DISCOURSE II.

JOHN iii. 3: "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." It will help us to understand the subject of Conversion, and will prepare us to pursue the analogy proposed in this series of Discourses, to take a brief historical view of that language, by which, among theologians, the doctrine has been most commonly expressed: I mean that language which is founded on the figure of a new birth. Three views are to be taken of it: first, of its signification among the Jews; secondly, of its use among the early Christian teachers; and thirdly, of its application to modern Christian communities. And corresponding to this distinction, there are three kinds of conversion to be considered; the Jewish, the ancient Christian conversion, and that which is to be urged among men, already Christian in their education and general belief.

Let me observe, in passing, that the phrases, " born again," "new creation," &c. are not the only expressions in the New Testament which are applied to the same subject: for men were required to be changed, to be turned from the error of their ways-were said to have passed from darkness to light, from the power of sin and Satan to the service of God and the wisdom of the just. In short, a very great variety of language was used to describe the process of becoming a good man, and a follower of Christ.

But the figurative expressions just referred to have been most constantly used in modern times, to express that change which is meant by conversion. The reason for this, I suppose, is obvious. There has been a striking and manifest disposition, ever since the primitive simplicity departed from religion, to regard and treat it as a mystery: and therefore the most obscure and mysterious expressions have, in preference, been adopted to set it forth. And yet, the figure in question, I shall soon have occasion to observe, is less adapted to set forth the spiritual nature of religion, than almost any of the representations that are current in the New Testament.

On every account, therefore, it is desirable that this language should be explained, and that the explanation should be fixed in our minds, even though it should require some repetition to do it.

What, then, is the meaning of the phrase, “being born again”?

I. When our Saviour said to the inquiring Nicodemus, "Except a man be born again," we may well suppose, that he did not use language either new or unintelligible to him. Nor would it comport with a proper view of our Saviour's character to suppose that he used the language of mystery. Nicodemus, indeed, affected to think it mysterious, saying, How can a man be born when he is old?" It was not, however,

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because he did not understand, but because he did understand it. For the language in question was familiar at that day; it was in the mouth of every Jew, much more in that of a master in Israel. We learn, from the Jewish writers of that day, that the phrase, "born again," was at that time, and had been all along, applied to proselytes from paganism. A convert, or a proselyte to the Jewish religion, was currently denominated, "one born again," "a new-born child," a new creature." This language they adopted, doubtless, to express what they considered to be the greatness of the distinction and favour implied in being a Jew. It was nothing less than a new creation." In the apparent misapprehension of Nicodemus, therefore, I see nothing but the astonishment natural to a Jew, on being told that he, favoured of God as he had thought himself,-that he, one of the chosen people, must himself pass through another conversion, another proselytism, in order to see the kingdom of God.

But to revert to the phrases which conveyed to Nicodemus this unwelcome truth; I say that they referred originally to proselytism to the Jewish religion. This was the known signification of these phrases at the time. There can be no dispute or question on this point. Something like this use of these phrases was common among other nations at that period, as among the Romans, the change from slavery to citizenship was denominated a new creation. It appears, then, as I have already observed, that this expression is not the best adapted to set forth the spiritual nature of religion, since it was originally used to describe a visible fact, an outward change.

II. But let us proceed from the Jewish use of this language, to the adoption of it among the first teachers of Christianity. It was natural that the Christian teachers, in calling men from an old to a new dispensation, from the profession of an old, to the reception of a new religion, should take up those expressions, which before had been applied to an event precisely similar. There was a visible change of religion required both of Jews and Pagans, the adoption of a new faith and worship. It was an event publicly declared and solemnized by the rite of baptism.

Far be it from me to say, that the Gospel required nothing but an outward profession and proselytism. This was too true of Judaism, though without doubt there were devout individuals among the Jews, who had more spiritual views. But it was too true of that nation of formalists, that they desired little more than to make proselytes to their rites and ceremonies. And on this account our Saviour upbraids them, in that severe declaration, "Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him two-fold more a child of hell than yourselves: "-you proselyte him to your own proud, Pharisaical, and conceited system of cabalistic notions and dead formalities. But surely, if there ever were upon earth teachers who most strenuously insisted upon a spiritual renovation, they were Jesus and his apostles. Still, however, we are not to forget that their language, in reference to the change required, implied an outward proselytism, as well as a spiritual renovation; implied the reception of a new religion, considered as a matter of speculation, faith, and visible worship, as well as the adoption of inward feelings, accordant with the spirit and precepts of this religion. Both of these things they must have demanded by their very situation, as teachers of Christianity.

III. The way is now prepared to consider what meaning the language of our text is to have, when applied to members of Christian communities in modern times. And the discrimination to be made here is perfectly evident. One part of the meaning, anciently attached to this language, fails entirely: the other stands in the nature of things, and must stand for ever. What fails, is what relates to the outward change. There can be no proselytism to a new faith among us; no conversion to a new worship; no adoption of a new system, nor adherence to a new sect. All the conversion, therefore, that can now take place, is of a purely moral or spiritual nature. It is a change of heart, a change of character, of feelings, of habits. Where the character, the feelings, and habits are wrong, and in such proportion as they are wrong, this change is to be urged as the very condition of salvation, of happiness, of enjoying peace of conscience, God's forgiveness, and the reasonable hope of heaven. Except a 'bad' man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God."

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The subject, in this view of it, would seem to be exceedingly plain. Conversion is no mysterious doctrine. It is no peculiar injunction or precept of the Christian religion. It is the injunction and precept of every religion. The bad man must become a good man; the sinful must repent; the vicious must reform; the selfish, the passionate, and sensual, must be pure, and gentle, and benevolent; or they cannot be happy here or hereafter. This, I say, is no mysterious doctrine. It is what every man's conscience preaches to him. Strange would it be, if, in a religion so simple and reasonable as ours, that on which everything in our moral welfare hangs, should be a mystery. Strange, if a stumbling-block should be placed at the very entrance to the way of religion.

But simple, obvious, and unquestionable as these views of conversion are, there is no little difficulty in obtaining for them a general assent, or in causing them to be fully carried out in the minds of those who embrace them. The true and natural view of the subject is confounded with the ancient features of it. We are thinking of something like a proselytism, of a time, and an epoch, and a great experience, and a sudden change. We have, perhaps, been taught all this from our youth up. We have heard about obtaining religion, as if it were something else than obtaining inward habits of devotion, and self-government, and disinterestedness, and forbearance, and all goodness, which it takes a life fully to acquire and confirm. We have heard about obtaining religion, or obtaining a change, or obtaining a hope, as if it were the work of a month, or a day, or a moment. It demands years, or a life, to obtain a great property, or to obtain learning, or to build up a distinguished reputation; while the far greater work of gaining a holy mind, a pure and good heart, you would suppose, from what you often hear, could be accomplished in a single week, or hour.

I do not forget that religion has its beginning; and if the language in common use was, that at such a time, a man began to be religious, instead of having become so, I should have no objection to it. I do not deny that there are epochs in religious experience, times of deeper reflection, of more solemn impression, and more earnest prayer; times of arousing to the moral faculties, of awakening to the conscience, of concern and solicitude about the interests of the soul; and I would to God

these times were more frequent in the experience of us all! It was in conformity with this view, that Whitfield said, that he wished he could be converted a thousand times every day. I do not deny, then, that there are epochs in religious feeling. On the contrary, I believe that the whole progress of every mind, and of every life, may, to a considerable extent of its history, be dated from certain epochs. A man will find it to have been so in his mind and in his studies. Certain impressions have been made upon him at certain periods, in consequence of which he has taken up some new study, or pursued the old with greater zeal; certain impressions which have given a bias and character to his whole mind. And those who are pursuing more visible acquisitions than those of the mind, may have found it so with them. At some certain period they began this work; and at other periods they have been stimulated to new diligence; they have resolved to use greater economy, industry, and method. There is a beginning, then, and there are epochs in every pursuit; but who ever thought of confounding, as men do in religion, the beginning with the end, the epoch with the progress, the starting-place with the goal of attainment? Who ever thought of calling the first enthusiasm of the youthful student, learning, or the first crude essays of the young artist, skill?

Does it seem to any one, that I do injustice to the popular impressions about religion? Am I reminded that, although men do say that they get religion at a certain time, yet that they are taught, also, that they must grow in this, that they have acquired only the first elements, and must go on to perfection? Still I say, that the language is wrong; the language, which implies, that he who has acquired the first elements of such a thing, has acquired the thing itself, is wrong. But I say more. I say it is a language that is liable to mislead. A man, who uses it, will be apt to think he has obtained more than he really has obtained. He will be apt to think more highly of himself, than he ought to think. His language implies too much, and of course it is liable to puff him up with pride; to make him think well of himself, and to speak slightly of others, rather than to awaken in him a proper and true humility; and to inspire a rash confidence and a visionary joy, rather than a just, sobriety, and a reasonable self-distrust. And I say still farther, and repeat, that there are false impressions about religion itself, derived from these notions of conversion. Religion is not felt to be that result of patient endeavour which it is. It is made a thing too easy of acquisition. He who, in one week, in one day, in one hour, nay, in one moment, can pass through a change that insures heaven to him, has reduced the mighty work to a light task indeed. He may boast over those who are taking the way of patient and pains-taking endeavour; he may charge them with the guilt of insisting much on a good moral life; but certainly he should not boast of his own way as the most thorough and laborious.

But I must dwell a little more particularly, in regard to conversion, on that comparison which I proposed to make between religion and other acquisitions of the mind. And the special point to be considered, the only one, indeed, about which there is any difference of opinion, is the alleged suddenness of conversion. I have already said that this is a feature of the change in question, which is borrowed from the ancient conversion, and borrowed, too, from the outward and visible part of it.

I now say that it cannot appertain to what is inward and spiritual. No change of the inward mind and character can be sudden. The very laws of the mind forbid it.

But I must not fail to show you that the comparison I am about to make is founded on the strictest analogy. It will be said, I know, that the change we are speaking of is unlike any other, and, therefore, that the ordinary processes of the mind furnish no analogy for it. But in what is it unlike? It is a change; a change of heart; a change in the affections, dispositions, habits of the soul. Moreover, it is a change effected in view of motives. A man becomes a good man, not blindly, not irrationally, but for certain reasons. He feels that the evil course is dangerous, an 1 therefore he resolves to turn from it. He believes that there is happiness in religion, and therefore he seeks it. More than all, he feels that he ought to be a good man, and therefore he strives to be so. But still it may be said, there is a difference; and that the difference consists in this; that conversion is wrought in the soul by the special act of God; that the work is supernatural; that the change is a miracle. Grant that it be so. Suppose it to be true, perhaps it is true, that the secret reluctance of the mind to resist its wrong tendencies, and to restrain its evil passions is such, that a special act of God is always exerted to put it in the right way. But will God, who made the soul, who formed every part of its curious and wonderful mechanism, derange the operations of that soul, in order to save it? Let any one say, if he pleases, that it is a dead soul, a mechanism without any motion, and that nothing but a special impulse from its Former can ever set it in motion. But when it does move, will it not move in obedience to the laws of its nature? This, be it observed, is all that we say, to make out the assumed analogy. Let the cause of its operations be what it will, we say that the laws of its operations will be always the same; in other words, that the religious action of the soul takes place after the same manner, follows the same processes, as all other action of the soul. This, certainly, is the testimony of all experience. No one finds himself becoming religious under any other influence than that of motives of some sort. No man finds it an easier or speedier work to become a Christian, than to pass from ignorance to learning, from indolence of mind to activity, from low to lofty tastes, or from any one state of mind to any other. Our conclusion, then, is based on facts; it is therefore the dictate of philosophy; and it certainly is, so far as I know, the doctrine of all rational theology.

The processes of religious experience, therefore, are to be judged of like the processes of all other experience. Suppose, then, that you knew a man who was indolent in spirit, and infirm of purpose; and that you had sought and found the means, at some favouring moment, to arouse him from his lethargy, and to put him in the path of action. Would you say, that in the hour of his first impression, of his first resolution, he had become a man of energy and firmness? Nay, how long would it probably be, before he could be justly said to bear that character? Or, suppose that you knew a parent who neglected the care of his children; and that, inviting him some day to your apartment, you had, by many reasonings, so impressed his mind with the dangers of this course of neglect, that he had resolved to amend; and suppose that by the aid of many such impressions and resolutions, he