
hear others read to us; and yet it is possible that we may not have
really prayed ourselves in either case; we may not have brought
ourselves truly into the presence of God. Hence our true condition, with
all its dangers, has not been brought before our minds; the need of
watchfulness has not been shown to us. But with real prayer of our own
hearts' making it is different; God is then present to us, and sin and
righteousness: our dream of carelessness is, for a moment at least,
broken. No doubt it is but too easy to dream again; yet still an
opportunity of exerting ourselves to keep awake is given us; we are
roused to consciousness of our situation; and that, at any rate, renders
exertion possible. There is no doubt that souls are most commonly lost
by this continued dreaming, till at length, when seemingly awake (they
are not so really), they are like men who answer to the call that would
arouse them, but they answer, in fact, unconsciously. We cannot tell for
ourselves or others any way by which our souls shall certainly be saved,
in spite of carelessness; or any way by which, carelessness shall be
overcome necessarily; all that can be done is, to point out how it may
be overcome, by what means the soul may be helped in its endeavours; not
how those endeavours and holy desires may be rendered needless.

Thus, then, we may gain Christ to visit us at our own homes and in our
common callings, when we are returned to them. And that difference which
I spoke of as existing between us, that some of us are waiting for
Christ's call to a higher field of action, while others are engaged in
that sort of duty which will last their lives, I know not that
this--though it be often important, and though I am often obliged to
dwell on it--need enter into our considerations to-day. Rather, perhaps,
may we overlook this difference, and feel that all of us here
assembled--those in their state of earliest preparation for after
duties; those to whom that earliest state is passed away, and who are
entered into another state, in part preparatory, in part partaking of
the character of actual life; and those also whose preparation, speaking
of earth, only, is completed altogether, who must be doing, and whose
time even of doing is far advanced--that all of us have in truth one
great call yet before us: and that, with respect to that, we are all, as
it were, preparing still. And for that great call, common to all of us,
we need all the same common readiness; and that readiness will be
effected in us only by the same means,--if now, before it come, Christ
and Christ's Spirit shall, in our homes and daily callings, be persuaded
to visit us.




LECTURE XXVI.

       *       *       *       *       *

WHITSUNDAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

ACTS xix. 2.

_Have you received the Holy Ghost since ye believed_?


It appears, by what follows these words, that the question here related
especially to those gifts of the Holy Ghost which were given, in the
first age of the church, as a sign of God's power, and a witness that
the work of the gospel was from God. Yet although this be so, and
therefore the words, in this particular sense, cannot to any good
purpose be asked now; yet there is another sense, and that not a lower
but a far higher one, in which we may ask them, and in which it concerns
us in the highest degree, what sort of answer we can give to them, I
say, "what sort of answer;" for I think it is true of all Christians
that, in a certain measure, they have received the Holy Ghost. Not only
does the doctrine of our own, and I believe every other, church,
concerning baptism, show this: but it seems also necessarily to follow,
from those words of St. Paul, that "No man can say that Jesus is the
Lord but by the Holy Ghost." And yet the Scripture and common experience
alike show us, that a man may call Jesus Lord, and yet not be really
his, nor one who will be owned by Him at the last day. So that what is
of real importance to us is, the degree of fulness and force with which
we could give the answer to the words of the text; not simply saying
that we have received the Holy Ghost, which would be true, but might be
far from sufficient; but saying that we have received Him and are
receiving Him more and more, so that our hearts and lives are showing
the impression of his heavenly seal daily more and more clearly and
completely.

And this must really have always been the answer which it concerned
every Christian to be able to make; although it has been in various
instances, and by very opposite parties, tried to be evaded. It is
evaded alike by those who set too highly the grace given in baptism, and
by those who, setting this too low, direct our attention to another
point in a man's life, which they call his justification or conversion.
For both alike would give an exaggerated importance to one particular
moment of our lives, and to the grace then given. Now, the importance of
particular moments in men's lives differs exceedingly in different
persons; but yet in all may be exaggerated. I suppose that if ever in
any man's life a particular point was of immense importance, it was the
point of his conversion in the case of St. Paul. There were here united
all that grace which according to one view accompanies baptism
especially, and all which according to the other view accompanies
conversion and justification. Here was a point which separated St.
Paul's later life from his earlier with a broader line of separation
than can possibly be the ease in general. There can be no doubt that he,
if ever man did, received at that particular time the Holy Ghost. But
if, ten or twenty years afterwards, St. Paul had been asked concerning
what the Holy Ghost had done for him, he would not certainly have
confined himself in his answer to the grace once given him at his
conversion and baptism, but would have spoken of that which he had been
receiving since every hour and every day, carrying forward and
completing that work of God which had been begun at the time of his
journey to Damascus. And as he had received more and more grace, so was
his confidence in his acceptance with God at the last day more and more
assured. For he writes to the Corinthians, many years after his
conversion and baptism, that he kept under his body, and was bringing it
into subjection, lest that by any means, after having preached to
others, he should be himself a castaway. And some years later still,
though he does not use so strong an expression as that of becoming a
castaway, yet he still says, even when writing to the Philippians from
Rome, that he counted not himself to have apprehended, nor to have
attained his object fully; but forgetting what was behind, even the
grace of his conversion and baptism, he pressed on to the things which
were before, even that continued and increasing grace which was required
to bring him in safety to his heavenly crown. But if we go on some years
yet farther, when his labours were ended, and the sure prospect of
speedy death was before him; when the past grace was everything, and
what he could expect yet to come was scarcely any other than that
particular aid which we need in our struggle with the last enemy--death;
then, his language is free from all uncertainty; then, in the full sense
of the words, he could say that he had received the Holy Ghost, that his
spirit had been fully born again for its eternal being, and that there
only remained the raising up also of his mortal body, to complete that
new creation of body and soul which Christ's Spirit works in Christ's
redeemed. "I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I
have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me my crown of
righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me at
that day."

It seems, then, that the great question which we should be anxious to
be able to answer in the affirmative, is this, "_Are we receiving_ the
Holy Ghost since we believed?" "Since we believed," whether we choose to
carry back the date of our first belief to the very time of our baptism,
when grace was given to us,--we know not to what degree nor how,--yet
given to us, as being then received into Christ's flock; or whether we
go back only to that time when we can ourselves remember ourselves to
have believed, and so can remember that God's grace was given to us.
Have we been ever since, and are we still, receiving the Holy Ghost? O
blessed above all blessedness, if we can say that this is true of us! O
blessed with a blessedness most complete, if we only do not too entirely
abandon ourselves to enjoy it! Elect of God; holy and beloved; justified
and sanctified; there is nothing in all the world that could impair or
destroy such happiness, except we ourselves, in evil hour, believed it
to be out of the reach of danger.

But if the witness of memory and conscience be less favourable; if we
can remember long seasons of our lives during which we were not
receiving the Holy Ghost; long seasons of a cold and hard state, in
which there was, as it were, neither rain nor dew, nor yet sun to ripen
what had grown before; but all was so ungenial that no new thing grew;
and what had grown was withering and almost dying; what shall be said,
then, and how can the time be made up which was so wasted? But we
remember, it may be, that this deadly season passed away: the rain fell
once more, and the tender dew, and the quickening sun shone brightly:
our spiritual growth began again, and is now going on healthily; we have
not always been receiving the Holy Ghost since we believed, but we are
receiving him now. How gracious, then, has God been to us, that he has
again renewed us unto repentance; that he has shown that we have not, in
the fullest sense, sinned against the Holy Ghost, seeing that the Holy
Ghost still abides with us! we grieved him, and tried his
long-suffering, but he has not abandoned us to our own evil hearts; we
are receiving him who is the giver of life, and we still live.

But must not we speak of others? is not another case to be supposed
possible? may there not be some who cannot say with truth that they are
receiving the holy Ghost now? They received him once; we doubt it not;
perhaps they were receiving him for some length of time; their early
childhood was watched by Christian care; their youth and early manhood,
when it received freshly things of this world, received also, with
lively thankfulness, the grace of God; they can remember a time when
they were growing in goodness; when they were being renewed after the
image of God. But they can remember, also, that this time passed away;
the grace of early childhood was put out by the temptations of boyhood;
the grace of youth and opening manhood died away amid the hardness of
this life's maturity. It is so, I believe, often; that boyhood, which
is, as it were, ripened childhood, destroys the grace of our earliest
years; that again, when youth offers us a second beginning of life, we
are again impressed with good; but that ripened youth, which is manhood,
brings with it again the reason of hardness, and again our spiritual
growth, is destroyed. We can remember, I am supposing, that this fatal
change did take place; but can we date it to any particular act, or
month, or day, or hour? We can do so most rarely: in this respect the
seed of death can even less be traced to its beginning than the seed of
life. And yet there _was_ a beginning, only we do not remember it. And
why do we not remember it? Because the real beginning was in some act
which seemed of so little consequence that it made no impression; in the
altering some habit which we judged to be a mere trifle; in the
indulging some temper which even at the time we hardly noticed. Some
such little thing,--little in our view of it,--made the fatal turn; we
received the grace of God less and less: we heeded not the change for a
season; and when it was so marked that we could not but heed it, then we
had ceased to regard it; and so it was that the spring of our life was
dried up: and it is of no more avail to our present and future state,
that we once received grace, than the rain of last winter will be
sufficient to ripen the summer's harvest, if from this time forward we
have nothing but drought and cold.

Some few, again, there may be, who, within their own recollection, could
not say that they have received the Holy Ghost: persons who have lived
among careless friends, to whom the way of life has never been steadily
pointed out; while the way of death, with all its manifold paths,
meeting at last in one, has been continually before them. Shall we say
that these, because they have been baptized, are therefore guilty of
having rejected grace given? that this sin is aggravated, because a
mercy was offered them once of which they were unconscious? We would not
say this; but we would say that it is impossible but that they must have
received the Holy Ghost within their memory; it is impossible but that
conscience must have sometimes spoken, and that they must have sometimes
been enabled to obey it; it is impossible but that they must have had
some notions of sin, and some desires to struggle against it; and so far
as they ever felt that desire, it was the work of God's Holy Spirit.
Man cannot dare to say how great the amount of their guilt may be; but
guilt there certainly is; they have grieved the Holy Spirit; and, though
we dare not say that they have utterly blasphemed him, yet they have a
long hardness to overcome, and every hour of delayed turning to God
increases it: it may be possible still to overcome it, but meanwhile it
is not overcome; they are not receiving the Holy Spirit; they are not
being renewed into the likeness of Christ, without which no man can
see God.

Here, then, are the four cases, one of which must belong to every one of
us here assembled. Either we have been always and still are receiving
the Holy Ghost; or we can remember when we were not, but yet are
receiving him now; or we can remember when we were, but yet now are not;
or we cannot remember to have received him ever, nor are we yet
receiving him. I cannot say which of the last two states is the most
dreadful, nor scarcely which of the first two states is the most
blessed. But yet as even those happy states admit not of
over-confidence, so neither do the last two most unhappy states oblige
us to despair. Not to despair; but they do urge us to every degree of
fear less than despair. There is far more danger of our not fearing
enough than of our being driven to despair. There is far more danger of
your looking on the season of youth, of our looking on to old age; you
trusting to the second freshness and tenderness of the first,--we to the
calmness and necessary reflection of the last. There is far more danger
of our thus hardening ourselves beyond recall; there is not only the
danger, but there is the sin, the greatest sin, I suppose, of which the
human mind is capable, that of deliberately choosing evil for the
present rather than good, calculating that, by and by, we shall choose
good rather than evil. I believe, that it is impossible to conceive of
any state of mind more sinful than one which should so feel and so
choose; and this is the state which we incur, and which we persist in
whenever we put off the thought of repentance. Now, then, it only
remains, that we apply this each to ourselves; I say all of us apply it,
the young and the old alike; for there is not one here so young as not
to have cause to apply it; there is not one of us who would not, I am
sure, be a different person from what he now is, if he were to ask
himself steadily every day, Have I been and am I receiving the Holy
Ghost since I believed?




LECTURE XXVII.

       *       *       *       *       *

TRINITY SUNDAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN iii. 9.

_How can these things be_?


This is the second question put by Nicodemus to our Lord with regard to
the truths which Jesus was declaring to him. The first was, "How can a
man be born when he is old?" which was said upon our Lord's telling him
that, "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God."
Now, it will be observed, that these two questions are treated by our
Lord in a different manner: to the first he, in fact, gives an answer;
that is, he removes by his answer that difficulty in Nicodemus's mind
which led to the question; but to the second he gives no answer, and
leaves Nicodemus--and with Nicodemus, us all also--exactly in the same
ignorance as he found him at the beginning.

Now, is there any difference in the nature of these two questions, which
led our Lord to treat them so differently? We might suppose beforehand
that there would be; and when we come to examine them, so we shall find
it. The difficulty in the first question rendered true faith impossible,
and, therefore, our Lord removed it; the difficulty in the second
question did not properly interfere with faith at all, but might,
through man's fault, be a temptation to him to refuse to believe. And
as this, like other temptations, must be overcome by us, and not taken
away from our path before we encounter it, so our Lord did not think
proper to remove it or to lessen it.

We must now unfold this difference more clearly. When Christ said,
"Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God,"
Nicodemus could not possibly believe what our Lord said, because he did
not understand his meaning. He did not know what he meant by "a man's
being born again," and, therefore, he could not believe, as he did not
know what he was to believe. Words which we do not understand, are like
words spoken in an unknown language; we can neither believe them nor
disbelieve them, because we do not know what they say. For instance, I
repeat these words, [Greek: tous pantas haemas phanerothaenai dei
emprosaen tou baematos tou Christou.] Now, if I were to ask, Do you
believe these words? is it not manifest that all of you who know Greek
enough, to understand them may also believe them; but of those who do
not know Greek, not a single person can yet believe them? They are as
yet words spoken as to the air. But when I add, that these words mean,
"We must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ;" now we can all
believe them because we can all understand them.

It is, then, perfectly impossible for any man to believe a statement
except in proportion as he understands its meaning. And, therefore, our
Lord explained what he meant to Nicodemus, and told him that, by being
born again, he did not mean the natural birth of the body; but a birth
caused by the Spirit, and therefore itself a birth of a spirit: for, as
that which is born from a body is itself also a body, so that which is
born of a spirit is itself also a spirit. So that Christ's words now are
seen to have this meaning,--No man can enter into the kingdom of God
except God's Spirit creates in him a spirit or mind like unto himself,
and like unto Christ, and like unto the Father. Nicodemus, then, could
now understand what was meant, and might have believed it. But he asks
rather another question, "How can these things be?" How can God's Spirit
create within me a spirit like himself, while I continue a man as
before? Many persons since have asked similar questions; but to none of
them is an answer given. How God's Spirit works within us I cannot tell;
but if we take the appointed means of procuring his aid, we shall surely
find that he has worked and does work in us to life eternal.

We must, then, in order to believe, understand what it is that is told
us; but it is by no means necessary that we should understand how it is
to happen. It is not necessary, and in a thousand instances we do not
know. "If we take poison, we shall die:" there is a statement which we
can understand, and therefore believe. But do we understand how it is
that poison kills us? Does every one here know how poisons act upon the
human frame, and what is the different operation of different
poisons,--how laudanum kills, for instance, and how arsenic? Surely
there are very few of us, at most, who do understand this: and yet would
it not be exceedingly unreasonable to refuse to believe that poison will
kill us, because we do not understand the manner _how_?

Thus far, I think, the question is perfectly plain, so soon as it is
once laid before us. But the real point of perplexity is to be found a
step further. In almost all propositions there is something about the
terms which we do understand, and something which we do not. For
instance, let me say these few words:--"A frigate was lost amidst the
breakers." These words would be understood in a certain degree, by all
who hear me: and so far as all understand them, all can believe them.
All would understand that a ship had sunk in the water, or been dashed
to pieces; that it would be useful no more for the purposes for which it
had been made. But what is meant by the words "frigate" and "breakers"
all would not understand, and many would understand very differently:
that is to say, those who had happened to have known most about the sea
and sea affairs would understand most about them, while those who knew
less would understand less; but probably none of us would understand
their meaning so fully, or would have so distinct and lively an image of
the things, as would be enjoyed by an actual seaman; and even amongst
seamen themselves, there would again be different degrees of
understanding, according to their different degrees of experience, or
knowledge of ships, or powers of mind.

I have taken the instance at random, and any other proposition might
have served my purpose as well. But men do not speak to one another at
random; when they say anything to their neighbour, they mean it to
produce on his mind a certain effect. Suppose that we were living near
the sea-coast, and any one were suddenly to come in, and to utter the
words which I have taken as my example: should we not know that what the
man meant by these words was, that there was a danger at hand for which
our help was needed? It matters not that we have no distinct ideas of
the terms "frigate" or "breakers;" we understand enough for our belief
and practice, and we should hasten to the sea-shore accordingly. Or
suppose that the same words were told us of a frigate in which we had
some near relation: should we not see at once that what we were meant to
understand and to believe in the words was, that we had lost a relation?
That is the truth with which we are concerned; and this we can
understand and feel, although we may be able to understand nothing more
of the words in which that truth is conveyed to us. Now, in like manner,
in whatever God says to us there is a purpose: it is intended to produce
on our minds a certain impression, and so far it must be understood. But
when God speaks to us of heavenly things, the terms employed can only be
understood in part, and so far as God's purpose with regard to our minds
reaches; but there must be a great deal in them which we can no more
understand than one who had never seen a ship, or a picture of one,
could understand the word "frigate." Our business is to consider what
impression or what actions the words are intended to produce in us. Up
to this point we can and must understand them: beyond this they may be
wholly above the reach of our faculties, and we can form of them no
ideas at all.

It is clear that this will be the case most especially whenever God
reveals to us anything concerning himself. Take these few words, for
example, "God is a spirit;" take them as a mere abstract truth, and how
little can we understand about them! Who will dare to say that he
understands all that is contained in the words "God" and "spirit?" We
might weary ourselves for ever in attempting so to search out either.
But God said these words to us: and the point is, What impression did he
mean them to have upon us? how far can we understand them? This he has
not by any means left doubtful, for it follows immediately, "They who
worship him should worship Him in spirit and in truth." For this end the
words were spoken, and thus far they are clear to us. God lives not on
Mount Gerizim or at Jerusalem: but in every place he hears the prayers
of the sincere and contrite heart, in no place will he regard the
offerings of the proud and evil.

Or again, "God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son,
to the end that all who believe in him should not perish, but have
eternal life." Here are words in themselves, as abstract truths,
perfectly overwhelming; "God," "God's only-begotten Son," "Eternity."
Who shall understand these things, when it is said, that "none knoweth
the Son, save the Father; that none knoweth the Father, save the Son?"
But did God tell us the words for nothing? can we understand nothing
from them? believe nothing? feel nothing? Nay, they were spoken that we
might both understand, and believe, and feel. How must He love us, who
gives for us his only-begotten Son! how surely may we believe in Him who
is an only-begotten Son to his Father,--so equal in nature, so entire in
union!--What must that happiness be, which reaches beyond our powers of
counting! Would we go further?--then the veil is drawn before us; other
truths there are, no doubt, contained in the words; truths which the
angels might desire to look into; truths which even they may be unable
to understand. But these are the secret things which belong unto our
God; the things which are revealed they are what belong to us and to our
children, that we may understand, and believe, and do them.

Again, "the Comforter, whom Christ will send unto us from the Father,
even the Spirit of Truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall
testify of Christ." What words are here! "The Spirit of Truth," "the
Spirit proceeding from the Father;" the Spirit "whom Christ will send,"
and "send from the Father." Can any created being understand, to the
full, such "heavenly things" as these? But would Christ have uttered to
his disciples mere unintelligible words, which could tell them nothing,
and excite in them no feeling but mere wonder? Not so; but the words
told them that Christ was not to be lost to them after he had left them
on earth; that every gift of God was his: that even that Spirit of God,
in which is contained all the fulness of the Godhead, is the Spirit of
Christ also; that that mighty power which should work in them so
abundantly, was of no other or lower origin than God himself; as
entirely God, as the spirit of man is man. But can we therefore
understand the Spirit of God, or conceive of him? How should we, when we
cannot understand our own? This, and this only, we understand and
believe, that without him our spirits cannot be quickened; that unless
we pray daily for his aid, and listen to his calls within us, our spirit
will never be created after his image, and we cannot enter into the
kingdom of God.

It is thus, and thus only, that the revelations of God's word are beyond
our understandings: that in them, beings and things are spoken of,
which, taken generally, and in themselves, we should in vain endeavour
to comprehend. But what God means us to know, or feel, or do, respecting
them, that we can understand; and beyond this we have no concern. It is,
in fact, a contradiction to speak of revealing what is unintelligible;
for so far as it is a revealed truth it is intelligible; so far as it is
unintelligible, it is not revealed. But though a thing revealed must be
intelligible in itself, yet it by no means follows that we can
understand _how_ it happens. When we are told that the dead shall rise
again, we can understand quite well what is meant; that we beings who
feel happiness and misery, shall feel them again, either the one or the
other, after we seemingly have done with them for ever in the grave. But
"How are the dead raised up, and with what body do they come?" are
questions to which, whether asked scoffingly or sincerely, we can give
no answers; here our understanding fails, and here the truth is not
revealed to us.

How, then, has Christianity no mysteries? In one sense, blessed be God
for it, it has many. Using mysteries in St. Paul's sense of great
revelations of things which were and must be unknown to all, except God
had revealed them: then, indeed, they are many; the pillar and ground of
truth, great without controversy, and full of salvation. But take
mysteries in our more common sense of the word,--as things which are
revealed to none, and can be understood by none,--then it is true that
Christianity leaves many such in existence; that many such she has done
away; that none has she created. She leaves many mysteries with respect
to God, and with respect to ourselves; God is still incomprehensible;
life and death have many things in them beyond our questioning; we may
still look around us, above us, and within us, and wonder, and be
ignorant. But if she still leaves the veil drawn over much in heaven and
in earth, yet from how much has she removed it! Life and death are still
in many respects dark; but she has brought to light immortality. God is
still in himself incomprehensible; but all his glory, and all his
perfections, are revealed to us in his only-begotten Son Christ Jesus.
God's Spirit who can search out in his own proper essence? yet
Christianity has taught us how we may have him to dwell with us for
ever, and taste the fulness of his blessings. Yea, thanks be to God for
the great Christian mystery which we this day celebrate; that he has
revealed himself to us as our Saviour and our Comforter; that he has
revealed to us his infinite love, in that he has given us his
only-begotten Son to die for us, and his own Eternal Spirit to make our
hearts his temple.




LECTURE XXVIII.

       *       *       *       *       *

EXODUS iii. 6.

_And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look upon God_.


LUKE xxiii. 30.

_Then shall they begin to say to the mountains. Fall on us; and to the
hills, Cover us_.


These two passages occur, the one in the first lesson of this morning's
service, the other in the second. One or other of them must have been,
or must be, the case of you, of me, of every soul of man that lives or
has lived since the world began. There must be a time in the existence
of every human being when he will fear God. But the great, the infinite
difference is, whether we fear him at the beginning of our relations to
him, or at the end.

The fear of Moses was felt at the beginning of his knowledge of God.
When God revealed himself to him at the bush, it was, so far as we are
told, the first time that Moses learnt to know him. The fear of those
who say to the mountains, "Fall on us," is felt at the very end of their
knowledge of God; for to those who are punished with everlasting
destruction from the presence of the Lord, God is not. So that the two
cases in the text are exact instances of the difference of which I
spoke, in the most extreme degree. Moses, the greatest of the prophets,
fears God at first; those who are cast into hell, fear him at last.

The appearance of God, as described in this passage of Scripture, is an
image also of his dealings with us at the beginning of our course, when
we fear him with a saving fear. "The bush burned with fire, but the bush
was not consumed." God shows his terrors, but he does not, as yet,
destroy with them. It is the very opposite to this at last, for then he
is expressly said to be a consuming fire.

Moses turned aside to see this great sight, why the bush was not burnt.
That sight is the very same which the world has been offering for so
many hundreds of years: God's terrors are around it, but, as yet, it is
not consumed, because he wills that we should fear him before it is
too late.

There is, indeed, this great difference;--that the signs of God's
presence do not now force themselves upon our eyes; so that we may, if
we choose, walk on our own way, without turning aside to see and observe
them. And thus we do not see God, and do not, therefore, hide our faces
for fear of him, but go on, and feel no fear, till the time when we
cannot help seeing him. And it may be, that this time will never come
till our life, and with it our space of trial, is gone for ever.

Here, then, is our state, that God will manifest himself no more to us
in such a way as that we cannot help seeing him. The burning bush will
be no more given us as a sign; Christ will no more manifest himself unto
the world. And yet, unless we do see him, unless we learn to fear him
while he is yet an unconsuming fire, unless we know that he is near, and
that the place whereon we stand is holy ground, we shall most certainly
see him when he will be a consuming fire, and when we shall join in
crying to the mountains, to fall on us, and to the hills, to cover us.

Every person who thinks at all, must, I am sure, be satisfied, that our
great want, the great need of our condition, is this one thing--to
realize to ourselves the presence of God. It is a want not at all
peculiar to the young. Thoughtfulness, in one sense, is indeed likely to
come with advancing years: we are more apt to think at forty than at
fifteen; but it by no means follows that we are more apt to think about
God. In this matter we are nearly at a level at all times of our life:
it is with all of us our one great want, to bring the idea of God, with
a living and abiding power, home to our minds.

This is illustrated by a wish ascribed to a great and good man--Johnson,
and which has been noticed with a sneer by unbelievers, a wish that he
might see a spirit from the other world, to testify to him of the truth
of the resurrection. This has been sneered at, as if it were a
confession of the unsatisfactory nature of the evidence which we
actually possess: but, in truth, it is a confession only of the weakness
which clings to us all, that things unseen, which our reason only
assures us to be real, are continually overpowered by things affecting
our senses; and, therefore, it was a natural wish that sight might, in a
manner, come to the aid of reason; that the eye might see, and the ear
might hear, a form and words which belonged to another world. And this
wish might arise (I do not say wisely, or that his deliberate judgment
would sanction it, but it might arise) in the breast of a good man, and
one who would be willing to lay down his life in proof of his belief in
Christ's promises. It might arise, not because he felt any doubt, when
his mind turned calmly to the subject; not because he was hesitating
what should be the main principle of his life; but because his
experience had told him, that there are many times in the life of man
when the mind does not fully exert itself; when habit and impressions
rule us, in a manner, in its stead. And when so many of our impressions
must be earthly, and as our impressions colour our habits, is it not
natural (I do not say wise, but is it not natural) to desire some one
forcible unearthly impression, which might, on the other side, colour
our habits, and so influence us at those times when the mind, almost by
the necessity of our condition, cannot directly interpose its own
deliberate decision as our authority?

No doubt the wish to which I have been alluding is not one which our
reason would sanction; but it expresses in a very lively and striking
manner a want which is most true and real, although it proposes an
impossible remedy. But the question cannot but occur to us, Can it be
that our heavenly Father, who knows whereof we are made, should have
intended us to live wholly by faith in this world? That is, Can it have
been his will that all visible signs of himself should be withdrawn from
us; and that we should be left only with the record and the evidence of
his mighty works done in our behalf in past times; and with that other
evidence of his wisdom and power which is afforded by the wonders of
his creation?

We look into the Scriptures and we learn that such was not his will. We
were to live by faith, indeed, with, respect to the unseen world, there
the sign given was to be for ever only the sign of Christ's
resurrection. But yet it was not designed that the evidence of Christ's
having redeemed us should be sought for only in the records of the past;
he purposed that there should be a living record, a record that might
speak to our senses as well as to our reason; that should continually
present us with impressions of the reality of Christ's salvation; and so
might work upon the habits of our life, as insensibly as the air we
breathe. This living witness, which should last till Christ came again,
was to be no other than his own body instinct with his own Spirit--his
people, the temple of the Holy Ghost, his holy universal Church.

If we consider for a moment, this would entirely meet the want of which
I have been speaking. It is possible, certainly, to look upon the face
of nature without being reminded of God; yet it is surely true, that in
the outward creation, in the order of the seasons, the laws of the
heavenly bodies, the wonderful wisdom and goodness displayed in the
constitution of every living thing in its order, there is a tendency at
least to impress us with, the thought of God, if nothing else obstructed
it. But there is a constant obstruction in the state of man. Looking at
men, hearing them, considering them, it is not only possible not to be
reminded of God; but their very tendency is to exclude him from our
minds, because the moral workmanship which is so predominant in them has
assuredly not had God for its author. We all in our dealings with one
another, lead each other away from God. We present to each other's view
what seems to be a complete world of our own, in which God is not. We
see a beginning, a middle, and an end; we see faculties for acquiring
knowledge, and for receiving enjoyment; and earth furnishes knowledge to
the one and enjoyment to the other. We see desires, and we see the
objects to which they are limited; we see that death removes men from
all these objects, and consistently with this, we observe, that death is
generally regarded as the greatest of all evils. Man's witness, then, as
far as it goes, is against the reality of God and of eternity. His life,
his language, his desires, his understanding appear, when we look over
the world, to refer to no being higher than himself, to no other state
of things than that of which sight testifies.

Now, Christ's Church, the living temple of the Holy Ghost, puts in the
place of this natural and corrupt man, whose witness is against God,
another sort of man, redeemed and regenerate, whose whole being breathes
a perpetual witness of God. Consider, again, what we should see in such
a Church. We should see a beginning, a middle, but the end is not yet
visible; we should see, besides the faculties for knowledge and
enjoyment which were receiving their gratification daily, other
faculties of both kinds, whose gratification was as yet withheld; we
should see desires not limited to any object now visible or attainable.
We should see death looked to as the gate by which these hitherto
unobtained objects were to be sought for; and we should hear it spoken
of, not as the greatest of evils, but as an event solemn, indeed, and
painful to nature, but full of blessing and of happiness. We should see
love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness,
temperance; a constitution of nature as manifestly proclaiming its
author to be the God of all holiness and loving-kindness, as the
wonderful structure of our eyes or hands declares them to be the work of
the God of all wisdom and power. We should thus see in all our
fellow-men, not only as much, but far more than in the constitution of
the lower animals, or of the plants, or of the heavenly bodies, a
witness of God and of eternity. Their whole lives would be a witness;
their whole conversation would be a witness; their outward and more
peculiar acts of worship would then bear their part in harmony with all
the rest. Every day would the voices of the Church be heard in its
services of prayer and thanksgiving; every day would its members renew
their pledges of faithfulness to Christ, and to one another, upon
partaking together the memorials of his sacrifice.

What could we desire more than such a living witness as this? What sign
in the sky, what momentary appearance of a spirit from the unseen world,
could so impress us with the reality of God, as this daily worshipping
in his living temple; this daily sight, of more than the Shechinah of
old, even of his most Holy Spirit, diffusing on every side light and
blessing? And what is now become of this witness? can names, and forms,
and ordinances, supply its place? can our unfrequent worship, our most
seldom communion, impress on us an image of men living altogether in the
presence of God, and in communion with Christ? But before we dwell on
this, we may, while considering the design of the true Church of Christ,
well understand how such excellent things should be spoken of it, and
how it should have been introduced into the Creed itself, following
immediately after the mention of the Holy Ghost. That holy universal
Church was to be the abiding witness of Christ's love and of Christ's
promises; not in its outward forms only, for they by themselves are not
a living witness; they cannot meet our want--to have God and heavenly
things made real to us; but in its whole spirit, by which renewed man
was to bear as visibly the image of God, as corrupted man had lost it.
This was the sure sign that Christ had appointed to abide until his
coming again; this sign, as striking as the burning bush, would compel
us to observe; would make us sure that the place whereon we stand is
holy ground.

Then follows the question: With this sign lost in its most essential
points, how can we supply its place? and how can we best avail ourselves
of those parts of it which still remain? and how can we each endeavour
to build up a partial and most imperfect imitation of it, which may
yet, in some sort, serve to supply our great want, and remind us daily
of God? This opens a wide field for thought, to those who are willing to
follow it; but much of it belongs to other occasions rather than this:
the practical part of it,--the means of most imperfectly supplying the
want of God's own appointed sign, a true and living universal Church,
shall be the subject of my next Lecture.




LECTURE XXIX.

       *       *       *       *       *

PSALM cxxxvii. 4.

_How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land_?


This was said by the exiles of Jerusalem, when they were in the land of
their captivity in Babylon. There is no reason to suppose that their
condition was one of bondage, as it had been in Egypt: the nations
removed by conquest, under the Persian kings, from their own country to
another land, were no otherwise ill-treated; they had new homes given
them in which they lived unmolested; only they were torn away from their
own land, and were as sojourners in a land of strangers. But the
peculiar evil of this state was, that they were torn away from the
proper seat of their worship. The Jew in Babylon might have his own
home, and his own land to cultivate, as he had in Judæa; but nothing
could replace to him the loss of the temple at Jerusalem: there alone
could the morning and evening sacrifices be offered; there alone could
the sin-offering for the people be duly made. Banished from the temple,
therefore, he was deprived also of the most solemn part of his religion;
he was, as it were, exiled from God; and the worship of God, as it was
now left to him,--that is, the offering up of prayers and praises,--was
almost painful to him, as it reminded him so forcibly of his changed
condition.

Such also, in some respects, was to be the state of the Christian
Church after our Lord's ascension. The only acceptable sacrifice was now
that of their great High Priest interceding for them in the presence of
the Father: heaven was their temple, and they were far removed from it
upon earth: they, too, like the Jews in Babylon, were a little society
by themselves living in the midst of strangers. "Our citizenship," says
St. Paul to the Philippians, "is in heaven:" here they were not
citizens, but sojourners. Why, then, should not the early Christians
have joined altogether in the feeling of the Jews at Babylon? why should
not they, too, have felt and said, "How can we sing the Lord's song in a
strange land?"

The answer is contained in what I said last Sunday; because Christ had
not left them comfortless or forsaken, but was come again to them by his
Holy Spirit; because God was dwelling in the midst of them; because they
were not exiles from the temple of God, but were themselves become God's
temple; because through the virtue of the one offering for sin once
made, but for ever presented before God by their High Priest in heaven,
they, in God's temple on earth, were presenting also their daily and
acceptable sacrifice, the sacrifice of themselves; because also, though
as yet they were a small society in a land of strangers, yet the stone
formed without hands was to become a mighty mountain, and cover the
whole earth: what was now the land of strangers was to become theirs;
the whole earth should be full of the knowledge of the Lord; the
kingdoms of the world were to become his kingdom; and thus earth,
redeemed from the curse of sin, was again to be so blessed that God's
servants living upon it should find it no place of exile.

But if this, in its reality, does not now exist; if, although God's
temple be on earth, the appointed sacrifice in it is not offered, the
living sacrifice of ourselves; if the society has, by spreading, become
weak, and the kingdoms of the earth are Christ's kingdoms in name alone;
are we, then, come back once more to the condition of the Jews in
Babylon? are we exiles from God, living amongst strangers? and must we,
too, say, with the prophet, "How can we sing the Lord's song in a
strange land?"

This was the question which I proposed to answer: What can we do to make
our condition unlike that of exiles from God: to restore that true sign
of his presence amongst us, the living fire of his Holy Spirit pervading
every part of his temple? I mean, what can we do as individuals? for the
question in any other sense is not to be asked or answered here. But we,
each of us, must have felt, at some time or other, our distance from
God. Put the idea in what form or what words we will, we must--every one
of us who has ever thought seriously at all--we must regret that there
is not a stronger and more abiding influence over us, to keep us from
evil, and to turn us to good.

Now, the vestiges of Christ's church left among us are chiefly these:
our prayers together, whether in our families or in this place; our
reading of the Scriptures together; our communion, rare as it is, in the
memorials of the body and blood of Christ our Saviour. These are the
vestiges of that which was designed to be with us always, and in every
part of our lives, the holy temple of God, his living church; but which
now presents itself to us only at particular times, and places, and
actions; in our worship and in our joint reading of the Scriptures, and
in our communion.

It will be understood at once why I have not spoken here of prayer and
reading the Scriptures by ourselves alone. Most necessary as these are
to us, yet they do not belong to the helps ministered to us by the
church; they belong to us each as individuals, and in these respects we
must be in the same state everywhere: these were enjoyed by the Jews
even in their exile in Babylon. But the church acts upon us through one
another, and therefore the vestiges of the church can only be sought for
in what we do, not alone, but together. I, therefore, noticed only that
prayer, and that reading of the Scriptures, in which many of us took
part in common.

Such common prayer takes place amongst us every morning and evening, as
well as on Sundays within these walls. Whenever we meet on those
occasions, we meet as Christ's church. Now, conceive how the effect of
such meeting depends on the conduct of each of us. It is not necessary
to notice behaviour openly profane and disorderly: this does not occur
amongst us. We see, however, that if it did occur in any meeting for the
purposes of religious worship, such a meeting would do us harm rather
than good: its witness to us would not be in favour of God, but against
him. But take another case: when we are assembled for prayers, suppose
our behaviour, without being disorderly, was yet so manifestly
indifferent as to be really indecent; that is, suppose every countenance
showed such manifest signs of weariness, and impatience, and want of
interest in what was going forward, that it was evident there was no
general sympathy with any feeling of devotion. Would not the effect here
also be injurious? would not such a meeting also shock and check our
approaches towards God? would it not rather convince us that God was
really far distant from us, instead of showing that he was in the
midst of us?

Ascend one step higher. Our behaviour is neither disorderly, nor
manifestly indifferent: it is decent, serious, respectful. What is the
effect in this case? Not absolutely unfavourable certainly; but yet far
from being much help towards good. We bear our witness that we are
engaged in a matter that should be treated with reverence: this is very
right; but do we more than this? Do we show that we are engaged in a
matter that commands our interest also, as well as our respect? If not,
our witness is not the witness of Christ's church: it does not go to
declare that God is in us of a truth.

Let us go on one step more. We meet together to pray: we are orderly, we
are quiet, we are serious; but the countenance shows that we are
something more than these. There is on it the expression, never to be
mistaken, of real interest. Remember I am speaking of meetings for
prayer, where the words are perfectly familiar to us, and where the
interest therefore cannot be the mere interest of novelty. Say, then,
that our countenances express interest: I do not mean strong and excited
feeling; but interest, which may be very real yet very quiet also. We
look as if we thought of what we were engaged in, of what we are
ourselves, and of what God is to us. We are joined in one common feeling
of thankfulness to him for mercies past, of wishing for his help and
love for the time to come. Now, think what would be the effect of such a
meeting. Would it not be, clearly, positively good! Would not every
individual's earnestness be confirmed by the manifest earnestness of
others? Would not his own sense of God's reality be rendered stronger,
by seeing that others felt it just as he did? Then, here would be the
church of God rendering her appointed witness: she would be giving her
sure sign that God is not far from any one of us.

Now, then, observe what we may lose or gain by our different behaviour,
whenever we meet together in prayer; what we lose, nay, what positive
mischief we do, by any visible impatience or indifference; what we
should gain by really joining in our hearts in the meaning of what was
uttered. It is a solemn thing for the consciences of us all; but surely
it must be true, that, whenever we are careless or indifferent in our
public prayers, we are actually injuring our neighbours, and are, so far
as in us lies, destroying the witness which the church of Christ should
render to the truth of God her Saviour.

I do not know that there is anything more impressive than the sight of a
congregation evidently in earnest in the service in which they are
engaged. We then feel how different is our own lonely prayer from the
united voice of many hearts; each cheering, strengthening, enkindling
the other. We then consider one another to provoke unto love and good
works. How different are the feelings with which we regard a number of
persons met for any common purpose, and the same persons engaged
together in serious prayer or praise! Then Christ seems to appear to us
in each of them; we are all one in him. How little do all earthly
unkindnesses, dislikes, prejudices, become in our eyes, when the real
bond of our common faith is discerned clearly! There is indeed neither
Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, Barbarian, Scythian,
bond nor free, but Christ is all, and in all. And to look at our
brethren, once or twice in every day, with these Christian eyes, would
it not also, by degrees, impress us at other times, and begin to form
something of our habitual temper and regard towards them?

Thus much of our meetings for prayer. One word only on those in which we
meet to read the Scriptures. Here I know, that difference of age, and
our peculiar relations to each other, make us very apt to lose the
religious character of our readings of the Scriptures, and to regard
them merely as lessons. No doubt, the object here is instruction; it is
not so much in itself a religious exercise, as a means to enable you to
perform religious exercises with understanding and sincerity. Still
there is a peculiar character attached even to lessons, when they are
taken out of the Scriptures: and the duty of attention and interest in
the work becomes even stronger than under other circumstances. But with
those of a more advanced age, I think there is more than this; I think
it must be our own fault, if, whilst engaged together in reading the
Scriptures, which we only read because we are Christians, we do not feel
that there also we are employed on a duty belonging to the Church
of Christ.

Lastly, there is our joint communion in the bread, and in the cup, of
the Lord's Supper. Here there is seriousness; here there is always, I
trust and believe, something of real interest; and, therefore, we never,
I think, meet together at the Lord's table, without feeling a true
effect of Christ's gifts to and in his Church; we are strengthened and
brought nearer to one another, and to him. But this most precious pledge
of Christ's Church we too often forfeit for ourselves. That we have lost
so much of the help which the Church was designed to give, is not our
fault individually; but it is our fault that we neglect this means of
strength, so great in bearing witness to Christ, and in kindling love
towards one another. What can be said of us, if, with so many helps
lost, we throw away that which still remains? if, of the great treasure
which the Church yet keeps, we are wilfully ignorant? How much good
might we do, both to ourselves and to each other, by joining in that
communion! How surely should we be strengthened in all that is good, and
have a help from each other, through his Spirit working in us all, to
struggle against our evil!




LECTURE XXX.

       *       *       *       *       *

1 CORINTHIANS xi. 26.

_For as often as ye eat this bread and drink this cup, ye do show the
Lord's death till he come_.


When I spoke last Sunday of the benefits yet to be derived from Christ's
Church, I spoke of them, as being, for the most part, three in
number--our communion in prayer, our communion in reading the
Scriptures, and our communion in the Lord's Supper; and, after having
spoken of the first two of these, I proposed to leave the third for our
consideration to-day.

The words of the text are enough to show how closely this subject is
connected with that event which we celebrate to-day[13]: "As often as ye
eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show the Lord's death till he
come." The communion, then, with one another in the Lord's Supper is
doing that which this day was also designed to do; it is showing forth,
or declaring the Lord's death; it is declaring, in the face of all the
world, that we partake of the Lord's Supper because we believe that
Christ our Passover was sacrificed for us.

[Footnote 13: Good Friday.]

God might, no doubt, if it had so pleased him, have made all spiritual
blessing come to us immediately from himself. Without ascending any
higher with the idea, it is plain that Christianity might have been made
a thing wholly between each individual man and Christ; all our worship
might have been the secret worship of our own hearts; and in eating the
bread, and drinking the cup, to show forth the Lord's death, each one of
us might have done this singly, holding communion with Christ alone. I
mean, that it is quite conceivable that we should have had Christianity,
and a great number of Christians spread all over the world, but yet no
Christian Church. But, although this is conceivable, and, in fact, is
practically the case in some particular instances where individual
Christians happen to be quite cut off from all other Christians,--as has
been known sometimes in foreign and remote countries; and although,
through various evil causes, it has become, in many respects, too much
the case with us all; for our religion is with all of us, I am inclined
to think, too much a matter between God and ourselves alone; yet still
it is not the design of Christ that it should be so: his people were not
only to be good men, redeemed from sin and death and brought to know and
love the truth, in which relation Christianity would appear like a
divine philosophy only, working not only upon individuals, but through
their individual minds, and as individuals; but they were to be the
Christian Church, helping one another in things pertaining to God, and
making their mutual brotherhood to one another an essential part of what
are called peculiarly their acts of religion. So that the Church of
England seems to have well borne in mind this character of Christianity,
namely, that it presents us not each, but all together, before God; and
therefore it is ordered that even in very small parishes, where "there
are not more than twenty persons in the parish of discretion to receive
the communion, yet there shall be no communion, except four, or three at
the least, out of these twenty communicate together with the priest."
Nay, even in the Communion of the Sick, under circumstances which seem
to make religion particularly an individual matter between Christ and
our own single selves; when the expected approach of death seems to
separate, in the most marked manner, according to human judgment, him
who is going hence from his brethren still in the world; even then it is
ordered that two other persons, at the least, shall communicate along
with the sick man and the minister. Nor is this ever relaxed except in
times of pestilence; when it is provided, that if no other person can be
persuaded to join from their fear of infection, then, and then only upon
special request of the diseased, the minister may alone communicate with
them. So faithfully does our Church adhere to this true Christian
notion, that at the Lord's Supper we are not to communicate with Christ
alone, but with him in and together with our brethren; so that I was
justified in regarding the Holy Communion as one of those helps and
blessings which we still derive from the Christian Church--from Christ's
mystical body.

It is the natural process of all false and corrupt religions, on the
contrary, to destroy this notion of Christ's Church, and to lead away
our thoughts from our brethren in matters of religion, and to fix them
merely upon God as known to us through a priest. The great evil in this
is, (if there is any one evil greater than another in a system so wholly
made up of falsehood, and so leading to all wickedness; but, at any
rate, one great evil of it is,) that whereas the greatest part of all
our lives is engaged in our relations towards our brethren, that there
lie most of our temptations to evil, as well as of our opportunities of
good, if our brethren do not form an essential part of our religions
views, it follows, and always has followed, that our behaviour and
feelings towards them are guided by views and principles not religious;
and that by this fatal separation of what God has joined together, our
worship and religious services become superstitious, while our life and
actions become worldly, in the bad sense of the term, low principled,
and profane.

If this is not so clear when put into a general form, it will be plain
enough when I show it in that particular example which we are concerned
with here. Nowhere, I believe, is the temptation stronger to lose sight
of one another in our religious exercises, and especially in our
Communion. Our serious thoughts in turning to God, turn away almost
instinctively from our companions about us. Practically, as far as the
heart is concerned, we are a great deal too apt to go to the Lord's
table each alone. But consider how much we lose by this. We are
necessarily in constant relations with one another; some of those
relations are formal, others are trivial; we connect each other every
day with a great many thoughts, I do not say of unkindness, but yet of
that indifferent character which is no hindrance to any unkindness when
the temptation to it happens to arise. This must always be the case in
life; business, neighbourhood, pleasure,--the occasions of most of our
intercourse with one another,--have in them nothing solemn or softening:
they have in themselves but little tendency to lead us to the love of
one another. Now, if this be so in the world, it is even more so here;
your intercourse with one another is much closer and more constant than
what can exist in after life with any but the members of your own
family; and yet the various relations which this intercourse has to do
with, are even less serious and less softening than those of ordinary
life in manhood. The kindliness of feeling which is awakened in after
years between two men, by the remembrance of having been at school
together, even without any particular acquaintance with each other, is a
very different thing from the feeling of being at school with each
other now. I do not wonder, then, that any one of you, when he resolves
to come to the Holy Communion, should rather try to turn away his
thoughts from his companions, and to think of himself alone as being
concerned in what he is going to do. I do not wonder at it; but, then,
neither do I wonder that, when the Communion is over, and thoughts of
his companions must return, they receive little or no colour from his
religious act so lately performed; that they are as indifferent as they
were before, as little furnishing a security against neglect, or
positive unkindness, or encouragement of others to evil. Depend upon it,
unless your common life is made a part of your religion, your religion
will never sanctify your common life.

Now consider, on the one hand, what might be the effect of going to the
Holy Communion with a direct feeling that, in that Communion, we, though
many, were all brought together in Christ Jesus. And first, I will speak
of our thoughts of those who are partakers of the Communion with us,
then of those who are not. When others are gone out, and we who are to
communicate are left alone with each other, then, if we perceive that
there are many of us, the first natural feeling is one of joy, that we
are so many; that our party,--that only true and good party to which we
may belong with all our hearts,--that our party,--that Christ's party,
seems so considerable. Then there comes the thought, that we are all met
together freely, willingly, not as a matter of form, to receive the
pledges of Christ's love to us, to pledge ourselves to him in return. If
we are serious, those around us may be supposed to be serious too; if we
wish to have help from God to lead a holier life, they surely wish the
same; if the thought of past sin is humbling us, the same shame is
working in our brethren's bosoms; if we are secretly resolving, by
God's grace, to serve him in earnest, the hearts around us are, no
doubt, resolving the same. There is the consciousness, (when and where
else can we enjoy it?) that we are in sympathy with all present; that,
coloured merely by the lesser distinctions of individual character, one
and the same current of feeling is working within us all. And, if
feeling this of our sympathy with one another, how strongly is it
heightened by the thought of what Christ has done for us all! We are all
loving him, because he loved us all; we are going together to celebrate
his death, because he died for us all; we are resolving all to serve
him, because his Holy Spirit is given to us all, and we are all brought
to drink of the same Spirit. Then let us boldly carry our thoughts a
little forward to that time, only a short hour hence, when we shall
again be meeting one another, in very different relations; even in those
common indifferent relations of ordinary life which are connected so
little with Christ. Is it impossible to think, that, although we shall
meet without these walls in very different circumstances, yet that we
have seen each other pledging ourselves to serve Christ together? if the
recollection of this lives in us, why should it not live in our
neighbour? If we are labouring to keep alive our good resolutions made
at Christ's table, why should we think that others have forgotten them?
We do not talk of them openly, yet still they exist within us. May not
our neighbour's silence also conceal within his breast the same good
purposes? At any rate, we may and ought to regard him as ranged on our
side in the great struggle of life; and if outward circumstances do not
so bring us together as to allow of our openly declaring our sympathy,
yet we may presume that it still exists; and this consciousness may
communicate to the ordinary relations of life that very softness which
they need, in order to make them Christian.

Again, with regard to those who go out, and do not approach to the
Lord's table. With some it is owing to their youth; with others to a
mistaken notion of their youth; with others to some less excusable
reason, perhaps, but yet to such as cannot yet exclude kindness and
hope. But having once felt what it is to be only with those who are met
really as Christians, our sense of what it is to want this feeling is
proportionably raised. Is it sad to us to think that our neighbour does
not look upon us as fellow Christians? is it something cold to feel that
he regards us only in those common worldly relations which leave men in
heart so far asunder? Then let us take heed that we do not ourselves
feel so towards him. We have learnt to judge more truly, to feel more
justly, of our relations to every one who bears Christ's name: if we
forget this, we have no excuse; for we have been at Christ's table, and
have been taught what Christians are to one another. And let our
neighbour be ever so careless, yet we know that Christ cares for him;
that his Spirit has not yet forsaken him, but is still striving with
him. And if God vouchsafes so much to him, how can we look upon him as
though he were no way connected with us? how can we be as careless of
his welfare, as apt either to annoy him, or to lead him into evil, or to
take no pains to rescue him from it, as if he were no more to us than
the accidental inhabitant of the same place, who was going on his way as
we may be on ours, neither having any concern with the other?

And, now, is it nothing to learn so to feel towards those around us; to
have thus gained what will add kindness and interest to all our
relations with others; and, in the case of many, will give an abiding
sense of the truest sympathy, and consequently greater confidence and
encouragement to ourselves? Be sure that this is not to profane the
Lord's Supper, but to use it according to Christ's own ordinance. For
though the thoughts of which I have been speaking, have, in one sense,
man and not God for their object, yet as they do not begin in man but in
Christ, and in his love to us all, so neither do they, properly
speaking, rest in man as such, but convert him, as it were, into an
image of Christ: so that their end, as well as their beginning, is with
Him. I do earnestly desire that you would come to Christ's table, in
order to learn a Christian's feelings towards one another. This is what
you want every day; and the absence of which leads to more and worse
faults than, perhaps, any other single cause. But, then, this Christian
feeling towards one another, how is it to be gained but by a Christian
feeling towards Christ? and where are we to learn brotherly love in all
our common dealings, but from a grateful thought of that Divine love
towards us all which is shown forth in the sacrament of the Lord's
Supper; inasmuch as, so often as we eat that bread and drink that cup,
we do show the Lord's death till He come.




LECTURE XXXI.

       *       *       *       *       *

LUKE i. 3, 4.

_It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all
things from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent
Theophilus, that thou mightest know the certainty of those things
wherein thou hast been instructed_.


These words, from the preface to St. Luke's Gospel, contain in them one
or two points on which it may be of use to dwell; and not least so at
the present time, when they are more frequently brought under our notice
than was the case a few years ago. On a subject which we never, or very
rarely hear mentioned, it may be difficult to excite attention; and, as
a general rule, there is little use in making the attempt. But when
names and notions are very frequently brought to our ears, and in a
degree to our minds, then it becomes important that we should comprehend
the matter to which they relate clearly and correctly; and a previous
interest respecting it may be supposed to exist, which make further
explanation acceptable.

St. Luke tells Theophilus that it seemed good to him to write in order
an account of our Lord's life and death, that Theophilus might know the
certainty of those things in which he had been instructed; and this, as
a general rule, might well describe one great use of the Scripture to
each of us, as individual members of Christ's Church--it enables us to
know the certainty of the things in which we have been instructed. We do
not, in the first instance, get our knowledge of Christ from the
Scriptures,--we, each of us, I mean as individuals,--but from the
teaching of our parents first; then of our instructors, and from books
fitted for the instruction of children; whether it be the Catechism of
the Church, or books written by private persons, of which we know that
there are many. But as our minds open, and our opportunities of judging
for ourselves increase, then the Scripture presents itself to acquaint
us with the certainty of what we had heard already; to show us the
original and perfect truth, of which we have received impressions
before, but such as were not original nor perfect; to confirm and
enforce all that was good and true in our early teaching; and if it
should so happen that it contained any thing of grave error mixed with
truth, then to enable us to discover and reject it.

It is apparent, then, that the Scripture, to do this, must have an
authority distinct from, and higher than, that of our early teaching;
but yet it is no less true that it comes to us individually recommended,
in the first instance, by the authority of our early teaching, and
received by us, not for its own sake, but for the sake of those who put
it into our hands. What child can, by possibility, go into the evidence
which makes it reasonable to believe the Bible, and to reject the
authority of the Koran? Our children believe the Bible for our sakes;
they look at it with respect, because we tell them that it ought to be
respected; they read it, and learn it, because we desire them; they
acquire a habit of veneration for it long before they could give any
other reason for venerating it than their parents' authority. And
blessed be God that they do; for, as it has been well said, if we their
parents do not endeavour to give our children habits of love and respect
for what is good and true, Satan will give them habits of love for what
is evil: for the child must receive impressions from without; and it is
God's wisdom that he should receive these impressions from his parents,
who have the strongest interest in his welfare, and who have besides
that instinctive parental love which, more surely, as well as more
purely, than any possible sense of interest, makes them earnestly desire
their child's good.

But when our children are old enough to understand and to inquire, do we
then content ourselves with saying that they must take our word for it;
that the Bible is true because we tell them so? Where is the father who
does not feel, first, that he himself is not fitted to be an infallible
authority; and, secondly, that if he were, he should be thwarting the
providence of God, who has willed not simply that we should believe with
understanding. He gladly therefore observes the beginnings of a spirit
of inquiry in his son's mind, knowing that it is not inconsistent with a
belief in truth, but is a necessary step to that which alone in a man
deserves the name of belief--a belief, namely, sanctioned by reason.
With what pleasure does he point out to his son the grounds of his own
faith! how gladly does he introduce him to the critical and historical
evidence for the truth of the Scriptures, that he may complete the work
which he had long since begun, and deliver over the faith which had been
so long nursed under the shade of parental authority, to the care of his
son's own conscience and reason!

We see clearly that our individual faith, although grounded in the first
instance on parental authority, yet rests afterwards on wholly different
grounds; namely, on the direct evidence in confirmation of it which is
presented to our own minds. But with regard to those who are called the
Fathers of the Church, it is contended sometimes that we do receive the
Scriptures, in the end, upon their authority: and it is argued, that if
their authority is sufficient for so great a thing as this, it must be
sufficient for every thing else; that if, in short, we believe the
Scriptures for their sake, then we ought also to believe other things
which they may tell us, for their sake, even though they are not to be
found in Scripture.

In the argument there is this great fault, that it misstates the
question at the outset. The authority of the Fathers, as they are
called, is never to any sound mind the only reason for believing in the
Scriptures; I think it is by no means so much as the principle reason.
It is one reason, amongst many; but not the strongest. And, in like
manner, their authority in other points, if there were other and
stronger reasons which confirmed it,--as in many cases there are,--is
and ought to be respected. But, because we lay a certain stress upon it,
it does not follow that we should do well to make it bear the whole
weight of the building. Because we believe the Scriptures, partly on the
authority of the Fathers, as they are called, but more for other
reasons, does it follow that we should equally respect the authority of
the Fathers when there are no other reasons in support of it, but many
which make against it?

In truth, however, the internal evidence in favour of the authenticity
and genuineness of the Scriptures is that on which the mind can rest
with far greater satisfaction than on any external testimonies, however
valuable. On one point, which might seem most to require other
evidence--the age, namely, and origin of the writings of the New
Testament--it has been wonderfully ordered that the books, generally
speaking, are their own witness. I mean that their peculiar language
proves them to have been written by persons such as the apostles were,
and such as the Christian writers immediately following them were not;
persons, namely, whose original language and habits of thinking were
those of Jews, and to whom the Greek in which they wrote was, in its
language and associations, essentially foreign. I do not dwell on the
many other points of internal evidence: it is sufficient to say that
those who are most familar with such inquiries, and who best know how
little any external testimony can avail in favour of a book where the
internal evidence is against it, are most satisfied that the principal
writings of the New Testament do contain abundantly in themselves, for
competent judges, the evidence of their own genuineness and
authenticity.

That the testimony of the early Christian writers goes along with this
evidence and confirms it, is matter indeed of sincere thankfulness;
because more minds, perhaps, are able to believe on external evidence
than on internal. But of this testimony of the Christian writers it is
essential to observe, that two very important points are such as do
indeed affect this particular question much, but yet do not confer any
value on the judgment of the witness in other matters. When a very early
Christian writer quotes a passage from the New Testament, such as we
find it now in our Bibles, it is indeed an argument, which all can
understand, that he had before him the same Bible which we have, and
that though he lived so near to the beginning of the gospel, yet that
some parts of the New Testament must have been written still nearer to
it. This is an evidence to the age of the New Testament, valuable indeed
to us, but implying in the writer who gives it no qualities which confer
authority; it merely shows that the book which he read must have existed
before he could quote it. A second point of evidence is, when a very
early Christian writer quotes any part of the New Testament as being
considered by those to whom he was writing as an authority. This, again,
is a valuable piece of testimony; but neither does it imply any general
wisdom or authority in the writer who gives it: its value is derived
merely from the age at which he lived, and not from his personal
character. And with regard to the general reception of the New Testament
by the Christians of his time, which, in the case supposed, he states as
a fact, no doubt that the general opinion of the early Christians,
where, as in this case, we can be sure that it is reported correctly, is
an authority, and a great authority, in favour of the Scriptures:
combined, as it is, with the still stronger internal evidence of the
books themselves, it is irresistible. But it were too much to argue
that, therefore, it was alone sufficient, not only when destitute of
other evidence, but if opposed to it; and especially if it should happen
to be opposed to that very Scripture which we know they acknowledged to
be above themselves, but which we do not know that they were enabled in
all cases either rightly to interpret or faithfully to follow.

When, therefore, we are told that, as we believe the Scriptures
themselves upon tradition, so we should believe other things also, the
answer is, that we do not believe the Scriptures either entirely or
principally, upon what is called tradition; but for their own internal
evidence; and that the opinions of the early Christians, like those of
other men, may be very good in certain points, and to a certain degree,
without being good in all points, and absolutely; that many a man's
judgment would justly weigh with us, in addition to other strong reasons
in the case itself, when we should by no means follow it where we were
clear that there were strong reasons against it. This, indeed, is so
obvious, that it seems almost foolish to be at the trouble of stating
it; but what is so absurd in common life, that the contrary to it is a
mere truism, is, unfortunately, when applied to a subject with which we
are not familiar, often considered as an unanswerable argument, if it
happen to suit our disposition or our prejudices.

But, although the Scripture is to the Church, and to the individual,
too, who is able to judge for himself, the only decisive authority in
matters of faith, yet we must not forget that it comes to us as it did
to Theophilus, to persuade us of the certainty of things in which we
have been already instructed; not to instruct from the beginning, by
itself alone, those to whom its subject is entirely strange: in other
words, it is and ought to be the general rule, that the Church teaches,
and the Scripture confirms that teaching: or, if it be in any part
erroneous, reproves it. For some appear to think, that by calling the
Scripture the sole authority in matters of faith, we mean to exclude the
Church altogether; and to call upon every man,--nay, upon every
child,--to make out his own religion for himself from the volume of the
Scriptures. The explanation briefly given is this; that while the
Scripture alone teaches the Church, the Church teaches individuals; and
that the authority of her teaching, like that of all human teaching,
whether of individuals or societies, varies justly according to
circumstances; being received, as it ought to be, almost implicitly by
some, as a parent's is by a child, and by others listened to with
respect, as that which is in the main agreeable to the truth, but still
not considered to be, nor really claiming to be received as, infallible.
But this part of the subject will require to be considered by itself on
another occasion.




LECTURE XXXII.

       *       *       *       *       *

LUKE i. 3,4.

_It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all
things from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent
Theophilus, that than mightest know the certainty of those things in
which thou hast been instructed_.


I said at the conclusion of my lecture, last Sunday, that when we of the
Church of England assert that the Scripture is the sole authority in
matters of faith, we by no means mean to exclude the office of the
Church, nor to assert any thing so extravagant, as that it is the duty
of every person to sit down with the volume of the Scriptures in his
hand, and to make out from that alone, without listening to any human
authority, what is the revelation made by God to man. But I know that
many are led to adopt notions no less extravagant of the authority of
the Church and of tradition,--even to the full extent maintained by the
Church of Rome,--because they see no other refuge from what appears to
them, and not unreasonably, so miserable and so extreme a folly; for an
extreme and a most miserable folly doubtless it would be, in any one, to
throw aside all human aid except his own; to disregard alike the wisdom
of individuals, and the agreeing decisions of bodies of men; to act as
if none but himself had ever loved truth, or had been able to discover
it; and as if he himself did possess both the will and the power to
do so.

This is so foolish, that I doubt whether any one ever held such
notions, and, much more, whether be acted upon them. But is it more wise
to run from one form of error into its opposite, which, generally
speaking, is no less foolish and extravagant? What should we say of a
man who could see no middle course between never asking for advice, and
always blindly following it; between never accepting instruction upon
any subject, and believing his instructors infallible? And this last
comparison, with our particular situation here, will enable us, I think,
by referring to our own daily experience, to understand the present
question sufficiently. The whole system of education supposes,
undoubtedly, that the teacher, in those matters which he teaches, should
be an authority to the taught: a learner in any matter must rely on the
books, and on the living instructors, out of which and from whom he is
to learn. There are difficulties, certainly, in all learning; but we do
not commonly see them increased by a disposition on the part of the
learner to question and dispute every thing that is told him. There is a
feeling rather of receiving what he is told implicitly; and, by so
doing, he learns: but does it ever enter into his head that his teacher
is infallible? or does any teacher of sane mind wish him to think so?
And observe, now, what is the actual process: the mind of the learner is
generally docile, trustful, respectful towards his teacher; aware, also,
of his own comparative ignorance. It is certainly most right that it
should be so. But this really teachable and humble learner finds a false
spelling in one of his books; or hears his teacher, from oversight, say
one word in his explanation instead of another: does he cease to be
teachable and humble,--is it really a want of childlike faith, and an
indulgence of the pride of reason, if he decides that the false spelling
was an error of the press; that the word which his teacher used was a
mistake? Yet errors, mistakes, of how trifling a kind soever, are
inconsistent with infallibility; and the perceiving that they are errors
is an exercise of our individual judgment upon our instructors. To hear
some men talk, we should think that no boy could do so without losing
all humility and all teachableness; without forthwith supposing that he
was able to be his own instructor.

I have begun on purpose with an elementary case, in which a very young
boy might perceive an error in his books, or in his instructors,
without, in any degree, forfeiting his true humility. But we will now go
somewhat farther: we will take a more advanced student, such as the
oldest of those among you, who are still learners, and who know that
they have much to learn, but who, having been learners for some time
past, have also acquired some knowledge. In the books which they refer
to, and from which they are constantly deriving assistance, do they
never observe any errors in the printing? do they never find
explanations given, which they perceive to be imperfect, nay, which they
often feel to be actually wrong? And, passing from books to living
instructors, should we blame a thoughtful, attentive, and well-informed
pupil, because his mind did not at once acquiesce in our interpretation
of some difficult passage; because he consulted other authorities on the
subject, and was unsatisfied in his judgment; the reason of his
hesitation being, that our interpretation appeared to him to give an
unsatisfactory sense, or to be obtained by violating the rules of
language? Is he proud, rebellious, puffed up, wanting in a teachable
spirit, without faith, without humility, because he so ventures to judge
for himself of what his teacher tells him? Does such a judging for
himself interfere, in the slightest degree, with the relation between us
and him? Does it make him really cease to respect us? or dispose him to
believe that he is altogether beyond the reach of our instruction? Or
are we so mad as to regard our authority as wholly set at nought,
because it is not allowed to be infallible? Doubtless, it would be
wholly set at nought, if we had presumed to be infallible. Then it would
not be merely that, in some one particular point, our decision had been
doubted, but that one point would involve our authority in all; because
it would prove, that we had set up beforehand a false claim: and he who
does so is either foolish, or a deceiver; there is apparent a flaw
either in his understanding, or in his principles, which undoubtedly
does repel respect.

Let me go on a step farther still. It has been my happiness to retain,
in after years, my intercourse with many of those who were formerly my
pupils; to know them when their minds have been matured, and their
education, in the ordinary sense of the term, completed. Is not the
relation between us altered then still more? Is it incompatible with
true respect and regard, that they should now judge still more freely,
in those very points, I mean, in which heretofore they had received my
instructions all but implicitly? that on points of scholarship and
criticism, they should entirely think for themselves? Or does this
thinking for themselve mean, that they will begin to question all they
had ever learnt? or sit down to forget purposely all their school
instructions, and make out a new knowledge of the ancient languages for
themselves? Who does not know, that they whose minds are most eager to
discern truth, are the very persons who prize their early instruction
most, and confess how much they are indebted to it; and that the
exercise of their judgments loads them to go on freely in the same path
in which they have walked so long, here and there it may be departing
from it where they find a better line, but going on towards the same
object, and generally in the same direction?

What has been the experience of my life,--the constantly observing the
natural union between sense and modesty; the perfect compatibility of
respect for instruction with freedom of judgment; the seeing how Nature
herself teaches us to proportion the implicitness of our belief to our
consciousness of ignorance: to rise gradually and gently from a state of
passively leaning, as it were, on the arm of another, to resting more
and more of our weight on our own limbs, and, at last, to standing
alone, this has perpetually exemplified our relations, as individuals,
to the Church. Taught by her, in our childhood and youth, under all
circumstances; taught by her, in the great majority of instances,
through our whole lives; never, in any case, becoming so independent of
her as we do in riper years, of the individual instructor of our youth;
she has an abiding claim on our respect, on our deference, on our
regard: but if it should be, that her teaching contained any thing at
variance with God's word, we should perceive it more or less clearly,
according to our degrees of knowledge; we should trust or mistrust our
judgment, according to our degree of knowledge; but in the last resort,
as we suppose that even a young boy might be sure that his book was in
error, in the case of a manifest false print, so there may be things so
certainly inconsistent with Scripture, that a common Christian may be
able to judge of them, and to say that they are like false prints in his
lesson, they are manifest errors, not to be followed, but avoided. So
far he may be said to judge of his teacher; but not the less will he
respect and listen to her authority in general, unless she has herself
made the slightest error ruinous to her authority by claiming to be in
all points, great or small, alike infallible.

Men crave a general rule for their guidance at all times, and under all
circumstances; whereas life is a constant call upon us to consider how
far one general rule, in the particular case before us, is modified by
another, or where one rule should be applied, and where another. To
separate humility from idolatry, conscience from presumption, is often
an arduous task: to different persons there is a different besetting
danger; so it is under different circumstances, and at different times.
Every day does the seaman, on a voyage, take his observations, to know
whereabouts he is; he compares his position with his charts; he
considers the direction of the wind, and the set of the current, or
tide; and from all these together, he judges on which side his danger
lies, on what course he should steer, or how much sail he may venture to
carry. This is an image of our own condition: we cannot have a general
rule to tell us where we should follow others, and where we must differ
from them; to say what is modesty, and what is indolence; what is a
proper deference to others, and what is a trusting in man so far, that
it becomes a want of trust in God. Only, we are sure that these are
points which we must decide for ourselves; the human will must be free,
so far as other men are concerned. If we say, that we will implicitly
trust others, then there is our decision, which no one could have made
for us, and which is our own choice as to the principle of our lives;
for which choice, we each of us, and no one else in all the world, must
answer at the judgment-seat of God. Only, in that word there is our
comfort, that, for our conduct in so doubtful a voyage as that of life,
amidst so many conflicting opinions, each courting our adherence to
it,--amidst such a variety of circumstances without, and of feelings
within, and on which, notwithstanding, our condition for all eternity
must depend,--we shall be judged, not by erring man, not by our own
fallible conscience, but by the all-wise, and all-righteous God. With
him, after all, even in the very courts of his holy Church, we yet, in
one sense, must each of us live alone. On his gracious aid, given to our
own individual souls, and determining our own individual wills, depends
the character of our life here and for ever. Trusting to him, praying to
him, we shall then make use of all the means that his goodness has
provided for us; we shall ask counsel of friends; we shall listen to
teachers; we shall delight to be in the company of God's people, of one
mind, and of one voice, with the good and wise of every generation; we
shall be afraid of leaning too much to our own understanding, knowing
how it is encompassed with error; but knowing that other men are
encompassed with error also, and that we, and not they, must answer for
our choice before Christ's judgment, we must, in the last resort, if our
conscience and sense of truth cannot be persuaded that other men speak
according to God's will,--we must follow our own inward convictions,
though all the world were to follow the contrary.




LECTURE XXXIII.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN ix. 29.

_We know that God spake unto Moses; as for this fellow, we know not from
whence he is_.


The questions involved in the conversations recorded in this chapter,
are of great practical importance. Not perhaps of immediate practical
importance to all in this present congregation; but yet sure to be of
importance to all hereafter, and of importance to many at this actual
moment. Nay, they are of importance to those who, from their youth,
might be thought to have little to do with them, either where the mind
is already anxious and inquiring beyond its years, or where it happens
to be exposed to strong party influences, or that its passions are
likely to be engaged on a particular side, however little the
understanding may be interested in the matter. In fact, in religious
knowledge, as in other things, the omissions of youth are hard to make
up in manhood; they who grow up with a very small knowledge of the
Scriptures, and with no understanding of any of the questions connected
with them, can with difficulty make up for this defect in after years;
they become, according to the influences to which, they may happen to be
subjected, either unbelieving or fanatical.

If we were to question the youngest boy about the language held in this
chapter by the Pharisees, and by the man who had been born blind, we
should, no doubt, be answered, that what the Pharisees said, was wrong;
and what the man born blind said, was right. This would be the answer
which it would be thought proper to give; because it would be perceived
that the Pharisees' language expressed unbelief in Christ; and that the
man born blind was expressing gratitude and faith towards him. Nor,
indeed, should we expect a young boy to go much farther than this; for
such general impressions are, at his age, as much many times as can be
looked for. But it is strange to observe how much this want of
understanding outlasts the age of boyhood; how apt men are to judge
according to names, and to see no farther: to say, that the language of
the Pharisees was wrong, because they find it employed against Christ;
but yet to use the very same language themselves, whilst they think that
they are all the while speaking for Christ.

But in this conversation between the Pharisees and the blind man, there
are, indeed, as I said, points involved of very great importance; it
contains the question as to the degree of weight to be attached to
miracles; and the question, no less grave, with what degree of tenacity
we should reject what claims to be a new truth, because it seems to be
at a variance with supposed old truths to which we have been long
accustomed to cling with undoubting affection.

The question as to the weight of miracles is contained in the sixteenth
verse. Some of the Pharisees said, This man is not of God, because he
keepeth not the Sabbath day. Others said, How can a man that is a sinner
do such miracles? That is to say, the first party rejected the miracles
because they seemed to be wrought in favour of a supposed false
doctrine; the other accepted the doctrine, because it seemed warranted
to their belief by the miracles.

The second question is contained in the words of the text, "We know
that God spake to Moses; as for this fellow, we know not from whence he
is." We have been taught from our childhood, and have the belief
associated with every good and pious thought in us, that God spake to
Moses, and gave him the law as our rule of life; but as for this fellow,
we know not from whence he is. His works may be wonderful, his words may
be specious; but we never heard of him before, and we cannot tear up all
the holiest feelings of our nature to receive a new doctrine. We will
hold to the old way in which, we were taught by our fathers to walk, and
in which they walked before us.

This last question is one which, as we well know, is continually
presented to our minds. No one says, that the Pharisees were right, any
more than those very Pharisees thought that their fathers were right who
had killed the prophets. But as our Lord told them, that they were in
truth the children in spirit of those who had killed the prophets;
because, although they had been taught to condemn the outward form of
their fathers' action, they were repeating it themselves in its
principles and spirit; so many of those who condemn the Pharisees are
really their exact image, repeating now against the truths of their own
days the very same arguments which the Pharisees used against the truths
of theirs.

For the arguments of these Pharisees, both as regards miracles, and as
regards the suspicion with which we should look on a doctrine opposed to
the settled opinions of our lives, have in fact, in both cases, a great
mixture of justice in them; and it is this very mixture which we may
hope beguiled them; and also beguiles those, who in our own days repeat
their language.

For most certain it is that the Scripture itself supposes the
possibility of false miracles. The case is especially provided against
in Deuteronomy. It there says, "If there arise among you a prophet or a
dreamer of dreams, and giveth thee a sign or a wonder, and the sign or
the wonder come to pass whereof he spake unto thee, saying, Let us go
after other gods which thou hast not known, and let us serve them: thou
shalt not hearken unto the words of that prophet or that dreamer of
dreams, for the Lord your God proveth you, to know whether ye love the
Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul." Observe how
nearly this comes to the language of the Pharisees, "This man is not of
God, because he keepeth not the Sabbath day." "Here," they might have
said, "is the very case foreseen in the Scriptures: a prophet has
wrought a sign and a wonder, which is at the same time a breach of God's
commandments. God has told us that such signs are not to be heeded, that
he does but prove us with them to see whether we love him truly: knowing
that where there is a love of him, the heart will heed no sign or
wonder, how great soever, which would tempt it to think lightly of his
commandments." Shall we say that this is not a just interpretation of
the passage in Deuteronomy? shall we say that this is the language of
unbelief or of sin? or, rather, shall we not confess that it is in
accordance with God's word, and holy, and faithful, and true? And yet
this most just language led those who used it to reject one of Christ's
greatest miracles, and to refuse the salvation of the Holy One of God.
Can God's truth be contrary to itself? or can truth and goodness lead so
directly to error and to evil?

Now, then, where is the solution to be found? for some solution there
must be, unless we will either condemn a most true principle, or defend
a most false conclusion. The error lies in confounding God's moral law
with his law of ordinances; precisely the same error which led the Jews
to stone Stephen. The law had undoubtedly commanded that he who
blasphemed God should be stoned; the Jews called Stephen's speaking
against the holy place and against the law blasphemy against God, and
they murdered God's faithful servant and Christ's blessed martyr. Even
so the law had said, Let no miracle be so great as to tempt you to
forsake God: the Jews considered the forsaking the law of the Sabbath to
be a forsaking of God, and they said that Christ's miracle was a work of
Satan. There is no blasphemy into which we may not fall, no crime from
which we shall be safe, if we do not separate in our minds most clearly
such laws as relate to moral and eternal duties, and such as relate to
outward or positive ordinances, even when commanded or instituted by God
himself. It is most false to say that the fact of their being commanded
sets them on a level with each other. So long as they are commanded to
us, it is no doubt our duty to obey them equally: but the difference
between them is this, that whereas the first are commanded to us and to
our children for ever, and no possible evidence can be so great as to
persuade us that God has repealed them; (for the utmost conceivable
amount of external testimony, such as that of miracles, could only lead
to madness;--the human mind might, conceivably, be overwhelmed by the
conflict, but should never and could never be tempted to renounce its
very being, and lie against its Maker;) the others, that is, the
commands to observe certain forms and ordinances, are in their nature
essentially temporary and changeable: we have no right to assume that
they will be continued, and therefore a miracle at any time might justly
require us to forsake them; and not only an outward miracle, but the
changed circumstances of the times may speak God's will no less clearly
than a miracle, and may absolutely make it our duty to lay aside those
ordinances, which to us hitherto, and to our fathers before us, were
indeed the commands of God.

Now let us take the other question,--which may indeed be called a
question as to the allowableness of resting confidently in truth already
gained, without consenting to examine the claims of something asserting
itself to be a new truth, yet which seems to interfere with the old. Is
nothing within us to be safe from possible doubt, or is everything? Or
is it here, as in the former case, that there are truths so tried and so
sacred that it were blasphemy to question them; while there are others,
often closely intermixed with these, which are not so sacred, because
they are not eternal; which may and ought to be examined when occasion
requires; and which may be laid aside, or exchanged rather, for some
higher truth, if it shall reasonably appear that their work is done, and
that if we retain them longer they will change their character, and
become no longer true but false. "David having served his own generation
by the will of God, fell asleep, and was gathered unto his fathers, and
saw corruption; but He whom God raised again saw no corruption." This is
the difference between positive ordinances and moral: the first serve
their appointed number of generations by the will of God, and then are
gathered to their fathers, and perish; the latter are by the right hand
of God exalted, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.

"We know," said the Jews, "that God spake to Moses; but for this fellow,
we know not from whence he is." There was a time when their fathers had
held almost the very same language to Moses: "they refused him, saying
Who made thee a ruler and a judge over us?" But now they knew that God
had spoken to Moses, but were refusing Him who was sent unto them after
Moses. God had spoken unto Moses, it was most true: he had spoken to him
and given him commandments which were to last for ever; and which
Christ, so far from undoing, was sent to confirm and to perfect; he had
spoken to him other things, which were not to last for ever, but yet
which were not to be cast away with dishonour; but having, in the
fulness of time, done their work, were then, like David, to fall asleep.
All that was required of the Jews, was not to reject as blasphemy a
doctrine which should distinguish between these two sorts of truths:
which in no way requires to believe that God had not spoken to
Moses,--which, on the contrary, maintained that he had so spoken,--but
only contended that he has also, in these last days, spoken unto us by
his Son; and that his Son, bearing the full image of Divine authority,
might well be believed if he spoke of some parts of Moses's law as
having now fulfilled their work, seeing that they were such parts only
as, by their very nature, were not eternal: they had not been from the
beginning, and therefore they would not live on to the end.

The practical conclusion is, that, whilst we hold fast, with an
undoubting and unwavering faith, all truths which, by their very nature,
are eternal, and to deny which is no other than to speak against the
Holy Ghost, we should listen patiently to, and pass no harsh judgment
on, those who question other truths not necessarily eternal, while they
declare that they are, to the best of their consciences, seeking to obey
God and Christ. When I say, that we should listen patiently, and not
pass harsh judgments upon those who question such points, I say it
without at all meaning that we should agree with them. It would be
monstrous indeed, to suppose that old opinions are never combated
wrongly; that old institutions are never pronounced to have lived out
their appointed time, when, in fact, they are still in their full
vigour. But the language of those who defend the doctrines and the
ordinances of the Church may, and often does, partake of the sin of that
of the Pharisees, even when those against whom they are contending, are
not, like Christ, bringing in a new and higher truth, but an actual
error. To point out that it is an error, to defend ourselves and the
Church from it, is most right, and most highly our duty; but it is
neither right, nor our duty, but the very sin of the Pharisees, to put
it down merely by saying, "As for this fellow, we know not from whence
he is;" to treat the whole question as an impiety, and to deny the
virtues and the holiness of those who maintain it, because they are, as
we call it, "speaking blasphemous things against the holy place and
against the law." The mischief of this to ourselves is infinite; nay, in
its extreme, it leads to language which is fearfully resembling the very
blasphemy against the Holy Ghost; for, when we say, as has been said,
that where men's lives are apparently good and holy, and their doctrines
are against those of the Church, the holiness is an unreal holiness, and
that we cannot see into their hearts, this is, in fact, denying the Holy
Spirit's most infallible sign--the fruits of righteousness; and being
positive rather of the truth of the Church, than of the truth of God.
There is nothing so certain as that goodness is from God; nothing so
certain as that sin is not from God; nothing so certain as that sin is
not from him. To deny, or doubt this, is to dispute the greatest
assurance of truth that God has ever been pleased to give to us. It does
not, by any means, follow, that all good men are free from error, nor
that error is less error because good men hold it; but to make the error
which is less certain, a reason for disputing the goodness which is more
certain, is the spirit, not of God, nor of the Church of God, but of
those false zealots who put an idol in God's place; of such as rejected
Christ and murdered Stephen.




LECTURE XXXIV.

       *       *       *       *       *

1 CORINTHIANS xiv, 20.

_Brethren, be not children in understanding: howbeit, in malice be ye
children, but in understanding be men_.


It would be going a great deal too far to say, that they who fulfilled
the latter part of this command, were sure also to fulfil the former;
that they who were men in understanding, were, therefore, likely to be
children in malice. But the converse holds good, with remarkable
certainty, that they who are children in understanding, are
proportionally apt to be men in malice: that is, in proportion as men
neglect that which should be the guide of their lives, so are they left
to the mastery of their passions; and as nature and outward
circumstances do not allow these passions to remain as quiet and as
little grown as they are in childhood,--for they are sure to ripen
without any trouble of ours,--so men are left with nothing but the evils
of both ages, the vices of the man, and the unripeness and ignorance of
the child.

It is indeed a strange and almost incredible thing, that any should ever
have united in their minds the notions of innocence and ignorance as
applied to any but literal children: nor is it less strange, that any
should ever have been afraid of their understanding, and should have
sought goodness through prejudice, and blindness, and folly. Compared
with this, their conduct was infinitely reasonable who weakened and
tormented their bodies in order to strengthen, as they thought, their
spiritual nature. Such conduct was, by comparison, reasonable because
there is a great deal of bodily weakness and discomfort, which really
does not interfere with the strength and purity of our character in
itself, although, by abridging our activity, it may lessen our means of
usefulness. But what should we say of a man who directed his ill usage
of his body to that part of our system which is most closely connected
with the brain; who were purposely to impair his nervous system, and
subject himself to those delusions and diseased views of things which
are the well-known result of any disorder there? Yet this is precisely
what they do who seek to mortify and lower their understanding. It is as
impossible that they should become better men by such a process, as if
they were literally to take medicines to affect their nerves or their
brain, in the hope of becoming idiotic or delirious. It is, in fact, the
worst kind of self-murder; for it is a presumptuous destroying of that
which is our best life, because we dread to undergo those trials which
God has appointed for the perfecting both of it and of us.

But from the wilful blindness of these men, let us turn to the Christian
wisdom of the Apostle: "In malice be ye children, but in understanding
be men." Let us turn to what is recorded of our Lord in his early life,
at that age when, as man, the cultivation of his understanding was his
particular duty--that he was found in the temple, sitting in the midst
of the doctors, both hearing them and asking them questions: not asking
questions only, as one too impatient or too vain to wait for an answer,
or to consider it when he had received it; not hearing only, as one
careless and passive, who thinks that the words of wisdom can improve
his mind by being indolently admitted through the ears, with no more
effort than his body uses when it is refreshed by a cooling air, or when
it is laid down in running water; but both hearing and asking questions;
docile and patient, yet active and intelligent; knowing that the wisdom
was to be communicated from without, but that it belongs to the vigorous
exercise of the power within, to apprehend it, and to convert it to
nourishment.

Now, what is recorded of our Lord for our example, as to the manner in
which he received instruction when delivered by word of mouth, this same
thing should we do with that instruction, which, as is the ease with
most of ours, we derive from reading. Put the Scriptures in the place of
those living teachers whom Christ was so eager to hear; the words of
Christ, and of his Spirit, instead of those far inferior guides from
whom, notwithstanding, he, for our sakes, once submitted to learn; and
what can be more exact than the application of the example? Let us be
found in God's true temple, in the communion of his faithful
people,--his universal Church, sitting down as it were, surrounded by
the voices of the oracles of God--prophets, apostles, and Jesus Christ
himself: let us be found with the record of these oracles in our hands,
both reading them and asking them questions.

It is quite clear that what hinders a true understanding of anything is
vagueness; and it is by this process of asking questions that vagueness
is to be dispelled: for, in the first place, it removes one great
vagueness, or indistinctness, which is very apt to beset the minds of
many; namely, the not clearly seeing whether they understand a thing or
no; and much more, the not seeing what it is that they do understand,
and what it is which they do not. Take any one of our Lord's parables,
and read it even to a young child: there will be something of an
impression conveyed, and some feelings awakened; but all will be
indistinct; the child will not know whether he understands or no, but
will soon gain the habit of supposing that he does, as that is at once
the least troublesome, and the least unpleasant to our vanity. And this
same vague impression is often received by uneducated persons from
reading or bearing either the Scriptures or sermons; it is by no means
the same as if they had read or heard something in an unknown language;
but yet they can give no distinct account of what they have heard or
read; they do not know how far they understand it, and how far they do
not. Here, then, is the use of "asking questions,"--asking questions of
ourselves or of our book, I mean, for I am supposing the case of our
reading, when it can rarely happen that we have any living person at
hand to give us an answer. Now, taking the earliest and simplest state
of knowledge, it is plain that the first question to put to ourselves
will be, "Do I understand the meaning of all the words and expressions
in what I have been reading?" I know that this is taking things at their
very beginning, but it is my wish to do so. Now, so plain and forcible
is the English of our Bible, generally speaking, that the words
difficult to be understood will probably not be many: yet some such do
occur, owing, in some instances, to a change of the language; as in the
words "let," and "prevent," which now signify, the one, "to allow, or
suffer to be done," and the other "to stop, or hinder," but which
signified, when our translation was made, the first, "to stop or
hinder," and the second, "to be beforehand with us;" as in the prayer,
"Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings, with thy most gracious favour;"
the meaning is, "Let thy favour be with us beforehand, O Lord, in
whatever we are going to do." In other instances the words are difficult
because they are used in a particular sense, such as we do not learn
from our common language; of which kind are the words "elect," "saints,"
"justification," "righteousness," and many others. Now, if we ask
ourselves "whether we understand these words or no," our common sense,
when thus questioned, will readily tell us, whether we do or not;
although if we had not directly asked the question, it might never have
thought about it. Of course, our common sense cannot tell us what the
true meaning is; that is a matter of information, and our means of
gaining information may be more or less; but still, a great step is
gained, the mist is partly cleared away; we can say to ourselves, "Here
is something which I do understand, and here is something which I do
not; I must keep the two distinct, for the first I may use, the second I
cannot; I will mark it down as a thing about which I may get explanation
at another time; but at present it is a blank in the picture, it is the
same as if it were not there." This, then, is the first process of
self-questioning, adapted, as I have already said, to those whose
knowledge is most elementary.

Suppose, however, that we are got beyond difficulties of this sort--that
the words and particular expressions of the Scriptures are mostly clear
to us. Now, take again one of our Lord's parables; say, for instance,
that of the labourers in the vineyard: we read it, and find that he who
went to work at the eleventh hour received as much as he who had been
working all the day. This seems to say, that he who begins to serve God
in his old age shall receive his crown of glory no less than he who has
served him all his life. But now try the process of self-questioning:
what do I think that Christ means me to learn from this? what is the
lesson to me? what is it to make me feel, or think, or do? If it makes
me think that I shall receive an equal crown of glory if I begin to
serve God in my old age, and therefore if it leads me to live
carelessly, this is clearly making Christ encourage wickedness; and such
a thought is blasphemy. He cannot mean me to learn this from it: let me
look at the parable again. Who is it who is reproved in those words
which seem to contain its real object? It is one who complains of God
for having rewarded others equally with himself. Now this I can see is
not a good feeling: it is pride and jealousy. In order, then to learn
what the parable means me to learn, let me put myself in the position of
those reproved in it. If I complain that others are rewarded by God as
much as I am, it is altogether a bad feeling, and one which I ought to
check; for I have nothing to do with God's dealings to others, let me
think of what concerns myself. Here I have the lesson of the parable
complete: and here I find it is useful for me. But if I take it for a
different object, and suppose that it means to encourage waiting till
the eleventh hour--waiting till we are old before we repent--we find
that we make it only actually to be mischievous to us. And thus we gain
a great piece of knowledge: namely, that the parables of our Lord are
mostly designed to teach, some one particular lesson, with respect to
some one particular fault: and that if we take them generally, as if all
in them was applicable to all persons, whether exposed to that
particular fault or not, we shall absolutely be in danger of deriving
mischief from them instead of good. It is true, that in this particular
parable, the gross wickedness of such an interpretation as I have
mentioned is guarded against even in the story itself; because those who
worked only at the eleventh hour are expressly said to have stood idle
so long only because no man had hired them; their delay, therefore, was
no fault of their own. But even if this circumstance had been left out,
it would have been just the same; because the general rule is, that we
apply to a parable only for its particular lesson, and do not strain it
to any thing else. Had this been well understood, no one would have ever
found so much difficulty in understanding the parable of the
unjust steward.

This is another great step towards the dispelling vagueness, to apply
the particular lesson of each part of Scripture to that state of
knowledge, or feeling, or practice in ourselves, which it was intended
to benefit; to apply it as a lesson to ourselves, not as a general truth
for our neighbours. And the very desire to do this, makes us naturally
look with care to the object of every passage--to see to whom it was
addressed, and on what occasion; for this will often surely guide us to
the point that we want. But in order to do this, we must strive to
clothe the whole in our own common language; to get rid of those
expressions which to us convey the meaning faintly; and to put it into
such others as shall come most strongly home to us. This I have spoken
of on other occasions; and I have so often witnessed the bad effects of
not doing so, that I am sure it may well bear to be noticed again; I
mean the putting such words as "persecution," "the cares and riches of
the world," "the kingdom of God," "confessing Christ," "denying Christ,"
and many others, into a language which to us has more lively reality,
which makes us manifestly see that it is of us, and of our common life,
and of our dangers, that the scripture is speaking, and not only of
things in a remote time and country, and under circumstances quite
unlike our own. Therefore I have a strong objection to the use of what
is called peculiarly religious language, because I am sure that it
hinders us from bringing the matter of that language thoroughly home to
us; our minds do not entirely assimilate with, it; or if they fancy that
they do, it is only by their becoming themselves affected, and losing
their sense of the reality of things around them. For our language is
fixed for us, and we cannot alter it; and into that common language in
which we think and feel, all truth must be translated, if we would think
and feel respecting it at once rightly, clearly, and vividly. Happy is
he, who, by practising this early, has imbued his own natural language
with the spirit of God's wisdom and holiness; and who can see, and
understand, and feel them the better, because they are so put into a
form with which he is perfectly familiar.

More might be said, very much more, but here I will now pause. In this
world, wherein heavenly things are, after all, hard to seize and fix
upon, we have great need that no mists of imperfect understanding darken
them, over and above those of the corrupt will. To see them clearly, to
understand them distinctly and vividly, may, indeed, after all be vain:
a thicker veil may yet remain behind, and we may see and understand, and
yet perish. Only the clear sight of God in Christ can be no light
blessing; and there may be a hope, that understanding and approving with
all our minds his excellent wisdom, the light may warm us as well as
assist our sight; that we may see, and not in our vague and empty sense,
but in the force of the scriptural meaning of the word,--may see, and
so believe.




LECTURE XXXV.

       *       *       *       *       *

MATTHEW xxvi. 45, 46.

_Sleep on now and take your rest; behold, the hour is at hand, and the
Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be.
going; behold, he is at hand that doth betray me_.


I take these verses for my text, in the first place, because some have
fancied a difficulty in them, and have even proposed to alter the
translation, and read the first words as a question, "Do ye still sleep
and take your rest?" and because they are really a very good
illustration of our Lord's manner of speaking, a manner which it is of
the highest importance to us fully to understand. And, secondly, I take
them as a text for the general lesson which they convey to us; their
mixture of condemnation and mercy; their view, at once looking backwards
and forwards, not losing sight of irreparable evils of a neglected past,
nor yet making those evils worse by so dwelling upon them as to forget
the still available future; not concealing from us the solemn truth,
that what is done cannot be undone, yet warning us also not to undo by a
vain despair that future which may yet be done to our soul's health.

First, a difficulty has been fancied to exist in the words, as if our
Lord had bade his disciples to do two contradictory things: telling
them, first, to sleep on and take their rust, and then saying, "Rise,
let us be going." And because in St. Luke's account, when our Lord
comes to his disciples the last time, his words are given thus, "Why
sleep ye? rise and pray, that ye enter not into temptation:" therefore,
as I have said, his words in the text have been translated, "Are ye
sleeping and resting for the remainder of the time?" Now, I should not
take up your time with things of this sort, where I believe our common
translation to be most certainly right, were it not for the sake of one
or two general remarks, which I think may not be out of place. It is a
general rule, that in passages not obscure, but appearing to contain
some moral difficulty, if I may so speak; that is, something which seems
inconsistent with our notions of God's holiness, or wisdom, or justice;
something, in short, of a stumbling-block, which we fear may occasion a
triumph to unbelievers; it is a rule, I say, that in passages of this
kind the difficulty is not to be met by departing from the
common-received translation. And the reason of this is plain; that had
not the commonly received translation in such cases been clearly the
right one, it would never have come to be commonly received. Amongst the
thousands of interpreters of Scripture, all, from the earliest time,
anxious to remove grounds of cavil from the adversaries of their faith,
a passage would never have been translated so as to afford such a
ground, if the right translation of it could have been different. Such
places are especially those in which the common translation needs not to
be suspected: and it is merely leading us astray from the true
explanation of the apparent difficulty, when we thus attempt to evade it
by tampering with the translation. A notable instance of this was
afforded some few years since in a new translation of some of the books
of the Old Testament; in which it was pretended that most of those
points which had been most attacked by unbelievers were, in fact, mere
mistranslations, and that the real meaning of the original was
something totally different; and, in order to show the necessity of his
alterations, the writer entirely allowed the objections of unbelievers
to the common reading; and said that no sufficient answer had been or
could be made to them. This was an extreme case, and probably imposed
only on a very few: but less instances of the same thing are common: St.
Paul's words about being baptized for the dead, have been twisted to all
sorts of senses, from their natural and only possible meaning, because
men could not bear to believe that the superstition of being baptized as
proxies for another could have existed at a period which they were
resolved to consider so pure: and so in the text, a force has been put
upon the words which they cannot bear, in order to remove a supposed
contradiction: and all that would have been gained by the change would
be, to have one instructive illustration the less of our Lord's peculiar
manner of discourse, and one instance the less of the inimitable way in
which his language, addressed directly to the circumstances before him,
contains, at the same time, a general lesson, for the use of all his
disciples in all ages.

Our Lord's habitual language was parabolical; I use the word in a wide
sense, to include all language which is not meant to be taken according
to the letter. Observe his conversation with the Samaritan woman; it
begins at once with parable, "If thou hadst known who it was that asked
of thee, saying, Give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of him, and
he would have given thee living water." And again, "Whoso drinketh of
the water that I shall give him shall never thirst, but it shall be in
him a well of water, springing up unto life eternal." This seems to have
been, if I may venture to say so, the favourite language in which he
preferred to speak; but when he found that he was not understood, then,
according to the nature of the case, he went on in two or three
different manners. When he, to whom all hearts were open, saw that the
misunderstanding was wilful, that it arose out of a disposition glad to
find an excuse, in his pretended obscurity, for not listening to him and
obeying him, then, instead of explaining his language, he made it more
and more figurative; more likely to be misunderstood, or to offend those
whom he knew to be disposed beforehand to misunderstand and to be
offended. A famous example of this may be seen in the sixth chapter of
St. John; there he first calls himself the Bread of Life, and says, that
whosoever should eat of that bread should live for ever: but when he
found that the Jews cavilled at this language, instead of explaining it,
he only added expressions yet more strongly parabolical; "Except ye eat
the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in
you:" and he dwells on this image so long, that we find that many of his
disciples, bent on interpreting it literally, and, in this sense,
finding it utterly shocking, went back and walked no more with him.
Again, when he found not a disposition to cavil, but yet a profound
ignorance of his meaning, arising from a state of mind wholly unused to
think of spiritual good and evil, he neither used, as to those who
wilfully misunderstood him, language that would offend them still more,
nor yet did he offer a direct explanation; but he broke off the
conversation, and adopted another method of instruction. Thus, when the
Samaritan woman, thinking only of bodily wants, answered him by saying,
"Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to
draw," he neither goes on to speak to her in the same language, nor yet
does he explain it; but at once addresses her in a different manner,
saying, "Go, call thy husband, and come hither." Thirdly, when he was
speaking to his own disciples, to whom it was given to know the
mysteries of the kingdom of God, he generally explained his meaning,--at
least so far as to prevent practical error,--when he found that they had
not understood him. Thus, when he had said to them, "Beware of the
leaven of the Pharisees, and of the leaven of Herod," and they thought
only of leaven and of bread in the literal sense, he upbraids them,
indeed, for their slowness, saying, "Are ye also yet without
understanding?" but he goes on to tell them in express terms that he did
not mean to speak to them of the leaven of bread. And the words of the
text are an exactly similar instance: his first address is parabolical;
that is, it is not meant to be taken to the letter; "Sleep on now, and
take your rest," meaning, "Ye can now do me no good by watching, for the
time is past, and he who betrayed me is at hand; ye might as well sleep
on now and take your rest, for I need not try you any longer." But, as
the time was really pressing, and there was a possibility that they
might have misunderstood his words, and have really continued to sleep,
he immediately added in different language, "Rise, let us be going;
behold, he is at hand that doth betray me." We must be prepared, then,
to find that our Lord's language, not only to the Jews at large, but
even to his own disciples, is commonly parabolical; the worst
interpretation which we can give to it is commonly the literal one. His
conversation with his disciples, just before he went out to the garden
of Gethsemane, as recorded in the thirteenth, and following chapters of
St. John, is a most striking proof of this. If any one looks through
them, he will find how many are the comparisons, and figurative manners
of speaking, which abound in them, and how often his disciples were at a
loss to understand his meaning, And he himself declares this, for, at
the end of the sixteenth chapter, he says expressly, "These things I
have spoken unto you in proverbs;"--that is, language not to be taken
according to the letter;--"the time is coming when I will no more speak
unto you in proverbs, but will show you plainly of the Father." And
then, when he goes on to declare, what he never, it seems, had before
told them in such express and literal language, "I came forth from the
Father, and am come into the world: again I leave the world, and go to
my Father," his disciples seem to have welcomed with joy this departure
from his usual manner of speaking, and said immediately, "Lo! now
speakest thou plainly, and speakest no proverb: now we know that thou
knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee: by
this we believe that thou earnest forth from God."

But let us observe what it is that he said: "A time is coming when I
shall no more speak unto you in proverbs, but shall show you plainly of
the Father." That time came immediately. He spoke to them after his
resurrection, opening their understandings to understand the Scriptures:
he spoke yet more fully, by his Spirit, after the day of Pentecost,
leading them into all truth. And what they thus heard in the ear, they
proclaimed, according to his bidding, upon the house-tops. When the Holy
Spirit brought to their remembrance all that he had said to them, and
gave their minds a spiritual judgment, to compare what they thus had
brought before them, to see his words in their true light and their true
bearings, comparing spiritual things with spiritual, they were no
niggards of this heavenly treasure; nor did they, according to the vain
heresy of the worst corrupters of Christ's gospel, imitate and surpass
that sin which they had so heavily judged in Ananias. They kept back no
part-of that which they professed and were commanded to lay wholly and
entirely at the feet of God's church. They did not so lie to the Holy
Ghost, as to erect a wicked system of priestcraft in the place of that
holy gospel of which they were ministers. They had no reserve of a
secret doctrine for themselves and a chosen few, keeping in their own
hands the key of knowledge, and opening only half of the door; but as
they had freely received, so they freely gave; all that they knew, they
taught to all: and so, through their blessed teaching, we too can
understand our Lord's words as they were taught to understand them: and
what is parabolical, is no longer on that account obscure, but full of
light and of beauty, fulfilling the end for which it was chosen, the
most effective of all ways of teaching, because the liveliest.

I have left myself but little space to touch upon the second part of the
subject--the general lesson conveyed in our Lord's-words to his
disciples: "Sleep on now, and take your rest.--Rise; let us be going."
How truly do we deserve the reproof; how thankfully may we accept the
call. We have forfeited many opportunities which we would in vain
recover; we have been careless when we should have been watchful; and
that for which we should have watched, is now lost by our neglect; and
it is no good to watch for it any more. Let us remember this, while it
is called to-day; for how often is it particularly applicable to us
here, from the passing nature of your stay amongst us! To both you and
us too often belongs our Lord's remonstrance, "What, could ye not watch
with me one hour?" So short a time as you stay here, could we not be
watching with Christ that little period: from which, if well improved,
there might spring forth a fruit so lasting? But, alas! we too often
sleep it away: we do not all that we might do, nor do you; evil grows
instead of good, till the time is past, and you leave us; and we may as
well sleep on, and take our rest, so far as all that particular good
was concerned--the improvement, namely, of your time at this place, for
which we are alike set to watch. But are we to take the words of
reproach literally? May we really sleep on, and take our rest? Oh vain
and wilful folly, so to misunderstand! But, lest we should
misunderstand, let us hear our Lord's next words: "Rise; let us be
going," and that instantly: the time and opportunity already lost for
ever is far more than enough.--"Rise; let us be going:" so Christ calls
us; for he has still other work for us to do, for him, and with him. The
future is yet our own, though the past be lost. We have sinned greatly
and irreparably; but let us not do so yet again: other opportunities are
afforded us; the disciples would not watch with him in the garden, but
he calls them to go with him to his trial and his judgment; and one, we
know, watched by him even on his cross:--so he calls to us; so he calls
now; but he will not so call for ever. There will be a time when we
might strike out the words, "Rise; let us be going;" they will concern
us then no more. It is only said, "Sleep on now, and take your rest: all
your watching time has been wasted, and you can now watch no more;"
there remains only to sleep--to sleep that last sleep, from which we
shall then never wake to God and happiness, but in which we shall be
awake for ever to sin and to misery.




LECTURE XXXVI.

       *       *       *       *       *

2 CORINTHIANS v. 17, 18.

_Old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new: and all
things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ_.


I have, from time to time, spoken of that foolish misuse of the
Scriptures, by which any one opening the volume of the Bible at random,
and taking the first words which he finds, straightway applies them
either to himself or to his neighbour; and then boasts that he has the
word of God on his side, and that whosoever differs from him, is
disputing and despising the word of God. The most extreme instances of
this way of proceeding are so absurd, that they could not be noticed in
this place becomingly; and these, of course, stand palpable to all,
except to those who have allowed themselves to fall into them. But far
short of these manifest follies, great errors have been maintained on
general points, and great mistakes, whether of over presumption or of
over fear, have been committed as to men's particular state, by quoting
Scripture unadvisedly; by taking hold of its words to the neglect or
actual violation of its spirit and real meaning. This is a great and a
very common mischief, but yet there is a truth at the bottom of the
error; it is true, that the greatest questions relating to God and to
ourselves, may find their answer in the Scriptures; it is true, that if
we search for this answer wisely we may surely find it.

Consider the words of the text, and see how easily they may be
perverted, if with no more ado we take them, as said of ourselves, each
individually, and as containing to each of us a statement positive of
truth. "Old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new."
If we believe that this is God's word respecting each of us, what
violence must we do to our memory of the past, and our consciousness of
the present, if we do try to persuade ourselves that so total a change
has taken place in each of us, that what we once were, we are no longer;
that what we are, we once were not; and this not in some few particular
points, but in the main character of our minds. Again, "All things are
of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ." If we apply
these words to each of us, what exceeding presumption would they breed!
If all things in us and about us are now of God, what room can there be
for sin? If God hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, what room
can there be for fear or for danger? And thus, while we say we are
quoting and believing the word of God, we do in fact turn it into a lie;
we make it assert a falsehood as to our past state, and a falsehood as
to our future state; we make it say, that our old nature is passed away,
when it is not; that we have got a new nature when we have not; that we
are reconciled to God, and therefore in safety, when we are, in fact, in
the extremest danger.

But it is easy to see that we have no right to apply to ourselves words
written by St. Paul eighteen hundred years ago, and applied by him to
other persons. I go, then, farther; and I say, that if every member of
the church of Corinth, to which they were written, had applied them to
himself in the manner which I have shown above, the words would in many
instances have been perverted no less, and would have been made to state
what was false, and not what was true. And the same may be said of many
other passages of St. Paul's Epistles, which, having been similarly
misinterpreted, have furnished matter for endless controversies, and on
which opposite theories of doctrine have been fondly raised, each of
them alike unchristian and untrue.

Thus our present position is this:--that oftentimes by taking the
representations of Scripture as true in fact, whether of ourselves or of
others, we come to conclusions at once false and mischievous; being, as
the case may be, either presumptuous, or fearful, or uncharitable, and
claiming for each of these faults the sanction of the word of God.

A similar mistake in interpreting human compositions, has led to faults
of another kind. Assuming as before, in interpreting St. Paul's words,
that the language of our Liturgy is meant to describe, as a matter of
fact, the actual feelings and condition of those who use it, or for whom
it is used; and seeing manifestly that these feelings and condition do
not agree with the words; we do not here, as with the Scripture, do
violence to our common sense and conscience, by insisting upon it that
we agree with the words, but we find fault with the words as being at
variance with the matter of fact. Some say that the language of the
General Confession is too strong a statement of sin; that the language
of the Communion Service, of the Baptismal Service, and above all, of
the Burial Service, is too full of encouragement and of assurance; that
men are not all so bad as to require the one, 'nor so good as to deserve
the other; that in both cases it should be lowered, to agree with the
actual condition of those who use it.

Now it is worthy of notice, at any rate, that the self-same rule of
interpretation applied to the Scripture and the Liturgy is found to suit
with neither. We adhere positively to our rule: and thus, as we hold the
words of Scripture sacred, we force common sense and conscience to make
the facts agree with them; but not having the same respect for the words
of the Liturgy, we complain of them as faulty and requiring alteration,
because they do not agree with the facts.

I will not enter into the question whether the Liturgy has done wisely
or not in thus imitating the Scripture; but I do contend that, in point
of fact, there is this resemblance between them. St. Paul's Epistles, in
particular, although it is true of other parts of the Scripture also,
contain, as does the Liturgy of our Church, a great many passages which,
if taken either universally or even generally as containing a matter of
fact, will lead us into certain error. Is it, therefore, so very certain
that we do wisely in so interpreting them?

With regard to our Liturgy I need not follow up the question now; but
with regard to St. Paul, it is certain that he, in many parts of his
Epistles, chooses to represent that which ought to be as that which
actually was: he chooses to regard those to whom he is writing as being
in all respects true Christians, as being worthy of their privileges, as
answering to what God had done to them, as forming a church really
inhabited by the Holy Spirit, and therefore being a true and living body
of due proportions to Christ its Divine head. Nor does he trust
exclusively to the common sense and conscience of those to whom he was
writing to interpret his language correctly. He might Lave thought
indeed that if he wrote to them as redeemed, justified, sanctified, as
having all things new, as being the children of God, and the heirs of
God, and the temples of the Holy Ghost, any individual who felt that he
was none of these things, that sin was still mighty within him, and that
he was sin's slave, would neither deny his own conscience, nor yet call
St. Paul a deceiver; but would read in the difference between St. Paul's
description of him and the reality, the exact measure of his own sin,
and need of repentance and watchfulness. But he does not rely on this
only: he notices sins as actually existing; he mingles the language of
reproof and of anxiety, so as to make it quite clear that he did not
mean his descriptions of their holiness and blessedness to apply to them
all necessarily; he knew full well that they did not: but yet he knew
also that, considering what God had done for them, it was monstrous that
they should not be truly applicable.

But why then, you will say, did he use such language? why did he call
men forgiven, redeemed, saved, justified, sanctified?--he uses all these
terms often as applicable generally to those to whom he was
writing;--why did he call them so, when in fact they were not so? He
called them so for the same reason which, made prophecy foretell
blessings upon Israel of old, and on the Christian church afterwards,
which were fulfilled on neither:--in order to declare, and keep ever
before us, what God has done and is willing to do for us: what he fain
would do for us, if we would but suffer him; what divine powers are
offered to us, and we will not use them; what divine happiness is
designed for us, and we will not enter into it. Let us ponder all the
magnificence of the scriptural language,--the words of the text for
example, not as describing what we are when we are full of sin; nor yet
as mere exaggerated language, which must be brought down to the level of
our present reality. Let us consider it as containing the words of
truth and soberness; not one jot or one tittle needs to be abated; it
must not be lowered to us, but we rather raised to it. It is a truth, it
is the word of God, it is the seal of our assurance: it is that which
good men of old would have welcomed with the deepest joy; which, to good
men now is a source of comfort unspeakable. For it tells us that God has
done for us, is doing, will do, all that we need; it tells us that the
price of our redemption has been paid, the kingdom of heaven has been
set open, the power to walk as God's children has been given: that so
far as God is concerned we are redeemed, we are saved, we are
sanctified; it is but our own fault merely that we are not all of these
actually and surely.

This is not a little matter to be persuaded of; if it be true, as I fear
it is, that too many of us do not love God, is it not quite as true that
we cannot believe that God loves us? Have we any thing like a distinct
sense of the words of St. John, "We love God because he first loved us?"
We believe in the love of our earthly friends; those who have so lately
left their homes have no manner of doubt that their parents are
interested in their welfare, though absent; that they will often think
of them; and that, as far as it is possible at a distance from them,
they are watching over their good, and anxious to promote it. The very
name home implies all this; it implies that it is a place where those
live who love us; and I do not question that the consciousness of
possessing this love does, amidst all your faults and forgetfulnesses,
rise not unfrequently within your minds, and restrain you from making
yourselves altogether unworthy of it. Now, I say, that the words of the
text, and hundreds of similar passages, are our assurance, if we would
but believe them, that we have another home and another parent, by whom
we are loved constantly and earnestly, who has done far more for us
than our earthly parents can do. I grant that it is hard to believe this
really; so infinite is the distance between God and us, that we cannot
fancy that he cares for us; he may make laws for a world, or for a
system, but what can he think or feel for us? It is, indeed, a thought
absolutely overpowering to the mind; it may well seem incredible to us,
judging either from our own littleness or our own forgetfulness; so hard
as we find it to think enough of those to whom we are most nearly bound,
how can the Most High. God think of us? But if there be any one particle
of truth in Christianity, we are warranted in saying that God does love
us; strange as it may seem, He, whom neither word nor thought of created
being can compass; He, who made us and ten thousand worlds, loves each
one of us individually; "the very hairs of our heads are all numbered."
He so loved us, that he gave his only-begotten Son to die for us; and
St. Paul well asks, "He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him
up for us all, will he not also with him freely give us all things?"

Believe me, you could have no better charm to keep you safe through, the
temptations of the coming half year, than this most true persuasion that
God loves you. The oldest and the youngest of us may alike repeat to
himself the blessed words, "God loves me;" "God loves me; God has
redeemed me: God would dwell in my heart, that I might dwell in him: God
has placed me in his church, has made me a member of Christ his own Son,
has made me an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven." I might multiply
words, but that one little sentence is, perhaps, more than all, "God
loves me." Oh that you would believe him when he assures you of it, for
then surely you would not fail to love him. But whether you believe it
or not, still it is so: God loves every one of us; he loves each one of
us as belonging to Christ his Son. He does love each, of us; let us not
cast his love away from us, and refuse to love him in return; he does
love each of us now, but there may be a time to each of us,--there will
be, assuredly, if we will not believe that he loves us, when he will
love us no more for ever.




LECTURE XXXVII.

       *       *       *       *       *

EZEKIEL xx. 49.

_Then said I, Ah, Lord God I they say of me, Doth he not speak
parables_?


Nothing is more disheartening, if we must believe it to be true, than
the language in which some persons talk of the difficulty of the
Scriptures, and the absolute certainty that different men will ever
continue to understand them differently. It is not, we are told, with
the knowledge of Scripture as with that of outward nature: in the
knowledge of nature, discoveries are from time to time made which set
error on the one side, and truth on the other, absolutely beyond
dispute; there the ground when gained is clearly seen to be so; and as
fresh sources of knowledge are continually opening to us, it is not
beyond hope that we may in time arrive infinitely near to the enjoyment
of truth,--truth certain in itself, and acknowledged by all unanimously.
But with Scripture, it is said, the case is far otherwise; discoveries
are not to be expected here, nor does a later generation derive from,
its additional experience any greater insight into the things of God
than was enjoyed by the generations before it. And when we see that
actually the complete Scriptures have been in the world not much less
than eighteen hundred years; that within that period no other book has
been so much studied; and yet that differences of opinion as to the
matters spoken of in it have ever existed, and exist now as much as
ever, what reasonable prospect is there, it is asked, of future harmony
or of clearer demonstrations of divine truth; and will not the good on
these points ever continue to differ from the good, and the wise to
differ from the wise?

This language, so discouraging as it is, may be heard from two very
opposite parties, so that their agreement may appear to give it the more
weight: it is used by men who are indifferent to religious truth, as an
excuse for their taking no pains to discover what the truth really is;
it is echoed back quite as strongly by another set of persons who wish
to magnify the uncertainties of the Scripture in order to recommend more
plausibly the guidance of some supposed authoritative interpreter of it.
But yet it ought to be at any rate a painful work to any serious mind to
be obliged to dwell not only on the obscurities of God's word, but on
its perpetual and invincible obscurities; and, though an interpreter may
be necessary if we know not the language of those with whom we are
conversing, yet how much better would it be that we should ourselves
know it: nay, and if we are told that we cannot know it, that our best
endeavours will be unable to master it, the suspicion inevitably arises
in our minds, that our pretended interpreter may be ignorant of it also;
that he is not in truth better acquainted with it than we, but only more
presumptuous or more dishonest.

Still a statement may be painful, but at the same time true. There is
undoubtedly something in such language as I have been alluding to, which
appears to be confirmed by experience. There is no denying the fact,
that the Scriptures have been a long time in the world; that they have
been very generally and carefully read; and yet that men do differ
exceedingly as to religious truth, and these differences do not seem to
be tending towards agreement. It seems to me, there fore, desirable
that every student of the Scriptures should know, as well as may be,
what the exact state of the question is; for if the subject of his
studies is really so hopelessly uncertain, it is scarcely possible that
his zeal in studying it should not be abated; nay, could we wisely
encourage him to bestow his pains on a hopeless labour?

Now, in the very outset, there is this consideration which many of us
here are well able to appreciate. We read many books written in dead
languages, most of them more ancient than any part of the New Testament,
some of them older than several of the books of the Old. We know well
enough that these ancient books are not without their difficulties; that
time, and thought, and knowledge are required to master them; but still
we do not doubt that, with the exception of particular-passages here and
there, the true meaning of these books may be discovered with undoubted
certainty. We know, too, that this certainty has increased; that
interpretations, which, were maintained some years ago, have been set
aside by our improved knowledge of the languages and condition of the
ancient world, quite as certainly as old errors in physical science have
been laid to rest by later discoveries. Farther, our improved knowledge
has taught us to distinguish what may be known from what may be probably
concluded, and what is probable from what can merely be guessed at. When
we come to points of this last sort, to passages which cannot be
interpreted or understood, we leave them at once as a blank; but we
enjoy no less, and understand with no less certainty, the greatest
portions of the book which, contain them. And this experience, with
regard to the works of heathen antiquity, makes it a startling
proposition at the very outset, when we are told that with the works of
Christian antiquity the case is otherwise.

We thus approach the statement as to the hopless difficulty of
Scripture, confirmed, as we are told it is, by the actual fact of the
great disagreements among Christians, with a well-grounded mistrust of
its soundness; we feel sure that there is something in it which is
confused or sophistical. And considering the fact which appears to
confirm it, I mean the actual differences between Christians and
Christians, it soon appears by no means to bear out its supposed
conclusion. For the differences between Christians and Christians by no
means arise generally from the difficulty of understanding the Scripture
aright, but from disagreement as to some other point, quite independent
of the interpretation of the Scriptures. For example, the great
questions at issue between us and the Roman Catholics turn upon two
points,--Whether there is not another authority, in matters of
Christianity, distinct from and equal to the Scriptures,--and whether
certain interpretations of Scripture are not to be received as true, for
the sake of the authority of the interpreter. Now, suppose for a moment,
that the works of Plato or Aristotle were to us in the place of the
Scriptures; and that the question was, whether these works of theirs
could be understood with certainty; it would prove nothing against our
being able to understand them, if, whilst we look to them alone, another
man were to say, that, to his judgment, the works of other philosophers
were no less authoritative; or, if he were to insist upon it, that the
interpretations given by the scholiasts were always sure to be correct,
because the scholiasts were the authorized interpreters of the text. No
doubt our philosophical opinions and our practice might differ widely
from such a man's; but the difference would prove nothing as to the
obscurity of Plato's or Aristotle's text, because another standard had
been brought in, distinct from their works, and from the acknowledged
principles of interpretation, and thus led unavoidably to a
different result.

The same also is the case as to the questions at issue between the
Church of England and many of the Dissenters. In these disputes it is
notorious that the practice and authority of the church are continually
appealed to, or, it may be, considerations of another kind, as to the
inherent reasonableness of a doctrine; all which are, again, a distinct
matter from the interpretation of Scripture. One of the greatest men of
our time has declared, that, in the early part of his life, he did not
believe in the divinity of our Lord; but he has stated expressly, that
he never for a moment persuaded himself that St. Paul or St. John did
not believe it; their language he thought was clear enough, upon the
point; but the notion appeared to him so unreasonable in itself, that he
disbelieved it in spite of their authority. It is manifest, that, in
this case, great as the difference was between this great man's early
belief and his later, yet it in no way arose from the obscurity of the
Scripture. The language of the Scripture was as clear to him at first as
it was afterwards; but in his early life he disbelieved it, while, in
his latter life, he embraced it with all his heart and soul.

It must not be denied, however, that we are here arrived at one of the
causes which are likely, for a long time, to keep alive a false
interpretation of Scripture, and which do not affect our interpretation
of heathen writings. For most men, in such a case as I have referred to,
when they do not believe the language of the Scripture, but wish to
alter it, whether by omission or addition, do not deal so fairly with it
as that great man did to whom I have alluded. They have neither his
knowledge nor his honesty; a false interpretation is more easily
disguised from them, owing to their ignorance, and they let their wishes
more readily warp their judgment. Thus, they will not say as he did,
"The Scripture clearly says so and so, but I cannot believe it;" they
rather say, "This is very unreasonable and shocking, the Scripture
cannot mean to say this;" or, "This is very pious and very ancient, the
Scripture cannot but sanction this." And certainly, if men will so deal
with it, there remains no certainty of interpretation then. But this is
not the way that we deal with other ancient writings; and its unfairness
and foolishness, if ever attempted to be practised there, are so
palpable as to be ridiculous. No doubt it is difficult to convince men
against their will; nevertheless, there is a good hope, that, as sound
principles of interpretation are more generally known, they will put to
shame a flagrant departure from them; and that those who try to make the
Scripture say more or less than it has said, will be gradually driven to
confess that Scripture is not their real authority; that their own
notions in the one case, and the authority of the Church in the other
case, have been the real grounds of their belief, to which they strove
to make the Scriptures conform.

Nothing that I have said is, in any degree, meant to countenance the
opinions of those who talk of the Bible,--or rather, our translation of
it,--being its own interpreter; meaning, that if you give a Bible to any
one who can read, he will be able to understand it rightly. Even in this
extravagance, there is indeed something of a truth. If a man were so to
read the Bible, much he would, unquestionably, be able to understand;
enough, I well believe, if honestly and devoutly used, to give him, if
living in a desert island by himself, the knowledge of salvation. But
when we talk of understanding the Bible, so as to be guided by it
amidst the infinite varieties of opinion and practice which beset us on
every side, it is the wildest folly to talk of it as being, in this
sense, its own interpreter. Our comfort is, not that it can be
understood without study, but with it; that the same pains which, enable
us to understand heathen writings, whose meaning is of infinitely less
value to us, will enable us, with God's blessing, to understand the
Scriptures also. Neither do I mean, that mere intellectual study would
make them clear to the careless or the undevout; but, supposing us to
seek honestly to know God's will, and to pray devoutly for his help to
guide us to it, then our study is not vain nor uncertain; the mind of
the Scriptures may be discovered; we may distinguish plainly between
what is clear, and what is not clear; and what is not clear will be
found far less in amount, and infinitely less in importance, than what
is clear. I do not say, that a true understanding of the Scriptures will
settle at once all religious differences;--manifestly, it cannot; for,
although I may understand them well, yet if a man maintains an opinion,
or a practice, upon some other authority than theirs, we cannot agree
together. Nevertheless, we may be allowed to hope and believe, that in
time, if men could be hindered from misinterpreting the Scripture in
behalf of their own opinions, their opinions themselves would find fewer
supporters; for, as Christianity must come, after all, from our blessed
Lord and his apostles, men will shrink from saying that that is no truth
of Christianity which Christ and his apostles have clearly taught, or
that that is a truth of Christianity, however ancient, and by whatever
long line of venerable names supported, which they have as clearly, in
our sole authentic records of them, not taught. It is not, therefore,
without great and reasonable hope, that we may devote ourselves to the
study of the Scriptures; and those habits of study which are cultivated
here, and in other places of the same kind, are the best ordinary means
of arriving at the truth. We are constantly engaged in extracting the
meaning of those who have written in times past, and in a dead language.
We do this according to certain rules, acknowledged as universally as
the laws of physical science: these rules are developed gradually,--from
the simple grammar which forms our earliest lessons, to the rules of
higher criticism, still no less acknowledged, which are understood by
those of a more advanced age. And we do this for heathen writings; but
the process is exactly the same--and we continually apply it, also, for
that very purpose--with what is required to interpret the Word of God.
After all is done, we shall still, no doubt, find that the Scripture has
its parables, its passages which cannot now be understood; but we shall
find, also, that by much the larger portion of it may be clearly and
certainly known; enough to be, in all points which really concern our
faith and practice, a lantern to our feet, and an enlightener to
our souls.




LECTURE XXXVIII.

       *       *       *       *       *

ISAIAH v.1.

_Now will I sing to my well-beloved a song of my beloved touching his
vineyard_.


Whatever difficulties we may find in understanding and applying many
parts of the prophetical Scriptures, yet every thinking person could
follow readily enough, I suppose, the chapter from which these words are
taken, as it was read in the course of this morning's service; and he
would feel, while understanding it as said, immediately and in the first
instance, of the Jewish Church or nation, seven centuries and a half
before the birth of our Lord, that it was no less applicable to this
Christian church and nation at the present period. We cannot, indeed,
expect to find a minute agreement in particular points between ourselves
and the Jews of old; the difference of times and circumstances renders
this impossible; both they and we stand, on the one hand, in so nearly
the same relation to God, and we both so share, on the other hand, in
the same sinful human nature, that the complaints, and remonstrances of
the prophets of old may often, be repeated, even in the very same words,
by the Christian preacher now.

If this be so, then the language of various parts of the service of the
Church in this season of Advent ought to excite in us no small
apprehension; for whilst the lessons from the Old Testament describe
the evil state of the Jewish people in the eighth century before Christ,
and threaten it with destruction, so the gospels for this day, and for
last Sunday, speak of the evil state of the same people when our Lord
was upon earth; and the chapter from which the gospel of this day is
taken, contains, as we know, a full prophecy of the destruction that
was, for the second time, going to overwhelm the earthly Jerusalem. We
cannot but fear, therefore, that if our state now be like that of God's
people of old, eight centuries before our Lord's coming, and again like
their state at his coming: and if, after the first period, their city
and temple were burnt, and they were carried captive to Babylon,--and
again, after the second period, the city and temple were burnt again,
and the people were dispersed, even to this day,--that, as the
punishment has twice surely followed the sin, so it will not fail to
find it out in this third case also.

And be it remembered that the people, or church of God, as such, can
receive their punishment only in this world: for, taken as a body, it is
an institution for this world only. We each of us, no doubt, shall have
our own separate individual judgment after death; and, in the mean time,
our fortunes and our character often bear no just correspondence with
each other. But nations and churches have their judgments here: and
although God's long-suffering so suspends it for many generations that
it may seem as if it would never fall, yet does it come surely at the
last; and almost always we can ourselves trace the connexion between the
sin and the punishment, and can see that the one was clearly the
consequence of the other. And thus our church and nation may feel their
national judgments in this world quite independently of the several
personal judgments which will be passed upon us each hereafter
individually, when we stand before Christ's judgment seat.

I have thus ventured to bring the condition of the church as a body
before our minds, although well knowing how much more we are concerned
with the state of our own souls individually. Yet still the more general
view is not without great use; and indeed it bears directly upon our
individual state: our actions and our feelings having often a close
connexion with, general church matters; and these actions and feelings
being necessarily good or bad, according to the soundness of our
judgment on the matter which occasions them. Besides which, it seems to
me that general views, rather than what relates to particular faults,
may be with most propriety dwelt on by those who have no direct
connexion with the congregation which they are addressing.

In the first place, then, whenever we think of the state and prospects
of Christ's church, whether for good or for evil, it is most desirable
that we should rightly understand our own relations to it. "The vineyard
of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel;" or, in the language of the
New Testament, "Christ is the vine, and we are the branches." Men
continually seem to forget that they are members of the church;
citizens, to use St. Paul's expression, of Christ's kingdom, as much as
ever they are citizens of their earthly country. But they speak of the
church as they might speak of any useful institution or society in their
neighbourhood, whose object they approved of, and which they were glad
to encourage, but without becoming members of it, or identifying
themselves with its success or failure. For example, they speak of the
church as they might speak of the universities, which indeed are
institutions of great importance to the whole country, but yet they are
manifestly distinct from the mass of the community: they have their own
members, their own laws, and their own government, with which, people in
general have nothing to do. And so many persons speak and feel of the
church, regarding it evidently as consisting only of the clergy: our
common language, no doubt, helping this confusion, because we often
speak of a man's going into the church when he enters into holy orders,
just as if ordination were the admission into the church, and not
baptism. Now, if the clergy did indeed constitute the church, then it
would very much resemble the condition of the universities: for it would
then be indeed a society very important to the welfare of the whole
country, but yet one that was completely distinct, and which had its
members, laws, and government quite apart: for men in general do not
belong to the clergy, nor are they concerned directly in such canons as
relate to the peculiar business of the clergy, nor does the bishop's
superintendence, as commonly exercised, extend at all to them. But God
designed for his church far more than that it should contain one order
of men only, or that it should comprise commonly but one single
individual in a parish, preaching to and teaching the rest of the
inhabitants, like a missionary amongst a population of heathens. Look at
St. Paul's account of the church of Corinth, in the 12th chapter of his
1st epistle to the Corinthians, and see if any two things can be more
different than his notion of a church, and that which many people seem
to entertain amongst us. Compare the living body there described, made
up of so many various members, each having its separate office, yet each
useful to and needed by the others and by the body,--and our notion of a
parish committed to the charge of a single individual: as if all the
manifold gifts which the church requires could by possibility be
comprised in the person of any one Christian; as if the whole burden
were to rest upon his shoulders, and the other inhabitants might regard
the welfare of the church as his concern only, and not theirs.

But not only is the church too often confined in men's notions to the
single class or profession of the clergy, but it has been narrowed still
farther by the practical extinction of one of the orders of the clergy
itself. Where the laity have come to regard their own share in the
concerns of the church as next to nothing, the order of deacons,
forming, as it were, a link between the clergy and the laity, becomes
proportionably of still greater importance. The business of the deacons,
as we well know, was in an especial manner to look after the relief of
the poor; and by combining this charge with the power of baptizing, of
reading the Scriptures, and of preaching also, when authorized by the
bishop, they exhibited the peculiar character of Christianity, that of
sanctifying the business of this world by doing everything in the name
of the Lord Jesus. No church, so far as we know, certainly no church in
any town, existed without its deacons: they were as essential to its
completeness as its bishop and its presbyters.

Take any one of our large towns now, and what do we find? A bishop, not
of that single town only, but of fifty others besides: one presbyter in
each, church, and no deacons! Practically, and according to its proper
character, the order of deacons is extinct; and those who now bear the
name are most commonly found exercising the functions of presbyters;
that is, instead of acting as the assistants of a presbyter, they are
often the sole ministers of their respective parishes; they alone
baptize; alone offer up the prayers of the church, alone preach the
word: nothing marks their original character, except their inability to
administer the communion; and thus, by a strange anomaly, the church in
such parishes is actually left without any power of celebrating its
highest act, that of commemorating the death, of Christ in the Lord's
supper; and if it were not for another great evil, the unfrequent
celebration of the Communion, the system could not go on: because the
deacon would be so often obliged to apply to other ministers to perform
that duty for him, that the inconvenience, as well as the unfitness, of
the actual practice, would be manifest to every one.

Again, what has become of church discipline? That it has perished, we
all well know: but its loss is the consequence of that fatal error which
makes the clergy alone constitute the church. It is quite certain that
men will not allow the members of a single profession to exercise the
authority of society; to create and define offences; to determine their
punishment, and to be the judges of each particular offender. As long as
the clergy are supposed to constitute the whole church, church
discipline would be nothing but priestly tyranny. And yet the absence of
discipline is a most grievous evil; and there is no doubt that, although
it must be vain when opposed to public opinion, yet, when it is the
expression of that opinion, there is nothing which it cannot achieve.
But public opinion cannot enforce church discipline now, because that
discipline would not be now the expression of the voice of the church,
but simply of a small part of the church, of the clergy only.

So deeply has this fatal error of regarding the clergy as the church
extended itself, that at this moment a man's having been baptized is no
security for his being so much as a believer in the truth of
Christianity: no matter that he was made in his baptism a member of
Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven; no
matter that at a more advanced period of his life he was confirmed, and
entered into the church by his own act and deed; still the church
belongs to the clergy; they may hold such and such, language, and teach
such and such doctrine; it would be very improper in them to do
otherwise; and he has a great respect for the church, and would
strenuously resist all its enemies, but truly, as for his own belief and
his own conduct, these he will guide according to other principles, as
imperative upon him as the rules of the church upon churchmen. Well
indeed, do such men bear witness that they are not of the church,
indeed; that their portion is not with God's people; that Christ is not
their Saviour, nor the Holy Spirit their Comforter and Guide: but what
blasphemy is it to call themselves friends of the church! as if Christ's
church could have any friends except God and his holy angels: the church
has its living and redeemed members; it may have those who are craving
to be admitted within its shelter, being convinced that God is in it of
a truth; but beyond these he who is not with it is against it; he who is
not Christ's servant, serves his enemy.

Farther, it is this same deadly error which is the root and substance of
popery. There is no one abuse of the Romish system which may not be
traced to the original and very early error of drawing a wide
distinction between the clergy and the laity; of investing the former in
such a peculiar degree with the attributes of the church that at last
they retained them almost exclusively. In other words, the great evil of
popery is, that it has destroyed the Christian church, and has
substituted a priesthood in its room. This is the fault of the Greek
church, almost as much as of the Roman; and the peculiar tenet of the
Romish church, that the supreme government is vested in one single
member of this priesthood, the Bishop of Rome, is in some respects
rather an improvement of the system, than an aggravation of it. For
even an absolute monarchy is a less evil than an absolute aristocracy;
and an infallible Pope is no greater corruption of Christ's truth, than
an infallible general council. The real evils of the system are of a far
older date than the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, and exist in places
where that supremacy is resolutely denied. And if we attend to them
carefully, we shall see that these evils have especially affected the
Christian church as distinguished from the Christian religion. It is
worth our while to attend to this distinction; for the Christian
religion and the Christian church together, and neither without the
other, form the perfect idea of Christianity. NOW, by the Christian
religion, I mean the revelation of what God has done or will do for us
in Christ; the great doctrines of the Trinity, the incarnation, the
atonement, the resurrection, the presence of the Holy Spirit amongst us,
and our own resurrection hereafter, to an existence of eternal happiness
or misery. And these truths, if revealed to any single person living in
an uninhabited island, might be abundantly sufficient for his salvation;
if God disposed his heart to receive them, and to believe them
earnestly, they would be the means of his overcoming his corrupt nature,
and of passing from death unto life. But because men do not generally
live alone, but with one another; and because they cannot but greatly
hinder, or help each other by their mutual influence, therefore the
Christian church was instituted for the purpose of spreading and
furthering the growth of the Christian religion in men's hearts; and its
various ministeries, its sacraments, its services and festivals, and its
discipline were all designed with that object. And it is all these which
popery has perverted; popery, whether in the Roman church or in the
Greek church, or even in the Protestant church, for it has existed more
or less in all. But even in the Roman church, where the perversion has
been most complete, it has comparatively affected but little the truths
of the Christian religion; all the great doctrines, which I mentioned,
are held as by ourselves; the three creeds, the Apostles' creed, the
Nicene, and the Athanasian, are used by the Roman church no less than by
our own. Thus it often happens that we can read with great edification
the devotional works of Roman Catholic writers, because in such works
the individual stands apart from the Christian church, and is concerned
only with the Christian religion: they show how one single soul, having
learnt the tidings of redemption with faith, and thankfulness, improves
them to its own salvation. But the moment that he goes out of his
closet, and begins to speak and act amongst other men, then the
corruption of popery shows itself. The Christian church was designed to
help each individual towards a more perfect knowledge and love of God,
by the counsel and example of his brethren, and by the practices which,
he was to observe in their society. But the corrupt church exercises its
influence for evil; it omits all the benefits to be derived from a
living society, and puts forward, in their place, the observance of
rites and ceremonies; knowledge and love are no longer looked to as the
perfections of a Christian, but ignorance and blind obedience; not the
mortifying all our evil passions universally, but the keeping them
chained up, as it were under priestly control, to be let loose at the
priest's bidding, against those whom he calls the church's enemies; that
glorious church which he has destroyed and converted it into an idol
temple, in that he, as God sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself
that he is God.

To resist this great and monstrous evil, we must not exclaim against it
under one of its forms only, even although that form exhibit it,
indeed, in its most complete deformity; but we must strive against it
under all its forms, remembering that its essence consists in putting
the clergy in the place of the church; and taking from the great mass of
the church their proper share in its government, in its offices, and
therefore in its benefits, and in the sense of its solemn
responsibilities. We speak often of church extension, meaning by this
term the building new places of public worship, and the appointing
additional ministers to preach the word and administer the sacraments.
And no doubt such church extension is a good and blessed work, for it
brings the knowledge of the truths of Christ's religion, and the benefit
of his ordinances, the sacraments, within the reach of many who might
otherwise have been without them. But it were a yet truer and more
blessed church extension which should add to the building and the single
minister, the real living church itself, with all its manifold offices
and ministries, with its pure discipline, with its holy and loving sense
of brotherhood. Without this, Christ will still, indeed, as heretofore,
lay his hands on some few sick folk and heal them; his grace will convey
the truths of his gospel to individual souls, and they will believe and
be saved. But the fulfilment of prophecy; the triumph of Christ's
kingdom; the changing an evil world into a world redeemed; this can only
be done by a revival of the Christian church in its power, the living
temple of the Holy Ghost, which, visibly to all mankind, in the wisdom
and holiness of its members, showed that God was in the midst of it. It
may be that this is a fond hope, which we may not expect to see
realized; but looking on the one hand to the strong and triumphant
language of prophecy, I know not how any hope of the advancement of
Christ's kingdom can be more bold than God's word will warrant: and on
the other, tracing the past history of the church, its gradual
corruption may be deduced distinctly from one early and deadly mischief,
which has destroyed its efficacy; so that, if this mischief can be
removed, and the church become such as Christ designed it to be, it does
not seem presumptuous to hope that his appointed instrument, working
according to his will, should be enabled to obtain the full blessings of
his promise.

And now, in conclusion, if we ask, what should follow from all that has
been said? what it should lead us all, if it be true, to feel or to
do?--the answer is, that considerations of this sort are not such as
lead at once to some distinct change in our conduct; to the laying aside
some favourite sin, or the practising some long neglected duty. And yet
the thoughts which I have endeavoured to suggest to your minds may, if
dwelt upon, lead, in the end, to a very considerable alteration, both in
our feelings and in our practice. First of all, it is not a little
matter to be convinced practically, that it is baptism, and not
ordination, which makes us members of the church; that it is by sharing
in the communion of Christ's body and blood, not by being admitted into
the ministry, that the privileges and graces of Christ's church are
conferred upon us. And most wisely, and most truly, does our Church
separate ordination from the two Christian sacraments, as an institution
far less solemn, and conferring graces far less important: for the
difference between a Christian and a Christian minister is but one of
office, not of moral or spiritual advancement, not of greater or less
nearness to God. One is our master, even Christ; and all we are
brethren. Words which certainly do not imply that all members of the
church are to have the same office, or that all offices are of equal
importance and dignity; but which do imply, most certainly, that any
attempt to convert the ministry into a priesthoood, that is, to
represent them as standing, in any matter, as mediators between Christ
and his people, or as being essentially the channel through which his
grace must pass to his church, is directly in opposition to him; and is
no better than idolatry. It was by baptism that we have all been
engrafted into Christ's body; it is by the communion of his body and
blood that we continue to abide in him; it is in his whole body, in his
church, and not in its ministers, as distinct from his church, that his
Holy Spirit abides.

Thus feeling that we each are members of the church, that it is our
highest country, to which we are bound with a far deeper love than to
our earthly country, is not its welfare our welfare; its triumph our
triumph; its failures our shame? We shall see, then, that church
questions are not such merely, or principally, as concern the payment of
the clergy, or their discipline, but all questions in which God's glory
and man's sins or duties are concerned; all questions in the decision of
which, there is a moral good and evil; a grieving of Christ's Spirit, or
a conformity to him. And in such questions as concern the church, in the
more narrow and common sense of the word, seeing that we are all members
of the church, we should not neglect them, as the concern of others, but
take an interest in them, and act in them, so far as we have
opportunity, as in a matter which most nearly concerns ourselves. We
feel that we have an interest in our country's affairs, although we are
not members of the government or of the legislature; we have our part to
perform, without at all overstepping the modesty of private life: and it
is the constant influence of public opinion, and the active interest
taken by the country at large in its own concerns, which, in spite of
occasional delusion or violence, is mainly instrumental in preserving to
us the combined vigour and order of our political constitution. And so,
if we took an equal interest in the affairs of our divine commonwealth,
our Christian church, and endeavoured as eagerly to promote every thing
which tended to its welfare, and to put down and prevent every thing
which might work it mischief, then the efforts of the clergy to advance
Christ's kingdom would be incalculably aided, while there would then be
no danger of our investing them with the duties and responsibilities
which belong properly to the whole church; they could not then have
dominion over our faith, nor by possibility become lords over God's
heritage, but would be truly ensamples to the flock, the helpers of our
joy, the glory of Christ.




LECTURE XXXIX.

       *       *       *       *       *

COLOSSIANS iii. 17.

_Whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus,
giving thanks to God and the Father by Him_.


This, like the other general rules of the gospel, is familiar enough to
us all in its own words; but we are very apt to forbear making the
application of it. In fact, he who were to apply it perfectly would be a
perfect Christian: for a life of which every word and deed were said and
done in the name of the Lord Jesus, would be a life indeed worthy of the
children of God, and such as they lead in heaven; it would leave no room
for sin to enter. The art of our enemy has been therefore to make us
leave this command of the apostle's in its general sense, and avoid
exploring, so to speak, all the wisdom contained within it. Certain
actions of our lives, our religious services, the more solemn
transactions in which we are engaged, we are willing to do in Christ's
name; but that multitude of common words and ordinary actions by which
more than sixty-nine out of our seventy years are filled, we take away
from our Lord's dominion, under the foolish, and hypocritical pretence
that they are too trifling and too familiar to be mixed up with the
thought of things so solemn.

This is one fault, and by far the most common. We make Christ's service
the business only of a very small portion of our lives; we hallow only
a very small part of our words and actions by doing them in his name.
Unlike our Lord's own parable, where he compares Christianity to leaven
hidden in the three measures of meal till the whole was leavened, the
practice rather has been to keep the leaven confined to one little
corner of the mass of meal; to take care that it should not spread so as
to leaven the whole mass; to keep our hearts still in the state of the
world when Christ visited it--"the light shineth in darkness, and the
darkness comprehended it not;" that is, it did not take the light into
itself so as to be wholly enlightened: the light shone, and there was a
bright space immediately around it; but beyond there was a blackness of
darkness into which it vainly strove to penetrate.

On the other hand there has been, though, more rarely, a fault of the
opposite sort. Men have said that they were in all their actions of
ordinary life doing Christ's will, that they endeavoured always to be
promoting some good object; and that the peculiar services of religion,
as they are called, were useless, inasmuch as in spirit they are
worshipping God always. This is a great error; because, as a matter of
fact, it is false. We may safely say that no man ever did keep his heart
right with God in his ordinary life, that no one ever became one with
Christ, and Christ with him, without seeking Christ where he reveals
himself, it may not be more really, but to our weakness far more
sensibly, than in the common business of daily life. We may be happy if
we can find Christ there, after we have long sought him and found him in
the way of his own ordinances, in prayer, and in his holy communion.
Even Christ himself, when on earth, though his whole day was undeniably
spent in doing the will of his heavenly father,--although to him
doubtless God was ever present in the commonest acts no less than in the
most solemn,--yet even he, after a day spent in all good works, desired
a yet more direct intercourse with God, and was accustomed to spend a
large portion of the night in retirement and prayer.

Without this, indeed, we shall most certainly not say and do all in the
name of the Lord Jesus; much more shall we be in danger of forgetting
him altogether. But supposing that we are not neglectful of our
religious duties, in the common sense of the term, that we do pray and
read the Scriptures, and partake of Christ's communion, yet it will
often happen that we do not connect our prayers, nor our reading, nor
our communion, with many of the common portions of our lives; that there
are certain things in which we take great interest, which,
notwithstanding, we leave, as it were, wholly without the range of the
light of Christ's Spirit. There is a story told that, in times and
countries where there prevailed the deepest ignorance, some who came to
be baptized into the faith of Christ, converted from their heathen
state, not in reality but only in name, were accustomed to leave their
right arm unbaptized, with the notion that this arm, not being pledged
to Christ's service, might wreak upon their enemies those works of
hatred and revenge which in baptism they had promised to renounce. It is
too much to say that something like this unbaptized right arm is still
to be met with amongst us--that men too often leave some of their very
most important concerns, what they call by way of eminence their
business--their management of their own money affairs, and their conduct
in public matters--wholly out of the control of Christ's law?

Now at this very time public matters are engaging the thoughts of a
great many persons all over the kingdom: and are not only engaging their
thoughts, but are also become a practical matter, in which they are
acting with great earnestness. Is it nothing that there should be so
much, interest felt, so much pains taken, and yet that neither should be
done in the name of the Lord Jesus, nor to the glory of God? It cannot
be unsuited to the present season to dwell a little on this subject,
which has nothing whatever to do with men's differences of opinion, but
relates only to their acting, whatever be their political opinions, on
Christian principles, and in a Christian spirit.

First, consider what we pray for in the prayer which we have been using
every week for the high court of parliament: we pray to God, that "all
things may be so ordered and settled by the endeavours of parliament,
upon the best and surest foundations, that peace and happiness, truth,
and justice, religion and piety, may be established among us for all
generations." These great blessings we beg of God to secure to us and to
our children through the endeavours of parliament; if, therefore, we are
any ways concerned in fixing who the persons are to be who are to
compose this parliament, it is plain that there is put into our bands a
high privilege, if you will; but along with it, as with all other
privileges, a most solemn responsibility.

But, if it be a solemn responsibility in the sight of God and of Christ,
surely the act of voting, which many think so lightly of, and which many
more consider a thing wholly political and worldly, becomes, indeed, a
very important Christian duty, not to be discharged hastily or
selfishly, in blind prejudice or passion, from self-interest, or in mere
careless good nature and respect of persons; but deliberately,
seriously, calmly, and, so far as we can judge our deceitful hearts,
purely; not without prayer to Him who giveth wisdom liberally to those
that ask it, that he will be pleased to guide them aright, to his own
glory, and to the good of his people.

Do I say that if we were to approach this duty in this spirit, and with
such prayers, we should all agree in the same opinion, and all think the
same of the same men? No, by no means; we might still greatly differ;
but we should, at least, have reason to respect one another, and to be
in charity with one another; and if we all earnestly desired and prayed
to be directed to God's glory, and the public good, God, I doubt not,
would give us all those ends which we so purely desired, although in our
estimate of the earthly means and instruments by which they were to be
gained, we had honestly differed from one another.

Now, supposing that we had this conviction, that what we were going to
do concerned the glory of God and the good of his people, and that we
approached it therefore seriously as a Christian duty, yet it may be
well that many men might feel themselves deficient in knowledge; they
might not understand the great questions at issue; they might honestly
doubt how they could best fulfil the trust committed to them. I know
that the most ignorant man will feel no such hesitation if he is going
to give his vote from fancy, or from prejudice, or from interest; these
are motives which determine our conduct quickly and decisively. But if
we regard our vote as a talent for which we must answer before God that
we may well be embarrassed by a consciousness of ignorance; we may well
be anxious to get some guidance from others, if we cannot find it in
ourselves. Here, then, is the place for authority,--for relying, that
is, on the judgment of others, when we feel that we cannot judge for
ourselves. But is their no room for the exercise of much good sense and
fairness in ourselves as to the choice of the person by whose judgment
we mean to be guided? Are we so little accustomed to estimate our
neighbours' characters rightly, as to be unable to determine whom we may
consult with advantage? Surely if their be any one whom we have proved,
in the affairs of common life, to be at once honest and sensible, to
such an one we should apply when we are at a loss as to public matters.
If there is such an one amongst our own relations or personal friends,
we should go to him in preference: if not, we can surely find one such
amongst our neighbours: and here the authority of such of our neighbours
as have a direct connexion with us, if we have had reason to respect
their judgment and their principles, may be properly preferred to that
of indifferent persons; the authority of a master, or an employer, or of
our minister, or of our landlord, may and ought, under such
circumstances, to have a great and decisive influence over us.

On the other hand, supposing again that we have this strong sense of the
great responsibility in the sight of God of every man who has the
privilege of a vote, we shall be exceedingly careful not to tempt him to
sin by fulfilling this duty ill. Nothing can be more natural or more
proper than that those who have strong impressions themselves as to the
line to be followed in public matters, should be desirous of persuading
others to think as they do; every man who loves truth and righteousness
must wish that what he himself earnestly believes to be true and
righteous, should be loved by others also; but the highest truth, if
professed by one who believes it not in his heart, is to him a lie, and
he sins greatly by professing it. Let us try as much as we will to
convince our neighbours; but let us beware of influencing their conduct,
when we fail in influencing their convictions: he who bribes or
frightens his neighbour into doing an act which no good man would do for
reward or from fear, is tempting his neighbour to sin; he is assisting
to lower and to harden his conscience,--to make him act for the favour
or from the fear of man, instead of for the favour or from the fear of
God; and if this be a sin in him, it is a double sin in us to tempt him
to it. Nor let us deceive ourselves by talking of the greatness of the
stake at issue; that God's glory and the public good are involved in the
result of the contest, and that therefore we must do all in our power to
win it. Let us by all means do all that we can do without sin; but let
us not dare to do evil that good may come, for that is the part of
unbelief; it becomes those who will not trust God with the government of
the world, but would fain guide its course themselves. Here, indeed, our
Lord's command does apply to us, that we be not anxious; "Which of you
by taking thought can add to his stature one cubit?" How little can we
see of the course of Providence! how little can we be sure that what we
judged for the best in public affairs may not lead to mischief! But
these things are in God's hand; our business is to keep ourselves and
our neighbours from sin, and not to do or encourage in others any thing
that is evil, however great the advantages which we may fancy likely to
flow from that evil to the cause even of the highest good.

There is no immediate prospect, indeed, that we in this particular
congregation shall be called upon to practise the duty of which I have
been now speaking; and, indeed, it is for that very reason that I could
dwell on the subject more freely. But what is going on all around us,
what we hear of, read of, and talk of so much as we are many of us
likely to do in the next week or two about political matters, _that_ we
should be accustomed to look upon as Christians: we should by that
standard try our common views and language about it, and, if it may be,
correct them: that so hereafter, if we be called upon to act, we may
act, according to the Apostle's teaching, in the name of our Lord Jesus.
And I am quite sure if we do so think and so act, although our
differences of opinion might remain just the same, yet the change in
ourselves, and I verily believe in the blessings which God would give
us, would be more than we can well believe; and a general election,
instead of calling forth, as it now does, a host of unchristian passions
and practices, would be rather an exercise of Christian judgment, and
forbearance, and faith, and charity; promoting, whatever was the mere
political result, the glory of God, advancing Christ's kingdom, and the
good of this, as it would be then truly called, Christian nation.



NOTES.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE A. P. 5.

"_But our path is not backwards but onwards_"--This thought is expressed
very beautifully in lines as wise and true as they are poetical:

     "Grieve not for these: nor dare lament
       That thus from childhood's thoughts we roam:
     Not backward are our glances bent,
       But forward to our Father's home.
     Eternal growth has no such fears,
       But freshening still with seasons past,
     The old man clogs its earlier years,
       And simple childhood comes the last."

_Burbridge's Poems_, p. 309.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE B. P. 102.

"_Some may know the story of that German nobleman_," &c.--The Baron von
Canitz. He lived in the latter half of the seventeenth century, and was
engaged in the service of the electors of Brandenburg, both of the great
elector and his successor. He was the author of several hymns, one of
which is of remarkable beauty, as may be seen in the following
translation, for the greatest part of which I am indebted to the
kindness of a friend: but the language of the original, in several
places, cannot be adequately translated in English.

     Come, my soul, thou must be waking--
     Now is breaking
       O'er the earth another day.
     Come to Him who made this splendour
     See thou render
       All thy feeble powers can pay.

     From the stars thy course be learning:
     Dimly burning
       'Neath the sun their light grows pale:
     So let all that sense delighted
     While benighted
       From God's presence fade and fail.

     Lo! how all of breath partaking,
     Gladly waking,
       Hail the sun's enlivening light!
     Plants, whose life mere sap doth nourish,
     Rise and flourish,
       When he breaks the shades of night.

     Thou too hail the light returning,--
     Ready burning
       Be the incense of thy powers;--
     For the night is safely ended:
     God hath tended
       With His care thy helpless hours.

     Pray that He may prosper ever
     Each endeavour
       When thine aim is good and true;
     But that He may ever thwart thee,
     And convert thee,
       When thou evil wouldst pursue.

     Think that He thy ways beholdeth--
     He unfoldeth
       Every fault that lurks within;
     Every stain of shame gloss'd over
     Can discover,
       And discern each deed of sin.

     Fetter'd to the fleeting hours,
     All our powers,
       Vain and brief, are borne away;
     Time, my soul, thy ship is steering,
     Onward veering,
       To the gulph of death a prey.

     May'st thou then on life's last morrow,
     Free from sorrow,
       Pass away in slumber sweet;
     And released from death's dark sadness,
     Rise in gladness,
       That far brighter Sun to greet.

     Only God's free gifts abuse not,
     His light refuse not,
       But still His Spirit's voice obey;
     Soon shall joy thy brow be wreathing,
     Splendour breathing
       Fairer than the fairest day.

     If aught of care this morn oppress thee,
     To Him address thee,
       Who, like the sun, is good to all:
     He gilds the mountain tops, the while
     His gracious smile
       Will on the humblest valley fall.

     Round the gifts His bounty show'rs,
     Walls and tow'rs
       Girt with flames thy God shall rear:
     Angel legions to defend thee
     Shall attend thee,
       Hosts whom Satan's self shall fear.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE C. P. 122.

"_But, once admit a single exception, and the infallible virtue of the
rule ceases_."--Thus the famous Canon of Vincentius Lirinensis is like
tradition itself, always either superfluous or insufficient. Taken
literally, it is true and worthless;--because what _all_ have asserted,
_always_, and in _all places_, supposing of course that the means of
judging were in their power, may be assumed to be some indisputable
axiom, such as never will be disputed any more than it has been disputed
hitherto. But take it with any allowance, and then it is of no use in
settling a question: for what _most_ men have asserted, _most commonly_,
and in _most places_, has a certain _à priori_ probability, it is true,
but by no means such as may not be outweighed by probabilities on the
other side; for the extreme improbability consists not in the prevalence
of error amongst millions, or for centuries, or over whole
continents,--but in its being absolutely universal, so universal, that
truth could not find a single witness at any time or in any country. But
the single witness is enough to "justify the ways of God," and reduces
what otherwise would have been a monstrous triumph of evil to the
character of a severe trial of our faith, severe indeed as the trials of
an evil world will be, but no more than a trial such as, with God's
grace, may be overcome.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE D. P. 189.

_"It was an admirable definition of that which excites laughter,"_
&c.--[Greek: To geloion apurtaepa ti chai aiochos auodnnoy chai on
phthartichon oion enthus to geloion prosopon aischron ti chai
dieotruppenon anen odunaes]--_Aristotle, Poetic,_ ii.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE E. P. 245.

"_I would endeavour just to touch upon some of the purposes for which
the Scripture tells us that Christ died_."--The Collects for Easter
Sunday and the Sundays just before it and after it, illustrate the
enumeration here given. The Collect for the Sunday next before Easter
speaks of Christ's death only as an "example of his great humility." The
Collect for Easter-day speaks of the resurrection, and connects it with
our spiritual resurrection, as does also the Collect for the first
Sunday after Easter. But the collect for the Second Sunday after Easter
speaks of Christ as being at once our sacrifice for sin and our example
of godly life,--a sacrifice to be regarded with entire thankfulness, and
an example to be daily followed.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE F. P. 282.

"_Such also was to be the state of the Christian Church after our Lord's
ascension_."--And therefore, as I think, St. Peter applies to the
Christians of Asia Minor the very terms applied to the Jews living in
Assyria or in Egypt; he addresses them as [Greek: parepidaemois
diasporas], (1 Peter i. 1,) that is, as strangers and sojourners,
scattered up and down in a country that was not properly their own, and
living in a sort of banishment from their true home. That the words are
not addressed to Jewish Christians, and therefore are not to be
understood in their simple historical sense, seems evident from the
second chapter of the Epistle, verses 9, 10, and iv. 2,3.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE G. P. 315.

"_Not only an outward miracle, but the changed circumstances of the
times may speak God's will no less clearly than a miracle_," &c.--What I
have here said does not at all go beyond what has been said on the same
subject by Hooker: "Laws, though both ordained of God himself, and the
end for which they were ordained continuing, may, notwithstanding,
cease, if by alteration of persons or times they be found insufficient
to attain unto that end. In which respect why may we not presume that
God doth even call for such change or alteration as the very condition
of things themselves doth make necessary?... In this case, therefore,
men do not presume to change God's ordinance, but they yield thereunto,
requiring itself to be changed."--_Ecclesiastical Polity_, b. iii. § 10.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE H. P. 320.

_"Nor is it less strange that any should ever have been afraid of their
understandings, and should have sought goodness through prejudice, and
blindness, and folly_."--For some time past the words "Rationalism" and
"Rationalistic" have been freely used as terms of reproach by writers on
religious subjects; the 73d No. of the "Tracts for the Times" is
entitled, "On the introduction of Rationalistic Principles into
Religion," and a whole chapter in Mr. Gladstone's late work on Church
Principles is headed "Rationalism." Yet we still want a clear definition
of the thing signified by this name. The Tract for the Times says, "To
rationalize, is to ask for _reasons_ out of place; to ask improperly how
we are to _account_ for certain things; to be unwilling to believe them
unless they can be accounted for, i.e. referred to something else as a
cause, to some existing system, as harmonizing with them, or taking them
up into itself.... It is characterised by two peculiarities;--its love
of systematizing, and its basing its system upon personal experience, on
the evidence of sense."--P. 2. Mr. Gladstone says more generally,
"Rationalism is commonly, at least in this country, taken to be the
reduction of Christian _doctrine_ to the standard and measure of the
human understanding."--P. 37. But neither of these definitions will
include all the arguments and statements which have been called by
various writers "rationalistic;" and while the terms used are thus
vague, they are often applied very indiscriminately, and the tendency of
this use of them is to depreciate the exercise of the intellectual
faculties generally. The subject seems to deserve fuller consideration
than it has yet received; there is a real evil which the term
Rationalism is meant to denounce; but it has not been clearly
apprehended, and what is good has sometimes been confounded with it, and
denounced under the same name.

I cannot pretend to discuss the subject fully in a mere note, even if I
were otherwise competent to do it. But one or two points may be noticed,
as likely to assist the inquiry, wherever it is worthily entered on.

1st. It is important to bear in mind the distinction which Coleridge
enforces so earnestly between the understanding and the reason. I do not
know whether Mr. Gladstone, in the passage quoted above, uses the word
"understanding" as synonymous with reason, or in that stricter sense in
which Coleridge employs it. But the writer of the Tract seems to allude
to the stricter sense, when he calls it a characteristic of rationalism
"to base its system upon personal experience, on the evidence of sense."
If this be the case, then it would seem that rationalism is the
appealing to the decision of the understanding in points where the
decision properly belongs not to the understanding, but to the reason.
This is a great fault, and one to which all persons who belong to the
sensualist school in philosophy, as opposed to the idealist school,
would be more or less addicted. But then, this fault consists not in an
over-estimating of man's intellectual nature generally, but in the
exalting one part of it unduly, to the injury of another part; in
deferring to the understanding, rather than to the reason.

2d. Faith and reason are often invidiously contrasted with each other,
as if they were commonly described in Scripture as antagonists; whereas
faith is more properly opposed to sight, or to lust, being, in fact, a
very high exercise of the pure reason; inasmuch as we believe truths
which our senses do not teach us, and which our passions would have us,
therefore, reject, because those truths are taught by Him in whom reason
recognises its own author, and the infallible source of all truth.

3d. It were better to oppose reason to passion than to faith; for it may
be safely said, that he who neglects his reason, so far as he does
neglect it, does not lead a life of faith afterwards, but a life of
passion. He does not draw nearer to God, but to the brutes, or rather to
the devils; for his passions cannot be the mere instinctive appetites of
the brute, but derive from the wreck of his intellectual powers, which
he cannot utterly destroy, just so much of a higher nature that they are
sins, and not instincts, belonging to the malignity of diabolic nature,
rather than to the mere negative evil of the nature of brutes.

4th. Faith may be described as reason leaning upon God. Without God,
reason is either overpowered by sense and understanding, and, in a
manner, overgrown, so that it cannot comprehend its proper truths; or,
being infinite, it cannot discover all the truths which concern it, and
therefore needs a farther revelation to enlighten it. But with God's
grace strengthening it to assert its supremacy over sense and
understanding, and communicating to it what of itself it could not have
discovered, it then having gained strength and light not its own, and
doing and seeing consciously by God's help, becomes properly faith.

5th. Faith without reason, is not properly faith, but mere power
worship; and power worship may be devil worship; for it is reason which
entertains the idea of God--an idea essentially made up of truth and
goodness, no less than of power. A sign of power exhibited to the senses
might, through them, dispose the whole man to acknowledge it as divine;
yet power in itself is not divine, it may be devilish. But when reason
recognises that, along with this power, there exist also wisdom and
goodness, then it perceives that here is God; and the worship which,
without reason, might have been idolatry, being now according to
reason is faith.

6th. If this were considered, men would be more careful of speaking
disparagingly of reason, seeing that it is the necessary condition of
the existence of faith. It is quite true, that when we have attained to
faith, it supersedes reason; we walk by sunlight, rather than by
moonlight; following the guidance of infinite reason, instead of finite.
But how are we to attain to faith? in other words, how can we
distinguish God's voice from the voice of evil? for we must distinguish
it to be God's voice before we can have faith in it. We distinguish it,
and can distinguish it no otherwise, by comparing it with that idea of
God which reason intuitively enjoins, the gift of reason being God's
original revelation of himself to man. Now, if the voice which comes to
us from the unseen world agree not with this idea, we have no choice but
to pronounce it not to be God's voice; for no signs of power, in
confirmation of it, can alone prove it to be God. God is not power only,
but power, and truth, and holiness; and the existence of even infinite
power, does not necessarily involve in it truth and holiness also; else
the notion of the world being governed by an evil being would be no more
than a contradiction in terms; and the horrible strife of the two
principles of Manicheism would be a mere matter of indifference; for if
power alone constitutes God, whichever principle triumphed over the
other, would become God by the very fact of its victory; and thus
triumphant evil would be good.

7th. Reason, then, is the mean whereby we attain to faith, and escape
the devil worship of idolatry; but the understanding is not a necessary
condition of faith, and very often impedes it; for the understanding
having for its basis the reports of sense and experience, has no direct
way of arriving at things invisible, and rather shrinks back from that
world with which it is in no way familiar. It has a work to do in regard
to revelation, and an important work; but divine things not being its
proper matter, its work concerning them must be subordinate, and its
tendency is always to fall back from the invisible to the visible,--from
matters of faith to matters of experience. Its work, with respect to
revelation, is this--that it should inquire into the truth of the
outward signs of it; which outward signs being necessarily things
visible and sensible, fall within its province of judgment. Thus
understanding judges the external witnesses of a revelation: if miracles
be alleged, it is the business of understanding to ascertain the fact of
their occurrence; if a book claim to be the record of a revelation, it
belongs to the understanding to make out the origin of this book, the
time when it was written, who were its authors, and what is the first
and grammatical meaning of its language. Or, again, if any men profess
to be the depositaries of divine truth, by an extraordinary commission
from God, the understanding, being familiar with man's nature and
motives, can judge of their credibility--can see whether there are any
marks of folly in them, or of dishonesty, or whether they are at once
sensible and honest. And in all such matters, the prerogative of the
understanding to judge is not to be questioned; for all such points are
strictly within its dominion; and our Lord's words are of universal
application, that we should render to Cæsar the things which are
Cæsar's, no less than we should render to God the things that are God's.

Faith may exist, as I said, without the action of the understanding, but
never without that of the reason. It may exist independent of the
understanding, because faith in God is the natural result of the idea of
God: and that idea belongs to the reason, and the understanding is not
concerned with it. But when a special revelation has been given us,
through human instruments; when the understanding is called in to
certify the particular fact, that in such and such particular persons,
writings, or events, God has made himself manifest in an extraordinary
manner; it is the human instrumentality which requires the judgment of
the understanding; the bringing in of human characters, and sensible
facts, which are matters of sense and experience; and, therefore, it is
mere ignorance when Christians speak slightingly of the outward and
historical evidences of Christianity, and indulge in very misplaced
contempt for Paley and others who have worked out the historical proof
of it. Such persons may observe, if they will, that where the historical
evidence has not been listened to, there a belief in Christianity,
properly so called, is wanting. Living examples might, I think, be named
of men whose reason entirely acknowledges the internal proofs of a
divine origin which are contained in the Christian doctrines, but whose
understandings are not satisfied as to the facts of the Christian
history, and particularly as to the fact of our Lord's resurrection.
Such men are a remarkable contrast to those whose understandings are
fully satisfied of the historical truth of our Lord's resurrection, but
who are indifferent to, or actually deny, those doctrinal truths of
which another power than the understanding must be the warrant. It is
important to observe, therefore, that in a revelation involving, as an
essential part of it, certain historical facts, there is necessarily a
call for the judgment of the understanding, although in religious faith
simply the understanding may have no place.

8th. Now, then, the clearest notion which can be given of rationalism
would, I think, be this: that it is the abuse of the understanding in
subjects where the divine and the human, so to speak, are intermingled.
Of human things the understanding can judge, of divine things it
cannot;--and thus, where the two are mixed together, its inability to
judge of the one part makes it derange the proportions of both, and the
judgment of the whole is vitiated. For example, the understanding
examines a miraculous history; it judges truly of what I may call the
human part of the case; that is to say, of the rarity of miracles,--of
the fallibility of human testimony,--of the proneness of most minds to
exaggeration,--and of the critical arguments affecting the genuineness
or the date of the narrative itself. But it forgets the divine part,
namely, the power and providence of God, that He is really ever present
amongst us, and that the spiritual world, which exists invisibly all
around us, may conceivably, and by no means impossibly, exist, at some
times and to some persons, even visibly. These considerations, which the
understanding is ignorant of, would often modify our judgment as to the
human parts of the case. Things not impossible in themselves are
believed upon sufficient testimony; and with all the carelessness and
exaggeration of historians, the mass of history is notwithstanding
generally credible. Again, with regard to the history of the Old
Testament, our judgment of the human part in it requires to be
constantly modified by our consciousness of the divine part, or
otherwise it cannot fail to be rationalistic; that is, it will be the
judgment of the understanding only, unchecked by the reason. Gesenius'
Commentary on Isaiah is rationalistic, for it regards Isaiah merely as a
Jewish writer, zealously attached to the religion of his country, and
lamenting the decay of his nation, and anxiously looking for its future
restoration. No doubt Isaiah was all this, and therefore Gesenius'
Commentary is critically and historically very valuable; the human part
of Isaiah is nowhere better illustrated; but the divine part of the
prophecy of Isaiah is no less real, and the consciousness of its
existence should actually qualify our feelings and language even with
reference to the human part.

9th. The fault, then, of rationalism appears to me to consist not so
much in what it has as in what it has not. The understanding has its
proper work to do with respect to the Bible, because the Bible consists
of human writings and contains a human history. Critical and historical
inquiries respecting it are, therefore, perfectly legitimate; it
contains matter which is within the province of the understanding, and
the understanding has God's warrant for doing that work which he
appointed it to do; only, let us remember, that the understanding cannot
ascend to things divine; that for these another faculty is
necessary,--reason or faith. If this faculty be living in us, then there
can be no rationalism; and what is called so is then no other than the
voice of Christian truth. Where a man's writings show that he is keenly
alive to the divine part of Scripture, that he sees God ever in it, and
regards it truly as his word, his judgments of the human part in it are
not likely to be rationalistic; and if his understanding decides
according to its own laws, upon points within its own province, while
his faith duly tempers it, and restrains it from venturing upon
another's dominion, the result will, in all probability, be such as
commonly attends the use of God's manifold gifts in their just
proportions,--it will image, after our imperfect measure, the holiness
of God and the truth of God.

It is very true, and should be acknowledged in the fullest manner, that
for the study of the highest moral and spiritual questions another
faculty than the understanding is wanting; and that without this faculty
the understanding alone cannot arrive at truth. But it is no less true,
that while there is, on the one side, a faculty higher than the
understanding, which is entitled to pronounce upon its defects; "for he
that is spiritual judgeth all things," ([Greek: auachriuei];) so there
is a clamour often raised against it, not from above, but from
below,--the clamour of mere shallowness and ignorance, and passion. Of
this sort is some of the outcry which is raised against rationalism. Men
do not leap, _per saltum mortalem_, from ordinary folly to divine
wisdom: and the foolish have no right to think that they are angels,
because they are not humanly wise. There is a deep and universal truth
in St. Paul's words, where he says, that Christians wish "not to be
unclothed but clothed upon, that mortality may be swallowed up of life."
Wisdom is gained, not by renouncing or despising the understanding, but
by adding to its perfect work the perfect work of reason, and of
reason's perfection, faith.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE I. P. 331.

"_A famous example of this may be seen in the sixth chapter of St.
John,"_ &c.--The interpretation of this chapter, and particularly of the
part alluded to in the text, is of no small importance; for it is
remarkable, that the highest notions with respect to the presence of
our Lord in the Holy Communion are often grounded upon this passage in
St. John's Gospel, which yet, in the judgment of others, most decisively
repels them.

The whole question resolves itself into this--Are our Lord's words in
this place co-ordinate with the Holy Communion, or subordinate to it?
That is, do they and the communion alike point to some great truth
superior to them both: or do our Lord's words, in St. John, point to the
communion itself as their highest meaning?

The communion itself expresses a truth above itself by a symbolical
action; the words of our Lord, in St. John, are exactly the same with
that symbolic action; it is natural, therefore, to understand them not
as referring to it, but to the same[14] higher truth to which it refers
also: and the more so as the communion is not once mentioned by St. John
either in his Gospel or in his Epistles; but the idea which the
communion expresses appears to have been familiar to his mind; at least,
if we suppose that his mention of the blood and water flowing from our
Lord's side in his Gospel, and his allusion again to the same fact in
his Epistle, have reference in any degree to it, which seems to me
most probable.

[Footnote 14: The common tendency to make the Christian sacraments an
ultimate end rather than a mean, is exhibited in the heading of the
tenth chapter of the 1st Epistle to the Corinthians, in our authorized
version, where we find the first verses described as stating, that "the
Jews' sacraments were types of ours." Whereas, so far is it from the
apostle's argument to represent our sacraments as the reality of which
the Jews' sacraments were the type, that he is describing theirs and
ours as co-ordinate with each other, and both alike subordinate to the
same truth; and he argues, that if the Jews, with their sacraments, did
notwithstanding lose the reality which those sacraments typified, so we
should take heed lest we, with our sacraments, should lose it also. The
erroneous heading is not given in the Geneva Bible, where we have, on
the contrary, the true observation; "the sacraments of the old fathers
were all one with ours, for they respected Christ only." It is true that
if no more were meant than that "the Jews' sacraments were like ours,"
there would be no reason to object to the expression; but apparently
more is meant, as the word type seems to imply that what it is compared
with is the reality, of which it is itself only the image; and one thing
cannot properly be called the type of another, when both are but types
of the same third thing. But the divines of James the First's reign and
of his son's, were to the reformers exactly what the so-called fathers
were to the apostles: the very same tendencies, growing up even in
Elizabeth's reign, becoming strengthened under the Stuart kings, and
fully developed in the nonjurors, which distinguish the divines of the
seventeenth century from those of the sixteenth, distinguish also the
church system from the gospel. There are many who readily acknowledge
this difference in the English church, while they would deny it in the
case of the ancient church. Indeed, it is not yet deemed prudent to avow
openly that they prefer the so-called fathers to the apostles, and
therefore they try to persuade themselves that both speak the same
language. And doubtless, if the Scriptures are to be interpreted
according to the rule of the writers of the third, and fourth, and fifth
centuries, the thing can easily be effected; as, by a similar process,
the Articles of the Church of England, if interpreted according to the
rule of the nonjurors and their successors, might be made to speak the
very sentiments which their authors designed to condemn.]

Our Lord repels the notion of a literal acceptation of his words, where
he says,--"It is the Spirit which profiteth, the flesh profiteth
nothing; the words which I speak unto you, they are Spirit and they are
life." It seems impossible, therefore, to refer these words, which he
tells us expressly are Spirit and life, to any outward act of eating and
drinking as their highest truth and object.

But the words in the sixth chapter of St. John do highly illustrate the
institution and purpose of the communion, and especially the remarkable
words which our Lord used in instituting it. They show what infinite
importance he attached to that truth which he expressed both in
symbolical words and action under the same figure, of eating His body
and drinking His blood. But to suppose that that truth can only be
realized by one particular ritual action, so that the one great work of
a Christian is to receive the Lord's supper,--which it must be, if our
Lord's words in the sixth chapter of St. John refer to the
communion,--is so contrary to the whole character of our Lord's
teaching, and not least so in the very words so misinterpreted, that to
maintain such a doctrine, leading, as it does, to such manifold
superstitions, is actually to preach another Gospel than Christ's--to
bring in a mystical religion instead of a spiritual one,--to do worse
than to Judaize.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE K. P. 345.

_"A set of persons, who wish to magnify the uncertainties of the
Scripture in order to recommend more plausibly the guidance of some
supposed authoritative interpreter of it."_--"The high church party," we
have been lately told, "take Holy Scripture for their guide, and, in the
interpretation of it, defer to the authority of primitive antiquity: the
low church party contend for the sufficiency of private judgment." It is
become of the greatest importance to see clearly, not what one party, or
another, may contend for, but what is the real truth, and what,
accordingly, is the duty of every Christian man to do in this matter.
The sermon to which this note refers, is an attempt to show that
Scripture is not hopelessly obscure or ambiguous; but it may not be
inexpedient here to consider a little, what are the objections to the
principle of the high church party; to clear away certain difficulties
which are supposed to beset the opposite principle; and to state, if
possible, what the truth of the whole question is.

I. The objections to the principle of the high church party are these:
1st. Its extreme vagueness. What is primitive antiquity? and where is
its authority to be found? Does "primitive antiquity" mean the first
three centuries? or the first two? or the first five? or the first
seven? Does it include any of the general councils? or one of them? or
four? or six? Are Irenæus and Tertullian the latest writers of
"primitive antiquity?" or does it end with Augustine? or does it
comprehend the venerable Bede? One writer has lately told us, that our
Reformers wished the people to be taught, "that, for almost seven
hundred years, the church was most pure." Are we, then, to hold that
"primitive antiquity" embraces a period of nearly seven centuries? Seven
centuries are considerably more than a third part of the whole duration
of the church, from its foundation to this hour: can the third part of a
nation's history be called its primitive antiquity? Is a tenet, or a
practice taught when Christianity had been more than six hundred years
in the world, to be called primitive? We know not, then, in the first
place, what length of time is signified by "primitive antiquity."

But let it signify any length of time we choose, I ask, next, where is
its authority to be found? In the decisions of the general councils? But
if we call the first four centuries "primitive antiquity," we find in
this period only two general councils; if we include the fifth century,
we get four; if we take in the sixth and seventh centuries, we have
then, in all, six general councils. Will the decisions of any, or all,
of these six councils furnish us with an authoritative interpretation of
Scripture? They give us the Nicene and the Constantinopolitan creeds;
they condemn various notions with respect to the person of our Lord, and
to some other points of belief; and they contain a variety of
regulations for the discipline and order of the church; but, with the
exception of some particular passages, there is no authority in the
creeds, or canons, or anathemas of those councils, for the
interpretation of Scripture; they leave its difficulties just where they
were before. It is but little then, which the first six general
councils will do towards providing the student of Scripture with an
infallible standard of interpretation.

Where, however, except in the councils, can we find any thing claiming
to be the voice of the church? Neither individual writers, nor yet all
the writers of the first seven centuries together, can properly be
called the church. They form, even altogether, but a limited number of
individuals, who, in different countries, and at different periods,
expressed, in writing, their own sentiments, but without any public
authority. Origen, one of the ablest and most learned of them all, was
anathematized by the second council of Constantinople; Tertullian was
heretical during a part of his life; Lactantius was taxed with
heterodoxy. How are we to know who were sound? And if sound generally,
that is to say, if they stand charged with no heretical error, yet it
does not follow that a man is infallible because he is not heretical;
and none of these writers have been distinguished like the five great
Roman lawyers whom the edict of Theodosius[15] selected from the mass,
and gave to their decisions a legal authority. Or again, if it be said
that the agreement of the great majority of them is to be regarded as
decisive, we answer, that as no individual amongst them is in himself an
authority legally, so neither can any number of them be so; and if a
moral authority only be meant, such as we naturally ascribe to the
concurring judgment of many eminent men, then this is a totally
different question, and is open to inquiry in every separate case; for
as, on the one hand, no one denies that such a concurring judgment is
_an_ authority, yet, on the other hand, it may be outweighed, either by
the worth of the few who differ from the judgment, or by the reason of
the case itself; and the concurring judgment of the majority may show no
more than the force of a general prejudice, which only a very few
individuals were sensible enough to resist.

[Footnote 15: Cod. Theodos. lib. i. tit. iv. The edict is issued in the
name of the emperors Theodosius (the younger) and Valentinian (the
younger), in the year A.D. 426.]

In fact, it would greatly help to clear this question if we understand
what we mean by allowing, or denying, the authority of the so-called
fathers. The term _authority_ is ambiguous, and according to the sense
in which I use it, I should either acknowledge it or deny it.--The
writers of the first four, or of the first seven centuries, have _an_
authority, just as the scholiasts and ancient commentators have: some of
them, and in some points, are of weight singly; the agreement of many
of thorn has much weight; the agreement of almost all of them would have
great weight. In this sense, I acknowledge their authority; and it would
be against all sound principles of criticism to deny it. But if, by
authority, is meant a _decisive_ authority, a judgment which may not be
questioned, then the claim of authority in such a case, for any man, or
set of men, is either a folly or a revelation. Such an authority is not
human, but divine: if any man pretends to possess it, let him show God's
clear warrant for his pretension, or he must be regarded as a deceiver
or a madman.

But it may be said, that an authority not to be questioned was
conferred, by the Roman law, on the opinions of a certain number of
great lawyers: if a judge believed that their interpretation of the law
was erroneous, he yet was not at liberty to follow his own private
judgment in departing from it. Why may not the same thing be allowed in
the church? and why may not the interpretations of Cyprian, or
Athanasius, or Augustine, or Chrysostom, be as decisive, with respect to
the true sense of the Scripture, as those of Gaius, Paulus, Modestinus,
Ulpian, and Papinian, were acknowledged to be with respect to the sense
of the Roman law?

The answer is, that the emperor's edict could absolve the judge from
following his own convictions about the sense of the law, because it
gave to the authorized interpretation the force of law. The text, as the
judge interpreted it, was a law repealed; the comment of the great
lawyers was now the law in its room. As a mere literary composition, he
might interpret it rightly, and Gaius, or Papinian, might be wrong; but
if his interpretation was ever so right grammatically or critically,
yet, legally it was nothing to the purpose;--Gaius's interpretation had
superseded it, and was not the law which he was bound to obey. But, in
the church, the only point to be aimed at is the discovery of the true
meaning of the text of the divine law: no human power can invest the
comment with equal authority. The emperor said, and might say to his
judges, "You need not consider what was the meaning of the decemvirs,
when they wrote the twelve tables, or, of Aquillius, when he drew up the
Aquillian law. The law for you is not what the decemvirs may have meant,
but what their interpreters may have meant: the decemvirs' meaning, if
it was their meaning, is no longer the law of Rome." But who can dare to
say to a Christian, "You need not consider what was the meaning of our
Lord and his apostles; the law for you now is the meaning of Cyprian, or
Ambrose, or Chrysostom;--that meaning has superseded the meaning of
Christ." A Christian must find out Christ's meaning, and believe that he
has found it, or else he must still seek for it. It is a matter, not of
outward submission, but of inward faith; and if in our inward mind we
are persuaded that the interpreter has mistaken our Lord's meaning, how
can we by possibility adopt that interpretation in faith?

Here we come to a grave consideration--that this doctrine of an
infallible rule of interpretation may suit ignorance or scepticism: it
is death to a sincere and reasonable and earnest faith. It is not hard
for a sceptical mind to deceive itself by saying, that it receives
whatever the church declares to be true: it may receive any number of
doctrines, but it will not really believe them. We may restrain our
tongues from disputing them, we may watch every restless thought that
would question them, and instantly, by main force, as it were, put it
down; but all this time our minds do not assimilate to them; they do not
take them up into their own nature, so as to make them a part of
themselves, freshening and supplying the life-blood of their very being.
Truth must be believed by the mind's own act; our souls must be drawn
towards it with a reasonable love; some affinity there must be between
it and them, or else they can never really comprehend it. The sceptic
may desperately become a fanatic also, but he is not become, therefore,
a believer.

Authority cannot compel belief; the sceptic who knows not what it is to
grasp anything with the firm grasp of faith, may mistake his
acquiescence in a doctrine for belief in it; the ignorant and careless,
who believe only what their senses tell them, may lay up the words of
divine truth in their memory, may repeat them loudly, and be vehement
against all who question them. But minds to which faith is a necessity,
which cannot be contented to stand by the side of truth, but must become
altogether one with it,--minds which know full well the difference
between opinion and conviction, between not questioning and
believing,--they, when their own action is superseded by an authority
foreign to themselves, are in a condition which they find intolerable.
Told to believe what they cannot believe; told that they ought not to
believe what they feel most disposed to believe; they retire altogether
from the region of divine truth, as from a spot tainted with moral
death, and devote themselves to other subjects: to physical science, it
may be, or to political; where the inherent craving of their nature may
yet be gratified, where, however insignificant the truth may be, they
may yet find some truth to believe. This has been the condition of too
many great men in the church of Rome; and it accounts for that
bitterness of feeling with which Machiavelli, and others like him,
appear to have regarded the whole subject of Christianity.

The system, then, of deferring to the authority of what is called the
ancient church in the interpretation of Scripture, is impracticable,
inasmuch as, with regard to the greatest part of the Scripture, the
church, properly speaking, has said nothing at all; and if it were
practicable, it would be untenable, because neither the old councils,
nor individual writers, could give any sign that they had a divine gift
of interpretation; and if such a gift had been given to them, it would
have been equivalent to a new revelation, the sense of the comment being
thus preferred to what we could not but believe to be the sense of the
text. Above all, the system is destructive of faith, having a tendency
to substitute passive acquiescence for real conviction; and therefore I
should not say that the excess of it was popery, but that it had once
and actually those characters of evil which we sometimes express by the
term popery, but which may be better signified by the term idolatry; a
reverence for that which ought not to be reverenced, leading to a want
of faith in that which is really deserving of all adoration and love.

II. But it is said that the system of relying on private judgment is
beset by no less evils: that it is itself inconsistent, and leads to
Socinianism and Rationalism, and, in the end, to utter unbelief; so
that, the choice being only between two evils, men may choose the system
of church authority as being the less evil of the two. If this were so,
I see not how faith could be attained at all, or what place would be
left for Christian truth. But the system of the Church of England[16]
is, I am persuaded, fully consistent, and has no tendency either to
Socinianism or Rationalism. Let us see first what that system is.

[Footnote 16: Much has been lately written to show that the Church of
England allows the authority of the ancient councils and writers, and
does not allow the right of private judgment. But it is perfectly clear,
from the 21st Article, that it does not allow the authority of councils;
that is to say, it holds that a council's exposition of doctrine may be
false, and that such an exposition is of no force "unless it may be
declared that it be taken out of Holy Scripture." Who, then, is to
declare this? for to suppose that the declaration of the council itself
is meant is absurd: the answer, I imagine, would be, according to the
mind of the Reformers, "Every particular or national church," and
especially the King as the head of the church. They would not have
allowed private judgment, because they conceived that a private person
had nothing to do but to obey the government; and it was for the
government to determine what the truth of Scripture was. The Church of
England, then, expressly disclaims the authority of councils, and, in
its official instruments, it neither allows nor condemns private
judgment; but the opinions of the Reformers, and the constitution of the
church in the 16th century, were certainly against private judgment:
their authority for the interpretation of Scripture was undoubtedly the
supreme government of the church, i.e. not the bishops, but the King and
parliament. But then this had respect not to the power of discerning
truth, but to the right of publishing it, which is an wholly different
question. That an individual was not bound _in foro conscientiæ_ to
admit the truth of any interpretation of Scripture which did not approve
itself to his own mind, was no less the judgment of the Church of
England than that if he publicly disputed the interpretation of the
church, he might be punished as unruly and a despiser of government. But
then it should ever be remembered that the church, with the Reformers,
was not the clergy. And now that the right of publication is conceded by
the church, it is quite just to say that the Church of England allows
private judgment; and if that judgment differ from her own, she condemns
not the act of judging at all, but the having come to a false
conclusion.

It is urged that the act of I Elizabeth, c. 1, allows that to be heresy
which the first four councils determined to be so. This is true; but it
also adjudges to be heresy whatever shall be hereafter declared to be so
by "the high court of parliament, with the assent of the clergy in their
convocation." The Church of England undoubtedly allowed the decisions of
the first four councils, in matters of doctrine, to be valid, as it
allowed the three creeds, because it decided that they were agreeable to
Scripture; but the binding authority was that of the English Parliament,
not of the councils of Nicæa or Constantinople.

As to the canon of 1571, which allows preachers to teach nothing as
religious truth but what is agreeable to the Scriptures, "_and_ which
the catholic fathers and ancient bishops have collected from that very
doctrine of Scripture," it will be observed that it is merely negative,
and does not sanction the teaching of the "catholic fathers and ancient
bishops," generally, or say that men shall teach what they taught; but
that they shall not teach as matter of religious faith, a new deduction
from Scripture of their own making, but such truths as had been actually
deduced from Scripture before, namely, the great articles of the
Christian faith. Farther, the canons of 1571 are of no authority, not
having received the royal assent.--_See Strype's Life of Parker_, p.
322, ed. 1711.]

It is invidiously described as maintaining "the sufficiency of private
judgment." Now we maintain the sufficiency of private judgment in
interpreting the Scriptures in no other sense than that in which every
sane man maintains its sufficiency, in interpreting Thucydides or
Aristotle; we mean, that, instead of deferring always to some one
interpreter, as an idle boy follows implicitly the Latin version of his
Greek lesson, the true method is to consult all[17] accessible
authorities, and to avail ourselves of the assistance of all. And we
contend, that, by this process, as we discover, for the most part, the
true meaning of Thucydides and Aristotle with undoubted certainty, so we
may also discover, not, indeed, in every particular part or passage, but
generally, the true meaning of the Holy Scriptures with no less
certainty.

[Footnote 17: Of course no reasonable man can doubt the importance of
studying the early Christian writers, as illustrating not only the
history of their own times, but the New Testament also. For the Old
Testament, indeed, they do little or nothing, and for the New they are
of much less assistance than might have been expected; but still there
is no doubt that they are often useful.]

But if another man maintains that a different meaning is the true one,
how are we to silence him, and how are we justified in calling him a
heretic? If by the term heretic we are to imply moral guilt, I am not
justified in applying it to any Christian, unless his doctrines are
positively sinful, or there is something wicked, either in the way of
dishonesty or bitterness, in his manner of maintaining them. The guilt
of any given religious error, in any particular case, belongs only to
the judgment of Him who reads the heart. But if we mean by heresy "a
grave error in matters of the Christian faith, overthrowing or
corrupting some fundamental article of it," then we are as fully
justified in calling a gross misinterpretation of Scripture "heresy," as
we should be justified in calling a gross misinterpretation of a profane
Greek or Latin author, ignorance, or want of scholarship. There is no
infallible authority in points of grammar and criticism, yet men do
speak confidently, notwithstanding, as to learning and ignorance; Porson
and Herman are known to have understood their business, and a writer who
were to set their decisions at defiance, and to indulge in mere
extravagances of interpretation, would be set down as one who knew
nothing about the matter. So we judge daily in all points of literature
and science; nay, we in the same manner venture to call some persons
mad, and on the strength of our conviction we deprive them of their
property, and shut them up in a madhouse: yet if madmen wore to insist
that they were sane, and that we were mad, I know not to what infallible
authority we could appeal; and, after all, what are we to do with those
who deny that authority to be infallible? we must then go to another
infallible authority to guarantee the infallibility of the first, and
this process will run on for ever.

But, in truth, there is more in the matter than the being justified or
not justified in calling our neighbour a heretic. The real point of
anxiety, I imagine, with many good and thinking men is this: whether a
reasonable belief can be fairly carried through; whether the notion of
the all-sufficiency of Scripture is not liable to objections no less
than the system of church-authority; whether, in short, our Christian
faith can be consistently maintained without a mortal leap at some part
or other of the process; nay, whether, in fact, if it were otherwise,
our faith would not seem to stand rather on the wisdom of man than on
the power of God.

I use these words, because these and other such passages of the
Scripture are often quoted as I have now quoted them, and produce a
great effect on those who do not observe that they are quoted
inapplicably; for the question is not between man's wisdom and God's
power, but simply whether we have reason to believe that God's power has
been here manifested; or, rather, to see whether we cannot give a reason
for the faith which is in us, such faith resting upon God's power and
wisdom as manifested in Christ Jesus; for if no reason can be rendered
for our faith, then our minds, so far as they are concerned, are
believing a lie; they are believing in spite of those laws by which God
has determined their nature and condition.

Yet, however we believe, blindly or reasonably, (for some men, by God's
mercy, are accidentally, as it were, in possession of the truth, the
falsehood of their own minds in holding it not being, it is to be hoped,
imputed to them as a sin;) however we believe, I never mean to say that
our faith is not God's gift, to be sought for and retained by constant
prayer and watchfulness, and to be forfeited by carelessness or sin.
That is no true faith in which reason does not accord; yet neither can
reason alone and without God ever become perfected into faith. For
although intellectually, the grounds of belief may be made out
satisfactorily, yet we are not able to follow our pure reason by
ourselves; and no work on the evidences of Christianity can by itself
give us faith; and much less can amid the manifold conflicts of life
maintain it. That faith is thus the gift of God, and not our own work, I
would desire to feel as keenly and continually, as with the fullest
conviction I acknowledge it.

Now, to resume the consideration of that which, as I said, is the real
point of anxiety with many. They doubt whether the course of a
reasonable belief can be held to the end without interruptions: they say
that the received notions of the inspiration, and consequently of the
complete truth of the Scriptures cannot reasonably be maintained; that
he who does maintain them does so by a happy inconsistency;--he is to
be congratulated for not following up his own principles; but why should
he then find fault with others who do that avowedly and consistently to
which he is driven against his professions by the clear necessity of
the case?

This argument was pressed by Mr. Newman, some time since, in one of the
Tracts for the Times; and it was conducted, as may be supposed, with
great ingenuity, but with a recklessness of consequences, or an
ignorance of mankind, truly astonishing; for he brought forward all the
difficulties and differences which can be found in the Scripture
narratives, displayed them in their most glaring form, and merely
observed, that as those with whom he was arguing could not solve these
difficulties, but yet believed the Scriptures no less in spite of them,
so the apparent unreasonableness of his doctrine about the priesthood
was no ground why it should be rejected--a method of argument most
blameable in any Christian to adopt towards his brethren; for what if
their faith, being thus vehemently strained, were to give way under the
experiment? and if, being convinced that the Scriptures were not more
reasonable than Mr. Newman's system, they were to end with believing,
not both, but neither?

Therefore the question is one of no small anxiety and interest; and it
is not idly nor wantonly that we must speak the truth upon it, even if
that truth may to some seem startling; for by God's blessing, if we do
go boldly forward wherever truth shall lead us, our course needs not be
interrupted, neither shall a single hair of our faith perish.

The same laws of criticism which teach us to distinguish between various
degrees of testimony, authorize us to assign the very highest rank to
the evidences of the writings of St. John and St. Paul. If belief is to
be given to any human compositions, it is due to these; yet if we
believe these merely as human compositions, and without assuming
anything as to their divine inspiration, our Christian faith, as it
seems to me, is reasonable;--not merely the facts of our Lord's miracles
and resurrection; but Christian faith, in all its fulness--the whole
dispensation of the Spirit, the revelation of the redemption of man and
of the Divine Persons who are its authors--of all that Christian faith,
and hope, and love can need. And this is so true, that even without
reckoning the Epistle to the Hebrews amongst St. Paul's writings,--nay,
even if we choose to reject the three pastoral epistles[18]--yet taking
only what neither has been nor can be doubted--the epistles to the
Romans, Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and
Thessalonians, we have in these, together with St. John's Gospel and
First Epistle,--giving up, if we choose, the other two,--a ground on
which our faith may stand for ever, according to the strictest rules of
the understanding, according to the clearest intuitions of reason.

[Footnote 18: I say this, not as having the slightest doubt myself of
the genuineness of any one of the three, but merely to show how much is
left that has not been questioned at all, even unreasonably.]

I take the works of St. John and St. Paul as our foundation, because, in
the first place, we find in them the historical basis of Christianity;
that is to say, we find the facts of our Lord's miracles, and especially
of his resurrection, and the miraculous powers afterwards continued to
the church, established by the highest possible evidence. However pure
and truly divine the principles taught in the gospel may be, yet we
crave to know not only that we were in need of redemption, but that a
Redeemer has actually appeared; not only that a resurrection to eternal
life is probable, but that such a resurrection has actually taken place.
This basis of historical fact, which is one of the great peculiarities
of Christianity, is strictly within the cognizance of the understanding;
and in the writings of St. John and St. Paul we have that full and
perfect evidence of it which the strictest laws of the understanding
require.

But the historical truth being once warranted by the understanding,
other faculties of our nature now come in to enjoy it, and develop it;
the highest reason and the moral and spiritual affections find
respectively their proper field and objects, which, whenever presented
to them in vision or in theory, they must instinctively cling to, but to
which they now abandon themselves without fear of disappointment,
because the understanding has assured them of their reality. We must
suppose, on any system, the existence of reason and spiritual affections
as indispensable to the understanding of the Scriptures; external
authority can do nothing for us without these, any more than the mere
faculties of the common understanding. But with these we apprehend the
view which St. John and St. Paul afford to us: it opens before us one
truth after another, one glory after another. St. John evidently
supposes that his readers were familiar with another account of our
Lord's life and teaching; and we find accordingly, another account
existing in the writings of the three other evangelists. One and the
same account is manifestly the substance of their three narratives, to
which they thus bear a triple testimony, because none of the three has
merely transcribed the others, and none of them apparently was the
original author of it. Thus having now the full record of our Lord's
teaching, we find that he everywhere refers to the Old Testament as to
the word of God, and the record of God's earlier manifestations of
himself to man. He has cleared up those especial points in it which
might have most perplexed us, as I shall notice more fully hereafter,
and he represents himself as the perpetual subject of its prophecies. We
thus receive the Old Testament, as it were, from his hand, and learn
while sitting at his feet to understand the lessons of the law and
the prophets.

Thus we make Christ the centre of both Testaments, and by so doing, we
cannot be blind to the divinity pervading both. For the amazing fact
that God should come into the world and be in the world cannot by
possibility stand alone; it hallows, as it were, the whole period of the
world's existence, from the beginning to the end, placing all time and
every place in relation to God; it disposes us at once to receive the
fact of the special call of the people of Israel;--it gives, I had
almost said, an _à priori_ reason why there must have been in earlier
times some shadows, at least, or images, to represent dimly to former
generations that great thing which they were not actually to witness; it
leads us to believe that there must have been some prophetic voices to
announce the future coming of the Lord, or else "The very stones must
have cried out."

But those writings of St. John and St. Paul which were our first lessons
in Christianity, and those other accounts of our Lord's life and
teaching to which they introduced us,--can we conceive it possible, that
the real meaning of all these shall be hopelessly obscure and uncertain;
that if we seek it ever so diligently, we shall not find it? With an
humble mind ready to learn, with a heart fully impressed with the sense
of God's presence, so as to be morally and spiritually in a condition to
receive God's truth, can we believe, then, that the use of those
intellectual means, which open to us certainly the sense of human
writers, shall be applied in vain to those writers who were commissioned
to be the very heralds of a divine message, whose especial business it
was to make known what they had themselves heard? Surely if a sufficient
certainty of interpretation be attainable in common literature, the
revelation of God cannot be the solitary exception.

But we may be mistaken: we may _believe_ that we interpret truly, but
we cannot be _infallibly sure_ of it; we want an authority which shall
give us this assurance. This is no doubt the natural craving of our
weakness; but it is no wiser a craving than if we were to long for the
heaven to be opened, and for a daily sight of our Lord standing at the
right hand of God. To live by faith is our appointed condition, and
faith excludes an infallible assurance. We must earnestly believe that
we have the truth, and die for our belief, if necessary, but we cannot
_know_ it. No device which the human mind can practise, can exclude the
possibility of doubt. If we would find an armour which should cover us
at every point from this subtle enemy, it would be an armour that would
close up the pores of the skin, and stop our breath; our fancied
security would kill us. Is it really possible that, with our knowledge
of man's nature, our belief in any human authority can really be more
free from doubt than our belief in the conclusions of our own reason?
There must ever be the liability to uncertainty; we can put no moral
truth so surely as that our minds shall always feel it to be absolutely
certain. Where is the infallible authority that can assure us even of
the existence of God? And will the scepticism that can believe its own
conclusions in nothing else rest satisfied with one conclusion
only--that the writers of the first four centuries cannot err? Surely to
regard this as the most certain proposition that can be submitted to the
human mind, is no better than insanity.

But we will consent to trust, it may be said, with God's help, to our
own deliberate convictions that we have interpreted Scripture truly; but
you tell us that the Scripture itself is not inspired in every part; you
tell us that there are in it chronological and historical difficulties,
if not errors; that there are possibly some interpolations; that even
the apostles may have been in some things mistaken, as in their belief
that the end of the world was at hand. Where shall we find a rest for
our feet, if you first take away from us our infallible interpreter, and
now tell us, that even if we can ourselves interpret it aright, yet that
we cannot be sure that the very Scripture itself is infallibly true?

It is very true that our position with respect to the Scriptures is not
in all points the same as our fathers'. For sixteen hundred years
nearly, while physical science, and history, and chronology, and
criticism, were all in a state of torpor, the questions which now
present themselves to our minds could not from the nature of the case
arise. When they did arise, they came forward into notice gradually:
first the discoveries in astronomy excited uneasiness: then as men
began to read more critically, differences in the several Scripture
narratives of the same thing awakened attention; more lately, the
greater knowledge which has been gained of history, and of language, and
in all respects the more careful inquiry to which all ancient records
have been submitted, have brought other difficulties to light, and some
sort of answer must be given to them. Mr. Newman, as we have seen, has
made use of those difficulties much as the Romanists have used the
doctrine of the Trinity when arguing with Trinitarians[19] in defence of
transubstantiation. The Romanists said,--"Here are all these
inexplicable difficulties in the doctrine of the Trinity, and yet you
believe it." So Mr. Newman argues with those who hold the plenary
inspiration of Scripture, that if they believe that, in spite of all the
difficulties which beset it, they may as well believe his doctrine of
the priesthood; and many, if I mistake not, alarmed by this
representation, have actually embraced his opinions.

[Footnote 19: On this proceeding of the Romanists, Stillingfleet
observes, "Methinks for the sake of our common Christianity you should
no more venture upon such bold and unreasonable comparisons. Do you in
earnest think it is all one whether men do believe a God, or providence,
or heaven, or hell, or the Trinity, and incarnation of Christ, if they
do not believe transubstantiation? We have heard much of late about old
and new popery: but if this be the way of representing new popery, by
exposing the common articles of faith, it will set the minds of all good
Christians farther from it than ever. For upon the very same grounds we
may expect another parallel between the belief of a God and
transubstantiation, the effect of which will be the exposing of all
religion. This is a very destructive and mischievous method of
proceeding; but our comfort is that it is very unreasonable, as I hope
hath fully appeared by this discourse."--_Doctrine of the Trinity and
Transubstantiation compared_, at the end.]

It has unfortunately happened that the difficulties of the Scripture
have been generally treated as objections to the truth of Christianity;
as such they have been pressed by adversaries, and as such Christian
writers have replied to them. But then they become of such tremendous
interest, that it is scarcely possible to examine them fairly. If my
faith in God and my hope of eternal life is to depend on the accuracy of
a date or of some minute historical particular, who can wonder that I
should listen to any sophistry that may be used in defence of them, or
that I should force my mind to do any sort of violence to itself, when
life and death seem to hang on the issue of its decision?

Yet what conceivable connexion is there between the date of Cyrenius's
government, or the question whether our Lord healed a blind man as he
was going into Jericho or as he was leaving it; or whether Judas bought
himself the field of blood, or it was bought by the high priests: what
connexion can there be between such questions, and the truth of God's
love to man in the redemption, and of the resurrection of our Lord? Do
we give to any narrative in the world, to any statement, verbal or
written, no other alternative than that it must be either infallible or
unworthy of belief? Is not such an alternative so extravagant as to be a
complete reductio ad absurdum? And yet such is the alternative which men
seem generally to have admitted in considering the Scripture narratives:
if a single error can be discovered, it is supposed to be fatal to the
credibility of the whole.

This has arisen from an unwarranted interpretation of the word
"inspiration," and by a still more unwarranted inference. An inspired
work is supposed to mean a work to which God has communicated his own
perfections; so that the slightest error or defect of any kind in it is
inconceivable, and that which is other than perfect in all points cannot
be inspired. This is the unwarranted interpretation of the word
"inspiration." But then follows the still more unwarranted
inference,--"If all the Scripture is not inspired, Christianity cannot
be true," an inference which is absolutely entitled to no other
consideration than what it may seem to derive from the number of those
who have either openly or tacitly maintained it.

Most truly do I believe the Scriptures to be inspired; the proofs of
their inspiration rise continually with the study of them. The
scriptural narratives are not only about divine things, but are
themselves divinely framed and superintended. I cannot conceive my
conviction of this truth being otherwise than sure. Yet I must
acknowledge that the scriptural narratives do not claim this inspiration
for themselves; so that if I should be obliged to resign my belief in
it, which seems to me impossible, I yet should have no right to tax the
Scriptures with having advanced a pretension proved to be unfounded;
their whole credibility as a most authentic history of the most
important facts would remain untouched; the gospel of St. John would
still be a narrative as unimpeachable as that of Thucydides, which no
sane man has ever disbelieved.

So much for the unwarranted inference, that if the Scripture histories
are not inspired, the great facts of the Christian revelation cannot be
maintained. But it is no less an unwarranted interpretation of the term
"inspiration," to suppose that it is equivalent to a communication of
the Divine perfections. Surely, many of our words and many of our
actions are spoken and done by the inspiration of God's Spirit, without
whom we can do nothing acceptable to God. Yet does the Holy Spirit so
inspire us as to communicate to us His own perfections? Are our best
words or works utterly free from error or from sin? All inspiration does
not then destroy the human and fallible part in the nature which it
inspires; it does not change man into God.

In one man, indeed, it was otherwise; but He was both God and man. To
Him the Spirit was given without measure; and as his life was without
sin, so his words were without error. But to all others the Spirit has
been given by measure; in almost infinitely different measure it is
true: the difference between the inspiration of the common and perhaps
unworthy Christian who merely said that "Jesus was the Lord," and that
of Moses, or St. Paul, and St. John, is almost to our eyes beyond
measuring. Still the position remains, that the highest degree of
inspiration given to man has still suffered to exist along with it a
portion of human fallibility and corruption.

Now, then, consider the epistles of the blessed Apostle St. Paul, who
had the Spirit of God so abundantly, that never we may suppose did any
merely human being enjoy a larger share of it. Endowed with the Spirit
as a Christian, and daily receiving grace more largely, as he became
more and more ripe for glory; endowed with the Spirit's extraordinary
gifts most eminently; favoured also with an abundance of revelations,
disclosing to him things ineffable and inconceivable,--are not his
writings to be most truly called inspired? Can we doubt that, in what he
has told us of things not seen, or not seen as yet,--of Him who
pre-existed in the form of God before he was manifested in the form of
man,--of that great day, when we shall arise incorruptible, and meet our
Lord in the air, and be joined to him for ever,--can any reasonable mind
doubt, that in speaking of these things he spoke what he had heard from
God; that to refuse to believe his testimony is really to
disbelieve God?

Yet this great Apostle expected that the world would come to an end in
the generation then existing. When he wrote to the Thessalonians some
years before his first imprisonment at Rome, he warned them, no doubt,
against expecting the end immediately: but he appears still to have
supposed that it would come in the lifetime of men then living. At a
later period, when writing to the Corinthians, his dissuasion of
marriage seems to rest mainly upon this impression; it is good not to
marry, "on account of the distress which is close at hand;" ([Greek:
dia taen enestosan anankaen]; compare 2 Thess. ii. 2, [Greek: hos hoti
enestaeken hae haemera tou Kyriou].) "The time is short," he adds; "the
fashion of this world is passing away." And again, when speaking of the
resurrection, he says emphatically, "the dead shall rise incorruptible,
and _we_ shall be changed;" where the pronoun being expressed in the
original, [Greek: chai haemeis allagaesometha], shows that by the term
"_we_," he does not mean the dead, but those who were to be alive at
Christ's coming. So again, still later, when writing from Rome to the
Philippians, he tells them "the Lord is at hand;" and later still, even
in his first epistle to Timothy, he charges Timothy "to keep his
commandment without spot, unrebukable, until the appearing of our Lord
Jesus Christ." These and other passages cannot without violence be
interpreted even singly in any other sense; but taking them together,
their meaning seems absolutely certain. Shall we say, then, that St.
Paul entertained and expressed a belief which the event did not verify?
We may say so, safely and reverently, in this instance; for here he was
most certainly speaking as a man, and not by revelation; as it has been
providentially ordered that our Lord's express words on this point have
been recorded--"Of that day and hour knoweth no man; no, not the angels
in heaven." Or again, shall we say, that St. Paul advised the
Corinthians not to marry, chiefly on this ground; and that this throws a
suspicion over his directions in other points? But again it has been
ordered, that in this very place, and no where else in all his writing,
St. Paul has expressly said that he was only giving his judgment as a
Christian, and not speaking with divine authority;--the concluding words
of the chapter, [Greek: doko de kago pneuma theou echein] do not
signify, as our Version renders them, "And I think also that I have the
Spirit of God," as if he were confirming his own judgment by an
assertion of his inspiration in a sense beyond that of common
Christians; but the words say, "And I think that I too have the Spirit
of God," "I too as well as others whom you might consult, so that my
judgment is no less worthy of attention than theirs." But it is his
Christian judgment only that he is giving, as he expressly declares, and
not his apostolical command or revelation; a distinction which he never
makes elsewhere, and which is in itself so striking, that we seem to
recognise in it God's especial mercy to us, that our faith in St. Paul's
general declarations of divine truth might not be shaken, because in one
particular point he was permitted to speak as a man, giving express
notice at the same time that he was doing so.

Now it is at least remarkable, that in the only two instances in which
the existence of any absence of divine authority is to be discerned in
St. Paul's epistles, provision is actually made by God's fondness to
prevent them from prejudicing our faith in St. Paul's divine authority
generally. And so in whatever points any error may be discoverable in
Scripture, we shall find either that the errors are of a kind wholly
unconnected with the revelation of what God has done to us, and of what
we are to do towards Him; and therefore are perfectly consistent with
the inspiration of the writer, unless we take that unwarranted notion of
inspiration which considers it as equivalent to a communication of God's
attributes perfectly; (and of this kind are any errors that may exist
either in points of physical science, or of chronology, or of history;)
or if there be any thing else which appears inconsistent with
inspiration, in the sense in which we really may and do apply it to the
Scriptures, namely, that they are a perfect guide and rule in all
matters concerning our relations with God, then we shall find that God
has made some special provision for the case, to remove what it
otherwise might have had of real difficulty.

This merciful care is above all to be recognised with regard to one
point, which otherwise would, I think, have been a difficulty actually
insuperable: I mean the manifestly imperfect moral standard, which in
some cases is displayed in the characters of good men in the Old
Testament. Put the gospel by the side of the law and history of the
Israelites; observe what the law permitted, and public opinion under the
law did not condemn; observe the actions recorded of persons who are
declared to have been eminently good, and to have received God's
especial blessing; and it is manifest that had not our Lord himself
vouchsafed his help, one of two things must have happened--either that
we must have followed the old heresy of rejecting the Old Testament
altogether, or else that our respect for the Old Testament must have
impeded the growth of the more perfect law of Christ. The true solution
I do not think that we could have discovered, or ventured to admit on
less authority than our Lord's. But his express declaration, that some
things in the law itself were permitted, because nothing higher could
then have been borne, and his stating in detail that in several points
what was accounted good or allowable in the former dispensation was not
so really, while at the same time he constantly refers to the Old
Testament as divine, and confirms its language of blessing with respect
to its most eminent characters, has completely cleared to us the whole
question, and enables us to recognize the divinity of the Old Testament
and the holiness of its characters, without lying against our
consciences and our more perfect revelation, by justifying the actions
of those characters as right, essentially and abstractedly, although
they were excusable, or in some cases actually virtuous, according to
the standard of right and wrong which prevailed under the law.

After observing God's gracious care for us in this instance, as well as
in those which I have noticed before, I cannot but feel that we may
safely trust Him for every other similar case, if any such there be, and
that he will not permit our faith either in him or in his holy word to
be shaken, because we do not attempt to close our eyes against truth,
nor seek to support our faith by sophistry and falsehood. Feeling what
the Scriptures are, I would not give unnecessary pain to any one by an
enumeration of those points in which the literal historical statement of
an inspired writer has been vainly defended. Some instances will
probably occur to most readers; others are perhaps not known, and never
will be known to many, nor is it at all needful or desirable that they
should know them. But if ever they are brought before them, let them not
try to put them aside unfairly, from a fear that they will injure our
faith. Let us not do evil that evil may be escaped from; and it is an
evil, and the fruitful parent of evils innumerable, to do violence to
our understanding or to our reason in their own appointed fields; to
maintain falsehood in their despite, and reject the truth which they
sanction. If writers of Mr. Newman's school will persist in displaying
the difficulties of the Scripture before the eyes of those who had not
been before aware of them, let those who are so cruelly tempted be
conjured not to be dismayed; to refuse utterly to surrender up their
sense of truth,--to persist in rejecting the unchristian falsehoods
which they are called upon to worship; sure that after all that can be
said, that system will remain false to the end; and their Christian
faith, if they do not faithlessly attempt to strengthen it by unlawful
means, will stand no less unshaken.

In conclusion, Christian faith rests upon Scripture; and as it is in
itself agreeable to the highest reason, so the authenticity of the
Scriptures on which it rests is assured to us by the deliberate
conclusions of the understanding; nor is any "mortal leap" necessary at
any part of the process: nor any rejection of one truth, in order to
retain our hold on another. And if it should happen, as in all
probability it will, that we shall be called upon to correct in some
respects our notions as to the Scriptures, and so far to hold views
different from those of our fathers, we should consider that our
fathers did not, and could not stand in our circumstances; that the
knowledge which may call upon us to relinquish some of their opinions,
was a knowledge which they had not. Till this knowledge comes to us, let
us hold our fathers' opinions as they held them; but when it does come,
it will come by God's will, and to do his work: and that work will,
assuredly, not be our separation from our father's faith; but if we
follow God's guidance humbly and cheerfully, clinging to God the while
in personal devotion and obedience, we may be made aware of what to them
would have been an inexplicable difficulty, and which was, therefore,
hidden from their knowledge; and yet, "through the grace of our Lord
Jesus Christ, we believe that we shall be saved even as they."


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