CHAPTER V.

MORAL CHARACTER OF THE EXERCISES BEFORE ANALYZED.

Pastor. A FEW years since, the British mail-steamer Tweed was totally wrecked in the Caribbean Sea, and several of the passengers and crew were drowned. The wife of one of the crew, residing at Southampton, the mother of six children, on being abruptly told by a neighbor that the Tweed was lost, and that all hands had perished, fell down dead. What rendered the circumstance more affecting was, that the husband arrived safely at Southampton a short time after, being one of the persons whose lives were providentially saved.—I have given this narration, for the purpose of refreshing your mind upon two or three principles of much importance. The first is, that one may be very sincere in his belief, and yet be mistaken in point of fact; as was the case with that poor woman.

Inquirer. And as is of very ordinary occurrence. Our believing a thing ever so firmly, cannot make it true; else it must have been a fact that her husband was drowned, since she was so fully persuaded of it.

P. The next is, that our feelings are the natural result of our belief; and that they will be pleasant or painful according as it is adapted to produce one or the other. Thus, the belief that her husband was lost, naturally produced feelings of great anguish in the mind of his

affectionate wife; and the shock was so sudden as entirely to unsettle her nervous system, and destroy her life. Had she not believed the report, such results would not have occurred.

I. And had her husband been lost, but had she believed that he was among the saved, it would have produced pleasure, because of her evidently strong affection for him.

P. Yes. The next is, that such feelings, whether pleasurable or painful, are no evidence whatever that the thing believed is true; but are evidence only that we believe it to be true. Thus, the painful feelings of that woman were no proof that her husband was lost; but they were incontestible evidence that she sincerely believed he was.

I. Yes; and had he been drowned, and had she believed him to be safe, the happy feelings produced by it would not have proved that he had been saved, but only that she thought he had.

P. The next is, that as our belief produces pleasant or unpleasant feelings according to the state of our hearts and the nature of the thing believed, a correction of it when erroneous will necessarily dispel the feelings so produced, and will introduce such others as the corrected belief is calculated to excite. Thus, had that woman survived the painful shock, the return of her husband alive and well would have corrected her belief, would have dispelled her anguish, and would have produced feelings of surprise and joy.

I. Yes; and the contrary results would have occurred had she supposed him to have been safe, but discovered afterwards that he was lost; the happy feelings of the

one, would have given place to the distress of the other.

P. The next is, that hope will produce much the same feelings as the full belief. Thus, had she, as you have supposed, had some reason to think that he was among the saved, the hope that he was alive would have sustained her spirits; and, if strong, it would have dispelled her anxieties, and filled her bosom with pleasurable feelings and anticipations. It would answer most of the purposes of a firm belief, until she should be undeceived; but on discovering the death of her husband, her hope would be dispelled, and its pleasures and anticipations would cease.

I. Certainly. Hope is merely the representative, in our minds, of success in our desires and plans; and when we become aware of a failure therein, it will cease of course with all its pleasures, and leave us to disappointment and trouble.

P. Consequently a hope of having succeeded is no evidence whatever that we have been successful; but, like belief, is evidence merely that we think we have been.

I. I perceive the principle. A hope of enjoying a thing, while it produces all the pleasures of anticipation, forms not the least valid proof that we shall eventually acquire it.

P. We will now recur to the views and exercises which you so constantly entertained previous to the indulgence of your hope in Christ, and while you were confessedly impenitent and unconverted. You will please confine your attention to that period, for a few moments. As we have seen in your own case, and as

is true of every other member of our race, except Christ in his human nature, who knew no sin, (2 Cor. 5:21) you were then perfectly selfish at heart. You recollect that you had loved and pursued the world for the interest and pleasure it afforded yourself, under the predominant, or superior and controlling, desire of your own happiness.

I. Certainly. And I can perceive now that it was selfish.

P. And you looked upon religion as designed for your own eternal happiness; whereas, like every thing besides, it is intended ultimately to promote the glory of God. In that respect, also, your views were selfish. I. Yes, in common with all other sinners.

P. And when, in early life, and before you indulged that hope, you sought religion, as you termed it, it was with an ultimate view to secure your deliverance from punishment, and your happiness in the future state. It was the desire of this which influenced you to pray, to read the Bible, and to do all those things which you thought would aid you. This also induced the wish to love God, to please him, and have him love you in return; and it made you seek for a hope of pardon, and for an evidence of a hope in some new feelings or change of heart, as you called it. Your ultimate aim in

all was your own future safety and happiness; it was for this you not only desired these things, but for it you used every means of which you was possessed.

P. Of course, being unconverted, and totally depraved

in heart, you had no love to the glory of God.

I. No. My conscience always condemned me for sin.

P. And as you became convicted of your sins from time to time, it produced desires for a hope as a means of relief; so that the stronger these convictions became, the more earnest were your corresponding endeavors after pardon and acceptance, and consequently the more selfish you grew in their pursuit?

I. Yes; I was not aware of it at the time, but I can now perceive it most clearly.

P. And in this entirely selfish state of heart you entered upon the convictions and efforts which resulted in that hope in Christ about which we have said so much; that is, you began them from a supreme desire to promote your own safety and peace, and you continued them, at least for a while, with the same view.

I. Yes. All sinners must be selfish on the start, or when they commence a serious examination of their prospects and a determined use of the means to secure their salvation.

P. Undoubtedly they will all be selfish then. Let us, if you please, now confine our attention for a few moments to the period of those convictions immediately preceding the hope we have spoken of. You remember that you then encouraged reflections on your state and prospects, and resorted to various means to deepen your feelings, and to acquire sorrow, love, and other right affections before God, in order to comply with the terms of acceptance so far as you understood them. These efforts and feelings were all selfish of course, since you sought them from a desire for, and with an ultimate view to, your own safety and peace.

I. I now see they were.

P. Your insensibility to the love of God alarmed you