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XII.

The darkened heart.

ROMANS i. 21.

"And their foolish heart was darkened."

Ir is the favourite sentiment of the simple moralist that men are to be appreciated by their works. It is the habit and tendency of religion to appreciate them by their faith. The one insists on the actual realization, the other on the ideal essence, of the good and faithful life. Neither rule, taken by itself without correction from the other, is true to nature or to the spirit of Christ. If by "Works" you mean all that Christ intended when he said "by their fruits ye shall know them"; if you include the whole outward manifestation and natural expression of the mind; if you comprise, along with action, words and demeanour too, the rule is exactly just and true. In this sense men's "works" stand opposed to their "professions"; and the maxim simply affirms that the general impression left upon us by the whole course of their sayings and silence, their doings and abstainings, is not to be set

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aside by any special declaration which they may choose, -for a purpose,-to make about themselves. But if you mean by "Works," the positive conduct only, in distinction from the language and deportment of a man's unguarded nature; if you would limit me to mere published symptoms, and forbid me to regard his feelings and beliefs; if you would say, that, provided we get from him a certain practical rectitude, it is a matter of no moment from what state of mind it springs; then the rule is not merely without support from the authority of Christ, but in direct contradiction to the primary notions of all religion whatsoever. implies one of these two propositions; either that religion is the same thing as morality, or, that if it be different, it adds nothing that is of the least consequence, To pronounce it the same, and make it consist of a conformity of the will to an imposed law, is to outrage the language of all nations and the consciousness of all times; to make the soul of life of no account in comparison of its business, and present the external respectabilities as candidates for canonization. On the other hand, to declare it different is to own it greater; for how must that difference be conceived? As morality occupies the sphere of the will, Religion finds its place beyond and around the will, in the affections and desires which fill the penetralia of our nature, -which present us with every case for choice,—and create the very possibilities of duty and of guilt. The

truth is, we judge of men much more by their way of thinking, than by their way of acting; and this too, for the very reason that is urged against the justice of such a course, viz. that action only is under their own control. It is under their control; and therefore may be assumed for a particular end, and be put forth, like their professions, for the purpose of impression. Thought,

taste, and feeling are not under their control, and therefore tell a tale in which there can be no guile: they utter oracles clear to the spectator, hidden from the speaker in his trance; and reveal in its essence that of which action is but the ambiguous expression. Nor do we accuse ourselves of any injustice in this estimate of men by their free natural language. We should reproach ourselves with culpable prejudice, if we disliked a man for the colour of his hair, or the height of his stature: we suffer no compunction when the complexion of his sentiments and the tone of his imagination disgust us. The reason is this; that although both bodily and mental qualities are now alike involuntary, we assume that there was a time when the will, which could never command the body, might have otherwise disposed the mind: if its freshness and purity are gone, we take it as an evidence of opportunity slipped, and the sanctity of nature marred and corrupted. We follow the simple reasoning of old times, that "God hath made man upright; but he hath sought out many inventions." In this, as in

most of our other natural judgments, I believe we are sustained by the fundamental principles of justice and sound philosophy. We cannot today think as we choose, admire as we choose, love as we choose; nor has our present state of mind ever been an object of direct and purposed adoption by us. Yet we have had a negative power over it: we might have prevented it : moment by moment, thought by thought, its direction. could be turned, and its form modified;-as you cannot straighten the leaning tower, but might have squared the stones of which 'tis built;-and since we have let it grow, we cannot evade responsibility for its deformities.

Nothing perhaps so clearly exhibits the true contrast between morality and religion as the different relations they sustain to the law of habit. Habit is the grand hope of good morals, but the despair of deep religion; and while the one is engaged in cultivating it, the other lives only in resisting it. If the moralist, in urging his system of right action, can but give us motive enough to begin with, his hardest point is gained; the great fly-wheel of the will once set in motion, the second revolution will be promoted by the first, and the original impulse may suffer harmless decline. His maximum of force is needed only at the initial instant; and he is content, when the inertia of rest is overcome, to substitute the inertia of motion. Each province of life, as it yields to him, is submitted to a steady

mechanism, not only repressing the wild energies of nature, but more and more dispensing even with the good; and were it not that the domain is indefinite, and invites to enterprises ever new, the call for productive power might absolutely cease, and duty say "it is finished" when affection gives up the ghost. But this, the last triumph of morals, is the total discomfiture of religion; which abhors the sleepy rhythm of a rotatory nature; which protests against changing the seat of duty from the centre of soul to the muscles of the body;-like the Roman god who would not be torn from his ancient shrine, but while guarding all other boundaries, would insist on keeping his own. The devoutest moments of each man's life are those in which he first creates the rule which thenceforth he obeys; passes straight from deep passion into high action; and bridges over the awful chasm between the world of sacred thought and divine vision, and that of rugged and toilsome reality. Could the inspiration of these moments be prolonged and perpetuated, and living Resolve sustain its power, existence would be a constant prayer, and the incense of holy sacrifice would continually rise. So lofty a homage is not asked of us here, and so grand a privilege is denied. Yet religion has no other office than to be ever pressing towards it: it checks the spiritual. encroachments of habit; compelling it to abide in the outer courts and busy streets of action, and guarding from its invasion the

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