manifesting religion, because I could find no other brief and comprehensive phrase which would convey the idea; but I am afraid that these phrases themselves, are liable to carry with them an erroneous idea. If a man of high intelligence or cultivated taste should think much of exhibiting his intelligence or taste, we should say that he is not very wisely employed. He might, indeed, very properly think of it, if he had fallen into any great faults on this point; and it is for this reason that we have desired the religious man to do this. But, after all, exhibition is not the thing. And the observation, therefore, which I have to make, is this: that the more a man thinks of cultivating religion, and the less he thinks of exhibiting it, the more happy will he be in himself, and the more useful to others. That which is within us, it has been said, will out. Let a man possess the spirit of religion, and it will probably, in some way or other, manifest itself. He need not be anxious on that point. On the contrary, there are no persons who are more disagreeable; there are scarcely any who do a greater disservice to the cause of virtue, than pattern men and women. Hence it is that you often hear it said, "We cannot endure perfect people." The assumption, the consciousness of virtue, is the most fatal blight upon all its charms. Good examples are good things; but their goodness is gone the moment they are adopted for their own sake. A noble action performed for example's sake, is a contradiction in terms. Let it be performed in total unconsciousness of anything but the action itself, and then, and then only, is it clothed with power and beauty.

66

I do not mean to dissuade any good man from acting and speaking for the religious enlightenment and edification of others; I advocate it; but that is effort, not exhibition. Yet even then, I would say, let no man's religious action or speech go beyond the impulses of his heart. Let no man be more religious in his conversation, than he is in his character. The worst speculative evils in the popular mind about religion, I fear, are the mingled sense of its unreality, on the one hand, and of its burthensomeness on the other, which spring from the artificial treatment it has received from its professed votaries. Away with set phrases, and common-places, and monotones, and drawlings, and all solemn dulness!—and let us have truth, simplicity, and power. The heart of the world will answer to that call, even as the forests answer and bend to the free winds of heaven; while amidst the fogs and vapours that rise from stagnant waters, it stands motionless, chilled, and desolate.

DISCOURSE IV.

LUKE xvi. 8: "For the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light."

I AM to speak in this discourse of the causes of indifference and aversion to religion, and my special purpose, in pursuance of the analogy which I am following out in these discussions is, to inquire, whether the same causes would not make men indifferent or averse to any other subject, however naturally agreeable or interesting to them. Let philosophy, or friendship, or native sensibility; let study, or business, or pleasure even, be inculcated and treated as religion has been, and

would not men be averse to them?

It is possible that I have a hearer who will think that he solves the problem by saying, that men's aversion to religion is owing to the wickedness of their hearts. That would be to solve a problem with a truism. The aversion to religion is wickedness of heart. I am sensible, and it will be more apparent as we proceed, that this is to be said with important qualifications. But still it is true that this state of mind is wrong. And the question is, Why does this state of mind exist? In other words, from whence is this aversion to religion? It may be said, with more pertinence I allow, that the cause is to be found in the depravity of human nature. This is, indeed, assigning a cause. And it is, moreover, bringing the subject to a point, on which I wish to fix your attention. For, so far from admitting this to be true, I think it will be easy to show that men may be made, and are made, indifferent or averse to worldly objects, to objects allowed to be congenial to their nature, by the same causes which make them indifferent or averse to heavenly objects, the objects of faith and duty.

I. The first cause which I shall mention is neglect. There are many sciences, and arts, and accomplishments, which are most interesting, and naturally most interesting to those who cultivate them, but entirely indifferent to those who neglect them. We see this every day. We find different men in the opposite poles of enthusiasm and apathy, on certain subjects; and the reason is, that some have been familiar with them, and others have been completely estranged from them. The most interesting and fascinating reading has no attraction for those who have passed the most of their lives without ever taking up a book. It is, in short, a well-known law of our minds, that attention is necessary to give vividness and interest to objects of human thought. The first cause of indifference to religion, then, is neglect. It may be said that all are taught; that the subject is constantly urged upon their attention from the pulpit. But the example and daily conver

sation of their parents and friends, who have showed no interest in religion, have been more powerful far than the words of the preacher. The real and effective influences of their education have all tended to neglect. The actual course of their conduct has come to the same thing. They have never attended to religion, either as the merchant attends to business, or as the farmer attends to soils, or the mechanician to his art, or-to come nearer to the point-as the student attends to philosophy, or as the virtuoso to matters of taste, or even as the sketching traveller attends to scenery, or as the man of pleasure to amusement; or, in fine, as any man attends to anything in which he would be interested. It is not in this way, at all, that they have thought of being religious, but in some more summary, in some extraordinary way: and multitudes, who would think it preposterous to expect to be interested in a literature or language, of which they have never read anything, have never in their lives attentively read one book about religion, not even the Bible.

I am quite sensible, while I make these comparisons, that there is a general attention to religion, more important than any specific study of it: an attention, that is to say, to the monitions of conscience, to experience, to the intimations of a providence all around us, to the great example of Christ that ever shines as a light before us. But it is this very attention, as well as the specific study, in which men have been deficient. And then, as to the specific study, I say, it is to be advocated on grounds similar to those which recommend it in every other case. A man may be religious without reading books, I know. So may he be an agriculturalist or mechanician without reading books. But the point to be stated, for him who reads at all, is, that he will read on the subject on which he wishes to be informed and interested; and so we may say, that he who studies at all, will study on the subject that is nearest his heart; and that he who adopts forms and usages in any case, will avail himself of forms and usages in this. So that he, into whose life no specific religious action enters, gives no evidence of general attention.

Still, then, I repeat, there must be attention, both general and particular. No man can reasonably expect to be religious without it." It is not enough passively to be borne on with the wave of worldly fashion, now setting towards the church, and now towards the exchange, and now towards the theatre. It is not enough to be as religious as chance, and time, and tide will make us. There must be a distinct, direct religious action, a hand stretched out, an eye looking beyond, a heart breathing its sighs and secret prayers for some better thing. But with multitudes this distinct action of the soul has never been put forth. And it is no more surprising that they are not Christians, than it is that they are not astronomers or artists.

II. The next cause of indifference and aversion to religion is to be found in the character, with which some of its most attractive virtues are commonly invested. Let us consider a few of these, and compare them with other affections and sentiments.

One of the Christian virtues, much insisted on, is love of the brethren. The analagous sentiment is friendship. Now I ask, would friendship be the attractive quality that it is, if it were inculcated and represented in the same way as love of the brethren? If friendship were constantly

insisted on, as a test of character, as the trying point on which all future hopes rest; if a man were constantly asked whether he loves his friends, in the same way in which he is asked whether he loves the brethren, and thus were made to tremble when that question is asked; if, then, the affection of friendship were required to be exercised with so little reference to all the natural charms and winning graces of character; if, again, friendship must find its objects within a sphere so limited, among men of a particular sect, or among church-members only, or among speculative believers of a certain cast; and if, moreover, friendship were to express itself by such methods as brotherly love usually does, by set and precise manners, by peculiar actions, by talking of its elect and chosen ones, as Christians have been wont to talk of each other: if, I say, all this belonged to friendship, do you think it would wear to men's eyes the charm and fascination that it now does? Would they rush to its arms-would they seek it and sigh for it as they now do? No; friendship itself would lose its grace and beauty, if it were set forth as the love of the brethren usually is. No wonder that men are averse to such an affection. But would they have been equally averse to it, if it had been represented as but a holier friendship; the friendship of good men-which it is, and which is all that it is?

Again; hope is a Christian virtue. It is also natural affection; and as a natural affection, it attracts every human heart. It "springs eternal" and irresistible in every human breast. Its eye kindles, and its countenance glows, as it gazes upon the bright future. But would it be this involuntary and welcome affection, if it bore the character that evangelical hope has assumed in the experience of modern Christians? I say of modern Christians; for the ancient hope was a different thing. It was the hope of those "who sat in the region and shadow of death," that they should live hereafter: it was a hope full of immortality; full of the sublimity and joy of that great expectation. But now, what is the modern feeling that bears this name, and how does it express itself? It says with anxiety, and often with a mournful sigh, "I hope that I am a Christian, -I hope that I am pardoned,-I hope that I shall go to heaven." Would any human hope be attractive, if this were its character? Is it strange that men do not desire to entertain a hope that is so expressed?

Once more; faith holds a prominent place among the Christian virtues. In its natural form, it is one of the most grateful of all affections. Confidence-confidence in our friend. what earthly repose is equal to this? The faith of a child in its parent- how simple, natural, irresistible! And how perfectly intelligible is all this! But now do you throw one shade of mystery over this affection; require it to assent to abstruse and unintelligible doctrines; require of it a metaphysical accuracy; demand it, not as the natural, but as some technical or mystical condition of parental favour; resolve all this into some peculiar and ill-understood connexion with the laws of the divine government; and the friend, the child would shrink from it; he would forego the natural affections of his heart, if they must be bound up with things so repulsive and chilling to all its confiding and joyous sensibilities.

I may observe here, that these three virtues-brotherly love, hope, and faith-derived from the circumstances of the early age a prominence and a peculiarity, which ought since to have passed away.

99 66

When the Christians were a comparatively small and persecuted band, and had a great cause committed to their fidelity, it was natural and proper that the tie between them should be peculiar. Hence their letters to one another were constantly filled with such expressions as, "salute the brethren," greet the brethren." Those brethren were perhaps, one hundred or five hundred persons in a city; known and marked adherents of the new faith-who met together in dark retreats, in old ruins, in caves or catacombs. But all this has passed away. And now it would be absurd for a man, however affectionately and religiously disposed, in writing letters to any town or city, to send salutations and greetings to all the good people in those places. Christians now stand in the general relation to one another of good men; not of fellow sufferers, not of fellow-champions of a persecuted cause. It is precisely the difference between compatriots fighting for their liberty, and fellow-citizens quietly enjoying it.

In like manner, Christian faith, when it was necessarily the first step in religion, when it came to fill the void of scepticism; and Christian hope, when it sprung from the dark cloud of despair, both derived from the circumstances a singular character and a signal importance. And the circumstances justified a peculiar manner of speaking about them. Hope was indeed a glorious badge of distinction in a world without hope: and faith was, indeed, a pledge for the highest virtue, when it might cost its possessor his life. But now to speak of faith and hope with a certain mysterious sense of their importance, is to present them in a false garb; it is to clothe, with an ancient and strange costume, things that ought to be familiar; and it is therefore to cut them off from our natural sympathy and attachment.

III. The third cause of indifference and aversion to religion, and the last which I shall mention, but on which I shall dwell at greater length than I have upon the former, is to be found in the mode of its inculcation.

To show that men may be made averse to objects naturally and confessedly interesting to them, by an unfortunate teaching, and to point out the manner of that teaching, I shall draw two illustrations from the pursuit of knowledge.

It will not be denied, that for knowledge in general, the human mind has a natural aptitude and desire. But do the children, in the most of our schools, love the knowledge that is inculcated there? Have they associated agreeable ideas with their class-books and school-rooms, and with the time they pass in them? What is the occasion of this insufferable tediousness that so many of them experience, in the pursuits of elementary learning? How is it, that they so often find the form on which they sit, an almost literal rack of torture, and the hours of confinement lengthening out like the hours of bondage? Do we talk of men's aversion to religion? Why, here is aversion to knowledge, as strong and obstinate as that of hardened vice itself to religion. What causes it? Not that nature, which was as truly made to love knowledge, as appetite to love food; but circumstances have disappointed the natural want, till it is perverted and stupified, so that it scarcely appears to belong to the nature of the human being. Again: the science of astronomy is held, by all who understand it, to be a most interesting-an almost enchanting science. No one can doubt that, if properly introduced to