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Lenniny.



MEMOIR
OF
R. M. Honey
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING,
WITH
EXTRACTS FROM HIS CORRESPONDENCE
AND MANUSCRIPTS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO., SOHO SQUARE.
1850.
M
2-1-38 J‚A.
1-6-38
2.V.
PREFACE.
THIS work is an autobiography, in so far as the
materials at my command have enabled me to give it
that character, and consists of extracts from private
papers, sermons, and letters, with such remarks only in-
terwoven as seemed needed for purposes of illustration.
Its plan is very simple. After a somewhat full and
minute notice of Dr. Channing's early years, which
will be found to present many interesting facts, and
which no one hereafter could so well supply, I have
proceeded to arrange the selections from his manu-
scripts according to the twofold order of Subject and
of Time. This method was chosen as the one best
fitted to convey an adequate impression of the steadi-
ness with which he held all objects of thought before
his mind, until his views became consistent and com-
plete, and the growth of his opinions is in this way
made clear, as well as the result of his progress. A
thorough reader will consider any loss of vivacity in
the narrative more than compensated for by the know-
ledge thus gained of the mental and moral processes
of an earnest seeker after truth and right. The chapters
which are especially devoted to tracing this spiritual
JO
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iv
PREFACE.
development, however, are so separated from the more
general biographical parts, that any one who is inclined
can pass them by. In giving such ample quotations
from Dr. Channing's early writings I possibly have
erred; but this was the only use that could be made of
them under the directions which he left; and, in addi-
tion to the wish to aid others in forming a correct
judgment of his life, I have been governed by the
perhaps partial feeling, that the passages here printed
were too good to be lost.
Courtesy seems to demand some explanation of the
delay which has attended this publication; for I would
not willingly appear to slight the just claims of Dr.
Channing's friends in this country or Great Britain,
and impatient hints from many quarters have reminded
me that the public feel, surely with good reason, that
they have a right to a nearer acquaintance with a man
who has been a spiritual father to so many. When
the duty of preparing this memoir fell upon me,-be-
cause no other person who knew my uncle so well could
or would undertake it,—I at once saw that some years
must be allowed to pass before attempting to speak
of one with whom I had lived in such intimate relations.
A certain measure of independence is requisite for a
biographer, and the atmosphere of his spirit and genius
had so surrounded me from boyhood, that I could not
at once disengage myself from their charm. In the
next place, urgent duties amidst religious and social
movements, from which he would never have permitted
me, on his account, to stand aloof, made such drafts
upon time and power as to prevent the necessary con-
PREFACE.
▼
•
centration. And, finally, when a period of quiet
seemed at last to be secured, prolonged and repeated
illness came in to hinder the completion of my task.
Truth compels me to add, however, that dissatisfac-
tion with my own work, and consequent efforts to re-
model it, have been a chief source of apparent tardiness.
It was my design to present a finished portrait of WILLIAM
ELLERY CHANNING, regarded as a man, a minister
of religion, a philosopher, a reformer, and a statesman,
-to point out his place among the leading persons
of the age,—and, by exhibiting his relations to various
parties, to sketch his Life and Times. Extensive pre-
parations were made accordingly. But experiment at
length satisfied me, that it was far more difficult than
I had supposed to shun the dishonesty of making my
honoured relative the exponent of my prejudices,
without sinking into a tone of non-committal yet more
at variance with his character and with the truth. I
have therefore preferred silence to partiality or tame-
ness, have limited myself to brief hints and descriptions,
have stated for his such opinions only as there could be
no risk of my misapprehending or misrepresenting, and,
in a word, have left him to be his own interpreter.
Such as it is, this Memoir is now offered to the
world. It will be found rich in documents illustrative
of Dr. Channing's inner and outward life; and this
constitutes the essential value of a biography. I claim
only to have been a conscientious editor. The sense
of responsibility to many friends has made it wholly
impossible to speak with the hearty unreserve with
which it would have been pleasing to communicate
1
vi
NOTE.
one's individual impressions of such a man; and in
contrast with the ideal of what this work should be, the
fragmentary notices here given seem meagre and dull
indeed. I trust, however, that, through all obscurations,
the bright original still shines forth.
NOTE.
W. H. C.
For reasons above stated, the editor of these papers has
cancelled a sketch of the rise and progress of the "Unitarian
Controversy," with which subject the third chapter in Part II.
(Vol. I.) of this Memoir will be found to close. He had
therein traced the three tendencies alluded to on page 259
from the middle of the last century down to the present time,
taking Edwards and the Revivalists as an illustration of
Spiritualism,-Chauncy and the Reformers as an illustration
of Philanthropy,-Mayhew and the Rationalists as an illus-
tration of Free Inquiry. It was his wish to show that these
movements--the partisans of which have so seldom done
each other justice-were really auxiliary in introducing the
higher era of religious life to which all denominations are
now welcomed. A prominent place of honour was awarded
to the fathers of Liberal Christianity in New England, and
chief among these to James Freeman, William Bentley,
Aaron Bancroft, Nathaniel Thayer, and Henry Ware, sen.
The powerful influence exerted by the Anthology Club, in
awakening freedom of thought and a love of sound scholar-
ship, was also distinctly shown. And, finally, the rightful
position was assigned to the General Repository, as the
advance-guard of Unitarianism proper.
In this sketch, the editor did not hesitate to express his
own conviction, that the "Liberal Christians" committed an
error, alike in principle and in policy, in allowing themselves
vii
to be driven into the attitude of a sect. Even down to 1820,
this band of brethren, differing in opinion, but united in
spirit and in action, sometimes called themselves CATHOLIC
Christians. The name was a grand one, and if they had
adopted it, and been indeed governed by it, there can be but
little doubt that Theological Science would have been farther
advanced among us than it now is. For what one of the
great questions at issue among believers has been scientifically
solved by the controversies of the last half-century? And
how can they be thus solved, until, by a universal reception
of the Life of Love, we are brought into nearer communion
with God, and are enabled by experience to know more of
the Divine End in the destiny of Man upon Earth?
But the chief desire of the editor, in this note, is to call the
attention of his brethren, of various denominations, to the
urgent need which there is of at once collecting the materials
for an Ecclesiastical History of New England and the United
States. The stock of books, pamphlets, tracts, &c., as yet
gathered in any of our large libraries is very imperfect, and
quite valuable matter is rapidly disappearing, never to be
replaced. For instance, correspondence has been destroyed,
in cases where the void thus left cannot be supplied. He
respectfully suggests, then, to his aged friends especially,
alike among clergy and laity, in all cases to examine, sift,
and select such letters, manuscripts, or pamphlets, as may be
in their possession, tending to illustrate the progress of
thought and of spiritual life in this country. He would
further suggest that the libraries of the Theological Schools,
of various denominations, would be a suitable place for de-
positing and registering such materials. For everything
there is a place and a time; and some one may presently
appear, who in a truly catholic and humane, as well as philo-
sophic spirit, will feel prompted to show the relation of our
fathers' worship, opinions, practice, to the popular character
and intelligence, to the manners, institutions, and forms of
society in our nation.
NOTE.
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Rhode Island
Newport
Birth
Wm. Ellery & Ann Remington
Society
Slavery
Politics
School
Poverty
THE FIRST VOLUME.
Childhood
Schoolmistress
Mr. Rogers
Intellectual traits
Home education
Political influences
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CHAP. I. PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
Page |
1 John Channing and Mary Cha-
loner
2
3
William Channing
3
Lucy Ellery.
CONTENTS
David Meade Randolph
Letter to his mother
General influences
Appearance and character
Washington Allston
Literary societies
Infidelity.
PART FIRST.
•
CHAP. III.
CHAP. II. -BOYHOOD.
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15 | Religious influences
Character
15
17
New London
18 Death of his father
19 Rev. Henry Channing
20❘ Revival
39
44
COLLEGE LIFE.
32 | New birth
36
36 Politics
CHAF. IV. — RICHMOND.
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•
Favourite studies
Choice of profession
College friendships
58 | Studies
58
59
Musing
Enthusiasm.
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60
Perfect society
62 Preparation for the ministry
70 Self-consecration
71 | Return
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Page
8
8
14
21
25
29
29
30
31
46
47
48
53
55
73
76
77
82
08
.. 88
94
97
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CONTENTS.
CHAP. V. STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
·
Domestic character
Self-discipline .
Rev. Dr. Hopkins.
Regent at Harvard University. 106
Theological studies
107
Disinterestedness
Seriousness
Private papers
Removal of his family to Bos-
ton.
Illness
Power as a preacher
Character as a pastor.
Moral and mental unity
The key-note
SECTION I.-Religion
SECTION II.-Human Nature
•
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CHAP. I. EARLY MINISTRY.
•
PART SECONd.
•
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Holiness, Truth, Humanity
Letters to friends
Freedom of inquiry
True humility
Sinfulness of infants
Dangers of liberality
Letter to Rev. Samuel C.
Thacher
•
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CHAP. II. — SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
•
Page
98 Habits as a student
98 Theological views
101
•
•
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First sermon
Invitation to settle
Ordination
130
135
145
145
150
152
157
•
Friends, Rev. Dr. Kirkland, Rev.
J. S. Buckminster, Rev. S. C.
Thacher
Correspondence
•
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Charities
Political sermons
Manners.
The good minister
CHAP. III. THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
259 Remarks on Rev. Dr. Worces-
260 ter's letter
274
Remarks on Rev. Dr. Worces-
277
ter's second letter
284
286
p
CHAP. IV.— SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
Christian union
Christian liberty
Berry-street conference.
. 289 Congregationalism
186 | SECTION III. Christ and
187 Christianity
188 SECTION IV.-Society
204
Distaste for Controversy.
SECTION I.-Religion
SECTION II.-Human Nature 346 SECTION IV.-Society
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327 SECTION III. Christ and
327
Christianity
Page
114
120
120
121
127
159
162
171
177
179
179
220
237
301
310
315
316
319
325
363
374
Free inquiry
Treatment of opponents
Arianism.
German writers
Wordsworth.
Fall of Bonaparte
War with England
Peace movements
The Seminole war.
Privateering.
CHAP. V. — MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
•
Capital punishment
Missions.
Bible Society
Theological school
?
CONTENTS.
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Page
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390 Harvard University
Benevolence.
. 393
.397
. 398
399
. 401
403
406
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Journey in New Hampshire and
Vermont
Parting words
Ocean.
The lakes
Wordsworth.
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Vestry
Growing reputation
•
Private papers
•
Invitation to New York
CHAP. VI. - EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
Family relations
Death of his brother
Death of his sister
His marriage
415
415
416
Children
417 Baptism
419 Illness
421
•
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Coleridge
Switzerland
•
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473
479
480
485 Death of his youngest son
492 | Return
Views of society
Education of his children
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437
453
454
455
459
. 461
465
469
471
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Page
425
431
432
437
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493
495
496
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. 500
• 504
. 510
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MEMOIR.
PART FIRST.
CHAP. I. PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
1780.
THE island of Rhode Island-a brief sketch of whose scenery
seems the befitting introduction to the memoir of a man
formed so much under its influence, and who, late in life, and
on a sacred occasion, said: "Amidst these scenes allow me
to thank God that this beautiful island was the place of my
birth,”*—lies at the south-eastern extremity of the State of
Rhode Island. On the north, east, and west, it is surrounded
by Narragansett bay, while its southern point is open to the
sea. To a spectator upon the main-land or in a boat, it pre-
sents an image of singular serenity, with its gently graded
surface sloping downward on every side from the central
ridge,-its fresh green pastures and meadows dotted with
high conical haystacks,-its harvest fields and orchard plots
marked off by regular stone walls,-its farm-houses, weather-
stained or white, with gardens and enclosures, scattered at
intervals,—and its windmills waving their long arms upon
the upper grounds. Its length is about fifteen miles, and a
drive along the summit offers a succession of loveliest pano-
ramas from Quaker hill on the north, where the Narragansett
bay is seen spreading out its silvery sheet, sprinkled with
islets and stretching far inland, to Miantonomoh hill at the
south, which overlooks the spires and shipping of Newport,
—and ocean spreading far beyond, with sails and gleams of
sunshine or fog-banks on the horizon. The breadth of the
prospects, the wide tracts of water, the ever-varying cloud-
* Works, Vol. IV., p. 337. Discourse at the Dedication of the Unitarian
Congregational Church, Newport, 1836.
VOL. I.
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PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
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scenery and softness of the atmosphere, the reflected lights
from bays and ocean, the looming up and vanishing of distant
headlands, the shutting in and opening of curtains of mist,
and the verdure kept bright by continual dampness, refresh
the landscape with charms which every hour and season
change. Along the shores are several glens, overhung with
groves, where streams wear away the soil, and leave the
naked rocks, and at whose mouths are pebbly margins, strewn
with shells and sea-weed, offering pleasant walks and views
across the water to the neighbouring coasts. At the south
juts out a neck, upon whose crags and ledges the surf breaks,
in calm weather even, with a glory of foam and spray, and in
storms with awful magnificence. While further to the east
extend beaches of three miles or more in length, lying broadly
open to the Atlantic, where the green waves curl and dash
with every tide, and across whose shelving sands, after a
southern gale, the long rolling billows sweep with a roar that
may be heard for many miles.
Newport, the chief town on the island, was, before the Re-
volution, quite a prosperous commercial capital, and after the
war became the seat of government of the State of Rhode
Island. It was, as it now is, a place of frequent resort for
strangers, especially from the South, who came to pass there
the summer months, attracted by the delightful climate, the
ocean and rural scenery, the pleasures of sea-bathing, and
the liberal, even luxurious, hospitality of the citizens. The
presence of French and English officers during the revo-
lutionary struggle gave new stimulants to the social tenden-
cies of the inhabitants, and polished the already somewhat
stately courtesy of their manners. Wealthy merchants, pro-
fessional men established for eminence of talent in the then
most important town of Rhode Island, successful sea-captains
retired from service, and residents drawn thither by motives
of health and enjoyment, formed a society not wanting in
refinement, fond of pleasantry, and very cordial. A more
than usual proportion of eccentric characters, also, gave, by
quaint talk and extravagant ways, a dash of originality to the
otherwise somewhat dull proprieties of the place. It is remem-
bered, too, that, owing partly to the effect of French libe-
ralism, partly to the licence of speech so common among sea-
faring men, profanity, at that period indeed a general vice,
was in most classes habitual; and that, from the influence of
the West India trade, as well as from the custom of the time,
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WILLIAM ELLERY.
intemperance abounded. On the other hand, exact attention
was paid to sacred seasons and observances, somewhat of the
old Puritanic sternness was inculcated as evidence of a godly
spirit, and the prevalent tone of preaching was serious, per-
haps even gloomy. The principles of free thought and
speech, however, transmitted by the magnanimous and wise
Roger Williams through the whole state of which he was
founder, as well as by Mrs. Anne Hutchinson and Gov.
Coddington, who with their friends first settled the island,
and by Samuel Gorton and his followers,—the liberal temper
everywhere engendered by the war for independence,-and
the discussions awakened by the scepticism of the age, were
hostile to bigotry in theological opinions, or to irksome
restraints on conduct. If, finally, it is considered that the
town was alive with the bustle of successful enterprise not
then diverted into other channels, and that its citizens were
warmly interested in the political controversies of the time, a
sufficiently accurate notion may be formed of the moral
atmosphere of Newport.
It was here, that, on the 7th of April, 1780, WILLIAM
ELLERY CHANNING, the third child of WILLIAM CHANNING
and LUCY ELLERY, was born.
His grand-parents, upon the father's and the mother's side
alike, were persons of more than common energy, both in
character and intelligence.
William Ellery, his mother's father, was a man of singular
heartiness, honesty, good sense, and simplicity. "Graduated
at Harvard College in 1747, he entered upon business as a
merchant in his native town, Newport, which then offered
every encouragement to an enterprising man, and was full of
attractions to one of his social temper. He married, early
in life, Ann, the daughter of Judge Remington, of Cambridge,
Massachusetts, an excellent woman, prudent, affable, and
hospitable, ever watchful over her children, and careful that
her husband should find no place so agreeable to him as his
home."*
An anecdote of their married life pleasantly shows the
character of each, and the quality of their affection.
"It was Mr. Ellery's custom to spend his evenings with à
*Life of William Ellery. By Edward Tyrrel Channing. Spark's
American Biography, Vol. VI., 1st Series.
B 2
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PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
party of young friends at some place of convivial resort; and
it is enough to say of their amusements, that they were any-
thing but intellectual, and just suited to make one's home
the last place he would look to for his pleasures, and of
course the very place where duty itself must soon become
irksome. It was an essential part of domestic economy at
that time for the matron to write upon the margin or blank
leaves of her almanac any of the memorable occurrences in
the daily experience of the household. One day, his wife
had recorded as its most precious event, and with expressions
of tenderness and gratitude, that her husband had passed the
evening with her and her children. This, not many days
after, fell under his eye, but he said not a word. If there
was any upbraiding, it was all from his own heart. The
same evening he returned to his usual haunt, and at once
announced to his friends that he had come to take his parting
cup with them, and that hereafter he should seek his evening
pleasures at home. Some disbelieved, others scoffed; could
this be true of a man of his gaiety and spirit? But their
surprise and boisterous ridicule he was prepared for, and
true to his purpose and word, he left them, and was ever after
a thoroughly domestic man; and such was the effect of his
resolution upon them, that in no long time the party was
broken up and succeeded by pleasant meetings in each other's
families.
“He often told this little incident as if it had deeply moved
him. He had connected it indissolubly with a beloved wife,
too early lost; and when he spoke of it, there was a tremu-
lousness upon his lips, and a placidness of expression, which
denoted his never-ceasing gratitude and love. Fifty years.
after her death, he says of her,' You read, in the grave-
yard in Cambridge, the epitaph of your grandmother, a
woman dear to me, and to all who were acquainted with her.
Alas! I was too early deprived of her society.' She died in
Cambridge, September 7, 1764, at the age of thirty-nine, and
her husband returned to his home and children a sorely
stricken and bowed-down man."
The following letter presents a spirited, though certainly
not a flattered, sketch of Mr. Ellery, and of his life, from his
own pen.
Newport, January, 1796.
"If the year before I graduated I had determined upon
law or physic, especially the latter, I am persuaded that I
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WILLIAM ELLERY.
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should have led a more profitable and useful life than I have
done; and I had a fine opportunity for either study. I could
have studied the law under Judge Trowbridge, with whom
I sometime boarded, or, if I had chosen the study of physic,
my father would have placed me with a physician; but no
one advised me, and I made no choice. I entered into small
commerce without a spirit of enterprise or skill in trade; that
would not do; I had married a wife, and could not submit to
be an understrapper to a physician. I became a clerk of a
court; there I copied writs and declarations, gained some
knowledge of practice, and stood forth a dabbler, when, if I
had, at the time I quitted college, gone into Mr. Trowbridge's
office, I might have been a regular, well-instructed attorney,
or, if I had studied physic, I might have been a skilful prac-
titioner. I have been a clerk of a court, a quack lawyer, a
member of congress, one of the lords of the admiralty, a
judge, a loan officer, and finally a collector of the customs,
and thus, not without many difficulties, but as honestly,
thank God, as most men, I have got almost through the
journey of a varied and sometimes anxious life."
6
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"Mr. Ellery, though urging the young to keep to a single
business, to love it, and find distinction in it, and though in-
clined in his own habits to steady, systematic application, was
obliged to give up merchandise in the time of embarrassing
revenue acts and non-importation agreements, when there
was little or nothing for him to do but to join heart and hand,
as he did, with the Sons of Liberty,' and in 1770 began the
practice of the law. He was, as he says in a letter, a staunch
friend to political liberty, and that liberty with which the
Gospel has made us free.' And his sense of the worth of
freedom could be the more relied on, as it did not spring
from eager sympathy with the sudden excitements of the day,
but from principles which his experience and reflection had
prudently developed and confirmed. It was a deep-seated
passion and a moral preference. To forward political liberty
was, in his view, to follow every individual to his own heart
and home with a blessing. According to his own strong
language, he placed his obligations to uphold liberty as high
as those which bound him to his wife and children. He
had thus far held no political or judicial office; but he was
known to the people for his firmness, judgment, and devo-
tion to the public cause; had shown himself a public-hearted
6
PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
man in the first struggles against encroachments upon the
rights of the colonies; had been upon important committees,
whose business was to procure the repeal of oppressive
revenue acts; was acquainted with the active spirits who
were preparing themselves and the people for a separation
from the mother country; and had inspired a general con-
fidence in his fitness for a high civil trust, let the aspect of
affairs be ever so perplexing. Thus approved, he was chosen
as delegate of Rhode Island in the memorable Congress of
1776, and with his venerable colleague, Stephen Hopkins, set
his name to the Declaration of Independence.
'Mr. Ellery was in Congress from 1776 to 1786, with the
exception of the years 1780 and. 1782; and while there had
universal confidence for his prudent, straightforward, prac-
tical view of affairs, and for his consistent, independent, de-
cided conduct. Besides the respect which his abilities and
character thus obtained, his social spirit and powers of con-
versation, his wit, pleasantry, and good-humoured satire,
which could enliven a party of friends at their lodgings, or
sweep away the fallacies and whims of members in a debate,
brought him into delightful intimacy with leading men.
"His character bore the marks of habitual self-inspection
and self-resistance. Humility was the virtue which he
seemed to prize as the most comprehensive and productive.
His effort was to bring every thought and desire into subjec-
tion before God, and to find security and motive in a fixed
sense of his deficiencies and his obligations. This constant
study of humility was his light and strength. It cleared and
simplified the purpose of human life. It gave him more and
more the command of his faculties, and the exercise of his
affections, and the power of devoting himself to duty. It
showed him on what false principles men are commonly
pronounced great, and how monstrous are arrogance and
oppression in a mortal. But this moral warfare never threw
an air of constraint or austerity upon his intercourse with
others. It seemed as if his spirits were kept elastic by his
constant guard over them. His very kindness and gentle-
ness had none of the inertness of mere good temper, but were
animated by an active, cherished principle of love, which dis-
criminated its objects, and was all alive for the happiness of
another.
He was
"In the pursuit of truth, he seemed more anxious for the
certainty than the amount and variety of results.
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WILLIAM ELLERY.
not fond of indulging in conjectures, that he might fill the
void where he had in vain looked for satisfying truth; nor
was he unhappy because of the uncertainties which cannot
be cleared up in an imperfect state of being. His feelings
and wishes, and every extraneous or accidental circumstance,
were as if they did not exist, in his sober-minded inquiry.
Or rather, the very influences that are most apt to mislead
did but sound the alarm to him to be single-hearted, and
made his power of discerning the keener. He had the plainest
common sense, and the most prudent judgment in common
affairs; and not so much from having lived long in the world,
as from his right temper of mind, and his habit of going far
into the reason of things. This honesty or fairness of mind
was his great distinction, and an explanation of his character.
It was a proof of his moral and intellectual vigour. It was
a religious principle. It ran through all his studies and ex-
perience, restraining him from injustice, and compelling him
to condemn injustice; opening the way through ancient errors
of whatever kind, and for the admission of light from what-
ever quarter; and making it absolutely impossible that he
should be a partisan or idolater in anything.
"His kindness and warmth of affection were especially
manifest in his intercourse with the young. A plain man,
in years, living in retirement, and obtruding his opinions
upon no one, he drew them to him as if he were their de-
pendence; and they felt that they owed to him, not only some
of their best remembered seasons of pleasure, but in no smali
degree the direction and colouring of their thoughts. When
he saw anything to blame, he spoke plainly and earnestly,
and suffered no weakness of affection to conceal or impair
the force of what he thought it his duty to say. If they
neglected his admonitions and disappointed his expectations,
his regret was unmingled with selfishness, and his affection
unabated. They might need it the more."
After leaving Congress, Mr. Ellery was for many years
collector of the customs in Newport, where he lived to the
age of ninety-three, beloved by a large circle of relatives and
friends, and affectionately honoured by his fellow-citizens.
He was remarkable, to the very close of his long life, for
youthfulness of feeling, brightness of mind, and ready interest
in nature, people, literature, events.
This sketch of the grandfather will be found to illustrate
in no unimportant degree both the character and intellect of
>
}
8
PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
his distinguished grandson; for William but recorded his own
experience, when, after he had reached mature life, he wrote
to Mr. Ellery,-"You have hardly a grandchild who cannot
trace back some of his sentiments and principles to your in-
structive and condescending conversation.
John Channing, William's grandfather on the paternal side,
was a respectable, and, till towards the close of life, a pros-
perous merchant of Newport. He was son of John Channing,
of Dorsetshire, England, the first of the name who came to
America,—and of Mary Antram, who arrived together in
Boston in 1712, and were soon after married. The wife of
John Channing, jun., was Mary Chaloner (the widow of Dr.
James Robinson, physician), whom the elderly people of
Newport well remember for her energy of character and
dignity of manner. They still describe her as sitting, of an
afternoon, behind the counter of the small shop,-by means
of which she supported her family in her widowhood,-
dressed with great precision, busily knitting, and receiving
her customers or visitors with an air of formal courtesy that
awed the young, and commanded general respect. She was
a high-spirited and ardent, yet religious and conscientious
woman, and remarkable for activity and method.
""
William Channing, their second son, was born in Newport,
June 11, 1751, and educated at Nassau Hall, Princeton
College, New Jersey, where he graduated in 1769. He read
law with Oliver Arnold, at Providence; in 1771, began the
practice of his profession at Newport; in 1773, married Lucy
Ellery, the daughter of William Ellery; in 1777, became
attorney-general of his native state, and upon the adoption of
the Federal Constitution, without any solicitation on his part,
was appointed to the office of district attorney for the district
of Rhode Island.
Hon. Asher Robbins, late member of the Senate of the
United States from Rhode Island, writes of him thus :-
"Mr. Channing was very well read in the law, especially
in the forms of pleading; law cases were his favourite read-
ing, even for amusement. He had a large library, and one
very well selected.
"He interested himself much in state politics, and bis
office was the central point of rendezvous, where the leading
men congregated for their consultations.
"He was very popular in the State, was attorney-general
and district attorney at the same time, and held both offices
at the time of his death.
1
9
WILLIAM CHANNING.
"His manner of speaking at the bar was rapid, vehement,
and impressive; never studied, nor exactly methodical in his
pleadings; but he always came well prepared as to matter
and authority. He had an extensive practice, attended all
the courts regularly, and was considered, for several years
before his death, as the leading counsel of the State.
"In person, he was of the middle stature, well made, erect,
and of an open countenance; he was lively and pleasant in
his conversation, and much disposed to social intercourse; he
was hospitable and kind-hearted. His agreeable manner
was one great source of his general popularity.
"In dress, he was not remarkable for any particular; it
was always proper and becoming, though not an object of
much attention with him; the colour was commonly black;
indeed, I do not recollect ever to have seen him in any
other.
"His temper was remarkably good, as were his manners,
mild, liberal, generous; his habits were also correct, tem-
perate, industrious, mindful and observant of all the duties
and proprieties of life.”
In addition, his father-in-law, Mr. Ellery, says of him:-
"He repeatedly served as a deputy for his native town;
and such was his regard for its interests, that he did not
decline that service, until, by the extensiveness of his prac-
tice, and the increase of his family, he was compelled to give
to them his whole attention.
"He early became the head of a family. He married in
the twenty-third year of his age, and performed the offices.
and charities of a husband and father with strict, constant,
and tender attention, and was beloved and respected.
"The law of kindness and benevolence was in his heart
and on his tongue. The persons employed by him as domes-
tics, and in other services, he treated with great humanity,
and rewarded with a liberal punctuality. He was an obe-
dient and respectful son, and a most affectionate brother and
friend. To the poor he was compassionate. The needy
never went away from his house empty. His table and his
purse were always open to their wants, and his munificence
was ever accompanied with a sweetness in the manner, which
doubled the obligations of gratitude.
"His religious sentiments were liberal. He was particu-
larly attached to the congregational denomination of Chris-
tians, but he treated all good men of all denominations with
10
PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
kindness and respect. He generously contributed to the
support of Christian worship in the society to which he
belonged, and countenanced and encouraged it by a constant
and reverential attendance, and the ministers of religion ex-
perienced his hospitality.
"His political sentiments were displayed in a warm attach-
ment to the rights of mankind, chastened by a love of peace
and order.
"His countenance and deportment expressed the amiable-
ness and benevolence of his disposition, and his morals cor-
responded with his manners. He was temperate and honest;
he was courteous and respectful. As he keenly felt the dis-
tresses of mankind, so was he as strongly disposed to relieve
their sufferings. He looked down with such pity on the
poor and afflicted as encouraged them to look up to him for
succour as to a brother."
These reminiscences of the father are confirmed and com-
pleted by the following beautiful notice, written in 1841, by
his son William:*.
"Boston, December 18, 1841.
My recollections of my father are imperfect, as he died
when I was thirteen years of age, and I had been sent from
home before that event. But the many testimonies which I
have received to his eminence as a lawyer, as well as to his
private virtues, make me desirous that there should be some
memorial of him.
"My father retained much attachment to Princeton Col-
lege, where he was educated, so that he thought of sending
me there. He was the classmate and friend of Samuel S.
Smith, afterwards distinguished as a theologian, and as the
president of that institution. In the last part of his col-
legiate days he enjoyed the instructions of the celebrated Dr.
Witherspoon.
"His early marriage and the rapid increase of his family
obliged him to confine himself rigidly to his profession. He
was too busy to give much time to general reading, or even
to his family. Still, I have distinct impressions of his ex-
cellence in his social relations. He was the delight of the
circle in which he moved. His mother, brothers, and sisters
leaned on him as on no other. I well remember the benignity
of his countenance and voice. At the same time he was a
* Memoirs of the Rhode Island Bar, by Wilkins Updike, Esq.
*
1
WILLIAM CHANNING.
11
strict disciplinarian at home, and, according to the mistaken
notions of that time, kept me at too great a distance from
him. In truth, the prevalent notions of education were
much more imperfect than in our day.
ર
"I often went into courts, but was too young to understand
my father's merits in the profession; yet I had always heard
of him as standing at its head. My brother says that Judge
Dawes used to speak of his style and manner as 'mellifluous;'
but at times he was vehement, for I well recollect that I left
the court-house in fear, at hearing him indignantly reply to
what seemed to him unworthy language in the opposite
counsel.
"His parents were religious, and the impressions made on
his young mind were never lost. He was the main pillar of
the religious society to which he belonged. The house of
worship had suffered much from the occupation of Newport
by the British army, so as to be unfit for use; and I recollect
few things in my childhood more distinctly than his zeal in
restoring it to its destination, and in settling a minister. I
cannot doubt that his religious character received important
aid from the ministry and friendship of Dr. Stiles, who was
as eminent for piety as learning, and under whose teach-
ings he grew up. He had a deep, I may say peculiar, ab-
horrence of the vice of profaneness; and such was his in-
fluence, that his large family of sons escaped this taint to a
remarkable degree, though brought up in the midst of it. I
recollect, with gratitude, the strong impression which he made
on my own mind. I owed it to him, that, though living in
the atmosphere of this vice, no profane word ever passed
my lips.
"On one subject I think of his state of mind with sorrow.
His father, like most respectable merchants of that place, pos-
sessed slaves imported from Africa. They were the domes-
tics of the family; and my father had no sensibility to the evil.
I remember, however, with pleasure, the affectionate relation
which subsisted between him and the Africans (most of them
aged) who continued to live with my grandfather. These
were liberated after the Revolution; but nothing could remove
them from their old home, where they rather ruled than
served. One of the females used to speak of herself as the
daughter of an African prince; and she certainly had much
of the bearing of royalty. The dignity of her aspect and
manner bespoke an uncommon woman. She was called
12
PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
duchess, probably on account of the rank she had held in her
own country. I knew her only after she was free, and had
an establishment of her own. Now and then she invited all
the children of the various families with which she was con-
nected to a party, and we were liberally feasted under her
hospitable roof. My father won the hearts of all his domes-
tics. One of the sincerest mourners, at his death, was an
excellent woman who had long lived with us, and whom he
honoured for her piety.
"I recollect, distinctly, the great interest he took in the
political questions which agitated the country. Though but
eight or nine years of age, I was present when the Rhode
Island Convention adopted the Federal Constitution; and the
enthusiasm of that moment I can never forget. My father
entered with his whole heart into that unbounded exultation.
He was one of the most devoted members of the Federal
party. At the beginning of the French Revolution, he shared
in the universal hope and joy which it inspired; but I well
recollect the sadness with which he talked to us, one Sunday
afternoon, of the execution of Louis the Sixteenth; and from
that moment his hopes died.
"You speak of the testimony borne to him by the late
Elisha R. Potter, Esq. My father was among the first to
discover the abilities of that remarkable man; and I remem-
ber the kindness with which he used to receive him. His
spirit was, in truth, the kindest. He was ever ready to see
and appreciate superior talents, and to attach himself to
worth. His friendship seemed to me singularly strong for
a man so immersed in business. Among his friends, were
George Champlin, Esq., a politician of singular capacity, and
who was said to have ruled the State for years without for-
feiting his integrity; Dr. Isaac Senter, a physician of exten-
sive practice, who was thought to unite with great experience
a rare genius in his profession, and whose commanding figure
rises before me at the distance of forty-five years, as a
specimen of manly beauty worthy the chisel of a Grecian
sculptor; and the Rev. Dr. Hitchcock, of Providence, a man
of great sweetness of temper, and who deserves the grateful
remembrance of that city for his zealous efforts in the cause
of public education. My father took a great pleasure in the
society of ministers, and always welcomed them to his hos-
pitable dwelling.
"I remember his tastes with pleasure. He had two gar-
WILLIAM CHANNING.
13
dens, one of them quite large, and as he sought to have
everything which he cultivated of the best kind, our table,
otherwise simple, was, in this respect, luxurious. He was
not satisfied with what contented his neighbours, but intro-
duced new varieties of vegetables into the town. He also
took great interest in sacred music. On Sunday evening,
the choir of the congregation, which included most of the
younger members, and other amateurs, met in his office for
practice in singing. The apartment, somewhat spacious, was
filled; and the animation of the meeting, to which his zeal
contributed not a little, made the occasion one of my weekly
pleasures.
"As far as I can trust my recollections of my father's
person, it must have been very prepossessing; but to me
his appearance, at the time, was more venerable than beautiful.
His head was bald, and his cocked hat, and the other parts
of his dress, which, according to the fashions of the day,
differed much from the costume of the young, made him seem
from the first an old man.
"He prospered in life, but without being able to leave a
competence to his large family. His labours were great, but
I have no recollection of seeing him depressed. I should
place him among the happy. He was taken away in the
midst of usefulness and hope. The disease of which he died
was not understood. I remember that he used to complain of
feelings which we now should consider as dyspepsia; but that
disease was little thought of then, and the name never heard.
"These are very scanty reminiscences; but as I hardly
saw my father after reaching my twelfth year, and as nearly
fifty years have passed since that time, it is not to be won-
dered at that I can recall no more of his calm, uniform life.
The career of a professional man, occupied with the support
of a large family, offers no great events.
"I little thought, when I began, of writing so much; but
the pleasure which all men take in the virtues of parents has
led me on insensibly.
(6
My father died before I could requite him for his toils
for my support and his interest in my moral well-being; and
I feel as if, in this present instance, I was discharging some
part, though a very small one, of my great debt. I owed
him much, and it is not my smallest obligation that his
character enables me to join affectionate esteem and reverence
with my instinctive gratitude.
Very truly yours, W. E. CHANNING.”
"C
14
PARENTAGE AND BIRTH.
Lucy Ellery, William's mother, resembled her father in
energy, judgment, practical skill, and integrity. But she
added to these traits a tenderness of sensibility and a deep
enthusiasm, which threw a charm of romance over her con-
duct and conversation. She was small in person, but erect
in bearing and elastic in movement; and strongly marked
features, with a singularly bright and penetrating eye, gave
her an air of self-reliance and command. Her manner was
generally benignant, often tenderly affectionate, and marked
by the dignified courtesy of the old school; but if pretension
and fraud, in any of their manifold disguises, crossed her
path, she became chillingly reserved and blunt to the verge
of severity. Her feelings were quick, her humour was lively,
and so did she clothe sagacious thoughts in quaint dialect,
that she was as entertaining a companion as she was a wise
counsellor. The whole tone of her mind and temper was
original; blending, in a rare union, shrewdness and sympathy,
caution and fresh impulse, devoted generosity and strict con-
science, stern straightforwardness and cordial love. In a
word, there was a rough nobleness in her ways, which irre-
sistibly won affection and respect, and made her influence
powerful for good on all within her sphere. The following
sketch, by her son William, may best introduce her.
"The most remarkable trait in my mother's character was
the rectitude and simplicity of her mind. Perhaps I have
never known her equal in this respect. She was true in
thought, word, and life. She had the firmness to see the
truth, to speak it, to act upon it. She was direct in judg-
ment and conversation, and in my long intercourse with her
I cannot recall one word or action betraying the slightest
insincerity. She had keen insight into character.
She was
not to be imposed upon by others, and, what is rarer, she
practised no imposition on her own mind. She saw things,
persons, events, as they were, and spoke of them by their
right names. Her partialities did not blind her, even to her
children. Her love was without illusion. She recognised
unerringly, and with delight, fairness, honesty, genuine up-
rightness, and shrunk as by instinct from everything specious,
the factitious in character, and plausible manners.
Born of parents thus rich in natural gifts, and well trained,
William inherited a physical organization at once delicate
and vigorous, and tendencies of heart and mind in which the
virtues of both were most happily balanced. He is remem-
Mil
I
LUCY ELLERY.
15
bered as having been an infant of rare loveliness, and was
from the first an idol. Such prophetic affection tends natu-
rally to bring the fulfilment of its hopes; and certainly, in
the present instance, the expectant trust of the mother was
an exhaustless incentive to the son. She lived for more than
fifty years after his birth, and their relation throughout this
long, and for the most part unbroken, period of intercourse
was as beautiful as it was rich in mutual blessing.
CHAP. II.-BOYHOOD.
ET. 1-14. 1780-1794.
M
""
THE earliest description given of William is from an aged
relative, who says, "I remember him as a boy three or four
years old, with brilliant eyes, glowing cheeks, and light-
brown hair falling in curls upon his shoulders, dressed in a
green velvet jacket, with ruffled collar and white under-
clothes, standing by his mother's side on the seat of the pew,
and looking round upon the congregation. I thought him
the most splendid child I ever saw. Allowance must of
course be made in our estimate of such a sketch, for any
reflected brightness which success in after life may have
thrown upon the memory. But all testimony confirms this
impression of the beaming beauty of William's childhood; and
to those who have associations only with the wasted form,
thin features, and sunken eyes of the preacher, whose spirit
seemed about to cast aside the body, this picture of the
blooming boy will not be without the charm, at least, of
contrast.
Owing to his mother's poor state of health, the children
were early placed at school, and William was sent when yet
so young that he was often carried in the arms of a coloured
man. One of his first recollections was of being taken to the
school-room one morning after the good mistress had died.
The stillness which prevailed in place of the usual bustle, the
slow steps, the hushed voices, and the sight of the dead body,
left a feeling of awe so strong that he vividly recalled the
scene in the very last year of his life.
He next was subjected to the discipline of a most rigid
dame, who used to enforce order by means of a long pole,
16
BOYHOOD.
[ÆT. 1-14.
like a fishing-rod,—with which she could reach every corner
of the room. Of this chapter in his experience, he wrote,
many years afterward, the following humorous account:—
the
"I was a little amused with the objection which you say
-s made to your proposed school, that you want those
essential qualifications of a teacher,-gray hairs and specta-
cles. This objection brought back to my mind the venerable
schoolmistress under whose care my infant faculties were
unfolded. She, indeed, would have suited the - s to a
hair. Her nose was peculiarly privileged and honoured, for
it bore two spectacles. The locks which strayed from her
close mob-cap were most evidently the growth of other times.
She sat in a large easy-chair, and, unlike the insect forms of
modern days, she filled the capacious seat. Her title was
Madam, a title which she exclusively enjoyed. When we
entered her door we kissed our hands, and Madam was the
first word which escaped our lips. But I would not have
you suppose that there was nothing but a title, and spectacles,
and gray locks to insure our respect. Madam was wiser than
the
-S. She did not trust chiefly to age. On the right
arm of her easy-chair there reclined what to common eyes
appeared only a long round stick; but so piercing was its
vision, so quick its hearing, so rapid its motions, so suddenly
did it reach the whispering or idle delinquent, that Ovid, had
he known it, would have been strongly tempted to trace it,
by many a strange metamorphosis, back to Argus, or some
other watchful, sleepless being of ancient mythology. We,
trembling wights, were satisfied with feeling, and had no
curiosity to explore its hidden properties. Do you ask where
this mysterious wand is to be found? I fear it is irrecover-
ably lost. The storm of revolution, which has so lately passed
over us, not contented with breaking the sceptres and hurling
down the thrones of monarchs, burst into the school-room,
and Madam's title and rod were swept away in the general
desolation."
•
From this guardian of decorum, he passed into the keeping
of two excellent women and good teachers, under whose care
he improved rapidly, and with whom he was so much of a
favourite as to be constantly set up as a model for the other
children's imitation. The regard in which he was held by
his young companions, also, was pleasantly shown by an
answer given to the mistress, when, one day, as usual, she
said to an unruly urchin,-"I wish in my heart you were
1780-1794.]
SCHOOL-DAYS.
17
like William Channing." "Oh," exclaimed the poor child,
"I can't be like him; it is not half so hard for him to be
good as it is for me."
""
As he grew older, William was advanced to the boarding
and day school of Mr. Rogers, which was considered the best
in the town, and indeed had so high a reputation, that boys
from a distance, especially from the South, were sent to his
charge. It was the habit of that time to use flogging as the
common penalty, and no master would then have responded,
as all good ones must now do, to the words of Vogel,-" When
we teachers become fully competent to our work, the neces-
sity of corporeal punishment will cease altogether."* This
is mentioned, because it is certain that what he then expe-
rienced outraged his sensitive honour, and served to arouse
the feeling of indignation against any form of violence used
towards children, which grew so strong in him in later years.
He would often tell an anecdote of a little boy in school
trying to shield with his arms a larger one, whom the master
was about to whip. The contrast of the great heart with the
small physical power, the noble position of the young remon-
strant against tyranny, produced an indelible impression upon
his childish imagination, and made the severity of the teacher
and the quarrelling of the children detestable and hideous.
He had through life an utter contempt and horror for every
arbitrary infliction of bodily pain; and once, when conversing
with a person who advocated the use of the lash in the army,
navy, and prisons, broke forth with-"What! strike a man!"
with such a thrilling tone, that it completely overwhelmed
his hearer, and awakened in him an entirely new sense of the
dignity of a human being.
In connexion with this degradation of boys by whipping,
he sometimes remarked that his first feeling of the sacredness
of woman was called out by observing that the delicate hands
of the girls at school were never marked by the ferule. But,
indeed, this early sentiment of reverence for women was
probably owing to his lively sensibility to female loveliness.
For once, while gazing on a child, as she danced playfully
round him, he said, with a tone of deep tenderness,
brings so to mind the days when her mother, then a gay little
girl, used with her companions to creep from the school-room
unnoticed by the master, and I, looking out of the window,
"She
S
* Hon. H. Manu's Seventh Report, as Secretary of the Massachusetts
Board of Education.
VOL. I.
с
ve
1
-
M
18
[ÆT. 1–14.
BOYHOOD.
"
would watch her as she skipped down the street, and with
boastful gesture mocked the boys who could not follow. She
seemed, with her hair floating on her shoulders, as she lightly
moved, so very beautiful. I have a clearer notion of the
bliss of a seraph in heaven now than I had then, of the joyous
spirit which buoyed up that form."
As a pupil, it is said that William was patient and diligent,
but not remarkable for quickness of perception. He rather
examined earefully the subject offered to his attention, listen-
ing to his teacher, till satisfied that he thoroughly understood
his meaning, than comprehended it at once by rapid insight.
Indeed, like many men, afterward distinguished for intellec-
tual power, he was thought dull; and the story runs, that he
found the difficulties in acquiring Latin to be insurmountable,
until an assistant in his father's office, taking pity on the
plodding boy, said one evening,-"Come, Bill! they say you
are a fool, but I know better. Bring me your grammar, and
I'll soon teach you Latin." But having thus taken the first
step by aid of his judicious friend, his progress was so rapid
that he early became distinguished for classical attainments.
In a letter to a young friend, he alludes to the delight with
which he first read Virgil, and he often referred to his boyish
pleasure in this class of studies. For mathematics, also, he
showed both aptitude and fondness, and he retained through
life quite uncommon quickness and accuracy in the combina-
tion of numbers, though his subsequent pursuits were little
fitted to develop this latent taste. Considerateness, reflection,
thoroughness, rather than brilliancy, originality, or force,
seem to have been his mental manifestations at school. But
so much depends upon the skill of the teacher, upon penetra-
tion to detect, and readiness of sympathy to foster, the pecu-
liar genius of a child, that but small reliance can be placed
upon such indications as he then gave of his intellectual
biases. All that is actually known is, that he gained the
respect of his instructors, held a high rank among his fellows,
and awakened the warm hopes of his friends; for, in a letter
written towards the close of his school days, his father, using
the stately style of expressing affection then common, says to
him," We expect much from our son William, and flatter
ourselves that we shall not be disappointed."
Of the more important education which William received
from the influences of home and of society, he has himself
given a graphic, though slight sketch, in the letter descriptive
1780-1794.]
HOME EDUCATION.
19
use.
of his father. But it may be well to dwell on these influ-
ences for a moment, as they did much to give direction to
his moral energies. His father's dignified reserve towards
his children has been noticed with regret by the son; but still
the pervading sweetness of his manner must have captivated
them, and won their confidence, for, by universal report, his
presence was like a sunbeam,-so did cheerfulness, serenity,
good humour, pleasantry, kind regard for others' rights and
feelings, and assiduity to please, surround him with an atmo-
sphere of love. The mother was not of a tranquil tempera-
ment; but the father, in the gentlest tone, would soothe her
when disturbed by household perplexities, or by the chil-
dren's tumult, saying, "Do not trouble yourself, Lucy; I will
make all smooth." They who were ever under the charm of
Dr. Channing's blandness, may readily conceive how much
in early life he had been affected by his father's beautiful
domestic character. And from the mother's scrupulous
thoroughness he no less derived practical habits of the highest
She was the boys' overseer in the care of the garden,
when, as they grew strong enough, they were intrusted with
tools; and she was a judge difficult to please. If the seeds
were well planted, the beds kept clean, the paths swept, they
had kind words and reward; but if they slighted their task,
they must go hungry. In the plain but expressive phrase of
our farmers, she would have no shirking." She kept a
close watch that her children should not fall into danger or
mischief, and was in all respects exact. Among other restric-
tions, one may be mentioned, as illustrating at once her cau-
tion and William's conscientiousness. She forbade the boys
from bathing in the sea without the protection of some grown
person. Of course, the temptation constantly presented by
the neighbourhood of the water, the facilities offered by the
beach and boats at the wharf, and the example of those of
their own age, proved often too strong; and then, if, after
efforts to dry their hair by rubbing and basking in the sun,
the ends were found wet, off went the jacket, and a brisk ap-
plication of the rod followed. But while his brothers disre-
garded this unreasonable restraint, as to them it seemed, and
became good swimmers, William, though as eager for sport,
and as fearless as they, used to walk quietly home, alone.
He through life regretted that filial respect had demanded
the sacrifice of so manly and useful an accomplishment. The
mother was a person overflowing with generosity, though at
66
1
}
c 2
20
BOYHOOD.
[ÆT. 1-14.
**
}
the same time she was frugal from the sense of her parental
responsibilities; and the children, left to the charge of a
strict domestic, thought their fare sometimes scanty; but
William, it is remembered, was grateful and contented. In
relation to this point, he once said,—“ When I was young,
the luxury of eating was carried to the greatest excess in
Newport. My first notion, indeed, of glory, was attached to
an old black cook, whom I saw to be the most important per-
sonage in town. He belonged to the household of my uncle,
and was in great demand wherever there was to be a dinner."
The extreme simplicity of his own after habits may have
been, in a measure, owing to the disgust which he thus early
felt for self-indulgence, and to the plainness of living to which
he was accustomed at home. While thus over-cautious, how-
ever, the good mother was still genuinely affectionate, and
faithfully supplied, according to her ability, the absence of
paternal guidance; for the father was for the most part too
busy in his multifarious duties to be able to pay much heed
to his family.
But though so little under the direct influence of his father's
character, William's principles were yet permanently fashioned
by his example. From him, and from his grandfather, and
their conversations on public questions, at the critical period
when our nation was settling into order after the upheaval of
the Revolution, and when Europe was shaken from end to
end by the first waves of the grand social earthquake, he
doubtless derived that spirit of patriotism and interest in
political movements by which he was afterwards characterized.
His father, as a leading lawyer, and an earnest supporter of
the Federal party, necessarily received at his house various
eminent men who visited Newport. Washington dined there
when on his northern tour; and it can be readily understood
how much a boy's enthusiasm, already fervent from hearing
him always spoken of in terms of honour, was heightened by
thus seeing the Father of the Nation face to face. Jay, too,
and other men remarkable for political, professional, and
literary talent, were there, waking by their presence generous
ambition. And by Dr. Stiles, once pastor in Newport, and
afterwards President of Yale College, William was so moved,
that late in life he used in relation to him this strong lan-
guage:-" To the influence of this distinguished man in the
circle in which I was brought up, I may owe in part the
indignation which I feel towards every invasion of human
-
prve ja ta qvTEN AU
1780-1794.]
SOCIAL INFLUENCES.
21
rights. In my earliest years I regarded no human being
with equal reverence. I have his form before me at this
moment almost as distinctly as if I had seen him yesterday,
so strong is the impression made on a child through the moral
affections."*
While thus in an atmosphere of freedom, tempered by re-
spect for order, the traits were developed which made him in
manhood a patriot and philanthropist; yet deeper influences
were unfolding William's spiritual affections. He seems from
the first to have shown a bent towards the pursuit that occu-
pied his mature years, and early earned the title of "Little
Minister." When yet very small, he was wont to arrange
a room with seats and desk, and to summon the family, with
blows upon the warming-pan by way of a bell, to a religious.
meeting, where he preached with much seriousness and
energy. At other times, he would assemble his playmates
for a similar purpose upon the steps of the door. This de-
velopment of religious sensibility may have been owing in a
measure to the influence of an aunt of his father's, who was
an invalid, and a woman of much piety and sweetness,
to whose room the nephews and nieces went on a Sunday
afternoon to read in the Bible or some good book, repeat
hymns, and join in a simple prayer. At home, too, his
mother was accustomed to call the children together in the
best parlour, which was open only once a week, or on great
occasions, and to read with them from the Scriptures. With
the then prevalent views of deference due to parents, she
exacted at these times a decorum which the younger ones
found it difficult to keep; for the large room, in winter days,
was cold, and they shivered in their seats; and as the wind
found its way through the crannies and swelled the carpet,
the house-dog would, to their great amusement, chase the
waves across the floor. William, however, was always sedate.
He was influenced, too, not a little, by a respected confidential
servant, Rachel De Gilder, a woman of masculine energy, kind,
though firm, and of strong religious principle, who exerted a
sway over the children second only to their mother's, and to
whom William felt a gratitude so warm that he befriended
her through a long life. Rachel was a Baptist, converted and
instructed by Mr. Eddy, of Newport, who was afterward
known to have been a Unitarian. Her views were uncom-
*
* Discourse at the Dedication of the Unitarian Congregational Church,
Newport, 1836. Works, Vol. IV., p. 341.
16
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L
22
BOYHOOD.
[ET. 1-14.
monly cheerful; and it would be interesting to learn how far
suggestive words, dropped by her in conversation, became
germs in the boy's receptive heart, which ripened into the
theology of his manhood.
While a spiritual life was thus taking root, and putting
forth its first branches, his reason was also directed to doc-
trinal speculations. His grandfather Ellery was a diligent
student of ecclesiastical history and of dogmatic divinity, and
liked much to converse with perfect freedom upon disputed
points of faith. This must of course have had its effect upon
an intelligent boy like William, and he once alluded to it,
saying,- "When but a mere child, I was quite a theologian,
though I hated to hear my elders chop logic, according to the
fashion of that controversial time.' În relation to this period,
he has also said," I can distinctly recollect unhappy influ-
ences exerted on my youthful mind by the general tone of
religion in this town,"-referring at once to the dry technical
teaching which he heard from the pulpit, or the dull drilling
which the children weekly underwent from the Assembly's
Catechism on the one side, and on the other, to the profanity
and jeers of infidelity which reached him in the street.
59
Many elevating influences, however, were around him, to
which he has thus borne grateful testimony:-
"I can well remember how the name of Dr. Stiles was
cherished among his parishioners, after years of separation.
His visit to this place was to many a festival. When little
more than a child, I was present at some of his private meet-
ings with the more religious part of his former congregation,
and I recollect how I was moved by the tears and expressive
looks with which his affectionate exhortations were received.
In his faith, he was what was called a moderate Calvinist;
but his heart was of no sect. He carried into his religion
the spirit of liberty, which then stirred the whole country.
Intolerance, church tyranny, in all its forms, he abhorred.
He respected the right of private judgment, where others
would have thought themselves authorized to restrain it. A
young man, to whom he had been as a father, one day com-
municated to him doubts concerning the Trinity. He ex-
pressed his sorrow, but mildly, and with undiminished affec-
tion, told him to go to the Scriptures, and to seek his faith
there and only there. His friendships were confined to no
parties. He desired to heal the wounds of the divided church
1780-1794.]
FATHER THURSTON.
23
of Christ, not by a common creed, but by the spirit of love.
He wished to break every yoke, civil and ecclesiastical.”
Of Dr. Hopkins, also, whom he used to hear preach, as
well as often to meet at his father's table, and of whom
ample mention will be made hereafter, he has left recollec-
tions full of affectionate respect. It was from him that he
first gained his convictions of the iniquity of slavery; for this
was a subject on which Dr. Hopkins, without heeding the
strong prejudices and passions enlisted on the side of wrong,
bore faithful testimony from the press and the pulpit, while
at the same time he laboured for the education of the coloured
people with energy and success.
66
My recollections of Dr. Hopkins," he writes,
go back
to my earliest years. As the second congregational church
was closed in my childhood, in consequence of Dr. Stiles's
removal to New Haven, my father was accustomed to attend
on the ministry of Dr. Hopkins. Perhaps he was the first
minister I heard, but I heard him with no profit. His man-
ner, which was singularly unattractive, could not win a
child's attention; and the circumstances attending the service
were repulsive. The church had been much injured by the
British during their occupation of the town, and the congre-
gation were too poor to repair it. It had a desolate look,
and in winter the rattling of the windows made an impres-
sion which time has not worn out. It was literally' as cold
as a barn,' and some of the most painful sensations of my
childhood were experienced in that comfortless building. As
I grew up, I was accustomed to attend worship in our own
church, where Dr. Patten was settled, so that for years I
knew little of Dr. Hopkins. My first impressions were not
very favourable. I think it probable that his strong repro-
bation of the slave-trade excited ill-will in the place, and I
can distinctly recollect that the prevalence of terror in his
preaching was a very common subject of remark, and gave
rise to ludicrous stories among the boys."*
It was at this period, too, that he received lessons, never
to be forgotten, on the virtue of temperance, from a Baptist
minister, called Father Thurston. This worthy man gave
striking evidence of his zeal for reforming the vice of drunken-
ness, at a time when all classes of society there, as elsewhere,
were debased by it, and when the citizens of Newport were
* Works, Vol. IV., p. 341.
J
|
24
[ET. 1-14.
BOYHOOD.
largely engaged in the manufacture and traffic in ardent
spirits. He was very poor, and eked out a scanty support,
in addition to a small ministerial salary, by working during
the week as a cooper. But though hogsheads and barrels
were the articles most in demand for the West India trade,
the old gentleman would make nothing but pails.
The most significant anecdote to illustrate the religious
impressions made upon his mind in childhood is one thus
related by himself. His father, with the view of giving him
a ride, took William in his chaise one day, as he was going
to hear a famous preacher in the neighbourhood. Impressed
with the notion that he might learn glad tidings from the
unseen world, he listened attentively to the sermon. With
very glowing rhetoric, the lost state of man was described,
his abandonment to evil, helplessness, dependence upon sove-
reign grace, and the need of earnest prayer as the condition
of receiving this divine aid. In the view of the speaker, a
curse seemed to rest upon the earth, and darkness and horror
to veil the face of nature. William, for his part, supposed
that henceforth those who believed would abandon all other
things to seek this salvation, and that amusement and earthly
business would no longer occupy a moment. The service
over, they went out of the church, and his father, in answer
to the remark of some person, said, with a decisive tone,-
"Sound doctrine, Sir." "It is all true then," was his in-
ward reflection. A heavy weight fell on his heart. He
wanted to speak to his father; he expected his father would
speak to him in relation to this tremendous crisis of things.
They got into the chaise and rode along, but, absorbed in
awful thoughts, he could not raise his voice. Presently his
father began to whistle! At length they reached home; but
instead of calling the family together, and telling them of the
appalling intelligence which the preacher had given, his
father took off his boots, put his feet toward the fireplace,
and quietly read a newspaper. All things went on as usual.
At first, he was surprised; but not being given to talking, he
asked no explanations. Soon, however, the question rose,-
"Could what he had heard be true? No! his father did not
believe it; people did not believe it! It was not true!" He
felt that he had been trifled with; that the preacher had de-
ceived him; and from that time he became inclined to distrust
everything oratorical, and to measure exactly the meaning of
pes, gland Katanga
1
+
↓
1780-1794.]
25
words; he had received a profound lesson on the worth of
sincerity.
LOVE OF SOLITUDE.
External aids were useful, however, in unfolding Wil-
liam's religious nature, only because this was so rich in high,
generous, conscientious feeling. He was remarkable, from
the first, for purity and self-command, and for an air of
dignity, which abashed the frivolousness of rude companions,
and guarded him from the familiarities of less delicate
spirits. And it was well that conscience was thus early
quickened, and that this mantle of modesty was wrapped
about him; for, to use his own words, there was then "
corruption of morals among those of my own age, which
made boyhood a critical and perilous season.
a
""
In disposition, William was for the most part grave and
reflective. He was fond of lonely rambles on the beach;
liked to go apart into some beautiful scene, with no other
playmate than his kite, which he delighted in flying; in-
dulged in reverie and contemplation, and according to his
own statement, owed the tone of his character more to the
influences of solitary thought than of companionship. In-
deed, he often said that he understood the happiness of child-
hood rather from observation than experience, that his early
life was sad, that conscious want of virtue and knowledge
then depressed him, that friendship seemed tame and cold,
that life looked desolate, and that every year had been
brighter to him than the last. But this seriousness was only
the shadow of melancholy that early comes over children of
ideal temper, when first the shock of contrast is felt between
hope and existing facts, and from dreams of Eden youth
wakes in the desert; when reverence is forced to see that the
best earthly friends can fail, and conscience reveals a host of
inward foes; when chivalrous honour, cherished in fancy, is
confronted with actual meanness; when life presents itself as
a long series of struggles or compromises, and enthusiasm
holds parley with prudence, and the saddened spirit seeks, in
religious aspirations, poetic visions, and communion with
nature's order and freshness, solace and strength. Out of
such discords, the earnest learn, as he did, to draw harmonies
which make after life a hymn of praise and a triumphal march.
He was testing the wealth of the inward world intrusted to
his regency, learning the obligations of duty, and arming
himself with love for the conquest of evil. These retiring
26
[ET. 1-14.
BOYHOOD.
habits did not make him morose, but taught him self-respect,
the courage to deny temptation, distaste for the trivial and
vulgar, and loftiness of aim.
Among his playmates he seems to have been always noted
for a certain greatness of character. They called him
"Peacemaker" and "Little King Pepin." He is described
as having been small and delicate, yet muscular and active,
with a very erect person, quick movement, a countenance
that, while sedate, was cheerful, and a singularly sweet smile,
which he never lost through life. When with companions,
he was exuberant in spirits, overflowing with energy, ready
to join heartily in all amusements, but never boisterous. He
was much beloved by the children of the school and neigh-
bourhood, though even then acting as an exhorter; for he
used to rebuke among them all profaneness or obscenity;
but this was done with a gentle tone, that manifested rather
sorrow than anger, and was well received. His character
was thus early marked by mingled strength and sweetness,
though by some accounts it would appear that he was by no
means free from irritability. He loved power, too; and such
was his sway, among even the quarrelsome, that when his
voice was heard, persuading them to order, he was readily
obeyed. Sufficient fire, however, was latent under his mild-
ness to give him energy. On one occasion he flogged a boy
larger than himself, who had imposed, as he thought, upon
one weaker. And on another, when the pupils of Mr.
Rogers's school had collected in expectation of an attack
from the boys of a different part of the town, William urged
them to go and meet the others and settle the matter at once;
he disapproved of delay and mere talking. He was a re-
markable wrestler also, excelled in pitching the quoit, liked
adventurous sports, was fond of climbing to the masthead of
vessels at the wharf, and once, when sliding rapidly down a
stay, narrowly escaped being dashed on deck, the swift de-
scent tearing the skin from his hands. Through life, indeed,
he had unflinching physical as well as moral courage, and
seemed unconscious of fear. One anecdote may serve to
show how early this intrepidity was manifested. In those
days the good people of Newport were very superstitious,―
as was the case, in fact, generally throughout the country,-
and a vessel lying in the stream had the reputation of being
haunted. All manner of rumours were spread as to strange
noises and doings on board. To throw ridicule on the
1780-1794.]
KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.
27
prevailing panic, William proposed to pass the night in
her. But though he anxiously desired it, his friends forbade
his going, of course, not from belief in ghosts, but from fear
of injury that might be done to him through wantonness or
ill design. He was officer, too, it seems, in a company
of
boys that marched to salute Count Rochambeau when he was
on a visit at Newport, upon which occasion the young com-
mander made an address, and marshalled his troop, with a
spirit that won much admiration.
If these trifling mementos indicate a generous and high-
spirited character, there are others which illustrate his
thoughtfulness and disinterestedness. Among them, one
may be worth noting, because it proves that he had instinc-
tively adopted in early years the rule which strictly governed
his manhood, of "letting not his left hand know what his
right hand did." A man sick and in distress begged one day
at the door. William observed him, but was silent, and gave
nothing at the time. When the beggar had gone, however,
he was seen to follow him out, and to put into his hand some
pieces of money, which must have been all that he had. It
is remembered, too, that he used to visit a friendless and
desolate old man in the neighbourhood, carrying with him
such comforts as he could command; and interest generally
in the poor, deference for the aged, and considerate regard
for the feelings and rights of domestics in the family, gained
for him the warm affection due to the liberal and loving.
The same gentle and kind disposition manifested itself in
his treatment of animals, as, in a letter written soon after
leaving college, he thus himself declares:-
"Thanks to my stars, I can say I have never killed a bird.
I would not crush the meanest insect which crawls upon the
ground. They have the same right to life that I have, they
received it from the same Father, and I will not mar the
works of God by wanton cruelty.
"I can remember an incident in my childhood, which has
given a turn to my whole life and character. I found a nest
of birds in my father's field, which held four young ones.
They had no down when I first discovered them. They
opened their little mouths as if they were hungry, and I gave
them some crumbs which were in my pocket. Every day I
returned to feed them. As soon as school was done, I would
run home for some bread, and sit by the nest to see them eat,
for an hour at a time. They were now feathered, and almost
28
[ET. 1-14.
BOYHOOD.
ready to fly. When I came one morning, I found them all
cut up into quarters. The grass round the nest was red
with blood. Their little limbs were raw and bloody. The
mother was on a tree, and the father on the wall, mourning
for their young. I cried, myself, for I was a child. I
thought, too, that the parents looked on me as the author of
their miseries, and this made me still more unhappy. I
wanted to undeceive them. I wanted to sympathize with
and comfort them. When I left the field, they followed me
with their eyes and with mournful reproaches. I was too
young and too sincere in my grief to make any apostrophes.
But I can never forget my feelings. The impression will
never be worn away, nor can I ever cease to abhor every
species of inhumanity towards inferior animals."
In connexion with this letter, and as illustrating his
sympathy with the lower creation, it is remembered that he
reared, while quite young, a brood of chickens, devoting
himself to them with the tenderest care; and that once,
seeing in a trap some rats which were to be drowned, he
was so much affected by their evident distress, that he opened
the door and let them go.
This sketch of William's boyhood cannot be more fitly
closed than with the following letter from his friend in youth,
and friend till death, our poet-painter, Washington Allston.
"I know not that I could better describe him than as an
open, brave, and generous boy. The characters of boys are,
I believe, almost always truly estimated by their companions,
—at least morally, though perhaps seldom intellectually; and
these are generally assigned to the several classes of the open
or the cunning, the generous or the mean, the brave or the
cowardly. And I well remember, though he was several
months my junior (a matter of some importance among
children), that I always looked up to him even in boyhood
with respect; nor can I recall a single circumstance that ever
weakened that feeling. In our games, he was never known
to take any undue advantage, but would give way at once,
where there was the least doubt on the point at issue. And
though he was but scantily provided with pocket-money his
little chance supplies seemed, in the schoolboy phrase, always
to "burn in his pocket;" he could neither keep it there, nor
ever expend it wholly on himself. On one occasion, when
quite a little boy, he had a present from a relative of a dollar.
•
1780-1794.]
DEATH OF HIS FATHER.
Such an excess of wealth was never before in his possession;
and I can now bring before me the very expression of glee
with which he came among us, to disencumber himself of the
load. This is the only incident that I can now recall, and
this must have been full fifty years ago. He had the same
large heart when a boy, that animated him to the last. His
intellectual endowments are known to the world; but only
his early companions, who have survived him, can bear
witness to the rare uniformity of his moral worth; man and
boy, he was, in their true sense, high-minded and noble-
hearted."
29
At the age of twelve, William was sent to New London,
to prepare for college, under the care of his uncle, the Rev.
Henry Channing. And it was while he was residing there,
that, on the 21st of September, 1793, his father died. He
was sent for home; and an aged friend of the family still
describes the deep and general sympathy called out by the
appearance of the funeral, when Francis, the eldest son,
then in college, and William, now a boy of thirteen years,
with their widowed mother and the younger children, fol-
lowed the coffin of their beloved and universally honoured
parent through the streets of Newport.
This death made a momentous change in the condition of
the family, and threw a heavy load of responsibility on
the elder sons; for the father, though most industrious in his
profession, and engaged in large business, had been thus far
able to lay up but a small property; and the mother, though
wise and energetic, found herself oppressed with a weight of
care in the charge of nine children. It is easy to see that
the effect of such a loss upon a boy full of sensibility, con-
scientious and resolute, like William, must have been to
stimulate him to the exercise of every power, and to the
most rapid preparation for a time when he might maintain
himself and assist his family. From easy independence and
cheering worldly prospects, he and his had suddenly become
poor; and at the earliest moment it was necessary that he
should free his mother from the burden of his support. More
than that, the head of the house was taken; and he and his
elder brother must now become their mother's advisers, and
guardians of those younger. The character of independent
energy, and, thoughtful oversight for every member of his
family, thus early awakened, grew stronger through life.
Doubtless, however, a shade of premature seriousness was
-
30
[ÆT. 1-14.
BOYHOOD.
given to his temper. The effect of this bereavement is shown
by an extract from a letter of his grandfather Ellery, who
says:-
Your letters have afforded me great delight, for they
have all discovered that affectionate regard for your mother,
your brothers and sisters, and your other relatives, which
naturally flows from a feeling and ingenuous mind, and in-
dicates an amiable disposition."
His brother, too, writes:-
"The goodness of heart which you possess will, I doubt
not, ever keep you desirous of liberating our mother from
her cares. Pass with her all the moments you can steal from
healthful recreations and necessary studies, and let the kind
attentions of filial affection be a return for the unrequitable
tenderness which we, her beloved children, have received.
Your brothers and sisters esteem you for your friendly dis-
position. Yes, William, you are happy in possessing the
goodwill of all."
At New London, he remained a year and more; and his
uncle, writing to him soon after he entered college, thus
describes the impression which his character and conduct
had left:-
"It gave me sensible pleasure to find you, my dear
nephew, retaining the same animated sensibility which ren-
dered you capable of receiving and communicating happiness,.
and secured you cordial welcome while resident in my family.
Your aunt loves you tenderly, and often expresses her feelings
while recounting your affectionate respect and attention.
Never did you excite one painful emotion in our breasts, but
always with you our hearts were made glad. We never can
forget such a nephew, or rather, such a son."
That he was earnest and successful in his studies also
appears by the following extract from another letter of his
uncle, who was his instructor:-
"Without flattery, I can only say that your progress was
more the result of your assiduity than of my attention.
"I am pleased with your observations upon the expecta-
tions of your friends, and your determination to endeavour to
realize them. We know that your situation and your genius
justify us in forming the most flattering ideas of the future
eminence of our nephew.
Permit me to indulge
X
1780-1794.]
31
the hope that you will continue to possess and cherish that
modesty and deference to superiors which has hitherto been
a distinguishing trait in your character."
REVIVAL.
These were strong words of praise to draw from one sin-
gularly exacting of courteous respect; and who, though kind
in heart, was severely precise in manners. To this uncle he
owed much in every way, and especially for the tone given to
his religious feelings. Mr. Henry Channing had then been
settled for many years in New London; and amid the gloomy
Calvinism of Connecticut had preserved a spirit free and
bright, cheerful in hope, and utterly intolerant of bigotry.
New London was in the midst of one of the "Revivals,'
which then were quite generally oversweeping New England.
And Mr. Channing, though of the more liberal body, sym-
pathized so far in the excitement, that a new spiritual interest
was awakened in his own society; and the mind of William
received such deep and lasting impressions, that he dated
back to that period the commencement of a decidedly reli-
gious life. His feelings towards New London were, in conse-
quence of this era in his inward experience, always strong;
and we find a college classmate writing to him thus on the
occasion of his revisiting it:-"I hope that the poor pilgrim
has ere this trod on the consecrated ground of Palestine.
New London you view with a partial eye, as the place where
you acquired those habits of virtue and morality which have
always influenced your conduct. Pleasant it must be to re-
trace these scenes of former times."
""
From New London, William went to Cambridge, Massa-
chusetts, where he entered Harvard College, as freshman, in
1794, being then in his fifteenth year. And thus closed a
boyhood that, in its elements and results, in the blending of
generous impulses and fine powers, with high principle and
pure habits, gave promise of greatness which the future was
amply to redeem.
CHAP. III. COLLEGE LIFE.
ET. 14-18. 1794-1798.
IN tracing the growth of William's mind and character
during the important period of college life, it is of interest to
understand the influences which surrounded him; and of these
Comm
•
32
[ET. 14-18.
COLLEGE LIFE.
→
a graphic sketch is presented in the following letter from his
classmate and friend, Judge Story.*
"You express a desire to obtain some general views of
the circumstances under which the students lived.' I believe
that this can be best done by giving you a brief sketch of the
state of college, and the relation which the students had with
the existing college government. Things are so much changed
since, that it is somewhat difficult to realize all the influences
which then surrounded them. In the first place, as to the
course of studies. It was far more confined and limited than
at present. In Greek, we studied Xenophon's Anabasis,
and a few Books of the Iliad; in Latin, Sallust and a few
Books of Livy; in Mathematics, Saunderson's Algebra, and a
work on Arithmetic; in Natural Philosophy, Enfield's Na-
tural Philosophy and Ferguson's Astronomy; in Rhetoric, an
abridgment of Blair's Lectures, and the article on Rhetoric
in the Preceptor;' in Metaphysics, Watts's Logic, and Locke
on the Human Understanding; in History, Millot's Ele-
ments; in theology, Doddridge's Lectures; in grammatical
studies, Lowth's Grammar. I believe this is near the whole,
if not the whole, course of our systematical studies. The
College Library was at that time far less comprehensive and
suited to the wants of students than at present. It was not
as easily accessible; and, indeed, was not frequented by
them. No modern language was taught, except French,
and that only one day in the week, by a non-resident in-
'
structor.
"The means of knowledge from external sources was
very limited.
The intercourse between us and foreign
countries was infrequent; and I might almost say that we had
no means of access to any literature and science, except the
English. Even in respect to this, we had little more than a
semi-annual importation of the most common works; and a
few copies supplied and satisfied the market. The English
periodicals were then few in number; and I do not remember
any one that was read by the students, except the Monthly
Magazine (the old Monthly), and that was read but by a few.
I have spoken of our semi-annual importations; and it is
literally true, that two ships only plied as regular packets be-
tween Boston and London, one in the spring and one in the
autumn, and their arrival was an era in our college life.
"In respect to academical intercourse, the students had
*Letter to W. F. Channing.
1794-1798.]
HABITS OF STUDENTS.
33
literally none that was not purely official, except with each
other. The different classes were almost strangers to each
other; and cold reserve generally prevailed between them.
The system of 'fagging' (as it was called) was just then
dying out, and I believe that my own class was the first
that was not compelled to perform this drudgery at the
command of the Senior class, in the most humble services.
The students had no connexion whatsoever with the inhabit-
ants of Cambridge by private social visits. There was none
between the families of the president and professors of the
college and the students. The régime of the old school in
manners and habits then prevailed. The president and pro-
fessors were never approached except in the most formal
way, and upon official occasions; and in the college yard (if I
remember rightly) no student was permitted to be with his
hat on, if one of the professors was there. President Willard
was a sound scholar, of great dignity of manners, but cold
and somewhat forbidding in his demeanour. Professor Tappan
belonged to the old school of theology, and had much of the
grave courtesy of the clergymen of that school. Professor
Webber was modest, mild, and quiet, but unconquerably re-
served and staid. Professor Pearson was an excellent critic,
but somewhat severe and exact in his requirements; and I
think we all greatly profited by his instructions, even when
we thought them not delivered in the most gentle accents.
Our tutors were young men, and I must add that they were
most diligent and conscientious in their duties. Some of
them must be known to you, for they are still living. Mr.,
afterwards Professor, Popkin; Mr., afterwards Professor,
Hedge; and Mr., now Rev. Dr., Pierce, of Brookline. I must
do all our instructors, the professors as well as the tutors, the
justice to say, that their instructions were very valuable to
us, and that they all took a deep and earnest interest in our
advancement. For myself, I must own that at this distant
day I entertain the liveliest gratitude to them for the aid
given by them to me in awakening and guiding my love of
letters. But private social access to them did not belong to
the habits of the times, and a free and easy intercourse with
them, which would now not be considered unbecoming, would
at that time have been thought somewhat obtrusive on one
side, and, on the other, would have exposed the student to
the imputation of being what in technical language was called
a ‘fisherman,'—a rank and noxious character in college annals.
VOL. I.
D
34
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14–18.
"These suggestions may at once put you in possession of
the intra-manial influences of college life. In general, the
students were then moral, devoted to their studies, and am-
bitious of distinction. There would be then, as now, an
occasional outbreak; but I am not aware that either immo-
rality, or dissipation, or habitual indolence, was more in
fashion than in succeeding times. There will always be a
little sprinkling of these among students of an ardent and
reckless character. In one particular a salutary change in
the habits of life has taken place. There is universally far
more temperance now than then, in the use of wine and
spirituous liquors. But the instances of excess were rare;
and were always frowned upon by classmates.
CC
Passing from what may be deemed the interior influ-
ences of college life, I would say a few words as to those
which were exterior. And here the principal inquiry would
undoubtedly be, What was the influence of the metropolis in
the immediate neighbourhood? I have no difficulty in say-
ing, that it was very slight indeed, compared with what
Boston now exerts with so much potency and variety of
operation. The intercourse between the students and Boston
was, when my class entered college, infrequent and casual.
West Boston bridge had been completed but a short period
before; the road was then new and not well settled; the
means of communication from Cambridge were almost alto-
gether by walking; and the inducements to visit in private
circles far less attractive than at present. Social intercourse
with the young, and especially with students, was not much
cultivated; and invitations to social parties in Boston rarely
extended to college circles. The literature and science, the
taste, and talent, and learning, now so abundantly found in
that interesting city, have been in a great measure the growth
of later times; and the result is the gradual progress of wealth
and refinement, and a more comprehensive education. If the
college in this way lost much of the advantage arising from
the zeal, and ambition, and brilliant eloquence of later days,
it is but just to add that it escaped also some of the dangerous
allurements which now surround the paths of the young on
every side.
"Now, from what I have ventured to suggest, I believe,
that, during the collegiate life of your father, the exterior
influences of the literature and science and social refinements
of Boston were not of a nature to bear much upon his habits
and pursuits.
1
1794-1798.]
35
"There is one circumstance, however, which is here
brought to my thoughts, on which I would for a moment
dwell, because I am quite sure that it gave a powerful im-
pulse to his ambition. At that period, all the scholars of
the class attended together in the recitation-room at the same
time, and of course recited their lessons in the presence of
each other. The average number in the classes did not
generally vary in any important degree from the numbers
now in college, at least not to a degree which would even
now make the assemblage of the whole class in the same
room inconvenient or burdensome. This general assemblage
of the whole class in the same room at the same time had, in
my judgment, the most beneficial influence. In the first
place, it enabled the whole class clearly and accurately to
ascertain the relative scholarship and attainments of each
scholar; and thus one great source of jealousy, the suspicion
of partiality on the part of the college faculty, was either
extinguished or greatly mitigated, and I do not hesitate to
say that the relative rank then assigned to the various mem-
bers of the class by their own classmates was generally cor-
rect, impartial, and satisfactory. In the next place, a generous
spirit of emulation pervaded the whole class.
We were
proud of our best scholars, and awarded them just praise with
a liberal courtesy; and those who were thus distinguished
were stimulated by high motives to deserve and to secure
this approbation. No man, I am persuaded, felt more, or
appreciated more justly, than your father, this truly valuable
incentive to exertion. He had then, as in his after life, a
lofty ambition for excellence; and he sought reputation by
aims as pure and moral as they were enlightened. I must
confess that I have never ceased to regret, that the old
system, the advantages of which I have thus briefly alluded
to, has ever been departed from in the college arrangements.
If this were the proper time or place, I would state many
reasons why I hold this opinion, and which, at least in my
own judgment, make the change more than a doubtful inno-
vation."
G
RECITATIONS.
It was amid these influences and opportunities that Wil-
liam's genius and faculties were to be matured. He was now
in his fifteenth year, vigorous in health, elastic in spirits, in
temper, as we have seen, enthusiastic yet self-governed, with
powers active and well disciplined; and thus in every way
fitted to enter upon this critical era of life. All who then
D 2
36
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14-18.
remember him speak with especial pleasure of his animated
expression, of his buoyant yet dignified manner, and of his
general appearance of overflowing life. Washington Allston
writes:-
(6
Though small in stature, his person at that time was
rather muscular than slender; I should think it was even
athletic, from the manner in which he prolonged the contests
with heavier antagonists, in the wrestling matches that were
then common among the students. And for animal spirits,
he was no less remarkable than for his intellectual enthusiasm;
amounting occasionally to unrestrained hilarity, but never
passing the bounds of propriety. I well remember his laugh,
which could not have been heartier without being obstrepe-
rous."
This laughter is said to have been not rarely called out by
this very friend, who, possessed of the most radiant humour,
penetration, and sweetness, charming from his courtesy of
manner and nobleness of feeling, endowed with an imagina-
tion that threw a lustre round every theme he touched, was
then, as through life, a centre of attraction to all who could
appreciate rare genius, eloquence, and refinement almost
feminine in delicacy. Allston's room was on the way from
the house where William lived to the college; and there he
used to stop for friendly chat, while going to or coming from
the lecture-room. One day, he had a lesson to be accom-
panied with original designs in mensuration, and Allston,
who was already skilful in the use of his pencil, proposed to
give him an illustration. It consisted of pyramids of figures
heaped upon one another's shoulders in various attitudes,
each of which was a slightly caricatured portrait of the pro-
fessors and tutors. This William offered at recitation; and
the drawing was so spirited, and the jest in itself so harmless,
that the instructor could not but join heartily with the class
in the merriment it excited. This slight anecdote is men-
tioned, because it indicates a latent vein of humour, which,
though hidden in after years under a manner habitually
serious, did yet occasionally emit scintillations.
The Rev. Dr. Peirce, who was then his tutor, adds the
following description of William as a student:-
"I have a distinct recollection of him, as, at that time, a
But what I best
My department
I forget, while
fine-looking, healthy, muscular young man.
remember was his excellence as a scholar.
was the Latin language; and never shall
1794-1798.]
SCHOLARSHIP.
37
memory lasts, with what promptitude and elegance he ren-
dered into English the passages from the classics which he was
called to recite. I also heard his class in History. He was
always in his place; and I invariably gave him the highest
mark for good recitations. The government of the university
were, I believe, unanimous in assigning him the first rank
among his classmates. This, in a class containing such men
as Judge Story, William Williams, Artemas Sawyer, Joseph
Emerson, Dr. Tuckerman, &c., was no small honour."
-
The classmate, from whom has been already quoted the
sketch of the influences which surrounded the students, thus
beautifully completes his friend's portrait as he was in
college :-
"I became a member," writes Judge Story, "of the same
class in January, 1795, and was then first introduced to him.
He resided during the whole of his collegiate course with his
uncle, whose house was at some distance from the colleges;
and partly from this fact, and partly from his reserved,
although bland, deportment, he did not associate much with
his classmates generally, at the same time that he drew about
him a circle of choice and select friends from the most dis-
tinguished of his class, with whom he indulged in the most
frank, social intercourse, and by whom he was greatly beloved
and respected. So blameless was his life, so conciliatory his
manners, and so unobtrusive his conduct, that he enjoyed the
rare felicity of being universally esteemed by all his class-
mates, even by those to whom he was least known, except in
the lecture room as a fellow-student. The little strifes, and
jealousies, and rivalries of college life, in those days, scarcely
reached him; and his own rank in scholarship was, from the
beginning to the conclusion of his academical career, admitted
to be of the highest order. I do not believe that he had a
single personal enemy during that whole period, and I am
sure that he never deserved to have any; and his early re-
putation, as it budded, and blossomed, and bore its fruits, was
cherished by all his class as common property. We were
proud of his distinctions, and gratified when he was praised.
We all then prophesied his future eminence, in whatever
profession he should make his choice. Speaking for myself,
I can truly say, that the qualities of mind and character,
which then were unfolded to my own view, were precisely
the same which in after life gave him such celebrity.
46
'Perhaps in no single study was he superior to all his
38
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14-18.
classmates. In the classical studies of that day he was among
the first, if not the first; in Latin more accomplished than in
Greek. For mathematics and metaphysics he had little
relish. He performed the prescribed tasks in these subjects
with care and diligence, but with no ambition for distinction,
or pride of purpose. His principal love was for historical
and literary studies; for English literature in its widest
extent, and for those comprehensive generalizations upon
human life, institutions, and interests, which his enthusiasm
for the advancement of his race and his purity of heart led
him to cherish and cultivate with profound attachment.
I remember well with what a kindling zeal he spoke on
all such subjects; and one might almost then see playing
about him the gentle graces and the rapt devotion of a
Fénelon.
"In one particular he far excelled all his classmates; and I
mention it, because it is precisely that which in after life
constituted the basis of his fame;-I mean his power of
varied and sustained written composition. It was racy,
flowing, full, glowing with life, chaste in ornament, vigorous
in structure, and beautiful in finish. It abounded with
eloquence of expression,-the spontaneous effusion of a
quick genius and a cultivated taste, and was as persuasive
as it was imposing. All of us-by which I mean his
academical contemporaries—listened to his discourses at
the literary exhibitions, and at commencement, with admira-
tion and delight. If I might venture to rely on the im-
pressions of those days, which yet fasten on my memory
as truths unaffected by youthful excitement, I should be
tempted to say that we all listened to him on these occasions
with the most devoted attention; and that the mellifluous
tones of his voice fell on our ears with somewhat of the
power which Milton has attributed to Adam when the angel
ended, so
'that we awhile
Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear.'
I need scarcely add, that at the public exhibitions of his
class he received the first and highest part; and on receiving
his degree at commencement, took also the first and highest
oration, with the approval of all his class that he was the
worthiest of it, and that he was truly princeps inter pares.
Honours thus early won and conceded are not without their
"
1794-1798.]
39
value or their use as prognostics of an auspicious and
brilliant day."
LITERARY SOCIETIES.
It will please the generous to know, that while Judge
Story thus so clearly bore testimony to his friend's pre-
eminence as a scholar, Dr. Channing was equally decided
in assigning the first place of honour to his distinguished
classmate. He often said, "Judge Story was entitled to
the first part; but he chose a poem, and the oration fell
to me."
It may be encouraging to students, also, to learn that
young Channing did not gain the charm of style referred
to, without effort. He said that his first attempts were
most awkward, and that he accustomed himself to compose
mentally while walking to and from the college. He also
studied elocution and rhetoric as an art, with the aid of
Longinus, Harris, Watts, and Sheridan. He met friends,
too, in private, to read and criticize each other's writings.
Above all, he zealously took a part in the various literary
societies, of his connexion with which the Hon. D. A. White
of Salem, who, though in the class before Channing, yet
knew him well, has communicated the following detailed
account.
"His connexion with these societies could not fail to
have an important influence in his education, scarcely
less, perhaps, taken in all its bearings, than the established
course of college studies. The literary exercises and the
social communion which these societies afforded were hap-
pily suited to the development of his fine powers and ardent
sympathies, his free and independent spirit, his social, friendly,
and benevolent heart. You will therefore be interested, I
think, to know something of them.
"The first literary society in which we met as members
was the Speaking Club, since called the Institute of 1770,
the principal object of which was mutual improvement in
elocution and oratory. The society consisted of members
from the two middle classes, twelve to fifteen from each,
chosen near the close of the Freshman year, and retiring at
the close of the Junior year, with a valedictory address from
one of the members previously appointed for the purpose.
I find Channing' first mentioned among those chosen from
his class. Young as he was, he was also elected their pre-
sident. To show the impression which at that early period
he made upon me, and I doubt not equally upon others, I
،
40
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14-18.
may observe, which I now distinctly remember, that in de-
livering the valedictory address in behalf of the members.
from my class, as my eye rested on him, I felt a respect for
his taste and judgment, for his authority in criticism, which
no other auditor inspired. I might apply the same remark
to another occasion afterwards, in a different society, when
I stood in a similar relation to him. The authority which he
thus early acquired among us arose not more from his general
reputation as a scholar and critic, than from the active part
which he took in all our meetings, and the sound judgment
and earnest eloquence which often distinguished his remarks.
His whole deportment and conversation among his associates
tended to the same result. With his natural ardour and
enthusiasm were united so much dignity and sweetness of
manner and disposition, that it was impossible to be ac-
quainted with him, however transiently, without feeling for
him a sincere respect and esteem.
"The practice of the Speaking Club, at their meetings,
which were held in the evening at some retired room in the
town of Cambridge, was, for a portion of the members to
declaim in rotation, while each declaiıner, after his perform-
ance, stood aside to receive the remarks which any of his
brethren might think proper to offer. All apparent faults
of the speaker, which he might correct, or which others
should avoid, were freely pointed out and commented upon,
yet always in a spirit of candour and kindness. Sometimes
different views would be taken by various members, giving
rise to interesting discussions. Thus these meetings became
schools of mutual improvement in extemporaneous speaking,
as well as correct elocution. No one could be better qualified
to be both teacher and learner in such schools than young
Channing. Full of life and energy, and actuated alike by an
ardent love of knowledge and by social benevolence, his noble
powers of thought and feeling were never suffered to sleep
when any intellectual or moral good was attainable for him-
self or others.
"But improvement in public speaking was not the only,
nor indeed the chief, advantage derived from being a mem-
ber of this society. The general influence upon an ingenuous
young man, arising from a liberal intercourse with so many
of the most intelligent and virtuous scholars of various
classes, engaged in a course of interesting exercises for their
common benefit, could scarcely be too highly appreciated.
1794-1798.]
LITERARY SOCIETIES.
41
His interest in the proper objects of education would be
increased, and his motives and views elevated above all un-
worthy pursuits, while he enjoyed the best means of knowing
the real character of his most respectable classmates, and
wisely forming those friendships which naturally spring from
college intimacies, and which, when wisely formed, become
blessings through life.
((
Nearly at the same time that Mr. Channing left the
Speaking Club, he was chosen into the society of the Phi
Beta Kappa, and continued to enjoy, during his senior year,
the advantages of an intimate literary intercourse with the
distinguished scholars of his own class. You are too well
acquainted with the character of this society, which has
always been a public one, to make it necessary for me to say
anything more about it than to give a general idea of the
literary exercises and discussions which engaged the atten-
tion of its resident members at their regular meetings, dur-
ing the last year at college. The object of these meetings.
was improvement in English composition, the art of reason-
ing, and the practice of speaking; and the principal exercises
were dissertations and forensic arguments, previously written,
and read at the meetings, with occasional debates and collo-
quial discussions.
"There was another society, of a similar intellectual
character. into which Channing was elected, called the
Adelphi, instituted in 1785, designed for religious improve-
ment, but consisting principally of those members of the
senior class who expected to study theology as a profession.
Their meetings were held on Sunday evenings, and their
exercises, which were of a devotional and religious character,
were chiefly dissertations, or discourses, and discussions on
topics connected with theology and the clerical profession.*
"The Hasty-Pudding Club, composed of members of the
junior class, was formed more exclusively for social enjoy-
ment and recreation. It originated with my class in 1795,
at the beginning of our junior year, numbering about twenty
associates. Being transmitted to the next class, as they
commenced juniors, it became a permanent institution. I
well remember the animating presence of Channing among
those to whom we committed the society on the delivery of the
Channing delivered before this society a discourse, which was so much
liked, that he was strongly urged by his fellows to print it.
42
[ÆT. 14-18.
COLLEGE LIFE.
first anniversary address. The name of the club sufficiently
shows the simplicity of the entertainment originally produced
at their meetings, which were held on Saturday evenings,
and appropriately closed with a hymn sung to the tune of St.
Martin's.
"Discussions and debates were soon introduced at these
meetings, and the society during the first year assumed a
more literary and interesting character, becoming, in fact,
a source of mutual improvement as well as enjoyment.
Nothing could be more pure and rational than the pleasure
and recreation which the members of this society enjoyed
together.
"There was another social club, of a few years' longer
standing, and of a more luxurious and convivial cast,-as
its original name, the Porcellian, would seem to indicate,
into which Channing had the honour to be elected, but which
could never have been congenial with his nature; and if
he joined in its meetings at all, he soon abandoned them
altogether.
"The three first-named societies, though rich in social
and intellectual gratifications, were really working societies;
and, during the three most important years of college life,
served admirably well to occupy a portion of the leisure
hours which the more industrious and gifted students found
upon their hands, after fully attending to the course of
studies and exercises then required by the laws of the uni-
versity.
"The course of prescribed studies and exercises, together
with those voluntarily pursued in the several societies now
described, and the miscellaneous reading enjoyed by almost
every student, afforded, if not a complete, yet a very ex-
cellent, system of instruction. It gave at least the bones
and sinews and muscles, with much of the filling out, and
something of the embellishment, of a sound and healthy
education.
"To a young man of an ardent, social temperament, and
original turn of thought, as well as a highly gifted mind and
independent spirit of inquiry, it was especially desirable that
the whole of his time at college should not be covered by the
prescribed course of studies, but that a liberal portion of it
should be left at his own disposal.
"The arrangement of the college exercises was then so
wisely ordered, that the morning of every day, after the
1794-1798.]
DISTRIBUTION OF TIME.
43
breakfast hour, was almost wholly left, to the two upper
classes especially, for uninterrupted study. Having thus
secured to them the best hours of the day for close and
vigorous application to study, the best, certainly, both for
the acquisition of knowledge and the development and dis-
cipline of the intellectual faculties, and having the evening
also at their command, whether for study, or the enjoyment
of its most interesting results at their literary meetings, they
had ample time for all their prescribed and voluntary exer-
cises and pursuits, with the most animating motives to diligent
and persevering application. I cannot, therefore, easily
imagine a more eligible situation for young Channing than
the one he enjoyed while a student in Harvard College,-
considering, too, his peculiar advantage of living in the family
of his uncle, the late Chief Justice Dana, where the want of
refined domestic society, the principal defect of an academic
residence, was so entirely supplied to him. Most faithfully
did he improve the various privileges he enjoyed—making,
undoubtedly, more rapid progress in good learning and in-
tellectual accomplishments than any of his fellow-students,
or than he himself ever made in any other equal portion of
his life."
Thus far a view has been offered of the general influences,
only, which helped to form young Channing's mind. But
far more fruitful germs were planted in him by the religious
and social excitements of the time, which were scattering, as
by the hands of the tempest, the seeds of new views of man,
society, and human life. He has fortunately left the follow-
ing mementos of the power which this stirring period exerted
upon himself:-
(6
College was never in a worse state than when I entered
it. Society was passing through a most critical stage. The
French Revolution had diseased the imagination and un-
settled the understanding of men everywhere. The old
foundations of social order, loyalty, tradition, habit, reve-
rence for antiquity, were everywhere shaken, if not sub-
verted. The authority of the past was gone. The old forms
were outgrown, and new ones had not taken their place.
The tone of books and conversation was presumptuous and
daring. The tendency of all classes was to scepticism.
At such a moment, the difficulties of education were neces-
sarily multiplied. The work required men of comprehensive
and original minds, able to adapt themselves to the new state
44
[ÆT. 14-18.
COLLEGE LIFE.
5
of the world. It is not to be wondered at, that the govern-
ment and teachers of the college, most of them of mature
years, and belonging to the old school, should understand
little of the wants of the times. The system of government
and instruction went on very much as it had done for years
before, and the result was, a state of great insubordination,
and the almost total absence of the respect due to individuals
of so much worth. The state of morals among the students
was anything but good; but poverty, a dread of debt, well-
chosen friends, the pleasures of intellectual improvement,
regard to my surviving parent, and an almost instinctive
shrinking from gross vice, to which natural timidity and
religious principle contributed not a little, proved effectual
safeguards. I look back on the innocence of my early life
with no self-complacency, and with no disposition to exalt
myself above those who yielded to temptation, and among
whom I doubt not were much nobler characters than my own.
But I do recollect it with great satisfaction, and with fervent
gratitude to Divine Providence. Had the bounds of purity
once been broken, I know not that I should ever have re-
turned to virtue."
Judge White bears a similar testimony. He writes:-
"To give you some idea of the lively interest taken in
these subjects by him and the students generally at that
time, I will copy a passage respecting it from my journal.-
'When I entered college, the French Revolution had broken
up the foundations of religion and morals, as well as govern-
ment, and continued to rage for some years with its utmost
fury, spreading its disastrous influence throughout the civilized
world, and pouring upon our country a flood of infidel and
licentious principles. Our colleges could not escape the con-
tagion of these principles; and I have no doubt that to these,
and the pernicious books embodying them, much of the
disorderly conduct, and most of the infidel and irreligious
spirit, which prevailed at that period among the students at
Cambridge, may justly be attributed. The patrons and
governors of the college made efforts to counteract the effect
of these fatal principles by exhortation, and preaching, and
prayer, as well as by the publication and distribution of good
books and pamphlets.
"Watson's Apology for the Bible, in answer to Paine's
Age of Reason, was published or furnished for the students
at college, by the corporation, in 1796, and every one of
1794-1798.]
PREVALENT SCEPTICISM.
45
them was presented with a copy. So deeply and so generally
had the French mania seized upon the popular mind in this
country, and so susceptible of its fiery influence were the
ardent spirits of young men, all alive to freedom of thought,
of action, and indulgence, that reason, argument, and per-
suasion had for a time no power against it. Its own horrible
manifestation of itself at length gave them power to overcome
it, and scholars as well as people were roused from their
delusion, and brought to look back upon it with shame and
amazement.'
"""
It was the native tone of young Channing's spirit, however,
which made these movements of the age instructive to him.
Judge Story most justly adds:-
"From what has been already stated, you will readily be
enabled to comprehend the general influences, the genius of
the place, which surrounded your father during his college
life. If I were to venture, however, upon giving an opinion
upon such a subject, necessarily conjectural, I should say that
there were few or none, of an external character, either
powerful or active. What he then was, was mainly owing
to the impulses of his own mind and heart-warm, elevated,
ambitious of distinction, pure, and energetic. His associations
were with the best scholars of his class. His friendships
were mainly confined to them. He neither loved nor courted
the idle or the indifferent; and with the vicious he had no
communion of pursuit or feeling. He then loved popularity,
but it was the popularity (as has been well said on another
occasion) that follows, and is not sought after. It is that
which is won by the pursuit of noble ends by noble means.
But I cannot help thinking that external influences were not
those which mainly contributed to fix the character of his life.
The influences which seem to me to have regulated his pur-
suits, his taste, his feelings, and his principles, were chiefly
from within; the workings of genius upon large materials,
a deep and wakeful sensibility, an ardent love of truth and
moral purity, a conscience quickened and chastened by an
earnest sense of religious obligation, and a spirit elevated by
a warm interest in the human race."
And this leads to what was his most vital experience in
college. The more his character and mind matured, the more
earnestly did he devote himself to aspirations after moral
greatness. He read with delight the Stoics, and was pro-
foundly moved by the stern purity which they inculcated.
46
[ET. 14-18.
COLLEGE LIFE.
But the two authors who most served to guide his thoughts
at this period were Hutcheson and Ferguson. It was while
reading, one day, in the former, some of the various passages
in which he asserts man's capacity for disinterested affection,
and considers virtue as the sacrifice of private interests and
the bearing of private evils for the public good, or as self-
devotion to absolute, universal good, that there suddenly
burst upon his mind that view of the dignity of human nature,
which was ever after to "uphold and cherish” him, and
thenceforth to be "the fountain light of all his day, the
master light of all his seeing." He was, at the time, walking
as he read, beneath a clump of willows yet standing in the
meadow a little to the north of Judge Dana's. This was his
favourite retreat for study, being then quite undisturbed and
private, and offering a most serene and cheerful prospect
across green meadows and the glistening river to the Brook-
line hills. The place and the hour were always sacred in his
memory, and he frequently referred to them with grateful
awe. It seemed to him, that he then passed through a new
spiritual birth, and entered upon the day of eternal peace and
joy. The glory of the Divine disinterestedness, the privi-
lege of existing in a universe of progressive order and beauty,
the possibilities of spiritual destiny, the sublimity of devoted-
ness to the will of Infinite Love, penetrated his soul; and he
was so borne away in rapturous visions, that, to quote his
own words, as spoken to a friend in later years,—“I longed
to die, and felt as if heaven alone could give room for the
exercise of such emotions; but when I found I must live, I
cast about to do something worthy of these great thoughts;
and my enthusiasm at that age, being then but fifteen, turn-
ing strongly to the female sex, I considered that they were
the powers which ruled the world, and that, if they would
bestow their favour on the right cause only, and never be
diverted by caprice, all would be fitly arranged, and triumph
was sure. Animated with this view, which unfolded itself
with great rapidity and in many bearings, I sat down and
wrote to this lady,"-laying his hand upon his wife's arm,
who was listening by his side," but I never got courage to
send the letter, and have it yet." This holy hour was but
the first wind-flower of the spring, however, the opening of
a long series of experiences by which he was to be led up to
perfect consecration. It is a significant fact, that in this
time of exaltation, when the young moral knight-errant took
1794-1798.]
MATHEMATICS.
47
his vow of fidelity and was girt with the sword of love, his
heart should have instinctively sought the concert in action
of woman.
This faith in her power of disinterested virtue,
so early felt, grew always stronger; and if disappointment
in the characters and deeds of men made him ever falter for
a moment in his generous aims, he found his hope and
heroism renewed by woman's purity and earnestness.
As Hutcheson was the medium of awakening within him
the consciousness of an exhaustless tendency in the human
soul to moral perfection, so Ferguson on Civil Society was
the means of concentrating his energies upon the thought of
social progress. Years afterwards, his remembrance of the
enthusiasm in the cause of humanity, first called out in him
by this book, was so strong, that he recommended it in terms
which would certainly be thought by most readers greatly to
exaggerate its merits. But it is instructive thus to learn the
agency whence the mind and will of a man who in after life
made himself so widely felt received their peculiar direction.
In his junior year he had already become a moral and social
reformer.
In the letter describing his classmate's position as a stu-
dent, Judge Story says he had but little relish for mathe-
matics and metaphysics. This was, however, a misconcep-
tion, and is contradicted by his own explicit statements.
Indeed, his taste was prematurely developed for philosophical
investigation. His very earliest attempt at sustained com-
position was an essay on Electricity; and his love of natural
science was always strong. He delighted, too, in geometry,
and felt so rare a pleasure in the perfection of its demon-
strations, that he took the fifth book of Euclid with him as
an entertainment during one vacation. In relation to this
point, his classmate, W. Williams, writes:-
SHE
W
"The Sophomore year gave us Euclid to measure our
strength. Many halted at the 'pons asinorum.' But Chan-
ning could go over clear at the first trial, as could some
twelve or fifteen of us. This fact is stated to show that he
had a mind able to comprehend the abstrusities of mathe-
matics, though to my apprehension he excelled more de-
cidedly in the Latin and Greek classics, and had a stronger
inclination to polite literature."
But it was man's spiritual nature and relations which
chiefly attracted his attention. He carefully studied, at this
time, Locke, Berkeley, Reid, Hume, Priestley, and especially
48
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14-18.
Price. And while reading Jouffroy, in 1840, he said to a
friend," I have found here a fact which interests me per-
sonally very much. Jouffroy says that Dr. Price's Disser-
tations were translated into German at the time of their first
appearance, and produced a much greater impression there
than they did in England; and he thinks they were the first
movers of the German mind in the transcendental direction.
Now, I read Price when I was in college. Price saved me
from Locke's Philosophy. He gave me the doctrine of ideas,
and during my life I have written the words Love, Right, &c.,
with a capital. That book probably moulded my philosophy
into the form it has always retained."
One other intellectual influence, which took strong hold of
him, deserves, too, special notice. This was the newly re-
vived interest in Shakspeare. The young men at Harvard
were just then passionately given up to the study of the great
dramatist; they contemplated with awe the ever various
array of character and incident which the mighty master
had evoked from silence into life; they worked the veins of
profound philosophy, worldly wisdom, natural joy, to which
he welcomed them in his exhaustless mines; they took note
of his artistic skill in the general arrangement of his plays,
examined critically the minuter beauties of his conceptions
and style, committed favourite passages to memory, con-
versed about him, quoted him; and Channing's taste was so
much moulded by the impression of his genius, that through
life he was delighted by few intellectual treats so highly as
by recitations from England's first poet.
The political questions of the day, however, were the
most quickening excitement to a spirit so philanthropic and
hopeful, and through his whole college course Channing was
a fervent politician. As has before been said, one of his
most favourite studies was history, and among his manu-
scripts of this period is a long, minute, and carefully pre-
pared essay on the English Revolution. In public and
private, in friendly conversation, debating societies, themes,
and college parts, he took every occasion to manifest his
sympathy with the social agitations of the age. But the
most definite evidence of his political zeal may be found in
the two following incidents, the first of which is thus narrated
by Judge Story:-
"There was one circumstance of a public and political
character, which was felt with no small intensity among us
11
1794-1798.]
INTEREST IN POLITICS.
near the close of our collegiate life. I allude to the political
controversies between our national government and that of
France, which then agitated the whole country, and ultimately
led to that sort of quasi war and non-intercourse which the
public history of the times has fully explained. The party
then known by the name of Federalists possessed a very
large portion of the wealth, the talents, and the influence of
the country. President Adams was then at the head of the
national administration; a majority of Congress supported all
his leading measures; and in New England his popularity
was almost unbounded, and sustained by a weight of opinion
and of numbers which is without example in our country.
The opposition to his administration here was comparatively
small, although in the Southern States it was formidable.
Party spirit ran exceedingly high, and, indeed, with almost
irrepressible fury. Badges of loyalty to our own government
and of hatred to France were everywhere worn in New
England, and the cockade was a signal of patriotic devotion
to Adams and liberty.'
C
49
"It was impossible that the academical walls could escape
the common contagion. The students became exceedingly
interested in the grave questions then before the country.
They were nearly all united, heart and hand, in favour of the
national administration, and warmly espoused the cause of
their country. In our Senior year (1798), your father, who
was among the most warm and decided in his political
opinions, procured a meeting to be had of the students, with
the sanction of the college government, for the purpose of
expressing their opinions on the then existing crisis of our
public affairs. The meeting was held.
He made a very
eloquent and powerful speech, and was seconded with great
zeal and earnestness by myself and others. The result was,
that a committee was appointed to draw up an address to
President Adams, of which your father was the chairman.
The address, with the exception of a single passage, afterwards
added, was written by himself; it was reported to the stu-
dents, and was by them accepted by acclamation. It was
sent to President Adams, who made a written reply in a very
commendatory style; and both the address and the answer
were published in the newspapers of the day, and received
general applause."
In the Boston Centinel of May 19, 1798, it is found thus
reported:-
VOL. I.
E
50
[ÆT. 14-18.
COLLEGE LIFE.
<< HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
"The committee of the students of Harvard, mentioned in
the last Centinel, offered the following address, which was
immediately signed by one hundred and seventy students.*
"ADDRESS
"TO HIS EXCELLENCY JOHN ADAMS,
66 PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.
“SIR,—We flatter ourselves you will not be displeased at
hearing that the walls of your native seminary are now
inhabited by youth possessing sentiments congenial with your
own. We do not pretend to great political sagacity; we
wish only to convince mankind that we inherit the intrepid
spirit of our ancestors, and disdain submission to the will of
a rapacious, lawless, and imperious nation. Though removed
from active life, we have watched with anxiety the interests
of our country. We have seen a nation in Europe grasping
at universal conquest, trampling on the laws of God and
nations, systematizing rapine and plunder, destroying foreign
governments by the strength of her arms or the pestilence of
her embraces, and scattering principles which subvert social
order, raise the storms of domestic faction, and perpetuate
the horrors of revolution. We have seen this same nation
violating our neutral rights, spurning our pacific proposals,
her piratical citizens sweeping our ships from the seas, and
venal presses under her control pouring out torrents of abuse
on men who have grown gray in our service. We have seen
her ministers in this country insulting our government by a
daring, unprecedented, and contemptuous appeal to the
people, and her agents at home offering conditions which
slaves whose necks have grown to the yoke would reject with
indignation. We have seen this, Sir, and our youthful blood
has boiled within us. When, in opposition to such conduct,
we contemplate the measures of our own government, we
cannot but admire and venerate the unsullied integrity, the
decisive prudence, and dignified firmness which have uni-
formly characterized your administration. Impressed with
these sentiments, we now solemnly offer the unwasted ardour
*The college contained at that time about 173 students, according to
the number of graduates in the Triennial Catalogue for 1798, 1799, 1800,
and 1801.
1794-1798.]
ORATION.
51
and unimpaired energies of our youth to the service of our
country. Our lives are our only property; and we were not
the sons of those who sealed our liberties with their blood, if
we would not defend with these lives that soil which now
affords a peaceful grave to the mouldering bones of our fore-
fathers."
The other incident referred to at once illustrates the state
of feeling in those times, and gives proof that the unconquer-
able love of free thought and speech, which characterized
Channing's manhood, was strong in youth.
At the graduation of his class, the highest honour, that is,
the closing oration at commencement, was assigned to him.
The subject was "The Present Age." But a condition was
added, that all political discussion should be excluded. The
reason for this restriction was, that the students of the pre-
vious year had given great offence to the Democratic party
by the severity of their remarks. And as the college faculty
were on the Federal side, candour seemed to demand that
commencement-day should not be embittered by political
jealousies. They therefore prohibited the introduction of
party questions. The class, however, were highly incensed
at what they thought an intolerable infringement of their
rights; and one of them wrote to Channing in the following
fiery strain:-
•
"I could join you, my friend, in offering an unfeigned tear
to the manes of those joys which are for ever fled; but indig-
nation has dried up the source from which that tear must
flow. The government of college have completed the climax
of their despotism. They have obtained an arrêt, which from
its features I could swear is the offspring of the French
Directory. Although they pretend to be firm friends to
American liberty and independence, their embargo on politics,
which has subjected you to so many inconveniences, is strong
proof to me that they are Jacobins, or at best pretended
patriots, who have not courage to defend the rights of their
country.
GR
"William, should you be deprived of a degree for not
performing at commencement, every friend of liberty must
consider it as a glorious sacrifice on the altar of your
country."
The "inconveniences" referred to arose from the fact, that
Channing, so soon as he learned the restrictions, formally
A
E 2
52
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14-18.
declined to receive his part. The president at first accepted
his resignation, thinking it improbable that a young man
would be willing to give up the honours of the day, and even
to endanger his degree, for such a trifle. But after a fort-
night, finding him resolute, the government sent for him,
insisted upon his performing his part, and made such conces-
sions, that his brother, in writing to him, said,—“I think
you have gained a most complete triumph. The government
have certainly treated you with a most flattering courtesy;
how could you expect them to yield more?" His grandfather,
uncles, mother, all joined, too, in urging him to rest contented
with the concessions already made, declaring that "such
advice would be approved in the very academy of honour;
that even the pride of a knight-errant would not be wounded
by the course; that he had struggled long enough for glory,
and that yielding in this manner was rather a triumph than
a defeat." Thus constrained by the entreaties of all who
loved him, he finally agreed to comply with the terms which
the government had granted to his firmness, and went to
Newport to pass the vacation and write his oration. The
explanations and assurances of the president permitted him to
express himself freely; and though he softened and shortened
what otherwise he would have said, he did not sacrifice con-
science or self-respect. Throughout, it was a bold and
earnest discussion of the exciting topics suggested by the
French Revolution. In delivering it, he spoke with much
dignity and decision; and rising, toward the close, to an
impassioned burst of feeling, he said, with great energy, and
a look directed to the faculty, which showed how earnestly he
was inclined to protest against any restraint upon free speech,
"But that I am forbid, I could a tale unfold, which would
harrow up your souls." As the circumstances thus referred
to were generally known, this sally was received with un-
bounded applause; and when he left the stage, some time
elapsed before the cheering ceased. 'Many years," writes
the distinguished classmate so often quoted, "have passed
since then, but the impression left on my mind of the
brilliancy, vividness, and eloquence of that oration is yet
fresh."
(C
With this characteristic act, at which, in later years, he
was much amused for its excess of enthusiasm, Mr. Channing
closed his college career in the summer of 1798.
1794-1798.]
CHOICE OF A PROFESSION.
53
Mr. Channing was now to select a profession. He had
been a hard student, "not a mere seeker of a diploma," as his
uncle Henry approvingly wrote, "but a real worker,” and
had gained universal respect for his rare powers and attain-
ments; his memory had been stored by extensive reading,
and his judgment enlarged by constant correspondence with
his sound-headed and sound-hearted grandfather Ellery; he
had joined cordially in social pleasures, though with strict
regard to temperance,-it being remembered that Story and
he invariably declined the use of wine, even at convivial
entertainments,—and he had won the love of his associates
by generous sentiments, cheerfulness, and unassuming cour-
tesy; though so young, he had already taken decided ground
as the advocate of high principles in religion, morals, and
politics; he was all alive to his responsibilities, especially to
his family in their poor estate; and now in what way could
he best employ his energies and gifts? He did not hesitate
as to his true calling. In his Junior year, indeed, he had
written to Allston,-"I have no inclination for either divi-
nity, law, or physic;" and still later he had so seriously
thought of becoming a physician, that his grandfather wrote
to him at length in relation to the duties and opportunities
of that profession, and sent to him lists of the medical books
which he should read. Even at the time when he graduated,
most of his classmates supposed that he would choose the
law, as the occupation best fitted to give free field for the
exercise of his powers of eloquence, and urged him to take
that course; but to all such appeals to his ambition he
answered," I think there is a wider sphere for usefulness
and honour in the ministry." The path of duty marked out
for him by higher wisdom was plain. "In
"In my Senior year,"
he writes, "the prevalence of infidelity, imported from
France, led me to inquire into the evidences of Christianity,
and then I found for what I was made. My heart embraced
its great objects with an interest which has been increasing
to this hour." He was the same man then that he manifested
himself to be in mature life. As his classmate, the Hon.
Richard Sullivan, bears witness, "there was in him the same
clear and quick apprehension of truth, and the tendency to
look higher than to human authority, the same warm interest
in the good and beautiful, the same temperate earnestness
and independence in maintaining opinions, the same perfect
purity, simplicity, and orderly course of life. He seemed
54
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ÆT. 14-18.
destined by Providence to influence largely the character of
the times in which he lived."
He returned, immediately on leaving Cambridge, to his
mother's house in Newport, there to arrange his future plans;
and the following letters will show at once the temper of his
college life, and the feelings with which he adopted his pro-
fession. The first is one written many years later to a young
friend, whom he hoped his own experience might aid.
"At your age I was poor, dependent, hardly able to buy
clothes, but the great idea of improvement had seized upon
me. I wanted to make the most of myself. I was not satis-
fied with knowing things superficially or by halves, but tried
to get some comprehensive views of what I studied. I had
an end, and, for a boy, a high end in view. I did not think
of fitting myself for this or that particular pursuit, but for
any to which events might call me. I now see that, had I
had wiser direction, I might have done more; but I did
something. The idea of carrying myself forward did a great
deal for me.
I never had an anxious thought about
my lot in life. When I was poor, ill, and compelled to work
with little strength, I left the future to itself. I was not
buoyed up by any hopes of promotion. I wanted retirement,
obscurity. My after distinction has indeed been forced on
me.
"You are in danger of reading too fast. In studying his-
tory, I sometimes made an abstract from recollection, some-
times thought over what I had read.
Walk out in the
pleasant, still autumnal days. Such days did a great deal for
my mind and heart, when I was in Cambridge.
•
"I want you to find immediate pleasure in the acquisition
of knowledge, in the works of genius and art, in poetry, in
beauty everywhere, and in vigorous action of the intellect.
In youth it is not a good sign to inquire perpetually, What
good will this or that study do? Our kind Creator then
allures us to the useful, by joining an immediate satisfaction
to studies or pursuits which refine or elevate us.
66
Suppose a boy to choose to be a blacksmith, and to pre-
pare himself for his business by exercising his arm per-
petually, to the neglect of his other limbs and muscles, would
he become another Vulcan? Would he not do more for him-
self by invigorating his whole system, and getting general
health? You can easily apply this to the mind. What you
want is to give tone, freedom, life to all your faculties, to get
•
1794-1798.]
GENERAL EDUCATION.
a disposable strength of intellect, a power to use in whatever
course you may pursue. A professional education, or one
designed to fit you for a particular profession, would make
but half a man of you. You are not to grow up merely for a
particular occupation, but to perform all the duties of a man,
to mix in society, to converse with intelligent men of all pur-
suits, to meet emergencies, to be prepared for new and unex-
pected situations. A general, liberal, generous education is
what you need. Every study into which you throw your
soul, in which you gain truth and exercise your faculties, is a
preparation for your future course. I have found a good in
everything I have learned. By degrees your destiny will
open before you. You will learn what you are good for,
what you are made for. I can say nothing more definite, and
this is definite enough and full of animation. Do your duty,
and you cannot fail to fit yourself for an honourable work."
The next is from his classmate, Arthur Maynard Walter,
who died too early for his rare genius to be fully known and
prized. It illustrates in an agreeable way the warmth of Mr.
Channing's college friendships.
"I have just taken your letter from the office with all the
fervour of a brother. I paid for it twenty-five cents., and
would have paid twenty-five guineas, had I had them. It is
full of the enthusiasm that I always admired in you, and
ccasioned all those indescribable sensations which arise from
seeing opened to us the heart of a friend. I cannot agree to
the present moral system of things. If we are to form con-
nections at fourteen which are to be broken at eighteen,—
connections which involve the best feelings of the soul, and
which may affect in a great measure the future happiness or
future misery of our lives, we had better be without feeling,
and live in a state of solitude. I have enjoyed no nights
equal to those, when you used to call at my window, and I
blew out the candle, and we went over to Shaw's. What
nights those were! And the days, too, you well know. Our
classic ground, Channing, I dare say, is overrun with weeds
and with grass. The careless passer-by never thinks that every
inch of ground was consecrated to affection, and every rock
on which we sat, and every rail on which we leaned, had a
value such as vulgar souls can never know. This is a theme
on which I could dwell long."
55
The closeness of the bond which united these young friends
is thus also testified to by Mr. Channing:-
56
COLLEGE LIFE.
[ET. 14-18.
"Newport, October, 1798.
"MY DEAR SHAW,-I can clearly discover from
last letter, that you doubt the sincerity and continuance of
my friendship. Have you lived four years with me, and do
you know so little of me as to think that time or any new
attachment can tear from me the memory of 'joys that are
past'? They are entwined with the threads of my existence;
and it is only by rending these asunder, that you can destroy
the melancholy recollection of our mutual happiness. I still
remember your social fire,-how we collected round it,-
shortened the long winter nights by nuts, cigars, and social
converse, and strengthened the ties of our friendship. I was
then supremely happy. I can still remember our walks by
moonlight, how we strolled over the common, or took the
solitary road to the Judge's. We leaned on each other's arms
for support; we grew warm in friendly argument; the jarr-
ings which sometimes prevailed among us only sweetened
the concord and harmony which succeeded. O William! the
memory of those days will be ever fresh within me. It has
drawn many tears down my cheek. I am sensible that my
happy days have passed, and I can only weep for them. My
walks now are solitary; no friendly voice to cheer me; no
congenial soul to make a partner of my joy or sorrow. I am,
indeed, in the midst of my family, with the best of mothers,
brothers, and sisters. But, alas! I have no friend.
"There is a beach about a mile from the town. I never
saw elsewhere such magnificence, grandeur, and sublimity, as
the wild scenery of nature here presents. The towering and
craggy rocks, the roar of the waves, the foam with which they
dash on the shore, their irregular succession, and the bound-
less ocean before, all contribute to inspire one with awe and
delight. Here I go once a day. Sometimes I compare my
fortune to the billows before me. I extend my arms towards
them, I run to meet them, and wish myself buried beneath
their waters. Sometimes my whole soul ascends to the God
of nature, and in such a temple I cannot but be devout.
Thus I am either borne to heaven on 'rapture's wing of fire,'
or else I am plunged into the depths of despair. How diffe-
rent from my situation at college! There I had friends to
fly to, when the world looked gloomy, and forgot my mise-
ries in the circle of my equals.
Here I brood over melan-
C
choly.
"I am now on the point of changing my mode of life.
1794-1798.]
COLLEGE FRIENDSHIP.
57
New prospects have dawned upon me.
A field has opened
for exertion. I mean to rouse all my energies, shake off this
lassitude of soul, and lose my sorrows in business. God alone
knows what success will attend me. I mean to do my duty,
and I feel careless about the event. I love misfortunes when
they spring from a resolute adherence to virtuous conduct. I
trust that my burdens will be no heavier than I can bear,
and I shall be cheered when I think that the struggles which
I make are the struggles of honest industry.
"I suppose you know the profession which I mean to
follow. Yes, Shaw, I shall be a minister, a shepherd of the
flock of Jesus, a reformer of a vicious, and an instructor of an
ignorant world. I look forward to a better country, and,
while I am journeying toward it myself, I wish to lead others
the same way. I know that you revere religion; and I wish
that in your political career you would sometimes look be-
yond the strife, crimes, and intrigues of nations, to the har-
mony and blessedness of the Christian society in another
state. We shall take different courses in life; but we shall
meet in the grave. We shall bow before the same tribunal,
and, I trust, shall rejoice for ever in the same heaven, and
join in the same celebration of Almighty love. You will
think I have grown quite ministerial, but, believe me, I
cherished the same sentiments in college as I do now. In
my view, religion is but another name for happiness, and I
am most cheerful when I am most religious."
CHAP. IV. — RICHMOND.
ET. 18-20. 1798-1800.
MR. CHANNING was now in his nineteenth year; and feeling
that his friends had done all for him that was in their power,
and yet more, that the whole of his mother's small income
was needed for the family, he determined to secure some
means of maintenance while pursuing his professional studies.
His state of mind he thus discloses to his uncle:-" I am
happy to hear that you approve of the step I have taken. It
has always been a favourite wish of my heart to support my-
self. Bitter is the bread of dependence. All I had a right
to expect from my friends was an education. This I have
obtained, and I trust that Heaven will smile on my exertions.'
"},
58
[ÆT. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
He was most happy, therefore, to receive an invitation from
David Meade Randolph, Esq., of Richmond, Virginia, who
was then on a visit at Newport, and was struck with the
young man's intelligence, refinement, and liberal spirit, to
reside in his family, as tutor; and in October of 1798, he
left Newport for the South.
6
How much his family mourned this necessary separation
appears by the following extracts from a letter of his brother
Francis, then residing as a lawyer at Newport. "William
has gone, and most of my joys have gone with him. You
know not the worth of this amiable and almost divine fel-
low,' as one of his classmates calls him. Where shall I find
his equal? In vain do I search the whole round of my
acquaintance. So pure a mind, united with so noble a spirit,
and such exquisite feelings, I nowhere discern." To his
mother, especially, his departure was a source of the deepest
sorrow. And to this overflowing affection he thus touch-
ingly alludes in the first letter after his arrival.
“November, 1798.
"MY DEAR MOTHER,-A favourable opportunity has just
offered, by which I can write to all my friends without sub-
jecting them to the expense of postage. I begin with you.
To you I owe the highest obligations. The anxiety and
tenderness which you discovered at my departure from New-
port will never be forgotten. I wish that my friends were
not so deeply interested in my welfare. It makes both them
and me unhappy. Every misfortune I experience is aggra-
vated by thinking on the pain which it will occasion them.
I often wish that I had been thrown loose on the wide ocean
of life, without one eye to watch with friendly care my
various successes, or shed a tear over my follies and miseries.
When I was dashing over the billows, on my passage, I felt
no fear for myself; but I was distressed when I remembered
that I had left a mother behind me who was trembling with
anxiety lest her son might be buried in the merciless waves.
I understand from Francis's letter, that you had many high
winds after I left you; and did not every gale come to me
loaded with the sighs of a mother? I mention this because
I wish you not to make yourself unhappy by your concern
for me. I know that I am far from home, where nothing
but your good wishes can reach me. I am far from your
social fireside. I am neither a sharer in your joys, nor the
object of your fond attentions. But still the same sun shines
+
I
1
!
4
1798-1800.]
SOCIETY.
59
upon us, the same providence is extended to both of us, and
the same God who protects and blesses you, will watch over
me, and mete me out a portion of happiness. Our distance
from each other cannot remove either of us from our common
Parent. It is this truth which consoles me in my absence
from home, and I wish that it might banish from your bosom
those corroding fears for my safety, which, added to the
load of your domestic cares, must make life wearisome to
you. I feel every day more and more attached to my new
abode. I am treated with every attention which hospitality
can bestow. My duties are neither numerous nor irksome,
and I can find time enough for study. I am resolved to pro-
secute divinity. My highest hopes of happiness are beyond.
the grave, and I cannot do more good to mankind than by
teaching them also to lay up treasures where neither moth nor
rust can corrupt them. My dear mother, though I have so
lately left you, I begin already to anticipate the moment when
I shall see you again. Time has swifter wings than the
eagle. Months and years will fly away,-and with what
rapture shall I press you all to my bosom! Hope is the
anchor of the soul. I lean upon it perpetually. I paint
more blissful scenes in prospect than I have ever yet experi-
enced; and should they prove as baseless as the fabric of a
vision, I can still boast of the happiness which they give in
anticipation. I dare not ask, but I should like to receive, a
few lines from you.
"Your affectionate son."
In Mr. Randolph's family Mr. Channing resided as an
honoured guest, and found there a circle of warm friends.
Mr. Randolph was at this time the Marshal of the United
States for Virginia, and his house was frequented by the
most eminent citizens of Richmond and of the State, first
among whom to be mentioned with honour was the late Chief
Justice Marshall, who was then in the full vigour of his man-
hood, and commanded universal respect for his uprightness,
wisdom, and dignity of presence. How much a young man
of Mr. Channing's energy appreciated opportunities so rare,
for enlarging his experience and acquaintance with mankind,
can be readily understood. He visited freely in Richmond,
availed himself of the hospitalities offered by the neighbour-
ing gentry, and on various occasions passed periods of leisure
at plantations, besides travelling with the Randolphs in the
summer season. Virginia was at this time still in her pros-
"
60
RICHMOND.
[ÆT. 18-20.
perity, and scarcely beginning to reap the penalty which
slavery has since brought, in blasted fields, deserted mansions,
ruined estates, and scattered families; and Mr. Channing felt
deeply the charm of the cordial and elegant courtesy which
everywhere greeted him. With more enthusiasm certainly
than discrimination, he wrote to his brother:-
“I believe I have before told you that the manners of the
Virginians are more free than ours. There is one circum-
stance which particularly pleases me. The men do not forget
the friendship and feelings of their youth. They call each
other by their Christian names. They address each other
and converse together with the same familiarity and frank-
ness which they used to do when they were boys. How dif-
ferent from our Northern manners! There, avarice and
ceremony at the age of twenty graft the coldness and unfeel-
ingness of age on the disinterested ardour of youth."
And again, to Mr. Shaw, he says,—
"I believe I have praised the Virginians before, in my
letters, for their hospitality. I blush for my own people,
when I compare the selfish prudence of a Yankee with the
generous confidence of a Virginian. Here I find great vices,
but greater virtues than I left behind me. There is one
single trait which attaches me to the people I live with, more
than all the virtues of New England. They love money less
than we do. They are more disinterested. Their patriotism
is not tied to their purse strings. Could I only take from
the Virginians their sensuality and their slaves, I should
think them the greatest people in the world. As it is, Shaw,
with a few great virtues, they have innumerable vices.'
""
But pleasing social relations did not deaden his conscience,
as in the case of others they have too often done, to the
iniquity and miseries of slavery. He saw the institution, it
is true, under its most lenient form; for the Randolphs were
as humane as it is possible to be in relations so intrinsically
unjust, and sought to reconcile their slaves to their situation,
and to gain their attachment, by gentleness and kind atten-
tions. Indeed, to judge from passages in Mrs. Randolph's
letters to Mr. Channing after his return from Virginia, she
was, and perhaps her husband also, disgusted with the whole
system; for she writes, in relation to the threatened insur-
rection in Richmond, "Such is our boasted land of freedom,'
-Mr. Randolph adding, "This is a small tornado of liberty."
""
1798–1800.]
61
In a later letter she thus still more strongly expresses her-
self: "I feel a great desire to quit the land of slavery
altogether." It is very probable, then, that in the family
where he resided the evils of this lowest form of society were
fully exposed and discussed.* "I heard it freely spoken of
with abhorrence," he says. And wherever he went, language
of similar hostility may well have reached him; for the words
of Washington and of Jefferson were sounding in the ears of
their fellow-citizens, and men had not then become insensible
to the absurd and hypocritical position in which the United
States were presented to the world,-as a nation professing
freedom and practising oppression, asserting equality and
enforcing castes, declaring itself in advance of the whole
civilized world by a recognition of inalienable human rights,
and yet perpetuating the worn-out usages of barbarism. Not
then, either, had speculators discovered how to postpone the
destructive effects of slave cultivation, by breeding children,
like cattle, for the Southwest market, and replenishing ex-
hausted coffers by the profits of the "vigintial crop." Virginia
had already, to be sure, voted for the abolition of the foreign
slave-trade, with the economical prospect of becoming the
American Guinea-coast, and monopolizing the gains of mer-
chandise in men. But the stimulants to this accursed traffic,
offered by the acquisition of Louisiana and Florida, by the
rapid growth of the cotton-trade, and the invention of the
cotton-gin, were not then felt. And Mr. Channing probably
received, therefore, from intelligent slave-holders confessions
of their dissatisfaction with this system of concentrated in-
humanity. He came, also, personally in contact with its
workings, by sometimes assuming the duty of distributing
the weekly rations, by visiting in the slave-huts, and con-
versing with the domestics in the household; and he was
once left by Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, during a short absence,
in entire charge of these beings made helpless by constraint
and dependence. The result of this experience was, that
he received an indelible impression of the wretchedness which
such wrongs must everywhere and for ever bring alike on
slave and master. The following letter fully expresses the
state of his feelings:-
"There is one object here which always depresses me.
It is slavery. This alone would prevent me from ever
settling in Virginia. Language cannot express my detesta-
Works, Vol. II., p. 231.
SLAVERY.
62
RICHMOND.
[ET. 18-20.
fn
tion of it. Master and slave! Nature never made such a
distinction, or established such a relation. Man, when forced
to substitute the will of another for his own, ceases to be a
moral agent; his title to the name of man is extinguished, he
becomes a mere machine in the hands of his oppressor. No
empire is so valuable as the empire of one's self. No right
is so inseparable from humanity, and so necessary to the im-
provement of our species, as the right of exerting the powers
which nature has given us in the pursuit of any and of every
good which we can obtain without doing injury to others.
Should you desire it, I will give you some idea of the situa-
tion and character of the negroes in Virginia. It is a subject
so degrading to humanity, that I cannot dwell on it with
pleasure. I should be obliged to show you every vice,
heightened by every meanness and added to every misery.
The influence of slavery on the whites is almost as fatal as
on the blacks themselves."
The strong Federal predilections which Mr. Channing
brought with him from the North, and the earnest discussions
which he found prevailing in Virginia, gave a deepened in-
terest to his intercourse with leading men, and doubtless
exerted an influence to call his powers into their fullest
action. In Newport, and at college, he had been accustomed
to hear only one side of the important questions, which
then stirred the country, presented; but now he found him-
self confronted with Democrats, and was forced to meet their
arguments face to face. To a friend he writes:-
"I am very desirous to see the debates in Congress. I
find this advantage from being in Virginia, that I must adopt
no opinion on the measures of government without having
grounds for it."
This was the period, it will be remembered, when the
Federalists were still dreading the influence of French
Jacobinism, and when the democrats saw in their opponents
the tools of English intrigue, when the black cockade and the
tricolour were worn as badges by the respective parties, and
when the most bitter suspicion and calumny everywhere pre-
vailed. It was well for a high-spirited and honourable young
man to be brought thus into close contact with persons of an
opposite creed from that in which he had been reared. It
disarmed his prejudices, enlarged his views of public affairs,
substituted candour for bigotry, and taught him to consult
1798-1800.]
THE FRENCH REPUBLIC.
63
reason more than his passions. Indeed, so far did he learn
to be just in stating the arguments of his adversaries, that
his brother writes to him reproachfully, as if he had become
a traitor. But his liberality was only the first development
of that many-sidedness and cautious judgment which were so
characteristic of his manhood. He was still a devoted Fede-
ralist, as appears from the following letters to his friend
Shaw, which are of value at once as an illustration of the
temper of the times, and as a proof of his mental energy.
66
My political opinions have varied a little since I saw
you; but it would be unfair to charge them to the Jacobinic
atmosphere of Virginia. I trust that I am guided by sober
reflection. I view the world as a wide field of action, de-
signed by its Framer to perfect the human character. Poli-
tical institutions are valuable only as they improve and
morally elevate human nature. Wealth and power are sub-
ordinate considerations, and are far from constituting the real
greatness of a state. I blush for mankind, when I see
interest the only tie which binds them to their country; when
I see the social compact improved for no purpose but the
accumulation of riches, and the prosperity of a nation decided
by the successful avarice of its members. I wish to see
patriotism_exalted into a moral principle, not a branch of
avarice. I wish to see governments established and ad-
ministered with the view of enlightening the mind and
dignifying the heart.
6
"I have premised these observations, that you may be pre-
pared for some remarks in the following pages which might
otherwise surprise you. You wish to know what I think of
France. I think her cause desperate indeed. The republic
has not many months to live. Enthusiasm and numbers
have hitherto crowned her with success; but enthusiasm and
numbers have failed her. Her soldiers no longer burn with
the ardour of freemen, and their ranks are thinned by the
sword.' Her citizens are discontented; her conquered pro-
vinces are rising in arms against her; and government finds
no resources but in fleecing to the last farthing the miserable
subjects whom former rapacity had reduced to poverty. The
republic is split into parties, and her naval defeats have
leagued all Europe against her. This I collect from news-
papers. Now I cannot conceive how a government, founded
on corruption, unsupported by the attachment of its subjects,
unable to pay its armies, shaken by internal convulsions, sur-
--
.
64
[ÆT. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
rounded by rebellious allies, and attacked, as France soon
must be, by the united forces of Europe, can maintain its
ground, and withstand such formidable and consolidated oppo-
sition. If my information is correct, I cannot but think that
the great nation is in a more critical situation than ever; and
this idea has led me to suppose, in spite of the secretary's
report, that she was sincere in her pacific professions to
Mr. Gerry.
"Do not misunderstand me, Shaw. I do not say that
France has given up her views on this country; I do not
say that she is less active in her intrigues. I know better.
What I mean is this-that France rested her hopes of success
on the party she had formed in our own bosom, that she
never calculated upon that spirit which burst forth on the
publication of the despatches, that her critical situation ren-
dered a war with us impolitic, and that it was of course her
interest to heal the breach with us, and wait for a more
favourable opportunity to accomplish her designs. Mr. Pick-
ering tells us, that France wished to delude us by the sem-
blance of a negotiation, and palsy our exertions. No doubt,
she wished us to repose in the lap of confidence, till, having
'sharked up the fry of Europe,' she should have leisure to
devour us also. But how, in fact, was this to be done?
She had evidently been too sudden in claiming tribute from
America; she saw that, in spite of her opiates, the eagle's
eye was vigilant, and 'the national pulse beat high for war;'
she saw unexpected energies of patriotism bursting forth,
and measures of defence adopted, notwithstanding her tam-
pering with our envoy. She had no navy to force us to com-
pliance; and thus situated, I ask you, what was she to do?
Was it not her interest to quiet our jealousies by forming a
treaty with us, and delay to another and more promising
period her schemes of bondage? Was not this the way to
enable her infernal agents to work more securely against us,
and poison the public mind with more success? These argu-
ments appear to me of considerable weight; and though Mr.
Gerry seems to be no Solomon in his correspondence, I am
disposed on this subject to subscribe to his opinion.
-
"From considering France, I am naturally led to make
some observations on the defensive steps which have been
taken, and which, it is said, will be taken by our government.
You may call me Jacobin, if you please, but I am not for
enlarging our standing army. I wish there was nothing of
*
F
1798-1800.]
STANDING army.
65
the kind. It is the engine which has beat down the walls of
liberty in all ages; and though I anticipate no dangers from the
present one, still it is a precedent which may be fatally abused.
"I am opposed to standing armies on account of their
moral effects. The activity of war leaves the soldier little
time to corrupt himself. But an army in time of peace is the
hot-bed of vice. Common soldiers are mostly taken from the
dregs of society. Every farthing of their pay is spent in
drinking. Example hurries along the honest and virtuous.
Idleness vitiates them. They communicate their crimes to
the neighbourhood in which they are quartered; and I do
not think that Mr. Giles was too severe when he said, that,
'for five dollars' worth of whisky, they would, every man
of them, sacrifice their country, and sell its liberties.' A
soldier by profession is too apt to forget that he is a citizen.
Subject to the absolute command of his superior officer, he
loses the dignity of a freeman, and looks with contempt on
subordination to civil authority. I have no time to write
further. I meant to have said something on the alliance with
England, which Paine is talking about; but I must defer it.
Write soon; correct me if I am wrong. You will find that
my political principles and ideas of government are branches
of my moral system. You do not know what an enthusiast
I have grown for liberty.
""*
"I feel vexed almost to madness, when I see the powers of
Europe sitting so quietly till the chains are riveted on them.
I expected ere this to have seen every nation, from the Medi-
terranean to the Baltic, in arms against this scourge of society.
But instead of that, the idle controversies of Rastadt are pro-
tracted, while Naples is given up to pillage, and France is
gaining the command of the Rhine.
I think that
the great nation has nothing to fear now but from the dis-
tressed state of her finances, and I suppose the plunder of
Naples will fill her coffers for the present. The moment for
action has been lost. Switzerland, Belgium, and Holland
discovered the symptoms of a rebellion-then was the time
to strike a blow.
"War, in its mildest forms, is horrible. As waged by the
Russians (alluding to Suwarrow), it is the heaviest curse
* This letter was written a year subsequent to the one which follows,
but is placed before it, as it best introduces his political sentiments.
VOL. I.
F
66
RICHMOND.
[ÆT. 18-20.
which can fall to the lot of man. If rivers of blood have
already been shed, we must now expect oceans. God of
Peace! how long wilt thou leave thy children a prey to all
the horrors of war? We have read so long of battles, that
they have become familiar to us. We hear of the slaughter
of thousands and ten thousands, with as little emotion as
if we had been told that so many flies had been swept away
in a storm. But is war on this account less calamitous? Do
you remember the picture of Horror which Southey gives us
in a note to one of his odes? I shuddered at it. I saw the
milk frozen on the breast of the dead mother. I saw the
babe hanging on her cold bosom. I am indeed sick of war;
my prayer to God is, 'Thy kingdom come,' a kingdom which
the Prince of Peace will govern.
“What need for this hurry about a treaty with France?
A few months may make our way plain before us. Will you
say that a refusal to meet the offers of France will furnish
the Jacobins with arms against the administration? Shaw,
if this hellish Cerberus, Jacobinism, could be soothed by
throwing it a sop of honey, I would willingly consent to it.
But, believe me, you must show it the golden branch, too,
before you can stop its barkings. While John Adams is
president, they know that the 'loaves and fishes' of office will
not fall to their lot. Hence they will growl; and hinder
them if you can. It is of little consequence whether the
government is administered this way or that; Jacobins will
find fault. Besides, if the president can really wish to silence
them, he ought to have sent the envoys long ago. Whence
this tedious delay? Should he send them now, the Jacobins
will continue to rail at him for not sending them sooner. I
have thus offered a few reflections on the much agitated sub-
ject of our envoy. Answer me soon, and show me my error,
if I have embraced one.
"If I mistake not, the present period is the most eventful
and important which has offered itself to our view during the
whole revolution of France. In Europe, the fate of nations
is suspended in the balance; and America, though so remote
from the scene of blood and confusion, is most deeply inter-
ested in the decision of the contest. The eyes of all parties
are now fixed on the president. What can he do? The
Federalists in all parts of the country seem opposed to a
1798-1800.]
67
renewal of negotiation with France. The Jacobins are more
clamorous than ever about his supineness in forming a solid
peace with that government. . . . . . I rely implicitly on the
firmness and independence of the president. I consider him
as elevated above the clamours of faction, and superior to the
narrow views of party. He is placed in so peculiar a situa-
tion, that no measure he can adopt will be popular. The
only object he can propose to himself is the good of his
country; and, I doubt not, he will pursue it with undeviating
perseverance. I have ever considered it, and shall consider
it, the interest of America to be at peace with all nations.
Let me ask you, then, what influence the proposed negotia-
tion will have on maintaining the peace of our country.
This is the most interesting light in which it can be viewed;
and it is my sincere opinion that it will tend rather to
embroil us with the rest of Europe, than to establish a lasting
peace with France.
JACOBINISM.
"What will the rest of Europe think of us for making a
treaty with France, when all other civilized nations have
dissolved their connexions with her? Have they not openly
expressed their resolution to overthrow that government with
which we are going to treat? Think not, Shaw, that I wish
to see our government overawed by foreign threats. I would
hurl them back with indignation. I only ask, whether it
would not be better to sit still for awhile, until affairs in
Europe have assumed a more settled form.
"Marshall stands at the head of the list, and I do but echo
the multitude, when I tell you that he is one of the greatest
men in the country. His 'Answers to a Freeholder' had a
tendency to sink him in the estimation of the Northern
people. But if you lived in Virginia, you would think just
as he did. I blush when I think of the Alien and Sedition
laws. They have only served to show the weakness of
government. They were worse than useless. Marshall is a
great character. He bids fair to be the first character in the
Union.
"I wonder how could presume to touch the venerable
laurels of Washington. Did not Washington distinguish
himself before and after the time of Lord Howe's command?
Did he not show the most consummate skill in improving
the advantages which Lord Howe afforded him? Witness
F 2
68
RICHMOnd.
[ÆT. 18-20.
Princeton and Trenton. Let any man read Washington's
own letters; and if he will afterwards say that Washington
is not a first-rate general, I will yield the point.
"When I read 's justification of France in breaking
the treaty, I began to think that he had taken a few lessons
in the school of French philosophy. I think it worthy of
the president of the Directory, and I dare say that, if he
would communicate it to that honourable body, they would
decree him a place with Condorcet and other 'philosophists'
in the Pantheon. I wonder what will assert next.
The rankest Jacobin could not have crowded more offensive
matter into the few lines which constitute the extract from
his letter.
"I rejoice with you, my friend, at the victory of Nelson.
I hope the report is equally true respecting the defeat of
Bonaparte's land forces. The Directory, in their last com-
munication, have carried him safe to Cairo; should it be true
that he has repelled all human opposition, I would invoke
old Nilus from the ooze of his fertilizing streams, and beseech
him to overflow with his swiftest torrents the land he has
long enriched, and sweep this prince of robbers from the face
of the earth. There is one question which has arisen in my
mind since the late news from the Mediterranean, and I
think it an important one. Ought not a just policy to be
alarmed at the disproportionate greatness and power of the
British navy? There is not at present a nation in Europe
to dispute with her the empire of the seas. We are exulting
at the superiority of the British by sea, as we did a few years
ago at the superiority of the French by land. We have
bitterly rued the latter. Let us avoid the same error with
respect to the former. I wish France to fall, but I do not
wish England to rise on her ruins. We should be careful
that, in destroying one scourge of the world, we do not give
birth to another.
"I am happy to hear that the same odium is everywhere
attached to the name of Jacobin. This is the case even in
Democratic Virginia. A Jacobin is synonymous with a dis-
honest, immoral, factious, and disorganizing man.
There are
many doubts here respecting Mr. Marshall's election. I
think that he will succeed. Mr. Marshall has been much
censured at the Northward for his sentiments on the Alien
and Sedition laws. I begin to believe that he is right. He
says that they are not unconstitutional. But they have pro-
1798-1800.]
ALIEN AND SEDITION LAWS.
The oppo-
duced an amazing irritation in the public mind.
sition in Congress were gradually losing their influence with
the people in this part of America. The conduct of France
was too flagrant to be justified, and her warmest partisans
were obliged to confess that the executive had pursued
towards her a liberal and pacific policy. Public opinion was
becoming rectified. But the Alien and Sedition laws gave
new life to the enemies of government, and blew the dying
spark into a flame. You no longer hear government charged
with ingratitude to France. This the Jacobins take care to
throw in the background. They bring forward the Alien
and Sedition laws into the front of the scene; and so suc-
cessful have they been in exciting alarms, that there are
thousands who think their liberties endangered and the con-
stitution violated. You would suppose, from their language,
that they were all in chains, that they were bent down to the
ground with the load of their oppressions,-that Congress,
like the democratic negro-drivers of Virginia, were standing
over them with a lash in their hands, and scourging them till
exhausted nature was spending her last breath in complaint.
I have no doubt but a petition will be forwarded to Congress,
by the legislature of this State, for a repeal of these odious
Acts.
69
"And now, I would ask, what good effects have these laws
produced? Is the imprisonment of Lyon, or the arrest of
three or four printers, an object to be placed in competition
with the union of our country? The Alien law never has been,
and probably never will be, carried into execution. The Sedi-
tion law has had no effect where it is most wanted. A printer
in this city published seditious matter the very day before the
Circuit Court sat here, in hopes of a prosecution; and the
friends of government passed it by, on account of the irrita-
tion it would produce, and because they knew that such a
prosecution would recommend him to the legislature for
printer to the State. I wish government to possess energy
as much as any man; but I believe that it is weakened, in-
stead of being strengthened, by pretending to energy which
it cannot support. Is not the tendency of this to bring it
into contempt, to render its measures weak and ineffectual?
Is it not, in fine, much better to say nothing about sedition,
when we cannot, or dare not, repress it? I consider, my
friend, that a crisis is rapidly approaching. The question
must soon be decided, whether the Federal government shall
70
[ET. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
stand or fall. I understand that one court in this State has
already set aside the Stamp Act as unconstitutional, and pro-
ceeded to business without it. There is no doubt, but that
the legislature, which meets in this town next Tuesday, will
take some steps for the repeal of the Alien and Sedition laws;
and a gentleman, who read some resolves in the Jacobin
Gazette of yesterday, has just informed me that one county
have expressed their determination of standing by the legis-
lature, in whatever measures they may adopt upon this
occasion.
"For my part, I care not how soon the contest is decided.
Should the worst happen, should my native country be pros-
trated, by the arts and influence of demagogues, at the feet
of France, I will curse and quit it. I never will breathe the
same air with those who are tainted with the foul impurities
of French principles. I never will dwell in the country
where I was born free, when it is doomed to groan under a
foreign yoke. With tears in my eyes, I will bid farewell ·
to the roof which sheltered my infancy, and to the green
graves of my fathers, and take up my abode in the foreign
land from which I boast of my descent, and which my honest
ancestors left in hopes of finding climes more favourable to
liberty and to the rights of man.
Mr. Channing's interest in public affairs, knowledge of
national policy, and observation of men were yet more
enlarged, while his powers of eloquence received a stimulant,
from attending the debates of the Virginia legislature, which
held its sessions in the capitol at Richmond. He writes,-
"I have listened to these speeches with a great deal of
pleasure. The Virginians are the best orators I have ever
heard."
But zeal in the political movements of the day, and social
enjoyments, occupied only the intervals of time. His energies
were mainly turned to the duties of his school and to private
studies. He had under his charge twelve boys, to whose
care most of the hours of the day were devoted. In after
years, he thought himself at this time too strict a disciplin-
arian. But he may have found a display of decision more
necessary from his youth and smallness of size, of which
an amusing illustration is given in the following anecdote,
related by himself. An old coloured woman came into the
school to complain of some of the boys who had damaged her
1798-1800.]
HIS POVERTY.
71
garden, broken her fence, and torn up her flowers, making
loud complaint, and wanting to see the master. When he
presented himself, she surveyed him for a moment, and said,
"You de massa? You little ting, you can't lick 'em; dey
put you out de window." He assured her, however, that the
boys should be corrected, and that she should be satisfied
for her loss, remarking,-" Poor mamma! she knew of no
way of discipline but the lash."
Absorbed in the duty of teaching during the day, and
living much apart from the family, Mr. Channing was
prompted by his wish for quick advancement to pass most
of the night in study. He usually remained at his desk till
two or three o'clock in the morning, and often saw the day
break before retiring to rest. He had also gained from the
Stoics, and from his own pure standard of virtue, ascetic
desires of curbing the animal nature, and of hardening him-
self for difficult duties. For the end of overcoming effeminacy,
he accustomed himself to sleep on the bare floor, and would
spring up at any hour of waking to walk about in the cold.
With the same view, he made experiments in diet, and was
rigidly abstemious, while he neglected exercise from too close.
application. The result of these night-studies, and of his
general ignorance of the natural laws, was, that an originally
fine constitution was broken, and seeds of disease were planted
in his system, which years of scrupulous regard to health
could never root out.
To these sources of illness was added another, which, as it
illustrates his characteristic disinterestedness, may deserve a
passing notice. When he left home, his provident mother
had given him a bill of credit on a house in Richmond, with
the confident expectation that he would use it to refurnish
his wardrobe. Money, however, he could not bring himself
to take from his mother's large family, and never drew upon
his friends. Depression of spirits and absorption of mind
made him careless, also, of external appearances; and he pre-
ferred to expend his salary in purchasing books. The con-
sequence was, that his clothing became much worn, and he
exposed himself during the whole winter without an over-
coat, except when sometimes he borrowed one to attend
church. These necessities came home to him, when, upon
Christmas-day, he found himself too meanly clad to join the
gay party assembled at Mr. Randolph's, and, sitting alone in
his study, thought of his own family circle, then gathered,
72
[ET. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
far away, around his mother's table.
afterwards, to his home-sickness :—
"I am not sorry that you have had a touch of this disease.
I know it well. I remember how my throat seemed full, and
food was tasteless, and the solitude which I fled to was utter
loneliness. It is worse than sea-sickness, but it comes from
the heart; it is a tribute to the friends you have left."
He thus alludes, years
This slight experience of poverty, too, sank deep into his
memory, and gave him through life most tender compassion
for the needy.
His general state and habits he thus describes:-
"MY DEAR FELLOW,-
Did you but know the ex-
quisite happiness which the handwriting of a friend affords
me, now that I am so far from home, without one companion
of my youth to cheer my social, or share my gloomy, hours,
I am sure you would snatch a few moments from sleep, or the
round of amusements, to scribble me a letter.
•
"You seem anxious to know how I am situated. Very
happily, I assure you; as happily as I could be at such a
distance from Newport. I finish school before dinner, and
all the rest of the day I spend as I choose. I am treated
with every attention I can desire. I have a retired room for
my study, a lonely plain to walk in, and you know, Shaw,
that under these circumstances I cannot be miserable. I
often look towards the North with a sigh, and think of the
scenes I have left behind me. But I remember that cruel
necessity has driven me from home, and wipe away the tear
which the painful recollection had wrung from my eyes.
Do not misunderstand me, Shaw. When I say cruel necessity,
I do not mean poverty. No! It is a necessity which my
feelings have imposed upon me,—a necessity arising from a
change in my sentiments, and a peculiarity of character which
I cannot explain to you. It is now that I experience the
benefit of habits which I formed in early life. O Heaven!
what a wretch should I be, how wearisome would be ex-
istence, had I not learned to depend on myself for enjoyment!
Society becomes more and more insipid. I am tired of the
fashionable nonsense which dins my ear in every circle, and
I am driven to my book and pen for relief and pleasure.
With my book and pen in my hand, I am always happy.
Nature or education has given this bent to my mind, and I
esteem it as the richest blessing Heaven ever sent me.
I am
independent of the world. Above all things, cultivate this
21
1798–1800.]
73
LITERARY PURSUITS.
independence. You know it is my idol, and I know of no
virtue more necessary to a politician."
The studies to which he was assiduously devoting himself
were partly of a general character, as appears from the
following letters to his friend Shaw, describing his literary
pursuits:-
“I have not yet received an answer to my last two letters.
But I abhor ceremony; and when I have an hour's leisure
and a full heart, I cannot enjoy myself better than in com-
municating my sentiments and feelings to a friend. I am
now totally immersed in literature. I have settled a course
of reading for three years, and I hope at the end of that time
to have knowledge enough to enter on the world. I intend
to pursue a course of modern history immediately. I have
purchased a set of Russell, and shall take Belsham's George
the Third for a continuation. I shall gain more particular
knowledge of the distinguished reigns by the help of bio-
graphies. I have understood that Harte's Gustavus is a
good work. What do you know of it? If it is worth read-
ing, and not too voluminous, could you forward it to me?
What do you think of Gillie's Frederick? I can procure it
here, if you recommend it. I have already Voltaire's Louis
the Fourteenth. Would you advise Sully's Memoirs in this
course? I shall begin Russell at Henry the Seventh of 'Eng-
land. I have read all of Hume but the last volume. He
does not throw light enough on the rest of Europe. Tell
me what books must be added, and what retrenched. I
wish I could get a good Roman and a good Grecian history.
I know of none which is political enough, and which attends
to the private life of those nations. Ferguson will carry me
to the termination of the Roman Republic. But must I wade
through Gibbon to get acquainted with the Empire? Rather
than do this, I will wait till I begin a course of ecclesiastical
history. What do you know of Mitford's Greece? I shall
now read history very differently from what I used to do. I
shall read it as a politician and a moralist. I shall found my
opinions of government on what I see to be the effects of
different systems, and not on idle speculation. I study
harder than ever. I have just been reading Priestley's Lec-
tures, and have derived considerable advantage from them.
I admire, above all, Ferguson's Civil Society. You lost a
treasure, Shaw, when you sold it to me. Do you know any-
thing of Ferguson's other political work? I forget the title
74
[ÆT. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
of it. What merit has Robertson's North America? Is he,
like the sun, more majestic in his setting?"
Of Robertson's Charles the Fifth, also, which he at this
period read, he once remarked:-
"That history first gave me a right direction in historical
matters. The introduction is superficial; but to me, in my
ignorance, it was full of light, and taught the value of broad
views of human affairs; it led me to look for the steady causes
and tendencies at work among nations. On the whole, Ro-
bertson gives a pretty fair view of the Reformation, that
mighty event, though, indeed, he was a Protestant, and no
Protestant can be wholly impartial.”
Speaking of 's poem, he says:—
"In ancient times, it was a common opinion, that Par-
nassus was hard to climb, and its top almost inaccessible.
But in modern times, we seem to have made a beaten cart-
way over it, and where is the man who cannot travel it with-
out difficulty or danger? Helicon was once represented as a
scanty stream, and happy was he who could get a draught of
it. But now it has become so bold a river, that every
plough-boy in the field of science can water his horses at it.
Inspiration descends in the form of a thick fog, and the
beclouded fancy which paints a monster, while it aims at
sketching nature, is admired for the boldness and wildness of
its thoughts.
•
"His metaphors, generally speaking, are too far-fetched.
He shows more of the scholar than the man, and none but
a scholar can understand his productions. He pleases the
refined taste of the critic, but cannot strike the master-
springs of the human heart. . . . . . His poetry is loaded with
cumbrous epithets. He dazzles us with his splendour, but
he does not warm us with the blaze of his genius. Like a
glittering sword brandished in a sunbeam, he flashes light
into your eyes, without communicating any of the heat of
that luminary. I love an author who converges the rays of
thought till they burn in a focus.
"The ancients heaped flowers on the dead, but gave a
simple garland of oak to the living hero. I admire their
taste. Let the servile imitator deck his lifeless page with a
profusion of epithets. They keep the corpse out of sight.
But genius can give the spark of life, the bloom of health,
the lightning eye, the majesty of form, and the glow of
1798-1800.]
LITERARY PURSUITS.
75
thought, to her productions. What need, then, of orna-
ment ?"
"I have lately read Mrs. Wolstonecraft's posthumous
works. Her letters, toward the end of the first volume, are
the best I ever read. They are superior to Sterne's. I
consider that woman as the greatest of the age. Her
'Rights of Woman' is a masculine performance, and ought
to be studied by the sex. Can you call her a prostitute?
She indeed formed a guilty connexion. But even then she
acted upon principle..
"It seems that you cannot love Mrs. Wolstonecraft. I
do not mean to fight with you about her.
Her principles
respecting marriage would prove fatal to society, if they
were reduced to practice. These I cannot recommend.
But on other subjects her sentiments are noble, generous,
and sublime. She possessed a masculine mind, but in her
letters you may discover a heart as soft and feeling as was
ever placed in the breast of a woman. I only know her by
her writings.
•
“I have been reading Rousseau's Eloise. What a writer!
Rousseau is the only French author I have ever read, who
knows the way to the heart.
"I would also recommend to you a novel, Caleb Williams,
by Godwin. Shaw, what a melancholy reflection is it that
the writers I have now mentioned were all deists! Blest
with the powers of intellect and fancy, they have not been
able to discern the traces of a God in his Holy Scriptures,
and have trodden under foot the only treasure which de-
served pursuit. The pride of human nature has been the
source of their error. They could not become as little
children.' They could not bear the yoke of Christ, imbibe
the meek and humble spirit of his religion, and rely upon his
merits for pardon and acceptance with God."
But while earnestly occupied in political speculations,
and in historical and literary pursuits, thus already mani-
festing the varied mental activity which marked him in ma-
ture life,―other characteristic tendencies appeared. The
poetic temperament that had led him to the beach in New-
port, and to the willow walk in Cambridge, thrilling his
soul with the sense of beauty, with yearnings to be free from
imperfection, and visions of good too great for earth,—was
working strongly in him now. On the banks of the James
river, dotted with islets of most brilliant emerald,—under the
M
76
RICHMOND.
[ÆT. 18-20.
shadows of deep groves, where century-old sycamores reared
their tall, white trunks like cathedral columns, among
arbours formed by the gnarled grape-vines which twined
their heavy folds over trees crushed down by their weight,
where the bright, polished leaves of the holly glistened, and
the gum and the maple spread out their various-tinted ver-
dure, and the tulip-tree raised its pyramid of orange-green
blossoms to the sun, he passed hours and days of delightful
wandering, lost in soft dreams and rapturous visions. In
one letter he says:-
"I wish that you had been with me, Shaw! Arm in arm,
we would have strolled over the fields, and gazed with admi-
ration on the surrounding scenery. A few traces of cultiva-
tion varied the prospect, and all besides was wild and luxuriant.
Nature still triumphed-still reposed on her bed of leaves
under the shade of the oak and pine. Our house was delight-
fully situated on the top of a little hill. Before us spread a
valley clothed with corn and tobacco crops. Beyond it rose
two mountains. The passing clouds rested on their summits,
and one continued forest covered their sides, extending down
to the plain below.
•
•
"We would often rest under the vine or the peach-tree,
fill our bosoms with clusters of wild grapes, wipe the down
from the delicious fruit, and slake our thirst at the friendly
rivulet which murmured by our feet. I assure you I have
had a charming time. I love the country. As you have but
little work to do, you hardly know what is the meaning of
the word holiday. View me, pent up in a school for eight
months, and then let loose in the fields, free as the air I
breathe, and emancipated from the frivolous punctilios and
galling forms of society. I snuff up the fresh breezes; I
throw myself on the soft bed of grass which Nature has formed
for her favourites; I feel every power within me renewed and
invigorated.
"You told me, some time ago, that you had broken off
the habit of musing. I wish I could say the same. You
cannot conceive how much of my time, especially at this
season, is thrown away in pursuing the phantoms of a dis-
ordered imagination. Musing wears away my body and
my mind. I walk without attending to the distance. Some-
times joy gives me wings, or else, absorbed in melancholy,
I drag one foot heavily after the other for whole hours
t
1798-1800.]
SELF-SECURITY.
77
together. I try to read, but I only repeat words, without
receiving an idea from them. Do give me a recipe for curing
this disorder."
Later in life, too, in counselling a young friend, he thus
alludes to his own early habits:-
"Do anything innocent, rather than give yourself up to
reverie. I can speak on this point from experience. At one
period of my life I was a dreamer, castle-builder. Visions of
the distant and future took the place of present duty and
activity. I spent hours in reverie. I suppose I was seduced
in part by physical debility; but the body suffered as much
as the mind. I found, too, that the imagination threatened
to inflame the passions, and that, if I meant to be virtuous,
I must dismiss my musings. The conflict was a hard one.
I resolved, prayed, resisted, sought refuge in occupation, and
at length triumphed. I beg you to avail yourself of my
experience.
"It is true that every soul has its own warfare to go
through, but still we may help one another.
At your age,
there is often a great and sudden development of the sensi-
bilities. The imagination is stirred up by the hope of a vast
and undefined good, by prospects of the uncertain and bound-
less future, and plunges into reverie. The present is too
narrow for us. We know not what we want. Sometimes a
secret restlessness devours the young, a mysterious fever of
the spirit. We must not wonder at this. Our nature has
mighty energies, and they are given to us, if I may so say, in
a rude state, that we may reduce them to harmony. The
young mind, when roused to life and power, is at first very
much a chaos. Some at this critical period abandon them-
selves to sensual excesses, in hope of seizing that intense
good which they thirst for. Some give themselves up to
secret musings, and seek in unreal worlds what the actual
world cannot give. Happy the young man who at this
moment seizes on some views, however faint, of the true and
great end of his being; who is conscious, amidst his wild
thoughts, that he has within himself a power of forming him-
self to something pure, noble, divine; who sympathizes with
the generous, disinterested, heroic; who feels that he must
establish an empire over himself, or be lost. The idea of
perfection is of necessity revealed to us at first very imper-
fectly; but if we seize it with faith in the possibility of
78
[ÆT. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
realizing it, of rising to something higher than we are, and
if faith give birth to resolution, then our youth, with all its
tumults and vehemence, is full of promise.'
39
And again:-
"Have you been searching into your own motives, affec-
tions, powers, secret processes? This may be most useful.
if we study ourselves, not from self-idolatry, not under the
notion that we deserve all our power of thought, but that we
may learn our common mysterious nature, may learn some-
thing of all souls, may learn our end, and may raise our
standard of judgment and action. But perhaps you have
been employed with yourself in the sense of meditating
anxiously and jealously on your defects, or of fashioning in
reverie your own future lot. These are both bad occupations.
I wasted a good deal of my early life in reverie, and broke
the habit only by painful self-conflict. I felt that my powers
were running wild, and my religious principles were infinitely
important to me in giving me the victory. The best escape
from this habit is found in interesting occupation, of an
earnest, absorbing nature, and an innocent cheering society.
I have suffered, too, from a painful sense of defects; but, on
the whole, have been too wise to waste in idle lamentations
of deficiencies the energy which should be used in removing
them."
And, finally, his romantic enthusiasm is thus laid fully bare,
in a confession to his friend Shaw:-
“MY DEAR FELLOW,—I sit down to write you, to dis-
burden a full heart, and cheer a heavy hour. It is spring
time, and a universal languor has seized on me.
Not long
ago, I was an eagle. I had built my nest among the stars,
and I soared in regions of unclouded ether. But I fell from
heaven, and the spirit which once animated me has fled.
I have lost every energy of soul, and the only relic of your
friend is a sickly imagination, a fevered sensibility. I can-
not study. I walk and muse till I can walk no longer. I
sit down with Goldsmith or Rogers in my hand, and shed
tears—at what? At fictitious misery; at tales of imaginary
woe.
"My whole life has been a struggle with my feelings.
Last winter I thought myself victorious. But earth-born
Antæus has risen stronger than ever. I repeat it, my whole
life has been a struggle with my feelings. Ask those with
1798-1800.]
79
whom I have lived, and they will tell you that I am a stoic.
I almost thought so myself. But I only smothered a fire
which will one day consume me. I sigh for tranquil hap-
piness. I have long wished that my days might flow along
like a gentle stream, which fertilizes its banks and reflects in
its clear surface the face of heaven. But I can only wish
it. I still continue sanguine, ardent, and inconstant. I can
remember the days when I gloried in the moments of rapture,
when I loved to shroud myself in the gloom of melancholy.
You may remember them too. But I have grown wiser, as
I have grown older. I now wish to do good in the world.
'I love a divine,' says the good Fénelon, 'who preaches to
save men's souls, and not to show himself. I perfectly agree
with Fénelon; and to make such a divine as he loves, I must
throw away those ridiculous ecstasies, and form myself to
habits of piety and benevolence. One of the reasons why I
dislike the rapture and depressions of spirit, which we used
to encourage at college, is probably this-I find none to
share them with me.
SENSIBILITY.
6
"The other day, I handed to a lady a sonnet of Southey's,
which had wrung tears from me. It is pretty,' said she,
with a smile. Pretty!' echoed I, as I looked at her; 'Pretty!"
I went home. As I grew composed, I could not help reflect-
ing that the lady who had made this answer was universally
esteemed for her benevolence. I knew that she was goodness
itself. But still she wanted feeling. And what is feeling?"
said I to myself. I blushed when I thought more on the
subject. I found that the mind was just as passive in that
state which I called 'feeling' as when it received any im-
pressions of sense. One consequence immediately struck me,
that there was no moral merit in possessing feeling. Of
course there can be no crime in wanting it. Well,' con-
tinued I, 'I have just been treating with contempt a woman
of active benevolence, for not possessing what I must own it
is no crime to want. Is this just?' I then went on to con-
sider, whether there were not many persons who possessed
this boasted feeling, but who were still deficient in active
benevolence. A thousand instances occurred to me. I found
myself among the number. It is true,' said I, 'that I sit in
my study and shed tears over human misery. I weep over a
novel. I weep over a tale of human woe. But do I ever
relieve the distressed? Have I ever lightened the load of
affliction?' My cheeks reddened at the question; a cloud of
C
<
-
80
[ÆT. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
error burst from my mind. I found that virtue did not con-
sist in feeling, but in acting from a sense of duty.”
Mr. Channing's poetic temperament was chiefly manifested,
however, in the lofty hopes which it inspired for a state
of ideal virtue in individuals and humanity, for " a more
ample greatness and exact goodness, the world being inferior
to the soul." In answer to one of his fervent outpourings
upon these themes, his friend Walter writes to him:—“I
have read your letter over and over again, and should not
deserve to live, were I not delighted with the beautiful
enthusiasm and benevolent wishes breathed in every word.
They are monuments of your goodness and benevolence to
me more valuable than those of brass and marble. But, my
dear Channing, is not your theory incompatible with the ex-
perience of ages?" And in reply to yet another letter, his
brother Francis says:-"You know nothing of yourself.
You talk of your apathy and stoicism, when you are the baby
of your emotions, and dandled by them without any chance of
being weaned. What shall I expect? Nothing, certainly,
but what is amiable and humane; but virtue in distraction
may be as idle and useless, though soaring and sublime, as a
lunatic." Friends on all sides, indeed, evidently thought him
the prey of fevered imagination, and to one of their appeals
to be more calm and prudent, he thus replies:-
"I will throw together a few observations on the subject,
in as short a compass as possible, and without the least mix-
ture of romance or enthusiasm. I do not mean to challenge
you into the lists of argument. I do not fight for victory.
I only wish to convince you that I am not so wild in my
views, or so erroneous in my sentiments, as your letter repre-
sents me.
6
"You begin with observing, that the will of Heaven to
man is declared in the situation in which he is placed, and in
the circumstances of his life;' and you afterwards say, that
6
every one is a Howard who like him applies his penny or
his pound.' I cannot assent to this in its full extent. You
evidently go upon the supposition, that the circumstances of
our lives are decided by Heaven. I believe they are decided
by ourselves. Man is the artificer of his own fortune. By
exertion he can enlarge the sphere of his usefulness. By
activity he can multiply himself.' It is mind which gives
him an ascendant in society. It is mind which extends his
power and ability; and it depends on himself to call forth
<
1798-1800.]
ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE.
81
the energies of mind, to strengthen intellect, and form benevo-
lence into a habit of the soul. The consequence which
deduce from these principles is this,-that Heaven has not,
by placing me in particular circumstances, assigned me a
determinate sphere of usefulness (which seems to be your
opinion), but that it is in my power, and of course that it is
my duty to widen the circle, and 'throw my beams' still
farther into the night of adversity.' This, Francis, is the
leading idea which runs through my letter, and will you call
it extravagance?
6
"It is not enough that you do good in proportion to your
power, when you have criminally neglected to enlarge this
power. Will you call the idle man a Howard,' who indeed
shares his loaf of bread with a brother beggar, but who, by
industry, might have procured the means of making thousands
happy? You understand me. I may have written a thousand
extravagances to you which I have forgotten. But the great
and striking principles which I advanced I have unfolded.
above, and they still appear to my sober reason as principles
founded on immutable truth. You tell me I am only a candle.
Perhaps I am less,-a farthing rushlight, a glowworm on a
humble shrub. You say I am discontented at not being the
sun. No such thing! Discontent is no trait in my character.
Give me but the consciousness that I have done all I could
and ought to do, and you pluck out every thorn from my
bosom. I wish I could return your compliment, and say you
were a candle. I wish I could point to a man of my ac-
quaintance and say so. Philosophers tell us that a candle.
fills with light a sphere of four miles' diameter.
Send me
the dimensions of your sphere. Mine is fifteen feet by ten.
Is it not shameful! Ambition has waved her flaming torch
over nations, and set the world in a blaze. Avarice has
penetrated earth itself, and with a steadier and more stinted
light illumined the sunless mine. But show me humanity,
with even one lonely candle in her hand, throwing a few
beams into the night of adversity,' bringing to light the
hidden treasures of neglected intellect, &c. &c. I dare go no
farther, lest you should begin to compliment me about enthu-
siasm."
The form which his ardent philanthropy assumed was the
one which must always cheer the truly noble and heroic, and
which then presented itself in such glowing hues to many
minds in France, Germany, and England, the vision of a
VOL. I.
G
82
[ET. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
66
perfect society. "Socrates and Plato," writes his brother,
were schoolmasters; Pythagoras went farther, and formed
a society of virtuous disciples,-a society wonderful, because
unparalleled. It was, however, confined to but a part of
Italy. My brother advances with noble ardour to a vaster
enterprise. The world is to be his Academy, and all mankind
his pupils. To make all men happy, by making all virtuous,
is his glorious project. I adore it, thou moral Archimedes!
but where wilt thou stand to move the mental world?
Whither has enthusiasm hurried you?" &c. So, also, his
friend Walter writes:-"Will you make yourself miserable,
because you cannot reach the rainbow from the hill? In
heaven, Channing, you will find the scope you seek for pro-
gression in virtue; but here the mind partakes of the clay
which incloses it," &c.
His views may be best learned from the following letter:
"I have of late, my friend, launched boldly into specula-
tions on the possible condition of mankind in the progress
of their improvement. I find avarice the great bar to all my
schemes, and I do not hesitate to assert that the human race
will never be happier than at present till the establishment
of a community of property.
"I derive my sentiments from the nature of man. What
is man? for what was he born? To vegetate, to draw nu-
trition from the earth, and then wither away forgotten and
unknown? Oh, no! he bears a spark of divinity in his bosom,
and it is Promethean fire which animates his clay. Look at
the human mind. See it bursting forth, spreading itself
through infinite space, by its power of receiving ideas from
external objects concentrating immensity in a point, and by
its powers of retrospect and anticipation concentrating eternity
in a moment. Need I mention his faculty of moral discern-
ment, or his creative imagination? Now, Shaw, I would ask
you, in what does the perfection of man consist; which part
of his nature requires most care; from what source is his
most rational and permanent happiness derived? The answer
you must make is, 'The mind. In proportion as his mind
is improved in science and virtue, in that degree is he
happy.
"Now, my friend, let me ask you to look on the world
and to show me the man who is engaged in this improve-
ment. All is hurry, all is business. But why this tumult?
To pamper the senses and load the body with idle trappings.
1798–1800.]
COMMUNITY OF PROPERTY.
83
Show me the man who ever toiled for wealth to relieve
misery, and unrivet the chains of oppression. Show me
the man who ever imported virtue from the Indies, or became
a better Christian by increasing his hoard. Are not the
mines of science forsaken for those of Potosí? Does not the
pursuit of wealth damp our feelings, freeze up the tears of
benevolence, check the flight of genius, and excite in our
bosom distrust and suspicion towards our brethren of the
human race? Does it not render mankind venal and merce-
nary? Yes; give me gold enough and I will buy up the
souls of our whole species. I do not except myself. I love
money. I have my price. And what is gold? Perishing
earth and dust. What does it procure? Meat, drink, and
clothing. Now, Shaw, since the body is so inferior to the
mind, do you think that more attention should be paid to
feeding and clothing it than is absolutely necessary? No.
Is not this speculative opinion supported by fact? Do not
nature and experience declare to us, that the more temperate
we are, the healthier and happier we are? The wants of the
body, then, are few; and the labour of mankind is misap-
plied. This conclusion is fairly drawn from the premises.
،
"But here you will cry out, All this is theoretic non-
sense. Man is selfish. He will always strive to gratify his
senses; and if gold will procure these gratifications, he will
always pursue it.' Stop, my friend; I grant that man is
selfish. But ought he to be so? Was man framed for him-
self, or for his fellow-men? On this point of morality I know
we shall agree; and you will think as I do, that if we can
substitute benevolence for selfishness, we shall add to the
sum of human virtue and happiness. Again, ought man to
provide most for his body or his mind? Here, too, we shall
agree;—and no doubt you wish to see a love of science take
the place of a love of money in the human breast. Now I
think that these changes can be effected in the sentiments
and feelings of mankind. How? By education. Do you
wonder, Shaw, that you see so many selfish and avaricious
wretches on earth, when you behold every mother, as she
holds her child on her knee, instilling the maxims of worldly
prudence into his tender bosom? How is it that you and I,
in the midst of this infection, still glow with benevolence to
mankind, and derive such high joys from the cultivation of
our minds? Is not this an earnest of what would happen
universally, were the world to unite in instilling these noble
I
G 2
84
[ET. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
principles into the rising generation? Judge from your own
feelings, whether the principle of benevolence, sympathy, or
humanity is not so strongly impressed on the heart by God
himself, that, with proper care, it might become the principle
of action. Judge from your own feelings, whether the love
of science is not founded upon so natural a sentiment,—I
mean curiosity,-that, with the same care, it would pervade
every bosom. I declare to you that I believe these ideas to
be incontrovertible. Do you not glow at the prospect? Be-
hold the rising virtues attended by truth and wisdom,-peace
with her olive-branch, compassion with her balm. Omy
friend! I can go no farther. I feel a noble enthusiasm
spreading through my frame; every nerve is strung, every
muscle is labouring; my bosom pants with a great, half-con-
ceived, and indescribable sentiment; I seem inspired with a
surrounding deity.
"But stop,' I hear you say, 'you are too impetuous.
How will you lead mankind to educate their children in this
way? Ay, there is the rub; there lies the difficulty. It is
only by implanting benevolence and love of science in the
mind of the parent, and rooting out his avarice and selfish-
ness, that we can hope to see the child educated as we wish.
'But how can this be effected? Do you mean to war with
nature?' No; I am convinced that virtue and benevolence
are natural to man. I believe that selfishness and avarice
have arisen from two ideas universally inculcated on the
young and practised upon the old,-(1.) that every individual
has a distinct interest to pursue from the interest of the com-
munity; and (2.) that the body requires more care than the
mind.
"I believe these ideas to be false; and I believe that you
can never banish them, till you persuade mankind to cease
to act upon them; that is, till you can persuade them (1.) to
destroy all distinctions of property (which you are sensible
must perpetuate this supposed distinction of interest), and to
throw the produce of their labour into one common stock,
instead of hoarding it up in their own garners; and (2.) to
become really conscious of the powers and the dignity of
their mind. You must convince mankind that they them-
selves, and all which they possess, are but parts of a great
whole; that they are bound by God, their common Father,
to labour for the good of this great whole; that their wants
are but few, and can easily be supplied; that mind, mind re-
A
1798-1800.]
ASPIRATIONS.
85
quires all their care; and that the dignity of their nature and
the happiness of others require them to improve this mind
in science and virtue. Believe me, my friend, you can never
root out selfishness and avarice, till you destroy the idea that
private interest is distinct from the public. You must lead
every man to propose to himself, in all his actions, the good
of the whole for his object. He must plough and till the
earth, that all may eat of the produce of his labour. Mine
and thine must be discarded from his vocabulary. He should
call everything ours. Here would be no robbery, for a man
could steal nothing but his own. No man would be idle
where such sentiments and such examples prevailed; and
where there was no luxury to enervate him, every man would
have leisure to cultivate the mind. We should sleep se-
curely; we should live long and happily; and, perhaps, like
old Enoch, when the time came, be translated to heaven.
"You will tell me that this is all chimera, that if we could
indeed convert one generation, it would be very easy to per-
petuate this order of things by education, through those that
followed; but how shall we convert this generation. Shaw!
do you sit still and ask this question? Rise, rise! It is the
voice of benevolence. Do you not feel new energies at the
sound? Why despair of success? Are not you yourself
ready to devote every moment of existence and every drop of
your blood to the service of mankind? And are you and I the
only virtuous ones upon earth? No! Thousands are ready
to join hands with us. Truth is omnipotent. She must pre-
vail. Are not benevolence and thirst for knowledge so
natural to our race, that, by cherishing them in youth, when
the mind is unwarped, we can form them into principles of
action? Is there a man so hard of heart, that you cannot
find in him some string to vibrate to the touch of humanity?
Why despair, then? You profess to believe in the Christian
religion. Does not Christianity favour such a scheme? I
believe it will be hard to reconcile Christian humility, charity,
and contempt of riches, with the present establishment of
human affairs. Read Soame Jenyns. His arguments can-
not be disproved.
<<
Rouse, then! Consider how you may best serve man-
kind. Lend this letter to Walter. We few, we happy.
few, we band of brothers,' will unite our exertions in the
cause of virtue and science. We will beat down with the
irresistible engines of truth those strong ramparts consoli-
86
RICHMOND.
[ET. 18-20.
dated by time, within which avarice, ignorance, and selfish-
ness have intrenched themselves. We will plant the standards
of virtue and science on the ruins, and lay the foundation of
a fair fabric of human happiness to endure as long as time,
and to acquire new grace and lustre with the lapse of ages.
My dear Shaw, I fear you will say I am crazy. No,
66
no-
،، ،
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music.'
Then you will tell me I am one of the Illuminati. Upon
my honour, I never did receive any letter or letters from
Weishaupt* in my life. These sentiments have arisen alto-
gether from my detestation of avarice and selfishness.
"You will see, through the whole of this letter, an ardent
desire to serve mankind. This is the reigning wish of my
heart. Do try to think of some means in which we can
unite our efforts for so desirable an end."
What particular plan had taken shape in his mind does
not appear distinctly, though, from his papers, it is probable
that he thought of joining himself, as minister, to a settle-
ment of Scotch emigrants, whose fundamental principle was
common property. Friends speak laughingly of his "great
scheme;" and Walter proposes, in a vein of mock earnest-
ness, to carry out the "imaginary republic of Coleridge and
Southey, and a community of goods, in the backwoods, or,
better far, in some South Sea island." He then goes on to
expose what appear to him the peculiar dangers and tempta-
tions of "community," and ends thus:-
“
"Indeed, Channing, your sentiments are too extravagant.
No doubt man would be happier, if he were better. But the
difficulty is to make him better. I do not know that this
can be done. You say it is possible; but I can hardly be-
lieve. I fear that the German Weishaupt has been tamper-
ing with you. However, he never attacked your reason and
judgment, but only warmed your imagination, by showing
you, in distant perspective, beautiful scenes of men, and
women, and children, sitting under oak-trees, eating acorns
and drinking water. I suppose, in conformity with his wishes,
you are studying German in order to be able to comprehend
the mysteries of the institution, which are so sublime that
* Professor at the Bavarian Institute of Ingoldstadt, and founder of the
Order of the Illuminati, 1776.
1798-1800.] GODWIN'S POLITICAL JUSTICE.
the English language sinks under their weight. Jacobinism
is closely connected with their system, is it not? and this is
the reason why you tell me high things of the Democratic
Virginians?".
87
His grandfather Ellery, too, in his plain, straight-forward
fashion, opens his mind to his young relative thus:-
K
"Godwin's Political Justice' is after the manner of the
French philosophers. I am not acquainted with his moral
character; but I despise French philosophists. Their system
goes to the destruction of all government and all morality.
I wish the poorer sort of the Godwinites and Jacobinites
would push home upon their rich leaders in the doctrines of
perfectibility and equalization, the necessity of a community of
goods, in order to a consistency of conduct with principle.
This would make a division among them; for I believe I may
confidently say, that there is not a rich man of those prin-
ciples, who would share his property with the poor of the
pretended fraternity. He might perhaps say, 'Be ye warmed,
be ye clothed;' but he would not give a cent, unless for the
purpose of elections, or to carry some other favourite point.
The principles referred to are deistical; and while men are
absorbed in luxury, and entertain such high notions of human
nature in general, and of themselves in particular, they will
not listen with attention to the self-denying doctrines of the
Gospel, nor submit to that subordination which is essential to
order and happiness, but will oppose themselves even to the
government of Jehovah. To stand firm in the midst of such
characters, requires a great degree of religious fortitude; but
I trust persecution is not necessary to preserve your integrity,
or enkindle your zeal. The rock on which the true church of
Christ is built, is not to be overturned by violence or by
undermining.”
These most kindly meaning, but over-cautious, friends
little knew the depth of that living well of humanity, which,
first opening in young Channing's mind while reading
Hutcheson in college, was thenceforth to pour abroad an
exhaustless river. The current might be diverted, but
nothing could seal the fountain. Their advice influenced his
judgment, but it did not make him for an instant untrue to
the law of his own character. The project present to his
mind, whatever it may have been, was laid aside; but the large
philanthropy which prompted it was only purified by the
88
RICHMOND.
[ET. 18-20.
sacrifice. No fears suggested by other minds daunted his
own indomitable trust. Then, and for ever,
"white handed Hope,
The hovering angel girt with golden wings,”
cheered him and led him on.
It would be interesting, however, to know how far this
experience, that enthusiasm impelled him to plans which
those whom he reverenced and loved thought extravagant,
was instrumental in developing the deliberateness which was
so conspicuous a trait in maturer life. And some may ques-
tion, whether he and the world gained more or lost by the
vigilant purpose, then probably awakened, to avoid the least
mistake. Were there not latent energies in him which never
germinated, rich impulses which never bloomed and bore
seeds for chance winds to scatter? Does not the Infinite
Disposer balance the deficiencies of one class of characters by
the excesses of another, and thus produce harmony by the
counterpoise of contrasted energies? Can any created being
approximate nearer to the right than by never compromising
and never postponing, but always obeying, the highest im-
pulse? On the other hand, most of those who knew Dr.
Channing well would probably say that his crowning grace
was the calm patience with which he refrained from acting,
until he was free to do so without a discord in any tone of
feeling. He often declared, that, if there was anything of
worth in his life and influence, he owed it to the fidelity with
which he had listened to every objection that was presented
by the suggestion of his own or other minds to what he
wished to believe or to do. He thought, too, that in younger
days his impetuous nature had led him into error; and though
he found it a hard trial to resist the fervency of his tempera-
ment, he was yet firmly resolved never to be possessed,”
but, under all events, to "possess his soul in peace.'
66
But while Mr. Channing's interests were thus broad, his
feelings were constantly concentrating more and more upon
religion, and a preparation for the ministry. And to his
friend Shaw he thus writes:-
""
"I am studying divinity harder than ever. Thanks to
God who made me, I have chosen the only profession which
could make me happy. By studying the Scriptures them-
selves, I am trying to discover the will of God, and the un-
corrupted doctrines which our Saviour taught. I am certain
1798-1800.]
89
STUDIES IN DIVINITY.
that I am impartial; and the honest mind is in little danger
of going wrong.
"I once called myself a Christian. But till lately I knew
not the meaning of the word. I entreat you, Shaw, not to
absorb yourself so much in political pursuits, as to lose sight
of the most important of all your concerns. The distin-
guishing duties of our holy religion are humility, purity of
heart, forgiveness of our worst enemies, forbearance under
the heaviest injuries, detachment from the pleasures and
pursuits of this world, and supreme affection to Deity. As
charity is among the first of Christian virtues, Christianity
necessarily requires of us an active life. It requires us to
mingle with our fellow-men, and exert ourselves in promoting
human happiness. By 'detachment from the world,' then, I
do not mean monastic retirement. You cannot do too much
good in the world.
"It is impossible for any one to be a Christian, unless he
believes that the end of this life is to prepare for heaven, and
bends his affections, his hopes, and his thoughts to this all-
important end. Is your heart pure?
"Blessed are the pure
in heart, for they shall see God.' Are you humble? By
which I mean, have you such a sense of your unworthiness
in the sight of God, that you are willing to receive with an
honest heart the truths which his Son taught, to give your-
self up like a little child to be formed and guided by him,
and to receive salvation, not as due to your own merits, but
as a free and undeserved gift of God through Jesus Christ?
• Whosoever shall not humble himself as this little child,
shall not enter the kingdom of God.' 'Resist not evil.'
Here is a duty too sublime almost for our performance. We
can hardly reach to so divine a height, as to imitate our
Maker in doing good to the unjust, as well as just. Many
Christians try to explain away this duty, and infidels laugh
at it. But still it is in the Bible, and it ought strictly to be
adhered to. What is the end of human existence? To pre-
pare for heaven. How can we obtain heaven?
By culti-
vating love to God and love to man. These are the great
roots from which grow all the duties I have recommended.
Now charity must govern us in all our conduct with man-
kind.
Christ has expressly declared that this is a necessary
qualification for one of his followers. Let us suppose, then,
that we are injured. Suppose that, like our Master, we are
90
RICHMOND.
[ÆT. 18-20.
C
spit upon.
What does charity command us to do? Does
she say to us, 'Retaliate,' or Forgive? Is it not plainer
than sunshine! But Christianity goes farther. She tells us
that we cannot meet with an injury worth the name.
could rob us of heaven, he would indeed injure us.
other part is a Christian vulnerable. Farewell. In haste,
from a full heart.
If one
In no
"P.S.-My intention was to have given you a delinea-
tion of the peculiar doctrines of our religion. But I had not
room, and began with too little method. Should you desire
it, I will hereafter give you my ideas in order on this subject.
I assure you, I was struck with the sublime precepts of Chris-
tianity, when I began the study of the Bible. I was struck,
too, with observing how far I had deviated from them. I
found that I had not a pure, an humble, a pious, or a cha-
ritable heart. I saw how Christian charity differed from
what I used to call benevolence. Everything was new
to me."
"You may see from my letters the warmth with which
I have embraced the Christian cause. Would to God that I
could resign every worldly prospect, and bend my whole soul
to improvement in religion and the diffusion of the truths of
the Gospel. O Shaw! it cuts me to the heart to see the
contempt and irreverence with which the name and the
worship of the 'Majesty of Heaven' are treated by the gene-
rality of mankind. Do we not offer a new cup of gall to our
crucified Saviour? Are we not as inhuman as the Jews?
Do we not plait, like them, a crown of thorns for the head of
our Redeemer? They despised him, and we are ashamed to
acknowledge him."
From his own accounts, he was at this period much en-
gaged in a patient and, according to his means, a thorough
review of the evidences of Christianity, being stimulated no
doubt by the open avowals of infidelity among the intelligent
men of Virginia. This examination led him, after long
struggles and painful perplexities, to an unfaltering faith in
the providential mission and miraculous character of Jesus
Christ. It was under the impulse of this deepened reverence
for revelation, that he began the serious study of the Scrip-
tures, even writing out for himself quite a voluminous com-
mentary upon the New Testament, which he afterward
destroyed. He sought, too, the advice of religious friends;
1798-1800.]
91
RELIGIOUS ZEAL.
and we find him thus describing his pursuits and spiritual
condition, in a letter to the Rev. Joseph McKean, then lately
settled at Milton, Massachusetts.
“DEAR SIR,—I applied to our common friend and brother,
Francis, a few weeks ago, to desire him to procure for me a
religious correspondent. I told him that I could not find in
Virginia one young man to whom I could express my senti-
ments on religious subjects, or to whose bosom I could con-
fide those feelings which the study of the Scriptures inspired in
my own. I told him that I wanted a friend to whom I could
propose the difficulties which I found in the Bible,-
-a friend
who had devoted his life to the service of his God, to whom
I could open my whole heart, and talk with the familiarity of
a brother. In a late letter, he tells me that you were pleased
with the idea of such a correspondence.
S
"I began the study of divinity with attending to the evi-
dences of Christianity. I examined them with caution, and
I think without prejudice; and I am convinced that this re-
ligion is truly divine. I have now undertaken to acquaint
myself with the doctrines of this religion; and to do this I
have not applied to any commentators, or to any authors ex-
cept the apostles themselves. My object is to discover the
truth. I wish to know what Christ taught, not what men
have made him teach. I well knew, that if I began with
reading polemical divinity, there were ten chances to one
that I should embrace the system of the first author which I
studied, whether right or wrong. I was certain that, as
Christ came to save the world, every truth essential to salva-
tion must be plainly unfolded in the Scriptures. I had also
observed that many ministers, instead of guiding their flocks
to the gates of heaven, had become so entangled in contro-
versy as to neglect their most solemn charge, the saving of
men's souls. These are the reasons which have induced me
to apply to the Bible,-that only source of divine knowledge,
and to the Bible alone. The advantages I have derived from
such a course seem to prove the propriety of it. I might
have found the same truths in other authors, but they could
never have made so forcible an impression on my mind. I
have been active in acquiring, not passive in receiving, the
great precepts and doctrines of Christianity, and the strength
of
my conviction is proportioned to the labour I have be-
stowed. My heart, too, has been affected, as well as my
mind enlightened. I have learned to view everything, as it
•
92
RICHMOND.
[ÆT. 18-20.
were, through the medium of Scripture, to judge of actions
by the standard of Scripture morality, and to estimate the
importance of present wants by their influence on the happi-
ness of another state. Such is the plan which I follow, and
such are the effects which I ascribe to it. I would thank
you for your opinion on the propriety of it."
He then goes on to state some critical difficulties which he
says have struck him, and closes as follows:-
They do not affect any of the great doctrines of Chris-
tianity. But, as they are parts of the Bible, I wish to un-
derstand them, and as they are apparent contradictions, they
affect the credibility of the history."
Mr. Channing was at this time examining also the specula-
tive doctrines of the various sects; and he apparently pursued
this work with something of the blended freedom and caution
of his later years, for we find that he was charged by corre-
spondents both with over-orthodoxy and heresy. One friend
writes to him:-"For my part, I must dispense with your
sermon, as our tenets, I conjecture, do not coincide.
You
will look quite sober when I tell you that I am a 'Price-ite,'
and believe, with him, an honest mind to be the one thing
needful. I am quite a heretic, I know, on your system, but
hope it is not criminal, as I am Christian enough to hold fast
to every principle necessary to piety and to virtue." But
from the opposite side, a correspondent appeals to him thus:-
"From an observation in one of your late letters, expressive
of a doubt of the vicarious character of Christ, I am induced
to think that you have not read Butler with that attention he
deserves. I think he has proved, that if we are convinced
by historical evidence of the truth of revelation, we are not
to doubt of its doctrines because wonderful or mysterious.
The arguments on the proposition are worthy, perhaps, of
another attentive perusal. I am not singular in allowing
them to be irrefragable. As a friend to truth, I shall with
pleasure peruse your reply, and as candidly give to every
objection its due weight. I must, however, request you not
to unfold them in your letters, which are generally shown to
as they may give unreasonable and painful alarms.
You know the prejudices of education, and that to the last
generation, one step from orthodoxy is a deviation into
heresy." His liberality was probably quickened by the
variety of opinions which he found prevailing round him,
>
1798-1800.]
LONELINess.
93
and by the catholic spirit that pervaded Richmond. But
although he found advantage in thus looking upon all sides.
of dogmatic questions, yet his inward struggles were greatly
multiplied, and his mental loneliness became almost intole-
rable, as appears from the following extracts from letters.
•
Would, Shaw, that you were here. I want a friend; but
I can nowhere find one. My social feelings are as strong
as ever. But I cannot often gratify them. I am sick of the
unmeaning conversation of fashionable circles. By society,
I mean the communion of souls. But where is this to be
found? How I long to lean upon your arm, as I walk
through the woods! But away with gloom.
I cannot
but thank you for your kind attentions, which from any one
else would be burdensome to me. But knowing the goodness
of your heart, and that you receive more happiness in con-
ferring than I can in receiving your favours, I banish the
painful idea from my mind that I am troublesome to you,
and enjoy without alloy all the pleasures which your friend-
ship provides for me.
"If you can indeed find leisure, write, I beg of you.
I
would empty my light purse (for light it is) every day of the
week, if money could purchase such letters as I have to-night
received. Do not construe anything I have said into an
indifference about hearing from you. I wish you could see
the rapture beam in my dull eyes as I open your packages;
you would want no other proof of my eagerness to correspond
with you."
There was at that time but one church in Richmond,
though services were held also in the Hall of Burgesses,
where an Episcopalian and Presbyterian alternately officiated;
and interest in religion generally was slight. Mr. Channing
was driven to rely, therefore, very much upon himself in de-
termining his views, and finding nutriment for devoutness
and love. His trials and struggles he thus makes known to
his uncle:-
"Would to God that I could return a favourable answer
to your question respecting religion! Christianity is here
breathing its last. I cannot find a friend with whom I can
even converse on religious subjects. I am obliged to confine
my feelings to my own bosom. How often, when I have
walked out into the country, have I looked for a companion
to whom I could address the language of praise and adoration
K
94
[ET. 18-20.
RICHMOND.
}
*
Ι
+d
which was trembling on my lips, and which the surrounding
scenes of nature had excited! But in vain. I fear that they
read the volume of nature without once thinking of its
Author. The Bible is wholly neglected. That treasure of
wisdom and comfort is trodden under foot. The wonders of
redeeming love excite no sentiments of gratitude. The glad
tidings of a Saviour are heard without joy. Infidelity is
very general among the higher classes; and they who do not
reject Christianity can hardly be said to believe, as they
never examine the foundations on which it rests. In fine,
religion is in a deplorable state. Many of the people have
wondered how I could embrace such an unprofitable pro-
fession as the ministry. Alas! they know not the riches
which God has promised to those who serve him. You may
fear, my uncle, lest I have fallen a prey to the contagion of
example. Thanks to God! I have maintained my ground.
The streams of dissipation have flowed by me, and I have
not felt a wish to taste them.
66
I will go farther, Sir, I believe that I never experienced
that change of heart which is necessary to constitute a
Christian, till within a few months past. The worldling
would laugh at me; he would call conversion a farce. But
the man who has felt the influences of the Holy Spirit can
oppose fact and experience to empty declaration and con-
temptuous sneers. You remember the language of the blind
man whom Jesus healed,-"This I know, that whereas I
was blind, now I see. Such is the language which the real
Christian may truly utter. Once, and not long ago, I was
blind, blind to my own condition, blind to the goodness of
God, and blind to the love of my Redeemer. Now I behold
with shame and confusion the depravity and rottenness of
my heart. Now I behold with love and admiration the long-
suffering and infinite benevolence of Deity.
""
"All my sentiments and affections have lately changed.
I once considered mere moral attainments as the only object
I had to pursue. I have now solemnly given myself up to
God. I consider supreme love to him as the first of all
duties, and morality seems but a branch from the vigorous
root of religion. I love mankind because they are the
children of God. I practise temperance, and strive for
purity of heart, that I may become a temple for his Holy
Spirit to dwell in. I long, most earnestly long, to be such a
minister as Fénelon describes. Religion is the only treasure
1798–1800.]
SELF-CONSECRATION.
95.
worth pursuing. I consider the man who recommends it to
society as more useful than the greatest statesman and patriot
who adorns the page of history. What liberty so valuable as
liberty of heart,-freedom from sin?”
In this letter, it will be observed, Mr. Channing says, "I
have now solemnly given myself up to God;" and among his
papers is found his act of self-consecration. One reads the
time-stained writing with reverent tenderness, as he would
take from a crypt a sacred relic; but it is of too personal a
character to publish. It is chiefly remarkable for the sin-
cerity with which its writer lays bare the morbid action of
his soul, and for the care with which he seeks to guard
against renewed failure in every possible emergency, and to
map out clearly the path of duty in all relations.
This paper
marks the transition-point in the development of his character.
The day-dreams of boyhood, the hopes of youth, the longings
and aspirations of eighteen years, like morning clouds, con-
dense and fall in a refreshing rain of penitence. He has
recognized in himself the want of unity, moral confusion and
discordant tendencies, liability to sin and actual sinfulness,
self-love, bondage to sense, to personal habits, to social
customs; he has felt to the quick the need of a harmonizing
principle of order, of serenity, fulness, freedom, force; he
has become conscious of the sublime power of conforming
action, thought, and temper to the inward oracle of right;
above all, he has learned the mysterious law of spiritual life,
that pure impulses must be renewed by trustful, humble,
earnest seeking and waiting for the influence of the Divine
spirit, and has experienced the awful fact, that
AL
"From God is all that soothes the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad success,
His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.'
Henceforth there will be less impetuosity, more steadfastness,
less bold enthusiasm, more forethought, vigilance, and patient
hope. An on-looker may be inclined to mourn that con-
scientiousness so strictly rules an originally buoyant genius;
but he will see, too, with what beautiful radiance, love, con-
stantly brightening like a central sun, throws peace and joy
upon balanced powers, moving in even orbits. The thought,
also, will present itself, had this noble heart but reached
maturity in an age when a faith serene as that of his later
life was filling society around him like a genial atmosphere,
134
""
96
RICHMOND.
}
[ÆT. 18-20.
then how would such an era of earnest piety have expanded
every faculty, as the sunbeams open flowers! But these
confessions, shadowed as they are by the gloomy theology
which at that period overspread all minds, still prove how
sovereign was rectitude in this man's moral nature, and how
comprehensive and minute was its sway. There was no
trait, through the whole of after life, so characteristic as the
unsleeping oversight of his conscience.
Particular phrases, and indeed the whole tone of the papers
which thus open to us the secret chambers of the writer's
spirit, show that the views which he then held of his own
inward condition, and of his need of a renewed life, were
such as are commonly called "serious." It will be seen that
he even uses the almost technical expressions, "change of
heart," and "conversion." In regard to these expressions,
however, and others also in the preceding letter, it is but
right to add, that he frequently asserted, without reservation,
that he was never either a Trinitarian or a Calvinist; and
once, at a later period of life, when asked by a most estimable
orthodox acquaintance, "whether he had not at some time
experienced conversion," he answered, "I should say not,
unless the whole of my life may be called, as it truly has
been, a process of conversion;" to which this quaint rejoinder
was made," Then, friend Channing, you were born re-
generate, for you certainly are now a child of God."
Of this important era in his life, Dr. Channing, as late as
1842, thus wrote to a friend:*
"Your account of Richmond was very interesting.
You
little suspected how many remembrances your letter was to
awaken in me. I spent a year and a half there, and perhaps
the most eventful of my life. I lived alone, too poor to buy
books, spending my days and nights in an outbuilding, with
no one beneath my roof except during the hours of school-
keeping. There I toiled as I have never done since, for
gradually my constitution sank under the unremitting exer-
tion. With not a human being to whom I could com-
municate my deepest thoughts and feelings, and shrinking
from common society, I passed through intellectual and moral
conflicts, through excitements of heart and mind, so ab-
sorbing as often to banish sleep, and to destroy almost
wholly the power of digestion. I was worn well-nigh to a
* Huguenots in America. By Mrs. George Lee. Appendix, p. 282.
1798-1800.]
97
skeleton. Yet I look back on those days and nights of
loneliness and frequent gloom with thankfulness. If I ever
struggled with my whole soul for purity, truth, and goodness,
it was there. There, amidst sore trials, the great question,
I trust, was settled within me, whether I would obey the
higher or lower principles of my nature,-whether I would
be the victim of passion, the world, or the free child and
servant of God. It is an interesting recollection, that this
great conflict was going on within me, and that my mind was
then receiving its impulse towards the perfect, without a
thought or suspicion of one person around me as to what I
was experiencing. And is not this the case continually?
The greatest work on earth is going on near us, perhaps
under our roof, and we know it not. In a licentious, intem-
perate city, one spirit, at least, was preparing, in silence and
loneliness, to toil, not wholly in vain, for truth and holiness."
RETURN HOME.
He returned to Newport in July of the year 1800. The
vessel in which he sailed was a sloop engaged in transporting
coal. It was in a most wretched condition, being leaky and
damp, and worse manned, for the captain and crew were
drunken. They ran upon a shoal, and lay there till for-
tunately lifted off by the next tide. He was very sick and
much exposed. And his friends were shocked, on his arrival,
to find the vigorous, healthy young man, who had left them
eighteen months before, changed to a thin and pallid invalid.
His days of health were gone, and henceforth he was to
experience in the constantly depressed tone of a most delicate
organization the severest trial of his life.
CHAP. V. — STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
ET. 20-23. 1800-1803.
AT Newport, in the bosom of his family, Mr. Channing now
remained for a year and a half, devoted to the pursuit of his
theological studies, and having under his charge the son of
his Virginia friend, Mr. Randolph, and his own youngest
brother, whom he was preparing for college. It was as deep
delight to him to be at home, as it was to his mother, sisters,
and brothers to have him with them. Francis had been com-
pelled to return to Cambridge, where he was established as a
lawyer. William thus became the head of the household;
VOL. I.
པའི་
H
98
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
[ÆT. 20-23.
;.
and it was in this situation that his lovely domestic character
began fully to display itself. The mantle of his father's
sweetness fell upon him. When troubles and anxieties grew
too strong for his mother to bear with equanimity, he would
pass his arm around her, saying, "It will all be well-it will
all be well." He began, too, family devotions, and produced
an impression of holiness and gentle dignity upon the minds
of the younger members of the home circle, which can never
be effaced. It is said that he was conscious, however, of an
inherited tendency to irritability and sternness, which some-
times displayed itself in words or deeds; and that, sorrowing
over such frailty, and feeling its unworthiness, he resolved
that he would never become a minister till he had gained a
control over all angry dispositions. The struggle led to a
beautiful triumph; and no one, who saw the unbroken serenity
of his mature manhood, could easily conceive that there had
ever been an original excitability to overcome. His disin-
terestedness and anxious care for each and every one around
him were unvarying. He undertook the superintendence of
his three sisters' education, and induced one of them to give
herself up very much to his guidance. "This year," writes.
this sister, "is impressed on my mind by his kind interest in
me. He used to take me on his lap, and hold long conversa-
tions, which I sometimes thought too serious, though he would
also play draughts with me for my amusement.
He led me
to walk with him, also, on the beach, when he would attract
my attention to the glories of nature, and of its Author." He
was at this time, though not unsocial, yet disinclined to large
companies, and fond of retirement. Such a course, he used
"made less work for repentance." His whole mode
of life was extremely simple and abstemious, partly with the
view of restoring his enfeebled health, but still more because
he felt such habits to be favourable to the calmness and
clearness of mind, and the pure spirituality which he aspired
to reach.
to say,
The following extracts from his early papers will best show
the manner in which, at this period, he was endeavouring to
discipline his spirit.
"I must not consider doing good as an accidental pleasure,
but make it the business of life. Let me seek, not wait, for
opportunities. Let the active spirit of Christian charity be
ever watchful in discovering objects, and persevering in devis-
ing means of usefulness. Love is happiness; he who grows
1800-1803.]
SELF-DISCIPLINE.
99
in love grows in happiness. God is Love; and his image in
us is love. If I would resemble him, let me strengthen
love. I feel now that a degrading selfishness reigns in my
heart."
"In doing good, let me aim at simplicity of means. There
is no need of expressing my intention, of asking an idle ques-
tion, of appearing to labour. Let a silent, persevering course
of action, lead me to my end."
(6
Poverty and sickness have the first claims for relief. Let
me, in my solitary walks by night, search for wretchedness,
and for my Lord's sake communicate the last of my store.
Let me remember with Titus, that I have lost that day in
which I have done no good to a fellow-man."
"But there are higher ways of doing good. I should show
the influence of religion in my life and conversation. Religion
is amiable, gentle, cheerful, serene; a friend to the social
affections, the source of disinterestedness. Let me not repre-
sent it, then, as gloomy or hopeless. Levity, unmeaning
gaiety, however, throws the mind off its guard, and opens
the door to every temptation. Strict self-command is ab-
solutely necessary. The Christian, though cheerful, is
vigilant."
"Let charity embrace in her broad arms all sects.
Why
should I brand any who differ from me with opprobrious
epithets? Let me unite with all who love Jesus Christ in
sincerity in propagating his religion."
It will sometimes be necessary to change the tone of
approbation and pity to that of denial. But let me act on
such occasions deliberately, not from whim or dislike; and
having formed my resolution, let me adhere to it with firm-
ness. Let me offer my reasons in a short, perspicuous manner,
or, if I wish to conceal them, give one positive answer, and
leave the subject, undisturbed by remonstrance, ridicule, or
reproach. Mildness is not inconsistent with manly firmness.
Benevolence will lose all its beauty, and much of its influence,
if allowed to degenerate into indiscriminate, weak indulgence.
A world would be too small a recompense for one sacrifice of
principle."
"When I feel irritable, let me be silent, let me quit society.
I wish to be cool and collected amidst insult and provocation.
I would avoid the diffuseness which characterizes anger, and
vindicate my character, conduct, or opinions, in as few and
temperate words as consists with the regard I owe to truth.
H 2
100
[ET. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
All impatience to stop the person who speaks to me will
serve but to irritate. Let me be calm, not using self-com-
mand as a means of triumph, but of mutual happiness."
The whole energy of his nature, indeed, was then devoted
to a preparation for the responsible profession that he had
chosen. His days were passed at the Redwood Library,
where was freely accessible to his use a collection of books,
extremely rare and valuable for the times; and at night the
light in the little office near the house, which he used for a
study, was seen burning long after darkness had settled over
his neighbours' homes. But this period of his life has been
most happily illustrated by himself.
"I must bless God for the place of my nativity; for as
my mind unfolded, I became more and more alive to the
beautiful scenery which now attracts strangers to our island.
My first liberty was used in roaming over the neighbouring
fields and shores; and amid this glorious nature that love of
liberty sprang up, which has gained strength within me to
this hour. I early received impressions of the great and the
beautiful, which I believe have had no small influence in
determining my modes of thought and habits of life. In this
town I pursued for a time my studies of theology. I had no
professor or teacher to guide me; but I had two noble places
of study. One was yonder beautiful edifice, now so fre-
quented and so useful as a public library, then so deserted,
that I spent day after day, and sometimes week after week,
amidst its dusty volumes, without interruption from a single
visitor. The other place was yonder beach, the roar of which
has so often mingled with the worship of this place, my daily
resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more attractive in the
storm. Seldom do I visit it now without thinking of the
work which there, in the sight of that beauty, in the sound
of those waves, was carried on in my soul. No spot on earth
has helped to form me so much as that beach. There I
lifted up my voice in praise amidst the tempest. There,
softened by beauty, I poured out my thanksgiving and con-
trite confessions. There, in reverential sympathy with the
mighty power around me, I became conscious of power
within. There struggling thoughts and emotions broke
forth, as if moved to utterance by nature's eloquence of the
winds and waves. There began a happiness surpassing all
worldly pleasures, all gifts of fortune-the happiness of
communing with the works of God. I believe that the
1800-1803.]
REV. DR. HOPKINS.
101
worship, of which I have this day spoken, was aided in my
own soul by the scenes in which my early life was passed."*
It was at this time, also, that he saw much of the Rev. Dr.
Hopkins, and received deep impressions from the influence of
his character and doctrines. The following spirited remi-
niscences, communicated in a letter to Professor Park, of
Andover, present a very pleasing sketch of that consistent
seeker after truth and holiness, who, whatever his speculative
errors, was at least thoroughly in earnest.
"It was not until I had left college that I became ac-
quainted with him, and a short intercourse dispelled all the
fear and reserve which my early impressions had left in my
mind. His conversation was free, rather abrupt, blunt, and
often facetious. We saw at once that he had lived in his
study, and borrowed very little from the manners of the
fashionable world. He took pleasure in talking with me of
his past life, his controversies, &c., and I regret that I took
no notes, and did not, by questions, acquaint myself with the
progress of his mind. He told me, I think more than once,
of his first intercourse with
who had received Cal-
vinism in its old forms.
resisted his doctrines relating
to the disinterested character of faith and religion in general.
At length his objections were overcome, and one day, burst-
ing into tears, he told Dr. Hopkins that he was conscious.
that he had never experienced true religion. Dr. Hopkins
also gave me some particulars of his controversy with Dr.
in which it was plain that he considered himself as the un-
doubted conqueror. I exceedingly regret that I did not learn
more from him of President Edwards. My impression is,
that President Edwards was a good deal indebted to Dr.
Hopkins for his later views of religion, especially for those
which we find in his essays on 'Virtue,' and on 'God's End
in Creation.' I hope you will point out clearly the relation
between these eminent men. Dr. Hopkins had not the pro-
found genius of Edwards, but was he not a man of a freer
and bolder mind?
"I was attached to Dr. Hopkins chiefly by his theory of
disinterestedness. I had studied with great delight during
my college life the philosophy of Hutcheson, and the stoical
morality, and these had prepared me for the noble, self-sacri-
ficing doctrines of Dr. Hopkins. I have forgotten most of
* Works, Vol. IV., p. 336.
*# $5
14-
102
[ÆT. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
our conversations on this subject. I remember his once telling
me that he did not consider the last part of 1 Cor. xiii. as
referring to a future life; and I think that by the 'perfect'
which was to 'come,' he understood the revelation of disin-
terested love under the gospel. One day, a relative of mine,
talking with him about the text Rom. ix. 3 ('I could wish
myself accursed') observed that the passage should be ren-
dered, 'I did wish.' Dr. Hopkins replied, that if Paul did
not say what our version ascribes to him, he ought to have
said it. The idea of entire self-surrender to the general good
was the strongest in his mind. How far he founded his
moral system on the general good,' may be learned best
from a tract he left on the subject, which Mrs. Hopkins put
into my hands after his death.
"He was very true to his doctrine of disinterestedness, as
far as money was concerned. His liberality abounded in his
deep poverty. One day my elder brother visited him to take
leave of him, on going to establish himself in another town.
Dr. Hopkins said to him-'I suppose you hope to get money.
Very well. Get it justly, and spend it generously, and I
don't care how much you get.' Dr. Patten told me, that
once at a meeting of ministers, the case of a poor widow was
laid before them, on which occasion Dr. Hopkins gave all he
had, a quarter of a dollar. He was accustomed to say, that
after that time he never knew want, and was able to commit
himself without doubt to Providence. It was my habit, in
the years 1800 and 1801, to attend a monthly meeting of
prayer, for the revival and spread of religion. Our number
sometimes did not exceed twenty or thirty. Still, a collec-
tion was taken for missionary purposes, and, as most of us
were very poor, our contributions did not greatly exceed the
widow's mite. On one occasion, as I have heard from Dr.
Patten, however, a hundred-dollar bill appeared in the box.
Dr. Hopkins had received the same for the copyright of one
of his books; and he made this offering at a time when he
received next to no salary, and often, as I understood, de-
pended for his dinner on the liberality of a parishioner.
"His views of the Divine agency and sovereignty were
utterly irreconcilable with human freedom. He one day said
to me, that he did not see how a man could be more active,
or (as I understood him) more a free agent, than in being
pleased with a thing; and in the last sermon I heard from
him, he insisted that nothing was necessary to responsibility
***
1800-1803.]
DR. HOPKINS'S PREACHING.
103
but that a man should do as he pleased. The origin of the
裴
​pleasure or volition was of no importance.
"His preaching can only be understood by one who had
heard him. His voice was most untunable. Some of the
tones approached those of a cracked bell more nearly than
anything to which I can compare it. He changed from a low
to a high key, and the reverse, with no apparent reason. His
manner was without animation. His matter, as far as I can
trust my memory, was not made acceptable by any adaptation
to the taste of the hearer. He had exercised the severer
faculties of his mind too much to give a fair chance to the
imagination. He had no relish for poetry; and spoke of him-
self as finding no attraction in Milton or Shakspeare. If his
style was clear and strong, he owed these qualities to his
habits of thought, and not to any study of the best writers.
We cannot wonder then that he was a very uninteresting
preacher. He sometimes ascribed the unfruitfulness of his
ministry to other causes, and seemed to see in it a judgment
on himself. But a minister who has not the gift to win
attention, should see no mystery in his failing to do good.
Dr. Hopkins was a student-not a preacher. His mind was
habitually employed in investigation, and he never studied
the art of communication. With an unharmonious voice,
with no graces of manner or style, and with a disposition to
bring forward abstract and unpalatable notions, is it wonder-
ful that he did so little in the pulpit?
"His preaching had much naiveté, when he descended
from his abstractions. He used to speak without circumlocu-
tion, and in a plain, conversational way. Once, in preaching
at Dr. Patten's, he spoke of the 'loaves and fishes' as what
men were still running after; and his simple, blunt manner
provoked a smile from some of his younger hearers. He saw
it, and said, 'You may smile, but it is true.'
"He was an intense student. I have learned that he
studied fourteen hours a day. He told me that once he al-
lowed himself only four hours' sleep. His study was visible
from my father's house, and I recollect that, rising very early
one winter morning, I saw the light of his candle streaming
through the window. He took little exercise. His frame
was very strong, or he must have sunk under his labours.
"He was facetious in conversation. I preached for him
once; and after the service in the pulpit, he smiled on me
and said, 'The hat is not made yet." On my asking an ex-
104
[ET. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
planation, he told me that Dr. Bellamy used to speak of
theology as a progressive science, and compare the different
stages of it to the successive processes of making a hat. The
beaver was to be born, then to be killed, and then the felt to
be made, &c. Having thus explained the similitude, he added,
'The hat is not made, and I hope you will help to finish it.'
"His views of the times were dark. I one day told him
that he must feel encouraged by the many revivals which
were taking place. He replied, that these would only con-
tinue the existence of the church, but that great trials were
to be expected before its triumphs. He gave a great deal of
thought to prophecy, and was supposed to have a peculiar gift
for its interpretation; how justly I cannot say.
"Like most of the ministers of the time, he was a strong
Federalist, and was greatly grieved by the political heresy of
his deacon, almost his only male church-member, whom,
however, he did not spare, though in losing him he would
have lost the only officer of the church.
"He was a man of perfect honesty, and he loved honesty
in others. I remember his giving me an account of a council,
at which he assisted, for ordination of a candidate who had
received liberal opinions on religion. The young man made
no secret of his views, which were exceedingly offensive to
several of the council. He answered the questions which
were put to him with entire frankness; and I recollect the
smile of complacency with which Dr. Hopkins spoke of his
honesty, while dissenting from his opinions.
"Dr. Patten told me, what I did not observe, that he at-
tached more and more importance to his opinions as he grew
old, and that he bore opposition less patiently, though Dr.
Patten, who was his disciple, thought him not at all exces-
sive in this particular. I remember hearing of a severe
rebuke he administered to a Methodist minister for his errors.
One day, Dr. Hopkins met at the public library a singular
man named Stuart, or Stewart, sometimes called 'the walking
philosopher,' in consequence of his having travelled over a
good part of the world on foot. Stuart was a man of much
kindness, too kind to lay his weight on a horse, or to eat
animal food, or even to kill a musquito, when sucking his
blood; but he was an atheist, and let drop some expression of
his opinions before Dr. Hopkins. The Doctor was moved to
indignation, and cried out, You fool! were it not for God,
you could not move a step from where you stand.' Stuart
1800-1803.]
DR. HOPKINS.
105
replied calmly to Dr. Patten, who was present, The old gen-
tleman seems disturbed.'
"Dr. Patten told me that Dr. Hopkins was doubtful as to
the reality of his religion. He clung to the decrees, though,
for aught he knew, he might himself be decreed to endless
misery. I suspect, however, that his doubt was like that
which men feel as to their living through the day. He was
habitually cheerful, though I once saw him in what seemed
to me deep dejection. I was with him the day after he was
seized with his last sickness. A minister present prayed with
him, and for the continuance of his life. When the prayer
was finished, Dr. Hopkins said something to this effect:-
'You should not have asked for my life. I can do nothing
more. It is time for me to go.' He could not at that mo-
ment have been distressed by doubts. Perhaps these were
the last words I heard from him.
"These are very unimportant reminiscences, but I felt
bound to contribute what I could to his biography. The
prominent light in which Dr. Hopkins is to be placed is that
of a student seeking the glory of God and the spread of true
religion, by purifying the common faith of its errors, and un-
folding the Christian system in its harmony and true pro-
portions. He had many qualities fitting him for a reformer,
-great singleness of purpose, invincible patience of research,
sagacity to detect and courage to expose errors, a thirst for
consistency of views, and resolution to carry out his princi-
ples to their legitimate consequences. I consider him as
having contributed largely to the more rational form in which
Calvinism is held among us. I cannot judge in what pro-
portions this credit is to be divided between him and Presi-
dent Edwards, and I shall be pleased to be enlightened on
this point in your biography. I indeed shrink with a feeling
approaching horror from some of his doctrines; but do not
on that account withhold the reverence due to his character.”
***
The generous and discriminating notice of Dr. Hopkins
given by Dr. Channing, in his sermon at the Dedication of
the Unitarian Church in Newport,* should be read in con-
nexion with these reminiscences by all who would fully un-
derstand the relation between this venerable man and his
young friend. He there says:-" I need not be ashamed to
confess the deep impression which his system made on my
* Works, Vol. IV., p. 341.
÷
1
106
[ÆT. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
youthful mind. I am grateful to this stern teacher for turn-
ing my thoughts and heart to the claims and majesty of im-
partial, universal benevolence."
In December, 1801, Mr. Channing was elected to the
office of Regent in Harvard University, a situation in every
way most desirable, as it gave him support while pursuing
his studies, exacted only the slight duty of preserving order
in the building where he resided, and of exercising a general
superintendence over the young men,-brought him into the
immediate neighbourhood of the valuable library of the col-
lege, and, though separating him from his family, reunited
him to his elder brother. He returned to Cambridge in the
early part of the year 1802; and his appearance, manner,
and character at this period are thus described by his college
friend, Judge White:-
"At that time, I remember, my impression was, that a
greater change had passed over him during the few years of
his absence, than I was prepared to expect. Instead of the
firm, elastic step and animated manner which used to dis-
tinguish him, he appeared somewhat debilitated by ill health,
and was more remarkable than formerly for gentleness, and a
serious air and tone of conversation. I had thought of him
as peculiarly qualified for eminence in the legal profession,
and was struck with some surprise, on finding that he had no
ambition for any such distinction. But I soon perceived
how much more elevated was his ambition. His whole soul
was engaged in the sacred studies to which he had devoted
himself, and he at once showed that he had already become
what St. Paul charged Timothy to be,—'an example in word,
in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.' His
wisdom, goodness, and sanctity, as well as his genius and in-
tellectual powers, were strongly developed; and I began to
feel in his company, what only increased upon me afterwards,
a mingled affection and respect, approaching to awe, which
the presence of no other man ever inspired in the same
degree.
"In the spring vacation of that year, being myself con-
nected with the University, I had the measles badly at my
room in college, and I have always remembered him as a
comforting angel in my forlorn condition. As expressed by
me at the time,' I suffered nothing from want of attention,
&c. William Channing watched with me, besides bringing
사랑​은
​1800-1803.]
THEOLOGICAL STUDies.
107
me nice things as proofs of the ladies' remembrance. He
has himself all the softness and delicacy of manner in attend-
ing to the sick which would become a woman.' This but
feebly represents the impression which his tender and assi-
duous care made upon me, and which I could never forget.
A China cup, in which he brought some of the 'nice things,”
being left at my room, has been preserved as a precious me-
morial of his kindness, and is still among the first objects to
greet my eye in the morning, and to awaken delightful asso-
ciations connected with him,-associations which can hardly
fail to have a salutary influence through the day. The agree
able and generous manner in which all his favours were con-
ferred added to their intrinsic value a charm which made the
remembrance of them peculiarly grateful. Such instances of
kindness, however common they may have been, are worthy
of notice, as illustrations of his character, and of the genuine-
ness and extent of his benevolence. He always seemed
actuated by the same sincere and elevated Christian love,
manifesting it in his whole manner, and in all his social in-
tercourse, extending the same cordial greeting to those who
were entitled to it, whether he met them in solitude or in
society, among the humble, or in the presence of high digni-
taries. The imposing presence of official greatness, which
might make some persons forgetful of humbler friends, never
appeared to influence him in the slightest degree. His own
great mind was above the ordinary effect of such circum-
stances, and it cost him no effort to be faithful to his convic-
tions of the inherent dignity of man's nature, and to carry
out his principles in all his conduct."
In relation to his theological studies, and the opportunities
offered to him at Harvard, the same friend gives the following
account:-
"When he was pursuing his professional studies at the
University, we must remember that his advantages were very
different from those now enjoyed there by the students in
divinity. At that time the means of theological instruction
were comparatively meagre; yet they were doubtless superior
to what could be expected from the tuition of any clergy-
man unconnected with the University, and greater to Mr.
Channing than to other resident graduates engaged in the
like studies. President Willard, I well remember, in speaking
of the Regent's office, told me that one of his views in recom-
20171
108
[ÆT. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
mending its establishment was to afford an eligible situation
for some worthy student in divinity, who might be induced
by it to pursue his studies at Cambridge. I have no doubt
that Mr. Channing found it an eligible situation, and with his
peculiar qualifications for self-direction, and his strong turn
of mind for an independent course of study and inquiry, that
he made greater proficiency than is now common, even with
distinguished scholars, who enjoy the higher privileges
afforded by the Theological Institution. President Willard
and Professor Tappan, both of them able and learned divines,
were constantly accessible for advice and assistance, in ad-
dition to the interesting public lectures of the latter, who
was then also delivering his course upon the Jewish An-
tiquities."
Of Professor Tappan, the Rev. Dr. Pierce writes as
follows:-
"You may know Mr. Channing's opinion of him by the fact,
that he had him to preach his ordination sermon.
He was
considered a moderate Calvinist, which the Rev. John Dippon
of Taunton used to say is a contradiction in terms.' Dr.
Tappan was as impartial a divine as I ever knew, extremely
cautious not to prepossess the minds of his pupils, and always
exhorting them to judge for themselves. It is well known
that there was a strong mutual attachment between the pro-
fessor and his distinguished pupil. Dr. Tappan was not
only one of the most popular divines who entered our pulpits,
but such men as George Cabot, Fisher Ames, Judge Lowell,
did not hesitate to pronounce him one of the best preachers
of the day."
Judge White thus continues:-
"The College library, with others to which Mr. Channing
had access, afforded the books which he needed, and which
no one better than himself knew how to use. He read them
for knowledge and for truth, not to form or confirm opinions.
No writers had authority with him in matters of faith beyond
the force of their evidence and arguments. I still remember
the freedom of his remarks and criticisms on works of high
reputation, by the impression they gave me of his independ-
ence of mind in judging for himself. The celebrated Dr.
Hopkins, of Newport, founder of the system of divinity
which then bore his name, seemed to have more authority
with him than any other divine, but I am satisfied it was
BA:
1800-1803.]
ENGLISH THEOLOGY.
109
rather owing to the influence of his virtues than to the weight
of his opinions."
Mr. Channing's course of theological studies is not known.
Obviously, however, it could not have been such as would
now be considered at all thorough, for the new era in theology
opened by the great students of Germany had scarcely
dawned, and with the few good books at his command he
must have received but slight guidance in the "enchanted
wood, where it is hard to distinguish truth from falsehood,
and whose maze requires more than an Ariadne's clew," as
Jortin well said of ecclesiastical history.* But his general
impressions of English theology, formed undoubtedly in part
at that period, though, as will be perceived, some of the
works spoken of have been published since that time,-
may be learned from the following letter, written long sub-
sequently to a German friend. These brief criticisms, which
are but a confirmation of thoughts already expressed by him
in his Review of Fénelon,† will give the best, though con-
fessedly a very imperfect, notion of his taste and judgment in
theological literature. Plainly he found but little satisfaction
in the writers to whom he had access.
M
"I fear you think I have forgotten my promise to send
you a list of the best theological works in our language.
But the task is more difficult than you imagine. Had you
asked for a catalogue of the most prominent commentators
and polemics, I could have furnished it at once.
But you
wanted, if I understood you, to know something of those
writers who had given such enlarged views of Christianity
as an enlightened and philosophic mind might read with in-
terest and profit, and such writers are not very common.
66
English theology seems to me, on the whole, of little
worth. An established church is the grave of intellect.
To impose a fixed, unchangeable creed, is to raise prison-
walls around the mind; and when the reception of this creed
is made a condition of dignities and rich benefices, it pro-
duces moral as well as intellectual degradation, and palsies
the conscience as much as it fetters thought. Once make
antiquity a model for all future ages, and fasten on the mind
a system too sacred for examination, and beyond which it
must not stray, and in extinguishing its hope of progress
* Jortin's Remarks on Ecclesiastical History, Pref., p. vi.
+ Works, Vol. I., pp. 167-174.
***
110
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [ÆT. 20-23.
you take away its life. One almost wonders that the in-
tellect has advanced as far and as fast as it has done, when
one considers the war waged against it by civil and eccle-
siastical power, and the heavy chain under which it has been
compelled to move. I conceive that the tameness, frigidness,
and dulness by which theological writings are so generally
marked are to be attributed chiefly to the cause now stated.
The intellect, paralyzed by authority and established creeds,
has discovered less energy in treating that sublimest and
most exciting of all subjects, religion, than in discussing the
most ordinary interests of the present life. In England, the
Established Church has been a dozing place to minds which
anywhere else would have signalized themselves; and un-
happily Dissent in that kingdom began in a bigoted attach-
ment to Calvinism, which, by exciting the mind, did occa-
sionally call forth much energy of thought, but which still,
by infusing unjust and degrading views of God and of human
nature, may be regarded as on the whole unfavourable to the
progress of intellect. I think, therefore, that there is little
in English theology to repay the attention or meet the wants
of an enlightened mind. You will not often find broad views
of Christianity, showing its harmony with human nature, and
with the great laws of the universe, as far as we understand
them, and its tendency to secure the true perfection of the
individual and the race. You will seldom find that union of
reason and enthusiasm, without which a system is essentially
defective in correspondence to the human soul. Still, there
are powerful thinkers in this department of literature, as in
all others; and I will name to you a few books which I think
will interest you.
"Butler's Analogy is one of the noblest productions of the
mind, and deserves to stand at the head of the list; and
his Sermons, although too abstruse for that species of com-
position, are among the finest ethical discussions. Lardner's
Credibility is a work of immense labour and research, dis-
tinguished by accuracy, candour, and sagacity, but too vo-
luminous for a general reader. You will find an abstract
of it in Paley's Evidences, the best view, I presume, in any
language, of the proofs of our religion. Paley's Hora
Pauline is, perhaps, the most original work on the evidences
of Christianity of our times, being strictly a discovery where
nothing original was expected, and furnishing an argument
which derives strength from the very circumstance of
を
​U
1800-1803.]
ENGLISH THEOLOGY.
111
its long concealment. To these books on the proofs of
Christianity may be added Campbell on Miracles, Douglas's
Criterion, Watson's Answers to Gibbon and Paine, Priestley's
Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, Priestley's Sermon
on the Resurrection, and Robert Hall's Sermon on Infidelity.
In this connexion Farmer on Miracles deserves to be read,
and his book on Demoniacs bears on the same subject.
Campbell's translation of the Gospels, and especially the pre-
liminary dissertations, are highly and justly valued. Wake-
field's translation of the New Testament is in high repute.
Law's Theory of Religion is the best view I know of the
history and progress of religion. The second volume of
Hartley's Observations on Man is on the whole an admirable
work, disfigured, indeed, by a gross mechanical philosophy of
the mind, but full of useful and exalting views of religion
and duty. Locke's Reasonableness of Christianity is worthy
of its author, being chiefly intended to show the essential
objects of Christian faith, or what that faith is which, as far
as opinion or speculation is concerned, constitutes a man a
Christian, and to refute indirectly the common sectarian
notions on this subject. We have produced in this country
a metaphysician, Edwards, whose work on the Will has
seldom, if ever, been surpassed in acuteness. He was the
advocate of necessity. The doctrine of free-will has found a
very able advocate in Dr. Samuel Clarke. Newcome's
Observations on the Character of our Lord is not a work of
genius, but is one of the best summaries of Christ's teaching,
and gives a minute analysis of his character. Lowth's Lec-
tures on Hebrew Poetry, though written originally in Latin,
belongs to English literature, and was thought worthy of a
commentary by Michaelis.
"Under the head of Christian evidences, I forgot a work
by our countryman, Mr. Verplanck, which I think has great
merit. I find, on looking back, too, that I have omitted two
other authors on this subject, who are worthy your attention,
-Leland on the 'Necessity of Revelation,' valuable for its
learning, and Chalmers' Evidences,' a book very deficient in
comprehensive views of the subject, but singularly forcible
in illustrating particular branches of it.
6
•
"The best sermons are those of Jeremy Taylor, Barrow,
Sherlock, Horsley, Price, Robert Hall, and Buckminster of
this country. In Sherlock you will find an able exposition
of scepticism, as it manifested itself in his age.
இ-க்
ཝོ་་དྷ་་ོ
112
[ÆT. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
;
"In practical theology the most striking work which I
remember is Law's Serious Call to a Holy Life,—a book
of ascetic character, and smelling of the cloister, but often
forcible in its appeals, and original in its illustrations. Two
books of a miscellaneous character deserve to be mentioned;—
'Price's Dissertations' and 'John Foster's Essays;' the former
uniting with strong and just thinking a mild, serene, exalted
piety, and the latter, though perhaps repulsive to a
foreigner by frequent involutions and obscurities of style,
yet abounding in felicities and energies of expression, as
well as in fresh and vigorous conception.
C
"I have said nothing of three authors of great name,-
Hooker, the author of Ecclesiastical Polity, Cudworth,'
whose chief work is entitled 'The Intellectual System of the
Universe,' and Chillingworth, the champion of Protestantism
against the Catholics. The truth is,—though I almost blush
to acknowledge it, I have not read them, and know them
only by report.
"The Puritans, from whom we of New England are de-
scended, boast of three writers who would do honour to any
cause,-Howe, Owen, and Baxter; but their works, though
furnishing proofs of great power and deep piety, are too dis-
figured by a technical theology to be read much except by
professed theologians.
(6
Coleridge has just formed a book of extracts from
Leighton's works, accompanied by notes from himself; and
should the work ever appear, I doubt not that it will be
very valuable; for Coleridge's genius is known to you, and
Leighton was a rare union of learning, imagination, and a
celestial spirit.
"I am sorry that I have not been able to speak more
favourably of English theology; and I wish you to under-
stand, that the opinion of the majority is against me, and
that were I to publish what I have written, I should be
charged with gross injustice. But I must write what I
believe."
A friend, who was much with Mr. Channing at the period
of his life which we are now considering, has the impression,
that his time was more occupied in writing than in reading.
And his remaining papers give every reason to believe that
he had already formed his peculiar habit of following out a
train of thought pen in hand. Writing was with him, as he
often said, the one great means of making clear to himself
3.
1800-1803.]
HABIT OF WRITING.
113
his own thoughts. New suggestions were noted; contra-
dictory views placed side by side; qualifications and excep-
tions carefully stated under the admitted principles to which
they referred; broad, general views given of whole subjects;
particular conclusions succinctly recorded; and thus gradually,
from a main root, a whole series of truths branched out and
divided itself into its large classifications and minuter bear-
ings. He early acquired these habits of methodical thinking;
and all principles and facts grouped themselves into an order,
which was the farthest possible from a mere mechanical
arrangement, and which was ever unfolding under the
organizing power of his spirit. This exactness of mind
should be carefully heeded by all who would trace aright Mr.
Channing's after progress as a theologian, and a religious
and social reformer. For what might often have seemed to
those little acquainted with the laws of his inward nature
like timidity or slowness was actually but the working of his
unappeasable desire to obtain such a view of any subject as
should have coherent wholeness in itself, and be in unity
with other views which he regarded as established. Already
he was thus cautiously and patiently investigating the great
problems,—as to the Divine Being and Character,-Human
Nature, its destiny and duties,-Christ and Christianity,-
society and its various relations,-to the solution of which
his after-life was consecrated. Already he had reached the
fountain-head of those rivers of thought, whose course he
was to explore and trace to their mouths. And the truly
important part of his theological education was this process
of spiritual discipline, by which he was learning to concen-
trate his whole energy of will and thought upon sublime
objects, until they inspired him with their grandeur, filled
him with new desires for good, enlarged his powers of feeling
and comprehension, fixed his reverent regard, and, through
doubts and hopes, perplexities and mental conflicts, brought
him up at length to the mount of vision, and to intercourse
with God and the supernatural world. It was a process in
which piety, conscientiousness, scientific thinking, imagina-
tion, humanity, and love of beauty were blended, to lift him
into communion with spiritual realities. A distinct intuition
of these spiritual realities, and an abiding consciousness of
the mysterious yet substantial, awful at once and loving
ministries, by which man's existence upon earth is enveloped
and pervaded, were the one result of his inward training
VOL. I.
I
ANSA
114
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [ET. 20-23.
which made him so influential as a religious teacher. He
had attained to that living, transforming, renewing faith,
whose principle is Divine love working in us,-whose fruit
is love to man.
No authors probably aided him much in this travailing to
give birth to great thoughts conceived by the spirit. But
two of the writers mentioned in the foregoing letter were so
often and so gratefully referred to by him,-besides Hut-
cheson, Ferguson, and Price, whose influence has already
been described,-as to prove that they did something to
determine at this period the current of his thoughts. The
first, and by far the most useful to him, was Butler, whose
"Sermons on Human Nature" he regarded as unsurpassed in
English for clear, full, condensed thought, and to which may
be traced, perhaps, the germs of some of his most important
views. And the second was Law, whose mystic piety and
earnest longing for spiritual perfection touched harmoniously
many chords of his religious sympathy, although he felt that
his temper was in other respects gloomy and narrow. He
spoke with much regard, also, of Edwards, whose energy of
intellect he greatly admired, while denying the soundness of
his doctrine of necessity, and utterly rejecting its conclusions;
many of whose writings he thought suggestive of deeply
interesting views of the spiritual relations between the
Divine Being and man, while he was horror-struck at the
theology of others; and whose sketch of his conversion he
once read in part to a friend, with a voice trembling in its
tenderness and eyes softened with emotion, as being one of
the most pathetic and beautiful sketches ever given of the
deeper workings of the soul.*
His habits as a student may be partially illustrated by the
following extracts from his private manuscripts of that period.
They show the earnestness with which he was seeking to
control his intellect and to direct it to the highest objects.
It is easy to read, but hard to think. Without thinking,
we cannot make the sentiments of others our own. Think-
ing alone adopts them into our family. It is my misfortune,
that I have read much, but have reflected little. Let me
reverse this order. I prefer strength of impression to super-
ficial knowledge, however extensive."
"We are very apt to think we have ideas, when we have
only words. We mistake synonymes for definitions. I have
* Edwards's Works, Vol. I., p. 35.
1800-1803.]
RULES FOR STUDY.
115
often found rich ideas by analyzing words, particularly when
they are metaphorical. Words should never be used in a
loose sense. We are apt to be led astray by imperfect
analogies, particularly in reasoning on the nature of Deity.
It has been well observed, that, when beginning a subject,
we should consider the degree of evidence to which we
should yield our assent.
possess indefatigable
Have I not embraced
Let me read no en-
"In pursuit of truth, I should
patience and invincible perseverance.
errors to avoid the toil of inquiry?
feebling productions, but such poetry and works of fancy
only as will tend to strengthen the purposes and elevate the
feelings of my soul. I wish to acquire a calm energy, a
strong principle of love and independence. Let me kindle
a fire in my heart at the altars of religion, benevolence, and
nature."
"I often find my mind confused; a thousand indistinct
ideas distract it. In such cases, it would be best to snap the
chain of thought at once, to leave my books for a season,
and to return back to the first step of the argument. In all
my studies, I should pray for the Divine blessing. There
are periods, when the mind is indisposed to serious study,
when it sympathises with a suffering body, when its tone is
destroyed, and its powers require relaxation. But we should
distinguish natural infirmity from that indolence which grows
by indulgence, and which one vigorous exertion would drive
away. It is desirable, and I think it possible, to acquire a
conquest over the former weaknesses of nature. May we
not form a habit of attention which pain itself cannot dis-
tract? Do I not too often apologize for indolence, by attri-
buting it to bodily indisposition? Let me check that roving
habit, which I have indulged, of reading a thousand trifles,-
a habit by which the tone of the mind is destroyed, until we
turn with loathing from wholesome studies. Regularity and
order are essential; and when I have formed a plan, let me
submit to many inconveniences rather than swerve from it."
"I have hitherto confused my mind by indiscriminate
reading. I wish to obtain clearness of conception, a simple
mode of considering objects. I should be careful at first in
separating from a subject everything foreign to it, and place
it in as distinct a light as possible. After I have left my
books for relaxation, I must ease my mind of a load of
thought, and leave it to calm enjoyment.
1
I 2
116
[AT. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
"It is always best to think first for ourselves on any sub-
ject, and then to have recourse to others for the correction
or improvement of our own sentiments. Thus we may reach
truth, which we should never have observed, had we caught
a particular mode of thinking from any author. No prin-
ciples should be received from education and habit merely.
Let me observe, before perusing the opinions of observers.
We check original thought by first learning how and what
to think from others. The strength of others should be
called in only to assist our weakness, not to prevent the
exertion of our own powers. By means of this dependence
on books, error, as well as truth, descends in hereditary suc-
cession. The sources of original thought are dried up, and
the mind is overflowed by foreign streams derived through
channels which other men have formed. Self-dependence in
science is the road to useful truth. The quantity of know-
ledge thus gained may be less, but the quality will be superior.
Truth received on authority, or acquired without labour,
makes but a feeble impression."
"Whenever hypotheses are to be formed, let me first set
down the facts on which they must be grounded, and weigh
them carefully. It would be advisable to form a blank book
merely for the insertion of those truths to which I assent;
and it would be useful to revise whatever I have hitherto
taken for granted, and judge it impartially. Let me beware,
lest a love of originality lead me astray. Ambition is as
fatal as prejudice. Love of truth is the only principle which
should influence us; and those truths which will have influ-
ence on life are alone worthy of present attention.
I was
born for action. My object is to do good to the world by
promoting the cause of religion, as well as to advance my-
self in religion. A life of constant action and unwearied
exertion excludes universal knowledge. The improvement
of the heart is infinitely more important than the enlarge-
ment of the understanding. I hope for immortality in
heaven, not immortal fame on earth. I therefore wish to
have a few important truths impressed deeply on my mind,
rather than to be lost in that chaos of universal knowledge
which has hitherto distracted me. Knowledge is only a
means. Let me not make it the end. Abstruse speculations
on useless subjects will but waste my time."
"As I find myself full of prejudices on the subject of
1
·
1800-1803.]
RULES FOR STUDY.
117
government and politics, I will lay them aside for a year;
and let me not even talk on them, except with intimate
friends. History I will lay aside for the same time. Let
me learn to be silent on subjects where I am ignorant."
"I must be very careful, lest, when my heart is warmed,
I should be disposed to receive without examination the
errors of enthusiasm for Christian truth. I fear that I am
prejudiced in favour of some doctrines, and there is danger
of my bending Scripture to my preconceived opinions. Let
me always pray for impartiality, and strive to read without
prejudice. I should also try to acquire a spirit of moderation
from the Bible, instead of that narrowness of sentiment which
is creeping upon me. Let me study Scripture without any
ambitious views of striking out a new system, or of shining
by ingenuity. Plain truth is worth far more than the
splendid speculations of philosophical divines."
"Conversation on religious subjects will be highly im-
proving, if I keep my heart open to conviction, if I strive to
obtain truth, if I can listen with patience and without inter-
rupting the speaker, and if I feel a desire to learn and not to
shine. In these conversations I must not make a show of
my religion, and of my religious feelings. I must make no
noise about my experience; and, in fact, it would be best to
omit the word 'I' in discourse."
"I am so much afraid of being led astray by human sys-
tems, that I wish to conform myself wholly to the Bible.
Let me read it with the docility and simplicity of a child,
sensible of my blindness, and praying for light. Let me be
fearless of consequences in pursuing the truth, and strive to
keep in view the connexion which binds together the sacred
writings. Let me read them, not with a view to speculate,
but to learn the will of my Lord and Master. Let me con-
template his character, have his example ever before my
eyes, learn of his life as well as of his words, and strive to
be assimilated to so perfect a model. Let me impress my
mind with the importance of the Scriptures, with their
superior value to human learning, and let me make a prac-
tical use of every part of them."
"I should endeavour to form my mode of preaching, as
well as of thinking, on the Scriptures. Every sect has its
cant, and there is danger of being blindly led by it. Let me
strive to discover the errors of the party or sect to which I
118
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
[ÆT. 20-23.
belong. Indiscriminate approbation is a sure step to error.
Adherence to principles, and not to men, should separate me
from all parties."
But already Mr. Channing's efforts were checked, and his
spirits damped, by that state of half-health, which did so
much during the whole of his early manhood to repress his
native ardour and probably to overcast his firmament of
thought, though it could never subdue his elastic will and
truly heroic conscience. To his grandfather Ellery he thus
describes his trials:-
me.
"Perhaps it is fortunate for you that I have not written.
A kind of stupefaction, of mental inactivity, has seized on
A weight of dulness has oppressed all my faculties.
My understanding and imagination have been buried under
a cloud, my feelings deadened, and every spring of action
relaxed. I feel but little interest in anything, and yet I am
not at ease. This insensibility is morbid, the effect of dis-
ease, an unnatural state of the mind, a violence on its powers
and energies. I do not act or feel, yet my sluggishness is
not voluntary. I am hemmed in,-I am fettered. Like
Enceladus, I groan under the mountain. I labour to remove
it; but still, still it weighs on my breast, and seems to press
heavier after every struggle. In fact, my late complaint has
had more to do with the mind than the body, or rather the
body has been affected in such a manner as peculiarly to
affect the mind.”
Amidst this bodily and mental depression, making a path
for himself between scepticism on the one side, and a gloomy
theology on the other, slowly winning his way to peace and
light, delicately conscientious, eager for unobscured views,
aspiring with the intense enthusiasm of a highly ideal tem-
perament after perfect good, he found the refreshment he so
much needed in the society of his elder brother, whose sweet,
tender, glad, and poetic spirit formed with his a beautiful
accord. Their leisure hours were passed together in most
unreserved intimacy; while sometimes they followed the
paths which wound through the then unbroken woods of
Mount Auburn, or overlooked the wide panorama from Pros-
pect Hill, and sometimes wore away the night beside the
embers on their student's hearth. Then, and ever after,
they stood in mutual relations of transparent confidence, and
were united by that devoted friendship which, next after
•
1800-1803.]
DOCTRINAL OPINIONS.
119
communion with the Divine Spirit, and the love of a true
marriage, is the holiest tie in life. Francis thus writes :-
"A word of our dear William. You know not how happy
I feel in such a brother. He is a bright light in the world;
he illumines, he animates, he points the way."
Near the close of his theological studies, Mr. Channing
was admitted as 66
a member in full communion of the First
Church of Christ in Cambridge," which was at that time
under the charge of the Rev. Dr. Abiel Holmes, who, in
theology, was a moderate Calvinist," and as a man was
highly respected for unpretending piety and uprightness.
The doctrinal opinions which he at this time entertained are
embodied, though not very distinctly, in some articles of
faith which he appears to have prepared for his own use.
It
would seem that his views were such as would then have
been called Arian, but strongly tinged with opinions derived
from Dr. Hopkins. Where, however, language generally
current at any era is used as in this paper, it is difficult to
form a clear conception of the writer's real meaning; creeds
serving to conceal minds, much as fashionable garments do
forms, and both hiding distinctive features under uniformity
of appearance. Yet there are particular expressions in these
articles of faith, which are suggestive of the writer's later
doctrines; and the whole paper is interesting, in enabling
one to see the misty valley from which he made his toilsome
ascent to serener heights. Do we of a later day sufficiently
appreciate the painful struggles by which our spiritual
fathers have led us up through shadow into sunshine ?
At this time, as through life, Mr. Channing kept aloof
from sectarian entanglements, for by instinct he dreaded, as
much as from principle he disapproved, all fetters upon free
thought. But it certainly is not strange that one, holding
such opinions as he has recorded, should have been supposed
to have a leaning towards Orthodoxy, as from the following
communication it appears was the case :-
"He received the usual approbation to preach, I think,"
says Dr. Pierce, "from the Cambridge Association. As
there was then no Divinity School, and he was peculiarly
cautious about committing himself on points of difference
among Christians; as he was also supposed to be in familiar
correspondence with his grandfather Ellery, who had the
reputation of Orthodoxy of the Hopkins stamp, suspicions
were entertained by some that he himself would enlist on
120
[ÆT. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
that side. So thought some of the ministers composing the
Association before which he appeared for approbation. For,
as he himself told me, the only question proposed to him,
after reading his sermon, was by Dr. Stearns of Lincoln,-
'Whether he believed that God was the author of sin ?”
Any doubts as to the actual state of his opinions, however,
are put at rest by his own testimony, as given in later years.
"There was a time," said he, "when I verged towards
Calvinism, for ill health and depression gave me a dark view
of things. But the doctrine of the Trinity held me back.
When I was studying my profession, and religion was the
subject of deepest personal concern with me, I followed Dod-
dridge through his Rise and Progress' till he brought me
to a prayer to Jesus Christ. There I stopped, and wrote to
a friend that my spiritual guide was gone where I could not
follow him. I was never in any sense a Trinitarian."
6
Judge White thus confirms this statement :-
<
"In a conversation which I had with him, on our way to
visit Dr. Osgood, of Medford, about the time he commenced
preaching, he spoke of Dr. Hopkins with warm esteem, both
as a friend and a theologian, dwelling with particular em-
phasis on the strong feature of benevolence which marked
both his character and his divinity, and observing very
pointedly, that those who were called Hopkinsians, and con-
sidered his followers, appeared to know little of him or of
his true theological views.' With all his esteem for his friend
Dr. Hopkins, he had no sympathy with these supposed fol-
lowers, or with their leading opinions. His not manifesting
an open and zealous concurrence with any particular sect or
denomination, together with the deep seriousness of his
religious impressions, might have given him something of an
Orthodox reputation; but I am persuaded that he was neither
more nor less entitled to it at that time than at any subse-
quent period of his life; for he was distinguished then, as
ever afterwards, for his devotion to truth and for the spirit
of free inquiry."
Mr. Channing began to preach in the autumn of 1802,
being then in his twenty-third year.
"I find in my register for 1802," writes Judge White,
"the following memorandum against October 24 :-'Medford.
Spent the Sunday and heard Brother Channing for the first
time preach;'-and I have even now a distinct recollection of
བ བ
1800-1803.]
INVITATION TO SETTLE.
121
our interview with Dr. Osgood, at his house, where we dined,
and of the gratification I experienced at hearing him express
the most decided approbation of the discourse, and speak of
the young preacher's whole services and manner in the kindest
terms of sympathy and commendation. Having been inti-
mately acquainted with Dr. Osgood, and knowing how frankly
he expressed his real opinion, I felt some solicitude till he
had spoken, and was the more gratified by what he said.
Yet he did not express himself so strongly as he did after-
wards, in the absence of Mr Channing. I know that he
regarded him as a young preacher of extraordinary gifts, and
of the highest promise in his profession. I mention this.
more particularly, having seen it erroneously stated in the
"Christian Register," I think by an anonymous writer, that
his early performance was not thus promising. My expecta-
tions, which had been high, were fully realized when I first
heard him. There was the same charm in his sentiments
and tones of voice which I ever after experienced from his
preaching. Indeed, to me he always appeared essentially the
same, though always advancing; and the chief difference-
between his early and later preaching seemed to arise from
his greater freedom, energy, and earnestness, both of spirit
and manner, as he advanced in his profound views of religion
and humanity."
His preaching at once attracted attention for its fervour,
solemnity, and beauty. The power of his look and tone,
so expressive of a soul that overflowed with spiritual life,
won the hearts of his hearers, and was felt as evidence that
he spoke with the authority of experience. A person who
heard his first sermon, on the text, "Silver and gold have I
none, but such as I have give I thee," in which he described
the large range of benevolent action open to every human
being, however situated, describes his manner as singularly
"radiant and full of heavenly joy." The general admiration
felt for his spirit and genius is proved by the fact, that he
was immediately asked to preach in Boston, Massachusetts,
as a candidate for settlement, by the Society in Brattle-street,
and by the Society in Federal-street. The Rev. Dr. Thacher,
pastor of the Brattle-street congregation, being quite infirm,
was beginning to feel the need of a colleague; and the lead-
ing men among his people were exceedingly desirous that
Mr. Channing should be elected to fill this office. They
consulted with him freely in relation to the proposed arrange-
J
122
[ET. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
ment, and gave him their assurance, that he would receive
the invitation of the Society to become their associate pastor,
if he would once more preach before them. He returned to
Newport to rest and recruit, however, without giving them
a definite answer.
Meanwhile, the Society in Federal-street had been so
strongly attracted towards Mr. Channing, that they hastened
at once to request him to settle with them, and deputed
Deacon Francis Wright to wait upon him with the following
"call":
"Boston, December 29th, 1802.
"DEAR SIR,-When a committee of the religious society
in Federal-street lately made application to you to preach on
probation, they were influenced not merely by their own
united opinions, but by their persuasion of the dispositions
and wishes of the society which they represented.
"It is gratifying to find that in this persuasion they were
not mistaken, but that the society have received such satis-
faction from your ministration among them, and have such a
conviction of your character and accomplishments, that they
were prepared for a more decisive expression of their appro-
bation. At a full meeting of the society, holden on the 28th
instant, they voted to invite you to become their pastor, and
have assigned to us the grateful office of presenting to you
their invitation.
"Their votes, which we enclose, will inform you of the
provision which they offer for your support.
"In determining on the compensation which it would be
proper for them to propose, the society have been governed
by serious, and, they hope, liberal views of the charge which
they request you to undertake. They are sensible what pro-
found reflection and laborious inquiry the sacred office re-
quires; and it is their wish and intention, that the mind
devoted to such high engagements should, as far as may be
practicable, be undisturbed by solicitudes and embarrassment
from the cares of life.
"In this interesting transaction there has been great
unanimity. Four only of the whole society expressed any
indecision on the subject. Two of those, from absence,
had not had equal opportunity with the rest of the society to
form a satisfactory judgment. All the four so far concurred
in the favourable sentiments entertained by the society in
general, that they wished to hear you further; with a laudable
1800-1803.]
INVITATION TO SETTLE.
deference to the general sentiment, they excused themselves
from giving a voice on the question, and signified their dis-
position to acquiesce in the decision of their brethren.
"We have thus the satisfaction to present you the desires
of a united people, and cannot but express a hope that this
invitation, and the proposals accompanying it will be accept-
able to you. Such a result we shall consider as a blessing
of Heaven on the society and its members, and all with
whom they are tenderly connected.
(<
Any explanations or further communications from us,
which may be considered necessary, we shall cheerfully offer
on request; for this purpose a personal interview would be
agreeable to us, but the distance and the season of the year
would render it inconvenient for the committee to repair to
Newport. If it should be convenient to you, before your
proposed return to this vicinity, to be at Providence or
Bristol, some of the committee would have the pleasure of
meeting you at either of those places, at such time as you
shall specify.
"In the name and behalf of the society, we remain,
Respectfully with great regard,
"Your friends and obedient servants,
"FRANCIS WRight,
CC
123
HENRY HUNter,
THOMAS DAVIS,
JOHN DAVIS,
SIMON ELLiot.
RUSSELL STURgis,
EDWARD TUCKERMAN, jun.,
Committee.
"MR. WILLIAM E. CHANNING."
Together with this call, Mr. Channing received persuasive
appeals from many friends, advising him to preach again, as
requested, at Brattle-street. But Dr. Thacher was now
dead; and feeling that he was at once too ill and too inex-
perienced to discharge alone the duties in so large a congre-
gation, and that the difficulties incident to the settlement of
a colleague with him were great, he determined not to offer
himself to that society as a candidate. In his letter he
says:-
"I hope that I have not subjected your society to incon-
124
[ET. 20-23.
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
venience by delaying to this period my answer to their
application. A request of such importance required long
deliberation. I have considered my decision as one which
must seriously affect my whole future life. I have been un-
willing, too, to determine without the counsel of my friends;
and from a concurrence of opinion, I am constrained to
decline the invitation of the church and congregation in
Brattle-street to preach before them with a view to settle-
ment.
“I have been for some time in a feeble state of health,
and the labour of speaking in your house is so great, that
there would be danger of fatal injury. In so numerous a
society, also, professional engagements would require great
exertions, the fatigues of which might unfit me for that atten-
tion to study on which my usefulness must very much depend.
It is principally by impressing religious truth, that a minister
is instrumental in promoting the happiness of his people;
and his own personal discipline is indispensably necessary
to'a faithful and effectual ministration of the word of God.
Hence the importance, not only of health, but of much lei-
sure, especially to one so young and inexperienced as myself.
Could I, then, consistently with a regard to the prosperity of
the church, and the eternal interests of my hearers, desire a
situation which would require efforts disproportioned to my
strength, and where the multiplicity of duties would allow
but little opportunity for improvement?
"Your society, Sir, has much indeed to recommend it.
But do not the very circumstances of your influence and
numbers attach high responsibility to the office of your
minister, and render experience, improved talents, and insight
of character peculiarly necessary? A man of principle should
first of all inquire, whether he is capable of performing the
duties he is called to undertake; and in calculating his powers,
he ought to guard against too high an estimation of them,
lest he be led to engage in a sphere to which he is inadequate.
My feelings, as well as my reason, recommend for me a more
humble sphere; and I have a confidence that you will be
no sufferers in consequence of the resolution which I have
adopted.
"In thus declining the invitation of the church and con-
gregation in Brattle-street, I am influenced by the highest
respect for their character, and a sincere regard for their
1800-1803.]
FEDERAL STREET SOCIETY.
125
most important interests. And may God support and guide
them by his grace and power!
"Under a grateful sense of the honour conferred on me by
the society which you represent, I remain, with great respect,
"Your obedient servant,
"W. E. CHANNING."
}
This letter, otherwise unimportant, is inserted as illustra-
tive of the caution with which its writer made up his judg-
ment as to any course of conduct, though he was prompt and
resolute in executing his purposes when formed. It shows,
too, very clearly his humble estimate of his own abilities,
and his conscientious desire to fit himself for efficient service
in his vocation. Wisdom and moderation had already become
his law.
Mr. Channing was the more inclined to settle at Federal-
street, because, while the weakness of that society called out
his sympathies, he was hopeful that his health would permit
him to meet with fidelity the limited demand which would there
be made upon him. So, returning to Boston, he conferred
with the committee of the society, and accepted their call in
the following letter:-
"To the Committee of the Religious Society in Federal Street.
"GENTLEMEN,-I now address you to communicate my
acceptance of the invitation of the society in Federal-street,
to settle with them as their minister. The character of the
society, the favourable disposition they have expressed to-
wards me, and the prospect of usefulness in a situation so
well adapted to my present state of health, render this call
peculiarly agreeable.
"The proposals you have communicated are entirely satis-
factory; and when I consider them as expressive of regard
to religion, and originating in a desire to relieve your minister
from solicitudes and embarrassments, I accede to them with
pleasure. A house was not mentioned, but I view the clause
which provided for 'additional compensation in case of an
increase of necessary expense,' as an engagement to supply
one whenever it may be wanted.
"In settling among you, I shall consider the prosperity of
the society as my end and happiness. As an ambassador of
Christ, I shall endeavour faithfully to declare those truths
which he has revealed in his word, and on which the purity
of the church, and the eternal interests of mankind depend.
.
126
STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT. [ÆT. 20-23.
(C
Though young and feeble, I am encouraged to form this
solemn connexion from a confidence in that candour and
affection I have already experienced. I desire your prayers
to Almighty God, that he would enable me to perform the
important duties of my calling, and that my labours may not
be in vain in the Lord.
"With great respect, I remain your sincere friend
"and obedient servant,
“WILLIAM E. CHANNING.
"Boston, February 12, 1803.”
His state of mind, at the time of his settlement, is shown
by the following extracts from letters written at this period to
his uncle, the Rev. Henry Channing:-
"I communicated, some time ago, to the congregation in
Federal-street my acceptance of their offers. After much
deliberation, I concluded that this situation was best adapted
to my strength, and furnished the fairest prospect of useful-
ness. I requested two months' leisure to prepare myself for
the office, in hopes that, in this period, I should be able to
determine upon my state of health. The two months have
passed. I find myself, on the whole, stronger. I have suf-
ficient strength to perform the duties of the office at present.
What may happen I know not. I think, however, when
called by the unanimous voice of such a society, I ought not
to shrink from the labour because it is possible that my
powers may fail. I have fairly laid before the leading gen-
tlemen of the society the doubts I have about my situation.
I have told them that I fear that, in the heat of summer, I
shall not be able constantly to perform ministerial duty, and
that I am willing to defer the ordination to any period, how-
ever remote. They, however, think that the interests of the
society recommend an immediate settlement. They expect
nothing beyond my ability, and are willing that I should call
in help, whenever it is needed. Under these circumstances,
I think it right to comply. The prosperity of the church
should be the great object of pursuit; and even if sacrifices
should be necessary, I would willingly make them. But I
am disposed to believe that my health will be promoted
by this measure. I found that I grew strong by preaching
before, and I think that, with means of obtaining aid, I
shall not be called to greater exertion than I am able to
support.
"The society have mentioned the third Wednesday in
1800-1803.]
HOPES AND FEARS.
127
May, the 18th of the month, as most agreeable for the day
of ordination. I hope, Sir, you will be present and preach
the sermon. Your fatherly goodness is a stronger motive
than your near connexion with me, for soliciting this favour.
In this most solemn act I wish you to bear a part. You have
had no little share in conducting me to the choice of the sacred
profession. I ask, I need your advice, direction, and encou--
ragement. No one will feel half the interest you do in my
welfare; no other person will bring so much affection to
the performance of this part of the solemnity. I know the
tenderness of your feelings. I anticipate the emotions which
on such a day I shall myself experience. But I trust that
religion will solemnize and compose the heart, and I think
that from your lips I shall receive the deepest impression
of the awful magnitude of my duty as a minister of Christ."
"I have spent the last week in the country, and I hope
the fresh air and exercise have strengthened me. Yesterday
I preached two sermons of near fifty minutes' length each,
and found myself but little exhausted. You may be sur-
prised at my wearisome prolixity. But both the discourses
were occasional-one on opening our house of worship, after
an interruption of divine service for nearly three months;
the other on the death of Mrs. Davis, a most amiable and
much beloved woman, and an ornament to the church.
might have said less, and perhaps to more effect; but I
have not learnt as yet to repress the ardour of composition.
I find it easier to dilate than to compress.
I
"When I see the anxiety of my friends about me, I feel
melancholy. Who am I that others should take an interest
in me? What are my powers? How little am I able to
answer expectation! I almost sink under a sense of my
weakness. But I am conscious that pride mingles much in
this humiliation, and I find a refuge in the character of God,
who has raised me up for his own purposes, and who will
make me in all situations an instrument for accomplishing
his benevolent designs.
"I feel awed in considering the magnitude of the duties
soon to devolve upon me. The church of God, purchased
with the blood of his Son; the eternal interests of mankind;
what objects are here presented! I ask your prayers, that
may have grace to be faithful."
I
On Wednesday, June 1st, 1803, Mr. Channing was or-
dained. The order of services was as follows:-Introductory
•
I
128
1 STUDIES AND SETTLEMENT.
[ÆT. 20-23.
prayer by the Rev. Dr. Holmes, of Cambridge; discourse by
the Rev. Dr. Tappan, Professor at Harvard University;
prayer of consecration by the Rev. Dr. Osgood, of Medford;
charge by his uncle, the Rev. Henry Channing, of New
London, who had declined preaching the sermon; right hand
of fellowship, by his classmate and friend, the Rev. Joseph
Tuckerman, of Chelsea.
One who was a devoted parishioner and a warm personal
friend in after years, George Ticknor, Esq., has communicated
the following sketch of this occasion:-
"My first recollection of Dr. Channing is on the day of his
ordination. My father, who was one of the council, led me
by the hand, as a small boy; and I went with him in the
procession, and sat with him. So far as I now remember, I
had never heard of the person to be ordained; and I have still
no recollection of anything in the services of the day, till
they were about to be concluded. Then the pale, spiritual-
looking young man, whose consecration I had witnessed, with-
out really understanding its purport, rose and announced the
closing hymn. My attention was immediately fastened on
him; and particularly on his visible emotion, when he came
to the last stanza:-
'My tongue repeats her vows,
Peace to this sacred house!
For here my friends and brethren dwell;
And since my glorious God
Makes thee his blest abode,
My soul shall ever love thee well.'
His looks, the tones of his trembling voice, and the devout
air with which he repeated rather than read these lines, are
still present to me whenever the scene comes up in my
thoughts; and, in fact, at the time they so impressed the
words themselves on my mind, that I have never forgotten
them since. After the hymn had been sung, he rose once
more, and in the same tender and devout manner pro-
nounced a very simple benediction. In this, too, I see
him still freshly before me, with his upcast eyes, and re-
member thinking how spiritual he was, and being sad that
from his feeble appearance it did not seem as if he would
live long."
During the spring and summer, before and after his ordi-
nation, Mr. Channing resided at Brookline, in the family of
bt
*
1800-1803.]
HIS ORDINATION.
129
Stephen Higginson, jun., whose heart, overflowing with
benevolence and hospitality, had taken the interests of the
young minister under his paternal care, and who, together
with his devout and excellent wife-who, though orthodox in
views, was liberal in spirit-rejoiced in the saintly purity and
rich intelligence of their friend. Here a large library and
every convenience for study or relaxation were open to his
use; his bodily health was benefited by country air and free
exercise amidst the picturesque landscapes of that most
beautiful neighbourhood; and his affections found a home.
***
17
1
VOL. I.
;
I
¿
PART SECOND.
CHAP. I. — EARLY MINISTRY.
ET. 23-34. 1803-1814.
Ir was in his twenty-fourth year that Mr. Channing entered
upon his ministerial course in Boston, already fitted by the
discipline of life and inward experience to sympathize in the
movements of the time and place in which his lot was cast,
and destined to lend them efficient aid. But before tracing
his relations to that development of spirituality, liberty, love,
which it was the mission of his age to promote, let us first
observe his growth toward the stature of a perfect man in
his closet and home circle, in his parish and immediate
neighbourhood. Thus shall we follow down the stream from
its mountain springs, which were fed by the rains of heaven.
The family of an estimable parishioner, with whom Mr.
Channing at first boarded, remember him at that period as
serious in deportment to a degree that was even oppressive.
He had the air of one absorbed in his own contemplations,
and looked care-worn, weary, and anxious. Society seemed
distasteful; he joined but little in conversation; took his meals
in haste; was retired in his ways; lived mostly in his study;
appeared rather annoyed than pleased with visitors; seldom
went abroad-declining, when possible, all invitations; and,
in a word, was most content when left uninterruptedly to
himself. There was sweetness in his looks and words, how-
ever; solemn counsels were gently given, and an atmosphere
of holiness threw a winning charm over his conversation and
conduct. Undoubtedly, this reserve, the shade of which was
deepest in his first entrance upon his duties, and which cleared
away as he became more confirmed in goodness and wisdom,
was partly owing to his habit of fastening attention upon
any subject that interested him, and of brooding over it even
while in society and in action—a fault in his regard, of which
he early became aware, and which he endeavoured through
!
!
2
1803-1814.]
EXCESSIVE STUDY.
131
his later life to check. In his journals he frequently thus
refers to it :-
"A subject has been very injurious to me. It has shut me
up in my room till my body has been exhausted, and has led
to neglect of my people and family. I must be moderate in
everything."
"It will often be useful to fix the number of hours during
which I will attend to a subject, and rigidly to adhere to the
determination."
،،
My mode of study destroys me, my health, my piety, my
social feelings; and is therefore sinful."
"My long absorption in a subject enfeebles my mind, pre-
vents its free action, casts a cloud over my thoughts, produces
a painful anxiety."
"My speculations about the origin of moral feelings, &c.,
cannot justify a practical neglect of them.'
""
"No subject can be usefully continued beyond a certain
time. The mind needs to be recruited. All the motives
which impel me to pursue the subject require me to disengage
my mind for a season.'
""
"The attainment of truth requires me to be able to con-
tinue in a state of doubt until I have had time to examine
all the arguments which relate to a point; and this examina-
tion, however protracted, if conducted by a love of truth, is
virtuous,―approved by conscience and God,-the improve-
ment of my best powers, an approximation towards God.”
"The wretchedness I have suffered on so many topics
shows the importance of limiting the period of attention.
"Because doubt spreads itself over one subject I ought
not to doubt of all. This will lead to misery. A narrow
mind cannot see the connexions between many propositions
which are yet supported by sufficient proofs."
66
My sleep has been broken by anxiety at not discovering
truth."
"Let it be my rule never to carry a subject with me into
society. My social duties are in this way neglected."
But his serious manner was chiefly to be traced to pro-
found conscientiousness. Without the elastic spirits which
a vigorous tone of body gives, as a power of reaction for the
spirit, he bent beneath a feeling of unfitness for the duties of
his vocation. To a young friend who was just entering upon
the ministry, and who was oppressed by a like sense of re-
sponsibility, he once said, "Take courage. I suffered as you
:
K 2
132
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
pra
now do. In the early years of my ministry, ill health and a
deep consciousness of unworthiness took away my energy and
hope, and I had almost resolved to quit my profession. My
brother Francis begged me to persevere, to make a fairer
trial; and to his influence I owe very much the continuance
of labours which, I hope, have not been useless to myself or
to others."
A letter written at this time to his uncle Henry well
shows how deep his depression was:-
“I have no right to complain of the trials of my ministry.
They are small, compared with what thousands of my brethren
are called to endure. I can complain of nothing but myself.
Every day teaches me more of my weakness and corruption,
and yet I seem to grow no better. I hope my hearers are
more profited by my discourses than I am, or I shall do little
good. I can only hope that God designs to humble me, to
make me feel my insufficiency, that he may lead me to ascribe
the success of my labours to his blessing, whenever he may
please to make them powerful to the salvation of souls.'
"9
His painful struggles, and his mode of triumphing over his
weakness, are pointed out yet more fully in a letter written
many years later to a young brother who had sought his
advice:-
"I have passed through too much of your sad experience,
to be able to treat it harshly. My own mind has often been
ready to sink under like burdens. A merciful Power has
sustained me, and I trust that it will sustain you. It is im-
possible that a man who is at all alive to his moral and reli-
gious obligations, should enter on the ministry without many
solicitudes, fears, and painful convictions of his distance from
the perfection he is to teach. It is impossible for a young
man, especially if he has been retired in his habits, to appear
in a pulpit,-one of the most conspicuous spots on earth,-
and to escape all consciousness of himself, and give himself
up with an undivided heart to a work to which he is new,
and to which his feelings have been but imperfectly trained.
The strongest of all passions, ambition, cannot at once be
put to silence, and its inconsistency with the spirit of Chris-
tianity and the ministry produces keen self-reproach.
"I tell you here what I suppose all ministers could tell,
and I see not how the evil is to be avoided under the present
constitution of things. God might have committed his word
to the ministry of angels, but this he has not seen fit to do;
+
1803-1814.]
INWARD STRUGGLES.
133
he intrusts it to earthen vessels, to frail men, to those who
need moral and religious education as truly as their hearers,
who reprove themselves in the reproofs they administer to
others, and who are to carry others forward by advancing
themselves. A deep sense of imperfection and much spiritual
conflict are, then, inseparable from the work.
"Your defects do not at all discourage me. I could tell
of those who have struggled through the same.
I do not
mean to deny their existence. The only question is, Do you
thirst to be improved? Do you thirst for a generous interest
in your fellow-creatures? Do you desire a new power to do
good? Have you the principle of progress in you? Of this
I cannot doubt, nor can you. That you are not doomed to
stop for ever where you are, I know. God is giving you
power in your moral nature, in Christianity, in his Holy
Spirit, against selfishness, apathy, and corrupt ambition.
These can be overcome, and must be, and I know not a voca-
tion in which you can withstand them so effectually as in the
ministry. The very pains you have suffered, if they do not
palsy you by taking away the hope of change and progress,
will do you good. They show you that you are not spiritually
dead. They should satisfy you that you have the foundation
of great ministerial usefulness. Set yourself to work with
new earnestness for your own improvement, and seek to im-
prove yourself, not only for your own sake, but that you may
more effectually improve and quicken your fellow-creatures,
and God will crown your labours with success.
"What you need, what all need, is determined self-denial.
You need to lay on yourself severe rules as to the distribu-
tion of time, social intercourse, &c. You need force of pur-
pose, hardiness, and resolution. This is a much deeper evil
than selfishness or coldness. You have been brought up,
perhaps, too delicately, and are paying the penalty of having
faced so few storms. You have not yet learned to will with
that energy and fearlessness to which so many difficulties
yield. Do you ask how this force is to be gained? We
know that exposure, exertion, and conflict with difficulties
do much to give tone to the body, and so they do to the
mind. The revolving of elevating thoughts in our closet
does little for us. We must bring them home to the mind
in the midst of action and difficulty. I cannot, then, consent
that you should yield to your first serious trial in life. Re-
solve on the acquisition of moral energy,-the greatest of
134
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
acquisitions, and as far as you can command circumstances,
place yourself where it may be won most effectually. I would
not expose you very freely at first, any more than I would
carry the invalid from his warm room into a piercing atmo-
sphere. But take on yourself some good work, and deter-
mine to carry it through, whether hard or easy, painful or
pleasant, to the extent of your power. I care little where
you preach, if you find a sphere which will give a more
manly tone to your mind, and inure you to wrestle with dif-
ficulties. I do not fear, nor must you. God bless you!"
In relation to the trials of young ministers, he once also
said,—“ You must not expect too much from your minister,
especially at first. If he have sensibility, he will suffer
enough from the consciousness of deficiency, without being
reminded of it from abroad. I cannot describe to you the
load which weighed down my mind at the beginning of my
ministry.'
"2
How far he was then wrapped about by chill morning
fogs, which for a time, but only for a time, shut out the sun-
shine of God's all-embracing joy, appears also from the fol-
lowing description of his early experience:-
"You tell me your faith was the faith of happiness. This
is never the surest. Fortunately, mine grew up under a dark
sky, and the light has been increasing to this day. My
passion for happiness spent itself in my youth in reverie. I
never thought of realizing the vision on earth, and yet it has,
in an humble manner, been realized. My faith in God,
schooled by trial, looked to him first and almost exclusively
for virtue, for deliverance from the great evil of sin, which
I early felt to be the only true evil. The consciousness of
unworthiness repressed all hopes of immediate happiness,
gave me a profound conviction of the justice of my suffering,
turned all my reproaches from Providence on myself, and
not only made me incapable of murmuring, but taught me
gratitude for the discipline of life. How often, in disappoint-
ment, has my first utterance been thanks to the Purifier of
the soul!
"Thus my faith has never for a moment been shaken by
suffering. The consciousness of unworthiness, of falling so
far below my idea of duty, a feeling which hardly forsakes
me, has helped much to reconcile me to outward evil. It has
taken the sting from human reproach. In listening to the
inward reprover, I have cared little for human opinion, and
1803-1814.]
135
have found too much truth in censure to be much displeased
with any but myself. Accordingly, my religion has taken
very much one form; I think of God as the Father, from
whose power and love I may seek and hope for myself and
others the unutterable and only good,-that of deliverance
from all inward evil, of perfect, unspotted goodness, of spiritual
life now and for ever.
HAPPINESS.
"I have talked of myself, for, after all, our experience is
the best lesson we can give to others. Your nature differs.
You have had an impatient thirst for immediate happiness,
which my early history, and perhaps my mental constitution,
forbade me. Happiness has come to me almost as a surprise,
without plan or anticipation. You have grasped at it as
almost your lawful inheritance, and had almost a feeling of
wrong at disappointment."
Thus all proves that he was at this time concentred in his
own soul, and seeking there to gain the unity with God which
is salvation. His private papers, especially, show how in-
tently he was striving to subdue evil, to shun temptation,
and to give freest room to pure and holy thoughts. Such
memorials are sacred, and should be used as under the eye
of
the spirit which wrote these records of its pilgrimage, and
now has outgrown and dropped its mortal shell. But it may
encourage sinking hearts to know that this good man was
tried as they are, and agonized his way to peace. And some
few hints are therefore given from his journals. They can-
not, indeed, be rightly omitted, in describing one who was so
bright an instance of moral victory. These papers most
abound in the first years of his ministry; though the habits
then formed remained strong through life. They manifest
unvarying self-scrutiny, and prove by what toil his character
and mind were formed. A tone of self-depreciation runs
through them,—so eager is he to detect the most subtle work-
ings of sin, to expel it, and to guard against its return. They
reveal an incessant warfare, not with great evils, but with
small ones, with the remnants of evil lurking in the outskirts
of his nature. It was by elaborate analysis of his own ten-
dencies, and unfaltering aspiration to the perfect, that he
sought to mould himself to a symmetrical goodness.
The headings of these papers are various: such as "Ends,”
"Permanent Objects," "Promises," "Practicable Excel-
lence," "Improvements required," "Relations," "Domestic
Reforms," "System," "Subjects of Meditation, "Heart,
99
+
136
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
Character," "Rules of Life," "Directory and Review," &c.
It is noticeable in them, that intellect and affections are sub-
jected to the same rigid discipline. Their pervading trait is
devoutness.
"How do I deserve to be removed from my labours,-I
who labour so poorly, and with such low motives! The honour
of
my work I have forfeited. Let me humble myself before
God, and pray for restoration to his service."
"How continually selfishness breaks forth! It must be
resisted perpetually. Let nothing be spoken or done to dis-
play self; but let simple love be the spring. Do I know what
such love will rise to, if cultivated?"
"Let me meditate on such subjects, and among such scenes
and society, as shall humble me, raise me above human opinion,
deliver me from envy, dispose me to receive reproof, and make
me active.'
""
"Never talk of pains, sicknesses, complaints, &c."
"Review every action after performing it; consider from
what principle it proceeded, and ask forgiveness for whatever
sin has mingled in it."
"Let me not waste the day in meditation on myself, but
be vigorous for some end, and every evening search deeply
into my heart."
"To speak on interesting subjects is the ground of sin-
cerity."
"Let me, when in society with those who differ from me,
feel the importance of sincerity and independence. Let me
consider that virtue is infinitely more important than their
good opinion. Let me leave to God the impression which I
make, when I frankly express feelings and opinions. Let me
remember, that ultimately the friendship of the good will be
secured by the discharge of duty."
"In conversation, let me feel that I shall gain more by
candour than by victory."
"Let me cherish frankness by thinking of the nobleness
of the quality. Restraint prevents expressions of affection,
makes society painful, chills the heart."
"Eternal life is holy life-the exercise of love to God and
all beings."
"We must be babes, if we would have God revealed to
us; must feel the weakness, ignorance, helplessness, depen-
dence, wants of little children. We must become fools, and
see that we know nothing. We must hunger and thirst, and
....
**
1803-1814.]
137
feel a void, as having nothing. Am I a babe? Do I sit
low?"
SELF-DISCIPLINE.
Attain a single, simple heart. Never speak to God or
man without desiring the end I profess. Let me beware of
formality in discharging religious duties. Let prayer, con-
versation, preaching, all flow from the heart. Let me first
feel the force of truth myself, and then impress it upon others.
Let me feel the force of every truth and every argument with
which I am conversant. Let me be not learned, but wise."
"Let me apply to my most painful, humble duties first and
most attentively.'
""
"Let me continually engage in labours enjoined by God,
and with the ends and temper he requires, and feel a perfect
confidence in him for support. Let my whole life be a lean-
ing upon God."
"Let me place duty on the ground of privilege, and con-
sider every opportunity of employing time usefully a favour;
and ask only, What is duty? in every state."
"When any particular sin occurs to my mind, let me con-
nect it with an act of humiliation before God, so that even sin
shall lead to a communion with God."
"Let me decide upon the quantity and extent of any
pleasure which is right, before indulging in it, so as to avoid
all painful balancing of mind. Let every meal be an exercise
of self-government; eating considerately, and recalling its
designed end.”
"Let me live in continual preparation for prayer, in such
a state of mind that I may immediately engage in it."
"Let one hour after dinner each day be given to inter-
cession, to meditating upon and devising good, and as much
of the afternoon as is necessary to accomplishing it."
"In conversation, let me draw persons from evil speaking
and contention, and painful or injurious subjects, by catching
some thought suggested, and making it the ground of
remark."
R
"Let me strive to connect every personal enjoyment with
acts of kindness to my neighbour. Whenever I enjoy, let
me ask, How can I impart and diffuse this happiness? and
let me make every pleasure a bond of friendship, a ground of
communion, and esteem it chiefly on this account. When
I suffer, let me ask, How can I relieve similar suffering,
wherever it exists? and so quicken sympathy and improve
experience."
138
[ET. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
"When I have any portion of time not devoted to any
particular purpose, let me ask, Can I not spend it with God?
Let me seize it as a peculiarly privileged season."
“When I suffer any pain, loss, &c., let me first ask, not,
How shall I remove, but, How shall I improve it? Let me
be willing to suffer for this end."
((
'Religious exercises are God's armour to defend us, the
means of grace, support, and glory. Hence union with
Christ is a ground of fruitfulness. Christ is all-important to
us as a substantial, steady exhibition of virtue, not fleeting or
unsubstantial.”
"Have access to God, as if introduced to his presence.
Seek God; seek the sight of him; observe him in all things.”
"Let me every day give away something, and daily deny
myself something, that I may have more to give."
"Be very careful to open and close the day with devotion.
Pray before going to meals, or entering society, or engaging
in study and composition. On Sunday, let me preach over
to myself the sermon and pray for its success, before I go
to the desk; read works of sober devotion till the exercises
of the day are over; after service, consider how far I have
been faithful and conducted as a minister should; after
supper, retire to examine, humble, and devote myself; and
until bed-time, reflect upon the character and love of the
Redeemer."
"What objects interest me most? Is my mind in such
a state, that a certain change of circumstances would leave
me desolate, leave my mind craving and empty, leave me
nothing to live for, cast a gloom on all prospects? What is
it round which my affections cleave?"
"Have my thoughts this day been governed, my attention
concentrated? What have I learned? What has constituted
my chief pleasure? Have I been humble? Have I had
peace? Have I acted from love? Whom have I made
happy? Have I been sincere? Have I been in conversation
modest and ingenuous, patient, attentive? What temptations
have I encountered and opposed? What pleasant objects
have allured? what pains terrified? Have I enjoyed the
light of God's countenance? Whence has this day taken its
character?"
"I wish to gain a calm energy, a strong principle of love
and independence."
"I wish to gain clearness of conception, a distinct and
1803-1814.]
SELF-DISCIPLINE.
139
simple mode of considering objects. I should be careful at
first to separate from a subject every thing foreign to it, and
place it in as clear a light as possible."
“Amidst the multitude of objects perceived and remem-
bered, there must be selection. Great objects make great
minds. Hence God, eternity, heaven, the kingdom of
Christ, the perfection of the world, our highest good,-these
should be our objects.”
"To perceive the true end of existence, and the means to
that end, is to improve the mind. We have a complex end,
yet a harmonious one. The glory and kingdom of God, the
holiness and happiness of mankind, our own eternal good,-
these conspire.
"A wise man seeks to shine in himself; a fool to outshine
others. The former is humbled by a sense of his infirmities;
the latter is lifted up by the discovery of the faults of others.
The wise man considers what he wants; the fool what he
abounds in. The wise man is happy in his own approbation;
the fool, in the applause of his fellows."
"I ought to place myself in situations where there will be
the greatest stimulus to active thought and good exertion,
where I shall find no comfort without these,-where I shall
be called to think and act impartially,-where every natural
principle and relation will impel me in the right way. Let
me place myself under obligation to live usefully. Let this
be the habitual question,-How can I now in such a scene
imitate Christ, breathe his spirit?"
"Do I read without prejudice, without wishing any
system or doctrine to be true, without desiring to find any
false, with a willingness to receive as true, and to obey,
whatever is taught in Scripture, with a sense of the infinite
importance of the truth,-with a readiness to sacrifice any
pursuit, wish, gratification, which militates with it?”
Ba
""
C).
"Should I not propose an end when I write? and are there
not certain rules which will apply to the understanding, and
by conforming to which the most important thoughts and
illustrations will be suggested? What is meant by a flow of
thought? what precedes, what causes it? In writing, should
not one topic be always kept in view? Attention must be
concentrated. Thus invention will be aided. Thus all con-
nected ideas will start forth; and the whole subject will be
viewed in an extensive light."
"Will not thoughts take a direction from the end, temper,
140
[ET. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
and disposition? Are not thoughts voluntary? do they not
originate in active principles? All my thoughts, however
unobserved, have relations expressive of my character. Let
me perpetually examine whether subjects of thought are not
so related to myself as to flatter or excite some selfish passion.
Let me not be an egotist in thought."
"Is not every thought which continues in the mind, in
fact, chosen? Is not the heart exercised about it? Am I
not voluntary in cherishing it? Our objects of thought should
be chosen with a view to sanctity of heart, to conformation of
our nature to God and heaven. There should be some rule
or law by which to judge our thoughts. One general rule is,
-Are my thoughts pleasing to God? another is,-Are they
useful?"
"I should constantly have some end in view, in thinking.
My thoughts should be arranged; there should be some
directing principle for them. A passive mind rests in the
perception of an object. The active mind inquires for its
use, cause, consequences, relations, signification, past state,
tendency, changes, &c. Everything has innumerable con-
nexions and dependencies. These are the objects of thought.
In connecting with a thing all that belongs to it, we become
acquainted with it. This thorough acquaintance with all
objects of perception is what we should propose."
"We should desire to have every idea connected in our
minds, as its object is in nature, so that a clear view of it
shall arise before us. Distinct conception is important.
Wide views of beings and events should be desired. We
should seek to see all things in their just extent, clearly,
forcibly. All thoughts which they suggest should be con-
nected in their natural order, be grasped at once, so as to form
a complete view."
Everything may be viewed as a sign of God's will and
character; and our thoughts, after tracing an object, should
at length ascend to this all-important end.-Should I be
sluggish in such a world as this?”
66
"The perfection of mind is to have a propensity to seek
agreeable and interesting objects, to have attention turn
spontaneously to beauties of nature, excellences of human
character, God's perfections. A mind thus filled is always
improving, always happy. A mind which turns to dis-
agreeable things, party agitations, future uncertainties, &c.,
!
1803-1814.]
PRAYERS.
141
must be depraved. All objects may be viewed as expres-
sions of goodness.'
""
"How to keep the mind open to every source of enjoy-
ment, to the little pleasures which surround us? There is
a possibility of labouring too hard for this. We generally
get so far absorbed in some care, as to become insensible
to the variety of pleasing objects. Is there not an easy,
disengaged state of mind very favourable to a succession of
minute enjoyments? There is sometimes an exhilaration of
mind which throws a glory over every object, and seems to
give new sensibility to every taste."
"He is miserable who makes pleasure his business.
God designs us for activity, pursuit of ends,-efficiency.
Action originating in God, and attended with the con-
sciousness of his favour, is the highest source of enjoyment.
Every pleasure should be an expression of God's pleasure,
and should bind us to those around us. Does not this state
of mind invite pleasures of every description? Does it not
open our eyes to all varieties of good?"
"Is it not possible to allow no unpleasant objects to dwell
upon our minds any longer than we can derive benefit from
them? May we not bring our sensibilities to pain very
much under our own control, and use them only for dis-
cipline? How should every opportunity be seized for in-
vigorating our minds and active powers, perseverance, firm-
ness, fortitude, application, so that energetic, successful,
unwearied labour may be the result !"
His inward state is with like simplicity made manifest in
papers of a devotional character, written apparently in part
for his own private use, in part as preparative for the family
altar and the pulpit. The tone of his piety, pervading as it
did all thought and action, may be best understood from a
few extracts.
"O God! the Centre of all pure spirits, the Everlasting
Goodness, we come to thee. Thou art the happiness of
heaven; and thy presence, felt by the soul that communes
with thee, is the highest good. Ignorant of thee, we
know nothing aright; wandering from thee, we lose all
light and peace; forgetting thee, we turn our minds from the
noblest object of thought; and without love to thee, we are
separated from infinite loveliness, and from the only sub-
142
[ET. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
stantial and sufficient source of joy. Thou hast an inex-
haustible fulness of life; and thine unceasing communica-
tions take nothing from thy power to bless. Thou art infi-
nitely better than all thy gifts, and through all we desire to
rise to thee."
"We thank thee for the proofs thou givest of thy essen-
tial, pure, and perfect benignity, so that through all clouds
and darkness we can see a gracious Father. In this world
of shadows, this fleeting tide of things, this life of dreams,
we rejoice that there is a Reality, sure, unchanging, in which
we may find rest; that there is a Power which can cleanse
us from all sin, raise us to all virtue and happiness, and give
us endless growth. How great is our privilege, that we
have such an object for our hope and trust,—that our souls
may contemplate infinite loveliness, greatness, goodness,-
that we may at all times commune with the Best of Beings!"
"For thy inviolable faithfulness, thy impartial justice, thy
unerring wisdom, thy unfathomable counsels, thy unwearied
care, thy tender mercy, thy resistless power, we adore
thee. For the splendour spread over all thy works, and still
more for the higher beauty of the soul, of which the bright-
ness of creation is but the emblem and faint shadow, we
thank thee. O, let thy love affect our hearts, let us feel
its reality, constancy, tenderness! To thee we owe all.
Thine is the health of our bodies, the light of our minds,
the warmth of affection, the guiding voice of conscience.
Whatever knowledge of virtuous impressions we have derived
from the society of friends, the conversation of the wise and
good, the care of instructors, the researches of past ages, we
desire to trace gratefully to thee. We rejoice that we
depend on thee, the Father of Spirits, whose requisitions are
so reasonable, whose government is so mild, whose influences
are so ennobling. How unspeakably great is thy goodness!
And all our other blessings are as nothing, when compared
with the sublime, pure, infinite glory, to which we are called
by the gospel of thy Son."
"We are infinitely honoured in being under thy protection,
and having all our affairs overruled by thy providence.
We thank thee for every good influence imparted to our
minds, for every holy aspiration, every motive of con-
science; for the countless materials of happiness, and our
power over nature; for the light which thou hast thrown
i
ENAY
1803-1814.]
PRAYERS.
143
upon the darkness of life's trials; for the success with which
thou hast crowned the labours of reflecting men in exploring
thy works; for the blessings of civilization and knowledge;
for our capacities of improvement; for our domestic relations,
and for their influence in softening and improving our nature;
for all the wisdom, purity, love, communicated to the human
race; for the illustrious examples thou hast raised up, in
successive ages, of enlightened piety and disinterested virtue;
for the influence which eminent men have exerted, for the
splendour they have shed on human nature, for the en-
couragement of their example in the pursuit of excellence;
and above all, for our redemption by Jesus Christ, the pri-
vilege of access to thee, the hope of pardon, the influences of
thy spirit, the prospect of immortality."
"We thank thee, that thou hast set us in families, in
neighbourhoods, in communities; that thou hast made of one
blood all men, thus uniting us in and by a common nature
to the whole human race, and giving us means, motives, and
opportunities to exercise a continually extending love. We
thank thee for Jesus Christ; that he came, not to bless one
people or one age, but all nations and times; that he came to
establish such a religion, to seal such a covenant; that he
came to be a bright manifestation of God, to give everlasting
happiness. For a Saviour so excellent, so suited to our
wants, so fitted to awaken our love, to inspire holy and de-
lightful attachment, to call out our whole hearts, we thank
thee. We bless thee that man's sins have served to manifest
and glorify thy mercy, to show forth thine essential, inex-
haustible goodness, so that our unworthiness has formed a
new ground for love and thankfulness to thee."
<<
May Christ be precious to us; teach us his worth, his
glory, so that we may love him and rejoice in him with joy
unspeakable. May a sense of the greatness of the evils
from which he came to deliver, and of the blessings which
he can bestow, excite our sensibility, gratitude, desire, and
lead our minds to dwell on him. Let sin be our greatest
burden; may all life's ills seem light in comparison with it;
may we groan for deliverance from it, and be more earnest
in resisting it than in resisting all other evils; and may we
welcome Christ as our saviour from it."
-
"Communicate and quicken spiritual life. May our souls
be warm with life. Save us from an inanimate and sluggish
•
བ་་་་མན་
t
ན
144
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
state. Teach us thy purity, how great thy abhorrence of
evil, how irreconcileable thy hatred of it, and may we all
partake of the same abhorrence of sin. Increase our sensi-
bility to evil; may we shun every appearance of it and repel
the first temptation; and in a world where example is so cor-
rupt, we beseech thee to arm us with a holy fortitude.”
Inspire us with a generous love of virtue, of rectitude,
of holiness. May we prefer it even to life. Animate us to
adhere to good in every danger. May nothing on earth
move us or shake our steadfastness. Increase our sensibility
to good; may we see more and more its loveliness and
beauty."
<<
"Animate us to cheerfulness. May we have a joyful
sense of our blessings, learn to look on the bright circum-
stances of our lot, and maintain a perpetual contentedness
under thy allotments. Fortify our minds against disappoint-
ment and calamity. Preserve us from despondency, from
yielding to dejection. Teach us that no evil is intolerable
but a guilty conscience, and that nothing can hurt us, if with
true loyalty of affection we keep thy commandments and
take refuge in thee."
"(
May every day add brightness and energy to our con-
ceptions of thy lovely and glorious character. Give us a
deeper sense of thy presence, and instruct us to nourish our
devoutness by every scene of nature and every event of
providence. Assist us to consecrate our whole being and
existence to thee, our understandings to the knowledge of
thy character, our hearts to the veneration and love of thy
perfections, our wills to the choice of thy commands, our
active energies to the accomplishment of thy purposes, our
lives to thy glory, and every power to the imitation of thy
goodness. Be thou the centre, life, and sovereign of our
souls."
Thus earnestly was Mr. Channing seeking perfect peace
and unclouded light. He believed, and acted on the faith,
that only the purity of heart which is blessed by seeing God
can fit a man to be the spiritual teacher of his fellows; and
as the condition for usefulness, he opened his inmost will to
receive the Divine life of love. It certainly is not surprising
that a nature so sensitive and tender, especially when com-
pelled to undue action by ill health, should have manifested
-
1803-1814.]
DISINTERESTEDNESS.
145
But
its struggles in a somewhat austere gravity of manner.
water gains crystal clearness by percolating the sands; and
the very severity of his self-discipline gave sweetness more
and more to his social intercourse.
For the first few months after his settlement, Mr. Chan-
ning lived, as we have seen, with some parishioners and
friends. But even their devoted kindness could not fill the
void in his affections; and in a letter to his sister Ann, to
whom he was most fondly attached, we find him writing,
"I am sad; my sister, come and cheer me." It was soon in
his power, however, to gratify this desire for domestic love
by removing his mother and the family to Boston. His
brother Francis and he had long since agreed, that, for the
end of insuring their ability to aid their mother and her other
children, one of them should remain unmarried for at least
ten years; and as his salary was a more certain income than
his brother's professional gains, who, though rapidly rising
to distinction as a lawyer, was not yet established in lucra-
tive business, he now took it upon himself to fulfil the arrange-
ment. So he wrote to his mother that he had a parsonage
which he could not occupy, and fuel which he could not burn;
and that she would save him much waste and trouble by
turning them to good use. He well knew that she could not
afford to leave her house and large garden at Newport,
without such an addition to her means as he thus placed at
her disposal; but he chose to represent himself as the person
obliged, by pleading his need of her guardianship. She
yielded to his affectionate appeal, and in a short time he had
the satisfaction of seeing the home circle gathered round him,
beneath his own roof, blessed by his bounty, and enjoying the
best opportunities for happiness and improvement.
The tact with which he sought to conceal-even from him-
self, if it might be-his kindness, proved its temper. His
father had left so small a property, that it was quite inade-
quate to the support and education of the growing family;
and by surrendering for their use the greater part of his
salary, William changed their condition from that of want to
one of competence. But while thus supplying them with the
means of comfort and culture, his words and acts rather tended
to give the impression that they were nowise dependent upon
him, but only on the family estate. Without, of course, em-
ploying deception, he yet was sedulous to keep from the par-
takers of his benefits the knowledge that he was their bene-
VOL. I.
L
}
146
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
factor. "I was often amused, and still oftener filled with
veneration," writes a brother, "by the mode in which he
talked of the necessity of punctually paying his board to our
mother, and placed his funds in her hands, as he said, for safe
keeping, withdrawing only such trifling sums as he absolutely
needed." All extra fees were given, as their rightful per-
quisite, to his sisters; and as years passed on, and the wants
and desires of the various members of the family unfolded,
each day but gave new proofs of his ever thoughtful, ever
'delicate affection. His outlays for them, in addition to his
large charities abroad, were so considerable, that, though his
salary was for those times ample, being at first twelve hundred,
and afterwards fifteen hundred dollars, he never laid up a
cent, and was often wholly destitute. "Well do I remem-
ber," said one of his near relatives, "how pained he was at
the time of my marriage, when he wished to make me a
wedding present, and had but fifty dollars to give. He could
not help then telling me how poor he was." Thus, for ten
years and more, did he faithfully redeem the first words
spoken to his mother after his ordination, when she said,-
Now, William, I must give you up!" "O, no!" he replied,
you shall never find that the duties of the Christian minister
are inconsistent with those of the son.'
<<
M
A slight sketch of his constant little sacrifices in the petty
details of life may most clearly show how he appeared to
those who lived with him in the nearest relations, and who
knew him best. He had always been strict in his habits of
self-denial, in food, dress, and every mode of expenditure;
but he was now more simple than ever, and seemed to have
become incapable of any form of self-indulgence. He took
the smallest room in the house for his study, though he might
easily have commanded one more light, airy, and in every
way more suitable; and chose for his sleeping-chamber an
attic, which he shared with a younger brother. The furni-
ture of the latter might have answered for the cell of an
anchorite, and consisted of a hard mattress on a cot-bedstead,
plain wooden chairs and table, with matting on the floor. It
was without fire, and to cold he was through life extremely
sensitive; but he never complained, or appeared in any way
to be conscious of inconvenience. "I recollect," says his
brother, "after one most severe night, that in the morning
he sportively thus alluded to his suffering:- If my bed were
my country, I should be somewhat like Bonaparte; I have
I
1803-1814.]
CARE OF THE FAMILY.
147
"""
no control except over the part that I occupy; the instant
I move, frost takes possession. In sickness only would he
change for the time his apartment, and accept a few comforts.
The dress, too, that he habitually adopted, was of most in-
ferior quality; and garments were constantly worn which the
world would call mean, though an almost feminine neatness
preserved him from the least appearance of personal neglect.
The only luxury he would indulge himself in was annually
to lay out a small sum in increasing his scanty library.
"Never did I know him to be guilty of a selfish act,” testi-
fies his brother; "and he shrank from any mention of his
incessant kindness, as if the least allusion to it gave him pain."
These few mementoes are, indeed, quite unpretending; but
their very humbleness may serve to show how vital was the
root of love from which such ever fresh disinterestedness
bloomed forth.
A few further extracts from his journals will exhibit how
his social affections were trained to an unreserved loyalty to
conscience.
"Let me pay peculiar attention to family prayer, to make
Scripture interesting and prayer solemn. Let me pray for
them in secret daily. Let me attend to their reading, im-
prove their minds. Let me attend to the religion of the
domestics, and give them equal privileges with the rest on
the Sabbath and in the family exercises. Let me regard the
wants of all, and live sacrificing my own will and desires to
theirs, abounding in affectionate services, and remembering
them always as those whom God has pointed out to me as
my peculiar objects.
"Let me endeavour to interest all in good pursuits, con-
tinually propose kind ends, make active benevolence their
spring, and excite them to a course of pious, loving life.
"Let me in conversation avoid finding fault, satire, severity;
let me express the spirit and power, rather than the specula-
tions, of divinity; let me communicate liberally whatever
knowledge I acquire, and raise our social intercourse,
"Let me encourage and share innocent pleasures, con-
tribute all in my power to their happiness, make them feel
my affection, and convince them that love, not bigoted
severity, leads to my cautious and solemn admonition.
"Let me cultivate harmony and mutual affection, strive
to make home interesting from peace and love and mutual
interest and regard.
L 2
148
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ET. 23-34.
Encourage private prayer morning and evening among
them.
"Let me introduce pleasing and impressive works on re-
ligion, which will lead to conversation, inquiry, &c.
"Let me introduce society, entertaining, instructive, and
tending to moral and religious improvement.
"Let me observe what in other families tends to happiness,
and improvement, and religion.
"Let me promote unity of sentiment, especially on re-
ligious and most interesting subjects.
"Let me live with them as immortal beings, and have in
view the end of present existence.
"In the morning, when I see any of my friends after the
night's separation, let me receive them as new gifts from
God, as raised from the dead.
"My mother has been quite sick. I have never seen her
so much reduced. For a day or two my fears were not a
little excited. I felt more sensibly than I ever did before,
that this nearest, best, of earthly friends was mortal. Thanks
to a merciful Providence, she is regaining her strength. It
is a pleasing consideration, that her children have been able
to repay a little of her kindness; but how little can parental
kindness be requited !"
That his sense of duty was at this time even tyrannical,
Mr. Channing recognised in later life, and regretted that this
stern nurse had cramped the action of his native impulses by
too close swathing; but he had not then learned that the
true art of moral culture is to balance extravagant tendencies
by quickening those which are languid, and that growth is a
safer means of harmony in character than repression. He
painfully felt, too, that his solemnity repelled those whom he
longed to win, and cast a shade over the circle he would have
rejoiced to brighten. And, indeed, had it not been for his
greatness of heart, dignity, assiduous affection, and evidently
lofty aims, his constant staidness of deportment would have
been irksome. For the other members of the family pre-
sented in manners an amusing contrast to this beloved friend,
whom, highly as they honoured him, it was not in their will
to imitate. The mother, as we have seen, had inherited
from her father a vivacious temper, keen perceptions, a wit
as sharp as it was droll, and a sincerity of thought and speech,
which made light of conventionalities, and swept away re-
spectable pretences like cobwebs. Her sallies, given out in
1803-1814.]
149
the plainest Anglo-Saxon, sometimes sounded strangely as a
response to her son's guarded words, especially when the
characters of others, or passing events, were under discussion.
And the hilarity of the younger brothers and sisters would
have jarred in discord with his taciturn ways, had not his
considerateness been so genuine. Self-possessed in the midst
of them, however, he allayed all differences, and melted them
into one.
He devoted himself also to the culture of his
sisters, read and conversed with them at certain portions of
the day, was watchful over their manners, and as they came
forward in life schooled himself to leave behind the student's
gown, and accompanied them into the delightful circles which
the influence of his talents opened to the members of his
household. In the friendly groups, too, which his mother's
hospitable and genial temper gathered round her fireside, he
endeavoured to act his part. But it was plain that he was
not at home in festive scenes of any kind. His conversation
was at all times and in all places connected, grave, and on
themes of high interest. He could not unbend. And intent
as he was on subjects which absorbed his whole spiritual
energy, he actually had neither inclination nor even the sense
of liberty to relax. In a word, he was striving for ever to
press onward and upward; and chiefly longed to bear those
whom he loved with him in his ascent.
MANNERS.
But though thus serious, he was most loving. His gentle-
ness of character showed itself in all social relations. If
controversies and warm debates arose, he had the skill to
smooth the storm by soft words and calm looks. If scandal
was introduced, he changed the topic; and if any one's repu-
tation was attacked, he would say, with quiet firmness,-
"Pray, stop! for if you continue these remarks, I shall feel
bound to repeat every word to the person of whom you are
speaking." The effect was to stifle all desire of crimination.
The same disposition appeared in his liberality towards those
who differed in religious opinions. "William is no Quaker,
you see," said his mother one day to a friend, with whom he
was pleasantly talking upon their opposite views. "No,"
answered he; "and E did not expect to find me one;
but there is a common ground of Christian feeling, where,
without distinction of name, we can unite in belief, that the
sincere worshippers of God are the accepted of God."
As another illustration, this little incident may be men-
tioned. Busy in studies, in visits among his parish, and in
•
150
[ET. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
charitable movements, or calls on the sick and needy, the
week passed away, and left him on Saturday usually unpre-
pared. A coloured teacher, who was occupied in his school
duties on other days, but who was anxious to improve him-
self by Mr. Channing's society, took occasion on the leisure
afternoon to visit him, and frequently prolonged his stay into
the evening. The mother was greatly annoyed at seeing her
son's last precious hours thus broken in upon. But though
it obliged him oftentimes to sit up late in the night, and to
finish his sermons while the morning bell was ringing, he
would never allow his coloured friend to be denied.
Generosity pervaded his conduct. To the erring he was
consistently forbearing. Two instances may show this trait.
A domestic, in whom the family placed confidence, professed
"to be converted to religion," at some revival in the society
to which she belonged, and was very strict in her devotions
and attendance at meeting. The members of the family soon
detected her, however, in the commission of indiscriminate
petty thefts. When accused, she was highly indignant at
being suspected: but as the property was found in her pos-
session, her hypocrisy was clear. Mr. Channing did nothing
in relation to the affair but to converse with her, giving her
the most earnest counsel in his power, and then allowed her
to depart. He expressed for her only the deepest pity; men-
tioning as his reason, that "she had been brought up in an
almshouse, and had received no good influences in early life."
The amount taken was quite large; but he considered it
wrong to inflict a legal penalty upon one whom society had
so neglected; and, if he had followed his own inclination,
would have kept her in his service, and have sought to re-
claim her. On another occasion, though at a somewhat later
period of life, he rented a place in the country for the sum-
mer, with the obligation on his part of keeping it in order.
The gardener whom he hired, however, proved faithless; sold
the valuable vegetables and fruits, and injured the grounds.
and trees by his carelessness, leaving the loss to fall on his
employer. The man became sick, and for the end of encou-
raging him to reform, Mr. Channing paid him his full wages,
and, after exposing to him the baseness of his conduct, gave
him his best advice, and pardoned the offence.
The distaste for social enjoyments, which has been noticed,
doubtless was increased by Mr. Channing's poor state of
health; for lassitude followed all exertion, and physical de-
151
1803-1814.]
pression cast a chill upon a naturally glowing temper. And
for the end of enabling all to discriminate between the essen-
tial man and the accidents of his organization, it seems ne-
cessary to set this fact of his chronic debility in a distinct
light. In our present ignorance of the relations of body to
spirit, indeed, we can never decide how far morbid action in
either is a cause or an effect; but their mutual dependence is
plain enough. It needs only to be said, then, that from the
time of his residence at Richmond till his death, he never
knew a day of unimpaired vigour. The common services of
the pulpit prostrated him; unusual efforts brought fever, al-
ternating with dulness; earnest conversation cost sleepless
nights; exercise, except of the most moderate kind, was
rather exhausting than refreshing; he yearly lost weeks and
months by inability to study or write; and to one who knew
him, it only seemed surprising that he could accomplish so
much. Had he but retained the buoyancy of early years, he
might, by scholarship and by public and social labours, have
shed abroad a light, beside which his actual success would
be dim. On the other hand, indeed, it may be asked,
whether his river of life did not gain depth from the narrow
channel through which it was forced to roll? Fortitude,
purity, concentratiou, may have in some degree compensated
him for lack of strength. But to one who believes that God
has for ever established a harmony between the spiritual and
natural worlds, it must in all cases appear probable that the
teachings of health will be more large, sound, varied, rich,
than those of sickness. Yet he struggled bravely with his
fate. He knew that his own imprudence had done much to
cause his infirmity, and humbly accepted the limits which it
imposed, while he steadily sought to retain and keep the
largest measure of power. "The very scrupulous care that
he took of himself," writes a sister, " was a sacrifice to duty.
Most beautiful, too, was his thoughtfulness to avoid being a
burden upon others. His patience was unvarying. I can recal
one instance of a feverish attack during the heat of summer.
We had been fanning him during the day, and he had seemed
as tranquil as a sleeping infant; but to our great surprise,
when the physician came in towards evening, he entreated
him to give him something to allay the restlessness, which
was almost beyond his bearing or power of control. But
when was he otherwise than gentle?" Thus his very weak-
nesses formed a new bond of affectionate respect.
He saw
ILL-HEALTH.
+
152
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
with pity the habits of effeminacy and self-indulgence which
constant regard to one's own state too often breeds in the
invalid, and systematically guarded against such temptations.
With the pride of an energetic character, too, he felt the
shame of seeming to be a valetudinarian. But the keenest
pain he suffered was, from being forced to halt when he
would have hastened, and to leave untried many a promising
plan of self-culture and of usefulness. This was the true
cross to a spirit so earnest in hope, comprehensive in sym-
pathy, conscientious, and brave; and nothing could have been
more manly than the uncomplaining serenity with which he
bore it.
Mr. Channing chiefly lamented his want of strength be-
cause he was thereby hampered in his private studies, and in
schemes of professional activity. He did what he could, and
too often much more than he ought, but fell far short of his
ideal, and saw all round him fields white for the harvest, when
his arm was too feeble to put in the sickle and reap. Yet,
from his first appearance in the pulpit, he made a sensation
such as had been long unknown in Boston, distinguished as
many of her ministers justly were. The highest among them,
Dr. Kirkland, said truly of him, and of Buckminster, who
came forward two years later, that they had introduced "
new era in preaching." Their congregations were thronged;
and when either of them was to take his turn at the Thursday
lecture in Chauncy-place, the usually thin audience at that
antiquated service became a crowd.
a
Immediately after Mr. Channing's settlement, the small
society in Federal-street was much enlarged by the numbers
drawn around the young, devoted, eloquent pastor; and from
that time forward steadily grew, until, in 1809, the old church
was taken down, and the corner-stone laid of the large build-
ing which now occupies its place. The devoutly disposed in
the community looked to him with the hope that he might be
a means of fanning once more to flame the smouldering ashes
on the altars of piety. The seriousness of his deportment,
the depth and sweetness of his voice, the pathos with which
he read the Scriptures and sacred poetry, the solemnity of
his appeals, his rapt and kindling enthusiasm, his humble,
trustful spirit of prayer, his subdued feeling, so expressive of
personal experience, made religion a new reality; while his
whole air and look of spirituality won them to listen by its
mild and somewhat melancholy beauty. The most trifling
1803-1814.J
153
saw in him a man thoroughly in earnest, who spoke not of
dreams and fictions, but of facts with which he was intimately
conversant; and the serious gladly welcomed one who led the
way, and beckoned them nearer to the holy of holies which
they aspired to enter. Intellectual people, too, were attracted
by the power and grace of his pulpit addresses. He opened
to them a large range of thought, presented clear, connected,
and complete views of various topics, roused their faculties of
discernment by nice discriminations and exact statements,
and gratified their taste by the finished simplicity of his
style. But the novelty, perhaps, that chiefly stirred his
audiences, was the directness with which he even then
brought his Christian principles to bear upon actual life.
With no flights of mystic exaltation, forgetful in raptures of
the earth, with no abstract systems of metaphysical theology,
with no coldly elegant moral essays, did he occupy the minds
of his hearers, but with near and sublime objects made evident
by faith, with lucid truths approved alike by Scripture and
by conscience, and with duties pressed urgently home upon.
all as rules for daily practice. He saw, and made others see,
that life was no play-place, but a magnificent scene for glori-
fying God, and a rich school for the education of spirits. He
showed to men the substance, of which surrounding appear-
ances are the shadow; and behind transient experiences re-
vealed the spiritual laws which they express. Thus he
gathered round him an enlarging circle of devoted friends,
who gratefully felt that they drank in from him new life.
The old members of the Society, too, for the most part simple
people of plain manners, took the heartiest delight in his
services, while feeling just pride in his talents. And the few
distinguished persons of the congregation knew well how to
appreciate his rare gifts, and to extend his fame. Thus was
he in every way favourably situated to call out his highest
powers; and his journals show how ardently he strove to
fulfil the hopes which he knew were cherished for his use-
fulness.
66
PREACHING.
My great end is the promotion of the moral and religious
interests of mankind, the cause of virtue, the gospel. This
is my occupation. This end may be accomplished everywhere.
Let me make this study the great end of life. Let me study
for this. Let my exercise, relaxation, visits, prayers, all
have this in view. Let me eat and sleep for this. Let me
never lose sight of my flock, constantly oversee them, never
154
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
leave them. Let me strive to make them fruitful to God,
direct and excite exertion for good, exhibit an example of
the life of God."
"Weekly lectures are highly important. What an influence
in the commonwealth would a general attention to religion in
the capital exert! May not the present increased interest be
a sprinkling before the shower?"
Meetings to pray for the spirit. Let me when among
Christians, when visiting them, pray with them, that men
may be awakened to religious attention, and desire that God
be glorified, Christ obeyed, heaven sought."
،،
Religious union. How to make them feel a desire of
assisting, quickening each other in a religious course. Visit
the church often in a religious manner. Pray in private and
in public for this union. Make this the subject of conversa-
tion. Meetings of the church; and in order to make them
useful, let me labour to become an extemporaneous preacher.
The church should feel that on their prayers and zeal the sal-
vation of others depends. Let me now strive to quicken my
church, while attention is awakened to religion."
19
"The influence of the church I need. I can do little my-
self. I want the brethren to be able to converse, the sisters
at home to be able to instil into the minds of their children
religious truth. I should lend suitable books, exalt their in-
tellectual powers, direct their habitual thoughts.
"Have I not reason to fear that many are destitute of love
to God, to Christ, to the church, to man? Do they not con
fide in a course of negative goodness? Are they not full of
false hopes from the performance of particular duties, absti-
nence from great crimes? Are they not easy and satisfied
because they give no positive evidence of irreligion, not be
cause they have positive evidence of religion? Do they not
mistake habit for principle? Do the hopes, pleasures, duties,
difficulties of religion form any part of domestic conversation?
Is holiness an end? Is God all in all? Is Christ all in all
to them? Is love the habit of their soul, operating in their
whole conduct?"
"Christ came to recover men from sin. A change of
heart is the object of the gospel. In this consists the re-
demption of Christ. It becomes men to weep, to feel true,
hearty sorrow at sin itself, to abhor and condemn themselves
as without excuse, to feel themselves dependent upon free,
unmerited, unobligated, sovereign grace for pardon and re-
3
1803-1814.]
155
newal. Repentance includes unconditional submission, choice
and desire that God should reign, should accomplish his will,
should dispose of his creatures as seems to him best. It sup-
poses subjection of ourselves and others wholly to his will.
It gives all things in all times and all places to him as his
own for ever."
INTEREST IN HIS PEOPLE.
"The spirit of God is the blessing of the new covenant.
The knowledge, love, imitation, service, and enjoyment of
God through eternity are all included in this gift. There
can be no other rational, eternal blessedness. The spirit of
God operates on the heart, creates new exercises, and dwells
in the soul of Christians by constantly and immediately sup-
porting all good affections. Every man must be new-born,
have a new heart, a new principle, end, motive, disposition,
a change by the spirit into a meek, submissive, self-renounc-
ing, self-abhorring, benevolent state of soul, before he can
believe, approve, choose the gospel, and receive the kingdom
of heaven."
"I must make the knowledge of divine truth my end, and
therefore labour to preserve a mind fitted to discover, and a
heart ready to receive, instruction. The disposal of time,
food, &c., should all be directed to this object; and every
truth I receive I should labour immediately to impress on my
own heart and on others."
"Let me unite with the most serious statedly in prayer,
for the revival of religion in the society. Let the promotion
of religion be the sole end of all exertions; let nothing else be
named. Oh, the happiness of a religious society!"
"I ought to bear my people on my heart; feel the worth
of their souls, that they have the capacity to serve, enjoy,
glorify God for ever; feel continual heaviness and sorrow for
their neglect of God; be fervent, unceasing in prayer; make
their spiritual prosperity my joy; indulge in no pleasure, en-
gage in no pursuit, which may not subserve this end; let
every worldly interest which will drive them from my mind
be resigned; let my highest anxiety, fear, hope, desire, affec-
tion, be exercised toward them, that God may have a people
among them. Let me be the servant of the least among them
for this purpose."
"Let me never talk of my zeal for souls, except with God;
let me avoid all egotism, and carefully abstain from mention
of personal experience on this subject; let me never condemn
other ministers as cold; let me work where my work will not
156
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
be known, among the poor, ignorant, &c. Let me lead the
serious from dependence on me, from high thoughts of my
society, to Christ. Let me labour most where I shall expe-
rience least approbation, and attend chiefly to the insensible
and sluggish. Let me do much in secret, pray, struggle,
and purify myself for my people; let none know."
"I am sensible of a want of tenderness in my preaching.
I want to preach striking, rather than melting, sermons.
Let me seek that my heart be soft."
"God alone can soften my people; let me labour, therefore,
chiefly in prayer. There is great disregard to prayer among
In public worship preaching is exalted above prayer.
Let me strive to make this part of the service more interest-
ing."
us.
"Let me separate a portion of time for considering the
nature and importance of my office, and for exciting a holy,
devout zeal, a fervent, sincere desire for the holiness and
happiness of my people."
"Let my visits be ministerial, serious; let me speak plainly
on religion, attend to the character of individuals, observe
their wants. What a waste of time to make other visits!
If I should see a man of business give up two hours a day
to making mere calls, I should think him an idler.
How am
I better? Whence my timidity on the subject of religion?
I do not carry conversation far enough to be serious, earnest,
and hence seize no end with sufficient force."
"Let me give courses of lectures upon various subjects,
adapted to different ages and conditions; a course to parents
and heads of families; to the church; on church history, with
applications of prophecy; on the evidences, for the young;
weekly exhortations to children; a course on the duties of
the young; on Jewish history and antiquities; on the testi-
mony of nature to God; a course of expositions; a series on
the parables; &c."
(C
My preaching does not seem to be followed with a de-
vout, grateful, submissive, holy spirit in my church. I do
not witness fervour and happiness from the prospect and hope
of heaven. Their religious conversation limited to a few
topics, heartless, cold, uninteresting! Whence is this? I
feel increasing doubts about my success. However, we are
commanded not to faint. I say to myself, One soul saved;
and I feel that such an object deserves all exertion."
"The children are members of the church of Christ;
1803-1814.]
CHILDREN OF THE SOCIETY.
157
earnest, affectionate attention is due to them. I must cate-
chize them, pray with them, teach them to pray; suggest
subjects which they can illustrate; give them texts to re-
member; instruct them in the duties peculiar to their age,
and in the doctrines suited to them."
These resolves were carried into deeds; and he was at this
period an indefatigable pastor. He visited constantly, had
periodical prayer-meetings, and meetings for conversation
and religious instruction,-varying them as seemed best fitted
to keep interest alive, and, indeed, practised most of the
modes which, though rare then, have now become common,
for quickening religious sensibility and producing Christian
union. To the sick he was a faithful friend, and entered
into their anxieties and hopes with a touching devoutness,
that lifted up their spirits as on angel wings in prayer. Into
the chamber of death he came with the auroral light of the
resurrection upon his brow. And to the mourner he showed
the manna of consolation for ever dropping on the desert.
Yet sometimes his quick sensibility subdued him. When
one of his oldest and most dear parishioners, Mr. Thomas
Davis, was dying, he left the weeping group around the bed-
side, and coming to the church amidst the then small band of
his parishioners, so intimate with each other that they seemed
like one family, he endeavoured to commend the departing
soul to the Heavenly Father. But his voice died in the
utterance; he sank his head on the desk, and burst into tears.
A sob ran through the congregation, and then there was
stillness. On one other occasion, when visiting a family
lately bereaved, he sat down with the circle of mourners,
and after remaining for a long time in silence, as if overcome
with the fulness of his feelings, he uttered a groan, rose, and
left the room. But these were exceptions. He usually had
perfect self-control, and wore an air of serene cheerfulness,
that spread a contagious calmness over troubled hearts.
In the children of the society he felt the deepest interest.
He liked to gather them after service around the pulpit;
when, coming down, he would converse with them, and give
them familiar lessons. This was before the custom of Sun-
day schools was introduced. Later in his ministry, he and
his friend Thacher prepared their well-known catechism.
But at first he confined himself chiefly to oral instruction.
He is remembered as having been very successful in making
these addresses simple and attractive, clothing beautiful
158
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
I
thoughts in intelligible language, and addressing them to his
young friends with a benignant smile, that won their confi-
dence and opened their hearts. He once pleasantly remarked,
that the most satisfactory compliment he had ever received
was from a little girl, who told her mother," I understood
every word he said." His respect for children was, indeed,
singularly strong; and respect is the only word that can fitly
express the trust he felt and manifested in their purity. He
had, from the first, a profound love for their native honour,
their quick moral intuitions, their truth and innocence. And
once, when looking at the corpse of a beautiful child, he said,
"I consider those so early taken as mysteriously privi-
leged."
While thus devoted to his own congregation, and made
every year more and more an object of interest to the com-
munity at large by the good influences which were seen to
flow from his pulpit, Mr. Channing became widely known
also by the useful custom of exchanges, so universal in New
England. In making these he limited himself to no deno-
mination, but freely held intercourse with all who were seek-
ing divine light and life. So indiscriminate, indeed, was he
in this respect, that it was found difficult for many years to
assign him a place in any of the sects, which the increasing
temper of exclusiveness was gradually forming. Alternately
he was claimed and disowned by all, being himself, as we shall
hereafter see, chiefly anxious to shun controversy, and to
keep the transparent heaven of religion unobscured by the
clouds of theological disputes. Still, it was chiefly in Boston,
and among the liberal divines of that capital, that his ex-
changes were necessarily made: and in their societies he was
at all times a favourite preacher, though not a few complained
of his gloom, and very many preferred the sententious wis-
dom, quaintness, sagacity, and rich variety of Kirkland, and
the chaste earnestness, the scholarly fulness of allusion, the
elegance of style, and eloquent oratory of Buckminster.
Such hearers often carried doubtless to the religious assembly
their delightful associations with the superior conversational
gifts of those gentlemen, who were both distinguished for
wit, pleasantry, anecdote, and that easy play of fancy which
illuminates with transient charm the topic of the hour, and
whose manners contrasted favourably with Mr. Channing's
absorbed air, his almost judicial moral severity, and his evident
distaste for the current trifles which polish the surface of life..
-
1803-1814.]
159
To each of these distinguished men he was bound by ties
of strong friendship, and he felt for their talents and acquire-
ments a respect which they cordially reciprocated. Under
date of November, 1806, we find Mr. Buckminster thus
writing to him from Paris, whither he had been driven to
recruit by the malady which so prematurely eclipsed his
bright genius.
J. S. BUCKMINSTER.
"Before this reaches you, you will be restored, I trust, to
your people; for truly I am very anxious for the religious
situation of Boston, deprived, as it now is, in three societies,
of regular pastors. I am sometimes ashamed of myself,
when I think that I am here in Paris in perfect idleness,
while you are sinking under the labours of your ministry.
But God grant that we may be able to congratulate each
other next summer, upon meeting, as I hope we shall, in
health, and taught by our sufferings to cherish more care-
fully than ever this inestimable gift of our Maker, and not to
draw upon it too fast, so that we may use it longer and
more sacredly in the service of our people and for the in-
terests of truth. Farewell, my dear friend! I pray that I
may soon hear of your perfect recovery. Remember my
dear people as often as you can.
"Your friend and brother,
“J. S. B.”
For Mr. Samuel C. Thacher, too,-who studied divinity
under his care, and who became the beloved minister of the
New South church, when Dr. Kirkland was called to the
station that, after 1810, he filled with so much honour to
himself and to the institution, of the presidency of Harvard
University,—he cherished the warmest esteem, to which Mr.
Thacher responded by most reverent love.
"The many admirable principles I have heard from you,”
writes his young friend, "I shall endeavour always to recol-
lect, and it shall be my prayer to the Giver of all good, that
I may not be unworthy the regard of the virtuous and wise.
Remember me with much love to your brother, and believe
me, my dear Sir, with all possible gratitude and affection,
your friend,
"S. C. T."
On the occasion of this young brother's settlement,—
whose opening talents and virtues Mr. Channing watched
with the most tender interest, by whose example he felt him-
160
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
>
self animated, and to whom he was constantly more and more
closely bound by harmony in views and spiritual sympathy,-
he entered the following reflections in his journal:-
"1811, May 16. This week is peculiarly eventful and in-
teresting. Yesterday I assisted at the ordination of my friend
S. C. Thacher. I presented him the right hand of fellow-
ship. This event should recal to me the day when I devoted
myself to the Christian ministry. Have I been a faithful,
diligent minister, inquiring for every means of doing good
to my people, and devoted most sincerely to their improve-
ment? Let me be quickened by this event, which has con-
nected with me a young man whom I esteem and love.
Let me confer with him on the means of benefiting our
societies. Let me save him, if possible, from my errors.
Let me avoid every feeling of rivalship. Merciful God,
render him a better man and Christian than myself. Have
I made sufficient sacrifices to the young men who have
studied with me? Have I paid attentions, instead of ex-
pecting them? Let me endeavour to excite my young
brother to great fervour and activity, and let me catch the
same warmth from him. I fear, I feel, that I and my
brethren are not sufficiently engaged, and not desirous
enough to see fruits from our labours. I am not ready to
live a suffering life for Jesus Christ. My Saviour! may I
think of thy cross, of what thou hast endured for human
happiness, and may I count it my highest honour to be a
partaker of thy sufferings."
And again he thus writes of him to a friend :—
"Heaven can hardly bestow on me a greater blessing
than the friendship of Thacher. The purity of his character
and life, and his devotion to his profession, render him pecu-
liarly important to us at this time."
Thus cordial, honourable, mutually beneficial, and every
way manly, were the relations between these friends, and a
large circle of their brethren. But the days of one of the
noblest of them were numbered. On the 9th of June, 1812,
the sad tidings of the death of Buckminster threw the whole
community into grief. How deeply Mr. Channing mourned
with others the destruction of the hopes which clustered
round this gifted and accomplished man appears from many
of his papers of that period. He was himself absent at the
time from home; but when he came back, he preached by
1803-1814.]
161
DEATH OF BUCKMINSTER.
request a funeral sermon before the Brattle Street Society,
and to his own people spoke as follows :—
"On returning to this place, I am not permitted to see
and embrace a Christian brother, a fellow-labourer in the
gospel, whom I left in the midst of usefulness,-one of the
brightest ornaments of his profession, and of this country,—
whose vigour of mind, whose eloquence, whose piety, whose
sincere devotion to the interests of Christianity, I have wit-
nessed with increasing pleasure and increasing hope. But
God, who imparted to this highly favoured servant such un-
usual gifts, who kindled this superior intellect, has suddenly
removed him from his wide sphere of honour and usefulness.
That you followed to the tomb this righteous man with
serious thought and sorrowful reflection I cannot doubt. My
own heart sunk within me, when I heard the painful tidings
of his death. I felt for the loss I had experienced as an
individual; but this sorrow was faint, compared with my
painful sense of the heavy loss which our churches had ex-
perienced."
And in a letter he thus expresses himself :—
"Buckminster's death gives me many painful and solici-
tous feelings in relation to the interests of religion in this
place. People here, as you well know, are attached to re-
ligious institutions, not so much by a sense of the value of
religion as by their love to their minister; and I fear that
their zeal will grow cold, when their ministers are removed.
I wish that there were more attachment to the truth, and
less to the man who delivers it. The loss of Mr. Buck-
minster appears to me irreparable. I know no man who
unites so many gifts from nature, so many acquisitions from
study, and such power of rendering religion interesting to all
classes of society, especially to the improved, the polished,
the fashionable."
"
As a last act of honour to this already celebrated preacher,
he, with Mr. S. C. Thacher, Mr. Buckminster's more parti-
cular friend, was requested to select and prepare a portion of
his sermons for the press.
"Mr. Buckminster's papers," writes Mr. George Ticknor,
came into my hands after his death, so that I had a good
deal to do with this publication—a circumstance which I
mention as accounting for my knowledge of the facts in
relation to it. Mr. Channing undertook it, I think, with in-
VOL. I.
(6
I
M
162
[ET. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
terest and pleasure, and gave a good deal of time to it;
though of course the labour and responsibility came chiefly.
on Mr. Thacher. The three sermons on Faith, and the
sermon on Philemon, attracted, I believe, more of his atten-
tion than any others. In the last, an omission was made at
his suggestion; but it may be worth notice, in reference to
the opinions he afterwards entertained on the subject, that
the strong phrases in the discourse that touch slavery did not
excite his attention. At least, I am satisfied that he made
no remarks about them: and I remember the way in which
he went over the whole of the sermon. What most struck
me, throughout his examination of the manuscripts was his
interest in Mr. Buckminster's reputation, and his care that
justice should be done to it."
The rule by which he was governed in this work was thus
once communicated by himself:-
"Will you allow me to suggest a counsel which I give to
those who are publishing posthumous works? It is, to be-
ware of publishing too much. The best of a man's writings
should be selected, with somewhat fastidious criticism, for the
press; and care should be taken, lest the best be lost and fail
of their effect by being surrounded with much that wants
interest, and will not be read. I proceeded on this principle
in selecting Mr. Buckminster's sermons, and I think their
great success is in part owing to it."
But besides these friends, to whom he was united by the
relations of the pastoral office, and the cares and respon-
sibilities, studies and hopes, incident to the ministerial profes-
sion, Mr. Channing had others with whom he held intercourse
by letter; and some passages, taken from his correspondence
at this period, may be of interest, as yet further illustrating
his character. They will be suitably prefaced by one in
which he pleasantly alludes to the stiffness of mental and
moral habits, contracted by too monotonous an absorption in
his own pursuits.
“1812. The great objection I have to writing letters is,
that I can hardly do so without beginning to preach. I have
composed sermons till I can with difficulty write anything
else. I exhort when I should smile. Not that I think a
letter should be written without a desire to do good; but in-
struction should be delivered with somewhat less formality
1803-1814.]
LETTERS TO FRIENDS.
163
than from the pulpit. I will try, however, to lay aside my
grave countenance sometimes."
“1805. Your books seem to give you an independence on
the world which riches never bestowed. I esteem it one of
the greatest blessings of my life, that I have been taught to
read, and that I am permitted to converse in books with some
of the best and greatest of my fellow-beings who have ever
existed. If I should be spared to your age, and be per-
mitted to rest a little while before I go down to the grave, I
think this would form my habitual source of comfort and
pleasure. With a book in my hand, I should meet the evils
of life, and forget its anxious cares. I think we are not suf-
ciently grateful for the invention of printing. I know not
that I ever mentioned it in my prayers, but it has done me
more good than food and raiment. I depend on my book as
on my daily bread."
"1807. I have very little to say about myself. My health
and spirits are tolerably good. Were I allowed to choose, I
would ask for ability to apply more to my studies; but I
believe that all things are ordered aright. I know already
more than I practise myself, and more than I communicate
to others. Why, then, should I be so anxious to add to my
stock of knowledge? I have a strong propensity to lead the
life of a recluse and a bookworm; and, perhaps, if I were
able to study all the time, I should neglect the active duties
of my profession. At present I am driven from my study
every day by the unpleasant sensations which long applica-
tion produces. With this exception, I am quite well. My
life is very tranquil. I will not mingle with the contentions
of the world. Angry politicians and theologians are raging
around me, but I try not to hear; and if this is impossible, I
avail myself of my defect of memory, and forget the clamour.
Certainly life is too short, its duties too numerous and weighty,
to leave us much time to waste in altercation."
"1808. This is my birth-day. I have been looking back
on the blessings which have filled up my existence. The
last year, I find, has been crowned with mercies; and in
acknowledging the unmerited goodness of God, I cannot but
thank him that he has put it into the heart of so kind a
friend to take such an interest in my welfare, and to express
toward me so much tenderness and affection. All my life
long, God has been raising up to me benefactors. I never
M 2
164
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ET. 23-34.
2
:
O
experienced the want of a friendly hand to support me.
that with his blessings he would give me a heart to be grateful
for them! Give me your prayers, that the next year of my
life may be more useful than the last; that every day may
bring me nearer to heaven; that I may feel more of the
power of religion, that God would condescend to use even me
as an instrument in advancing his cause in the world."
"1809. I feel more and more that I am doing little good;
but I blame myself as much as others. Since you have been
absent, I have felt more debilitated than usual. I have not
been capable of much mental exertion. How much do I need
these rebukes to keep me humble! You know the sin which
most easily besets me. I have reason to be grateful for the
various methods in which God is teaching me my dependence
and imbecility."
•
"1812. New Year's Day. The past year has been to us
both peculiarly interesting. It has made some important
changes in our domestic circles, and it has left, I hope, some
salutary impressions on ourselves and our friends. I look
back on it with much humiliation. I fear that my sufferings
have not refined me as they ought. I am sure that my bless-
ings have not left that tender sense of the Divine goodness
which I wish ever to maintain.
My increasing du-
sometimes they suggest
Pray for me, that I
ties require increasing activity, and
many painful fears and forebodings.
may be faithful and useful.
•
"I recollect on this day the kindness and affection which
you have expressed toward me with so much uniformity and
tenderness, since I first knew you. Your friendship I have
valued as one of the great blessings of my life, and I hope it
will not forsake me in any prosperous or adverse changes
which may await me.
•
"I know that I have many friends,-perhaps few are
more favoured than I. But still I cannot spare you. How
much of the happiness, and I may add of the usefulness, of
my life do I owe to your tender, unremitting kindness! How
often have I been kept from fainting by your cheering voice!
Do not say that I am inclined to exaggerate your offices of
friendship. I cannot express what I feel. I have often felt
that your partiality to me was unmerited, but I am not just
enough to wish it diminished. It has become one of my
highest earthly blessings. It is one of the few blessings to
which I look forward with confidence. I feel that many other
12
1803-1814.] LETTERS TO FRIENDS.
-165
friends may fail, but I feel a strange assurance that no
changes can sever us from each other. Is it not religion, that
indissoluble bond, which unites us?"
"1808. You will not forget, no, not for a moment, that it
is God, the best of beings, the kindest of fathers, who gave
you the parent you have lost, and to whom you are indebted
for all the kind support, the tender care, the faithful admoni-
tions which you have received from your beloved and revered
friend, that it is he who wounds and corrects you. In the
perfection of his character, in the wisdom, rectitude, and
mercy of his providence, in the truths and promises of his
gospel, in his compassion for the fatherless, you will find, I
trust, consolation and support. Do not distrust him, who is
love, who is a father when he rebukes, and who rebukes be-
cause he is a father, because he is interested in our welfare,
because he sees that we have sins which need correction,
because he designs to purify us for his presence in heaven.
I know the strength of your feelings. I do not expect that
at the first moment of affliction you will be able to fix a
steady, unwavering eye on the precious truths of our religion.
God, who knows that we are dust, permits us to mourn, and
I trust compassionates rather than condemns the mourner
who sinks under the first stroke of unexpected calamity;-
but you will not, I hope, long forget the presence and the
righteous will of God. You will open your mind to the
supporting views which Christianity affords of the purposes
of affliction. With sorrow you will unite patience, confi-
dence, humility, and hope."
""
S
!
"1809. Unless I am deceived, you have much to learn,
and perhaps much to suffer, before you will deserve to be
called happy. Happiness is the uniform serenity of a well-
governed mind, of disciplined affections, of a heart steadily
devoted to objects which reason and religion recommend.
According to my tame imagination, Happiness is a very de-
mure lady,—almost as prim as the wives of the Pilgrims of
New England. She smiles, indeed, most benignantly, but
very seldom laughs; she may sigh, but seldom sobs; the tear
may start into her eye, the tear of gratitude and of sympathy,
but it seldom streams down the cheek. Her step is some-
times quickened, but she does not waste her spirits and
strength in violent and unnatural efforts. She cultivates
judgment more than fancy. She employs imagination, not
to dress up airy fictions, not to throw a false, short-lived
166
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
:
lustre over the surrounding scenery, but to array in splendour
distant objects which reason assures her are most glorious
and excellent, but which, from their distance, are apt to
fade away before the eye, and to lose their power over the
heart. Now I confess that my ideas of happiness and those
of my friend
- do not perfectly coincide. Time and
affliction, however, will bring them nearer to each other.
Perhaps reflection may render affliction less necessary."
"1811. In the beginning of this letter, I have alluded to an
affliction which I have been called to sustain. It has pleased
God this week to remove from us a friend in whom I have
long felt a strong and increasing interest. You undoubtedly
heard of her frequently, whilst you lived in this town; but
her character, her worth, you probably never knew. It has
been my privilege and happiness, for some time, to enjoy an
intimacy with this singular woman, this highly favoured
child of God. She has been a great sufferer for several
years, but she has suffered so meekly and patiently, her
character has been so refined and elevated by suffering, she
embraced all around her with such a strong and tender
affection, amidst pains which would have rendered others in-
sensible to all but themselves, she discovered such unabated
energy of mind at the moment that her emaciated frame
seemed just ready to resign its breath, that I have con-
templated her with a delight and admiration which very few
of our race have inspired. I have understood that in early
life she was the victim of sensibility; and indeed it was easy
to see that her feelings tended to excess. But religion, that
refining and subduing principle, exerted its kindest influence
on her heart. She was called to a struggle peculiarly arduous,
but she was conqueror. I cannot mourn for her departure;
yet it is a thought which almost saddens me, that I am no
more to hear her animated voice, no more to commune with
that powerful mind, that warm and pure heart, on this side
the grave. But to her pious and virtuous friends she is not
lost; there is society in heaven."
"1810. I am not insensible to commendation. I will go
farther. There is a commendation which affords me an ex-
quisite satisfaction,—I mean a commendation which flows
from an unaffected love of goodness, and from a desire to con-
firm it. Such commendation confers more honour on those
who give than on him who receives it, and shows him that he
has a place, not in the admiration of a superficial mind, but
7.
1803–1814.]
LETTERS TO FRIENDS.
167
in the affections of a good, pure heart. Of this praise I
can almost adopt the language of Henry the Fifth,-
'If it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.'
But to be 'daubed with undiscerning praise,' to have my
frailties forced on my mind by being told that I have none,
to receive a tribute which my heart disclaims, and which
fills me with apprehension lest I have been a hypocrite, and
have practised concealment more effectually than most of
my fellow-beings, this is indeed painful and humiliating.
You will not think that I mean to apply all this to you; but
in your letter you have 'o'erstepped the bounds' of that
discretion which I wish you to observe. You throw your
colours on your friends too profusely. Humanity is but
another word for imperfection. It is a distempered vision
which represents it as faultless. I cannot tell you, my dear
friend, how much more I should have been gratified, if you
had frankly disclosed to me the observations you must have
made on my character, and had set before me the weak-
nesses, defects, disproportions, blemishes, which must have
forced themselves on so discerning an eye."
“1812. I thank them for their good opinion; but to you I
will say, that I feel almost an insuperable reluctance to visit,
and much more to preach, where people have taken it into
their heads that they are to see or hear anything uncommon.
In my own breast I carry a conviction which contradicts all
such opinions, and renders applause painful and mortifying.
The tender affection which you express is indeed delightful,
though I feel it is not altogether deserved; but fame, general
notice, is not my right, and I pray God that it may never be
my wish or end.'
""
"1810. I would not have you think that any human friend-
ship is of itself sufficient to raise you to the excellence I have
fancied. There is another source to which you must repair.
It is a most consoling doctrine of our religion, that the
Father of Spirits delights to perfect the works which he has
made, that he has sent his Son to renew his own image in the
human heart, that he inspires the love of virtue, that he
hears the aspirations and assists the efforts of every soul
which desires to be emancipated from its earthly and selfish
propensities.
•
"I am very willing that you should dissent from the
ļ
168
[ET. 23-34,
EARLY MINISTRY.
opinion I have expressed of Hume. When I reviewed that
part of my letter, I feared that I had been declamatory rather
than convincing; that I had carried my principle too far. It
is a fault which I have often observed in my character, that
I am prone to overstate an argument,-to infer too much
from my premises,-to exhibit a truth without the necessary
limitations. I want to make an impression, and defeat my
end by demanding a stronger conviction or a more unqualified
assent than I have a right to expect. I need to seek the ex-
cellence for which Bishop Butler is so remarkable,—I mean
that of being so cautious and modest in his inferences, that
his readers not only concede the positions for which he con-
tends, but almost blame him for not demanding more. This
habit conciliates great confidence for a writer; and we are
naturally impressed with the strength of his cause, when we
see him able to support it without straining a single argu-
ment, or even carrying it to its fair extent. Some people,
rather than lose a good metaphor, or a fine sentence, are
often tempted to assert what is not altogether accurate; and
they have their reward. They astonish, but do not convince.
They strike, but do not keep their hold of the mind. May
you and I love Truth better than Rhetoric."
"1810. If I were to differ from you on the subject of
history, it would be in giving a stronger preference to bio-
graphy than you seem to do. General history, indeed, dis-
covers to us human beings in a great variety of circumstances;
but it shows us beings principally of one class of character,
and it brings them before us in their maturity, after their
characters are formed.
66
History transmits to us almost exclusively those men
who have had sway over nations. It shows us the ambition
which proposes to itself dominion, in an endless variety of
forms, now plotting in the cabinet, now shedding torrents
of blood in the field of battle. I will not say that there is
not much important instruction to be derived from this exhi-
bition of human character; but is it the most important to
such beings as you and I, who would not receive a crown for
a gift,—who fill, from necessity and choice, the humbler
walks of life,-whose objects, temptations, hopes, and fears
are so very different from those which history unfolds? The
page of history is so crowded with heroes and statesmen that
it cannot admit people like us, although our dimensions are
so very small. It has not a place even in the margin for the
1803-1814.]
LETTERS TO FRIENDS.
169
minister and the schoolmistress. It is too blood-stained to be
the record of those peaceful virtues, which as Christians we
should seek to infuse into our hearts.
(6
Again, general history shows us only men in their ma-
turity, after they have come forward on the public stage. It
seldom carries us back and shows us by what influences the
character which we behold was gradually formed. It pre-
sents the full-grown man. I want to see him in his cradle,
and trace him thence to his height of glory or his depth of
guilt. I want to see him when he is not acting his part, in
that common, every-day intercourse which reveals the man
as he is. Now biography seems to me to give these advan-
tages. It shows us every form and every stage of character;
it shows us excellence which is not the less worthy of ad-
miration because it was not called forth into public life. It
makes us the friends, the domestic companions, and the pri-
vate witnesses of the good man.
"Let me just add, that young minds, unless carefully
guarded, often receive injurious impressions from history.
They see the ambitious exerting such vast power and en-
joying such splendid success, that they are dazzled and over-
whelmed; they form false ideas of greatness, become recon-
ciled to wars, and sympathize so strongly with the towering
oppressor, that they feel no concern for the nations he deso-
lates."
"1811. I need not introduce the following advice, or
labour to secure it a favourable reception, by assuring you of
the sincere affection from which it flows. You know that I
have felt no common interest in your situation, and I must
believe that you will ascribe the admonitions I am to offer to
the desire of contributing to your usefulness and happiness.
The confidence you have reposed in me encourages and even
binds me to speak with frankness. Some of my remarks
may appear too minute, but your success depends very much
on your attention to little things.
"It is of the first importance, that you impress the people
amongst whom you are to live with a conviction of your steadi-
ness and stability of character. I feel no little solicitude on
this point. If once you are considered thoughtless, volatile,
and injudicious, your prospect of success is gone.
Your
talents will be of little avail. Parents cannot be blamed for
requiring a considerate character in those to whom they
commit their children. This impression of steadiness you must
170
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ET. 23-34.
"
make, not only by your unwearied attention in school, but by
your deportment and appearance at other seasons. You will be
cheerful, but not gay. In your manners you cannot but be
easy, but you must avoid everything which approaches wild-
ness. In your dress you cannot but discover taste; but it
will be better to fall below, than to rise above, the common
standard of fashion in the place where you live. Do not act
from the impulse of the moment; but deliberate before you
decide. You know what is meant by the word judgment.
I hope you will possess it, and I hope you will be thought to
possess it. In conversation you will not forget that you are
among strangers, and that this situation requires a caution
and reserve to which you have never before been called.
You must also remember, that in a small town it is the fashion
to repeat what ought to be forgotten. Let not your spirits.
run away with you. Be not extravagant in expressing de-
light and admiration. Do not aim at shining much. You
will be brilliant enough without effort. Seek esteem and
confidence rather than admiration. Admirers are not friends;
and for one who admires, there are twenty to envy and dis-
cover faults. Do not make other people subjects of conver-
sation. You will see and hear much, perhaps, to displease
you; but, as you are going to instruct the young, and not to
reform the old, you may hold your peace with a safe con-
science. Be very cautious in forming intimacies. Your re-
spectability, as well as your happiness, requires that you
should attach yourself to persons of improved hearts and
understandings,—of solid worth, of acknowledged excellence.
Indulge in company with moderation. Learn to be happy in
yourself, and at home. Partake sparingly of public amuse-
ments, and religiously deny yourself every pleasure incon-
sistent with the active, faithful discharge of your daily duties.
I am very desirous that you should avoid the character of a
fashionable woman, and you will remember this character is
fixed on a person more easily in a small than in a large town.
You know the great circumspection required of a young lady
who lives alone, without parent, guardian, or brother. Your
occupation will render exercise necessary, perhaps every day.
Do not think me too minute, if I advise you to vary your
walks, and to walk in retired parts of the town. Here end
my prudential rules. You will forgive me when I tell you,
that I have written to you just as I should to my sisters.
You must have learnt not to trust to the candour of the
-
1803-1814.]
171
world. Give them, if possible, not one ground for question-
ing your steadiness of character.
GENEROSITY.
"Now for your school. Endeavour to introduce the most
perfect system at the beginning, and be very slow to admit
any change which inexperienced people may think very good,
unless its utility be obvious. Pay great attention to the
order of your school, and to the manners of the children; and
when they leave you, see that they retire with silence and
regularity. I need not urge it upon you to unite with this
strict discipline, great mildness, and perfect freedom from
passion. I wish that you would introduce some religious
exercises. Let the Scriptures be daily read, in a reverential
manner, by yourself or by some good reader in the school.
Be careful to teach every branch thoroughly. A school is
lost when it gets the character of being showy and superficial.
Let me conclude with urging you to enter into the spirit of
your occupation. Learn to love it. Try to carry into it a
little enthusiasm. Let it not be your task, but your delight.
Feel that Providence is honouring you in committing to you.
the charge of immortal minds. Study the characters of your
pupils, and the best modes of exciting and improving them.
You have heart enough; fix it on this noble object. And
now, my dear friend, be of good courage. Bear up, with a
calm, steady resolution, under the trials of life. Lift your
eyes, with gratitude and confidence, to your Father in heaven,
and he will never forsake you. Wherever you go, you will
be surrounded with his presence; and if you approve your-
self his humble, faithful child, you cannot but be happy. To
his providence I commend you."
Thus warm were Mr. Channing's sympathies, in the home
circle, in his congregation, towards his brethren in the
ministry, and to many friends. They were not limited, how-
ever, to these spheres, but widened to embrace the wants of
all his fellow-men in the community in which he dwelt. The
poor were especially objects of his regard, many of whom
freely visited him; and he had always several destitute
families under his care. His liberality, indeed, was so un-
bounded, that his elder brother once said,- 66
Really, William
should have a guardian; he spends every dollar as soon as he
gets it." And so he actually did. With a good salary, he
was yet always poor,-so utter was his dislike to accumulation,
and so little anxious was he for the morrow; but, as he seldom
mentioned his deeds of kindness, comparatively few of them
172
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
are particularly known. Many letters, however, which yet
remain, prove how varied, numerous, judicious, and patient
were his labours to cheer, encourage, and redeem the un-
fortunate. And when his own means were exhausted, rich and
generous friends in his society made him their almoner. To
one of these he writes-"I shall, indeed, consider it a great
blessing to myself, as well as to you, to be able to suggest
opportunities of usefulness; and I shall do this more readily,
if
you resolve never to oppose your own judgment out of re-
spect to my feelings." And again he says "I thank God
that he permits me to communicate to you the thanks of the
poor and afflicted.
Rejoice that, through you, praise
has ascended to heaven,-joyful praise from the lips of a man
just trembling over the grave. I feel myself indebted to you
for the benevolence you exercise to others.
May you
yet more earnestly espouse the interest of the Redeemer, and
imitate his meek and condescending love." Thus was he
doubly a benefactor, by presenting to the wealthy oppor-
tunities to bestow on the needy the gifts which God had in-
trusted to their guardianship.
"I never heard him speak of giving pecuniary aid to any
one," says one of his sisters; "but facts speak for themselves.
He must have had a thousand dollars to lay out, of which he
spent scarcely anything upon himself, except in case of sick-
ness, or when he had to take a journey. He never had money
for any length of time, and I have no doubt that he always
disposed of it nearly as fast as he received it. We must be-
lieve that he gave away nearly eight hundred a year, and I
have known many times when he had nothing. In all his
feelings he was large and noble. I remember, on one occa-
sion, he had attended the funeral of a gentleman of fortune,
and afterwards had visited the afflicted family. The widow,
wishing to express her gratitude, inclosed him fifty dollars in
a note. It was a sore trial to him. He could not bear to
wound the feelings of the lady by a refusal: and yet, to accept
it was not to be thought of. He returned it, and, I am sure,
in doing so, found some way not to pain another by sparing
himself. Think, for one moment, that any one could have
offered money to such a being, as a return for his sympathy;
but then it was so kindly meant on her part, that I could not
mention it even now, if she had not long been numbered
among the dead.
She only did not know him. He was as
wise, too, as he was generous, and I never saw any one who
•
f
1803-1814.]
INTEREST IN THE POOR.
173
more truly understood the value of money for the benefit of
others, or who cared less for it himself."
One slight anecdote shows his disposition in this respect.
As he was taking a journey alone in a chaise, he was in-
duced by the appearance of poverty about a dwelling to stop
and inquire after the condition of the inmates. He found a
very old couple, helpless and wretched; and after conversing
with them some time as to their simple life, he bade them
farewell, leaving in their hands his purse. He had ridden
some miles before it occurred to him that his horse would
suffer, though he might not, from his penniless condition;
when, finding himself in the neighbourhood of an acquaint-
ance, he borrowed the necessary sum to carry him on his
way.
His journals are interesting here, also, as showing how
comprehensive at once and minutely exact was his charity,
in devising benefit for the suffering. There are long and full
lists of the various classes of the community who needed care
or aid; sketches of their peculiar trials, temptations, and
difficulties; suggestions for public works, benevolent opera-
tions, special reforms; and hints of all kinds as to the duties
which society owes to its members. But a few extracts will
speak for themselves.
(6
Things to be done in town.-Comfortable houses to be
let cheap for the poor. Innocent and improving amuse-
ments. Interesting works to be circulated among them.
Associations among mechanics for mutual support if reduced.
Complete course of instruction for youth designed for active
life. Dr. Lathrop's plan of education. Justices' salaries to
be fixed; their fees; small debts; petty suits; oppression of
the poor. Taverns; drinking-parties; a work on ardent
spirits should be written. Fire-clubs. Apprentice-boys at
bad houses; &c."
"Poor-house.-Rooms to be better aired. There should
be selection in assigning rooms. Tracts to be circulated
there. Let me visit them once a week. They want plain,
pious, unambitious, evangelical ministry; they want that
gospel which teaches contentment in every state.
An asso-
ciation of females to furnish them employments. Neatness
should be prescribed. Great regularity in their exercises.
Mutual respect required; decency of manners to each other."
"Causes of poverty to be traced. Charity is not enough
directed. Intimate acquaintance with poor families.
Em-
i
174
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
ployment found. Economical improvements. Store-houses.
Provisions of wood in large quantities at cheap prices, and so
with all necessaries of life; to be bought at cheap seasons, and
sold in large quantities. Rumford boilers."
"Excite no feeling of dependence. Stimulate to exertion.
Relief, such as to call out energy, and remove whatever dis-
heartens and disables."
"How much capacity there is in the poorer classes of
knowledge and affection! Why is it not developed? Is not
the social order bad? Cannot all the capacities of all classes
be called forth? Cannot men's motives in pursuing wealth
be purified? Cannot a strong conviction be established, that
Christ's precepts in the plain sense are the only rule for
Christians? Cannot the power of fashion and opinion, except
in so far as they may be sanctioned by Christianity, be
subverted?"
"Employ religious schoolmistresses in different parts of
the town. The children of the poor need special care.'
""
In this project he was at this time much interested, and
was instrumental, in connexion with others, in establishing
primary schools-being prompted by the considerations, that,
by such a provision,
"The parents are relieved from a great burden, especially
in the winter; the children are kept for many hours of the
day at least out of the streets, where every vice is contracted,
and from the crowded, unwholesome rooms, where they too
often witness the worst examples; their faculties are in a
measure called forth and improved; they acquire some habits
of order, application, and industry; are trained to decency of
manners, dress, and appearance; become fitted for the busi-
ness of life, and are instructed in the Scriptures and the
duties of morality."
"A bakehouse for the poor, established by a fund for their
use; an association of the poor, contributing so much a week
for a fund to support them in sickness; associations for relief
of the sick, old, debtors, and for the employment of those
who are without work."
"What can be done to exalt the poor and ignorant from a
life of sense to an intellectual, moral, religious life? How
excite an interest in the education of their children? Let
me learn to extemporize, that I may administer plain in-
struction. May not the mind be quickened by interesting
the heart in religion? The Divine character, peculiarly as
1803-1814.] INTEREST IN THE POOR.
175
displayed in Christianity, is the great means of exalting
The poor need moral remedies. Let the
human nature.
poor be my end.”
"Let each rich family have some poor under their care;
especially Christian families. Mention the poor to others.
Connect the poor with good families."
"There should be an association to receive prostitutes,
when reduced by want and disease, to reform and employ
them. A house necessary, and one walled, &c. The object,
seclusion, support, and rendering them useful.
A strong
aversion to licentiousness should be awakened."
"Immigrants. A society of advice. They are subjects
of speculation, exposed to unprincipled men. They want
direction, friends. Keep them out of the way of designing
people. They depend on the wants of landholders, &c."
"Africans. To enable them better to manage the affairs
of this life; to acquire support, property; to elevate their
desire of pleasure above sense, to social enjoyments and
improvement of mind. I wish them to be thinking persons,
to act from thought. Their modes of life would vary, if
instruction was early given. A school may interest them.
Their present evils-dirt, bad air, crowded rooms, and their
poverty-originate in thoughtlessness, intemperance, &c. In
learning they will find new pleasures, and be less tempted to
irregularity. We must give them new tastes. What powers,
how much mind, how much heart, what treasures, are con-
tained in them! Shall all be lost? Awaken a sense of their
true dignity and true excellence, and so prevent vain atten-
tion to dress, &c. Is it not possible to make a party among
them in support of religion? May there not be a line of
distinction drawn among them, and a sense of character
awakened?"
These extracts from papers and journals, extending through
the first years of his ministry, show how early and how
earnestly his sympathies went out to his fellowmen of every
condition. He seems to have wished-to quote again his
diary-" to associate with all classes, to know their wants,
and to become acquainted with the world in which I am
placed." His longing was for nothing less than humanity
made universal. The spirit that dictated his enthusiastic
letters from Richmond was working in him still, and prompt-
ing him to seek for every practicable mode of redeeming
man from the inhuman degradations to which tens of thou-
176
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
sands are subject in a society selfish in its principles, laws,
customs, maxims, influences, tendencies. He saw that actual
life in Christian communities is a hideous mockery of the
generally professed discipleship to Him whose last symbolic
act was to gird himself with a towel and to wash his disciples'
feet; whose test of distinction was, "Let him that would be
greatest among you be the servant of all," and who left as
his dying legacy the new commandment, "As I have loved
you, so love ye one another."
But these charities within his immediate neighbourhood,
extensive as they were, did not exhaust Mr. Channing's
interest in his race. In the growing prevalence of order,
justice, freedom, over the internal legislation of the nations
of Christendom, and of humanity and peace through their
diplomatic, commercial, and intellectual intercourse, he saw
a providential process, by which the scattered societies of
earth are becoming transformed and reunited into the king-
dom of heaven, a slow process indeed to human sight, and
one accompanied by trial and struggle, but yet a sure one.
And thus believing, he thought that a minister of the glad
tidings, of universal goodwill, was so far from being exempt
from the duties of a citizen, that he was, on the contrary,
under special obligation to infuse, as he best could, the spirit
of love, the hope of a higher future for mankind, the sense
of responsibility to a superhuman authority, into the hearts
of his fellows,-heated as they were by partisan passions,
and turned from their rightful function of mutual beneficence
by worldly jealousies.
From early youth he had been, as we have observed, con-
versant with political movements; he had been bred up in
ardent attachment to liberty under constitutional limits; he
had shared in the exhilarating anticipations first excited by
the French Revolution, and in the revulsion of shame and
sorrow produced by its after excesses; he had watched the
triumphs of the "armed apostle of democracy," till he had
seen him rear his throne of universal empire upon prostrate
states, which fell bravely struggling for independent national
existence; and now, in common with many of the best and
wisest around him, he feared, as an event by no means
impossible, that the United States might be needed as an ark
for freedom, when the deluge of despotism had overswept
Europe. In a word, he was at this time thoroughly in prin-
ciple and affections a Federalist. Later in life his sentiments
•
1803-1814.]
177
and convictions underwent a great change in regard to this
tremendous crisis in modern history. But at the period now
under consideration he was opposed with his whole soul and
strength to "French principles." To him these were identical
with atheism, vice, and moral ruin, with licentious self-will
in private manners, and despotism alternating with radical
lawlessness in' government. In their triumph he foresaw, as
he thought, the downfall of the cross. Thus judging, how
could he do otherwise, as a brave and single-hearted man,
than strive to check their growing power?
Accordingly, in his Fast and Thanksgiving sermons, from
which extracts will hereafter be given, he entered freely into
the consideration of national dangers and duties, and brought
men and measures to the test of the Christian standard. In
this course of conduct he had the sanction of such men as Dr.
Osgood and Dr. Kirkland; but many of his brethren con-
demned him for desecrating the dignity of the pulpit by the
introduction of such topics, and large numbers of the laity
were indignant at his presumption, as they considered it, and
officious intermeddling in matters beyond his sphere. As
this was the period of the embargo and the last war, when
commerce was prostrate and industry languished,—when the
bond of the Union was almost severed by civil strife, and
angry controversies prevailed in public and private,-when
family ties and old friendships were rudely broken by political
dissensions, when the circles of social intercourse were
limited to those who adopted the same party creeds, and men
rose or fell in the scale of esteem as their opinions varied,—
when in the theatre the shouts of "Ca ira," and "God save
the king," alternately drowned each other, when angry mobs
tore unpopular editors from the jails where they were put for
safety, and when, in a word, the nation was convulsed,-it
can easily be understood that a preacher who espoused the
cause of either of the contending bodies was forced to bear
the brunt of severe censure, and to be made the object of
exaggerated praise. To Mr. Channing one of these results
was as distasteful as the other; but as several of his sermons
were printed, and thus became widely known, he largely ex-
perienced both. Some critics went so far as to ascribe to
him no better motive for overstepping the usual lines of
pulpit discussion, than that of seeking the notoriety which he
thus met; a charge, to be sure, which seemed sufficiently
absurd to those who knew the man, and which his friends
VOL. I.
N
K
P
POLITICAL SERMONS.
178
[ÆT. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
might have fully answered by stating the facts, that he had
declined to deliver the Phi Beta Kappa oration before Har-
vard University from aversion to appear in public, that he
habitually shunned various opportunities for displaying his
talents, and held back from even the literary enterprises in
which he was well qualified to excel, because he feared lest he
might thus be led astray from the more appropriate duties of
his profession. But he knew his own heart, and year by
year went steadily on his course of giving with perfect frank-
ness such warnings and rebukes as he deemed timely.
In these trials he had in private the faithful counsel of his
brother Francis, who was a firm and earnest advocate of the
same political views, and in public he received the support of
some of the most distinguished of his fellow-citizens; for this
was the day when Governor Strong communicated the stern
resolution of his character to the councils of the State, when
George Cabot with his pen and tongue cast over perplexed
subjects the clear light of his sagacious judgment; when
Fisher Ames held private circles and public assemblies spell-
bound by the charm of his rich eloquence, and when Boston
and Massachusetts generally were strongly enlisted on the
Federal side. His decided action had the effect of adding to
his celebrity and influence; and he took at this time in public
respect the position which he held through the rest of life.
Thenceforward he was known as a man of unfaltering prin-
ciple, at once temperate and bold, slow to form opinions, but
fearless to maintain them, thoroughly to be depended upon
in the most trying scenes, ready to follow through good or
ill report his conviction of right, and who always
"walked attended
By a strong-siding champion, Conscience."
Thus passed the first ten years and more of Mr. Channing's
ministerial life. They were uneventful, but inwardly rich
in results; and many good seeds then planted themselves,
which were afterwards to bear abundant fruits. Inherited
errors, too, not a few, in thought and practice, had been
slowly outgrown, so slowly, that he was perhaps unconscious
of the change which had been wrought in his principles.
Above all, he had learned the lesson of keeping true to his
purest, highest self, or, to express the same fact more humbly
and justly, of being obedient to the Divine will, however re-
vealed to his inmost reason. Goodness had firmly enthroned
J
$
1803-1814.]
CHARACTER.
179
itself as the reigning power in his nature. He lived the life
communicated from above. He was becoming yearly and
daily more and more a child of God.
From his very entrance on a public career, he produced
upon all who came into his presence the impression of
matured virtue and wisdom, and inspired reverence though
young. He wore an air of dignity and self-command, of pure
elevation of purpose, and of calm enthusiasm, that disarmed
familiarity. Careful of the rights of others, courteous and
gentle, he allowed no intrusions upon himself. He was deaf
to flattery, turned at once from any mention of his own
services or position, paid no compliments, and would receive
none; but, by constant reference to high standards of right,
transferred the thoughts of those with whom he held inter-
course from personal vanity to intrinsic excellence, and from
individual claims to universal principles. He gave no time
to what was unimportant, made demands upon the intellect
and conscience of those he talked with, and inspired them
with a sense of the substantial realities of existence. In his
treatment of others there was no presumption nor partiality.
He was deferential to old and young; listened without in-
terruption, and with patience, even to the dull and rude;
spoke ill of none, and would hear no ill-speaking; tolerated
no levity, but at once overawed and silenced it by wise and
generous suggestions: was never hasty, rash, nor impetuous
in word or act, and met these weaknesses in others with an
undisturbed firmness that disarmed passion while rebuking
it. Above all, he recognized in his fellows no distinctions
but those of character and intelligence, and, quietly dis-
regarding capricious estimates and rules of mere etiquette,
met rich and poor, learned and ignorant, upon the broad
ground of mutual honour and kindness. Thus his influence
was always sacred and sanctifying; and no better impression
can be given of him, as he then appeared, than is presented
in his description of the Good Minister, in the sermon-quite
famous at the time-which he preached at the ordination of
the Rev. John Codman in 1808. Henry Ware, the younger,
once said truly, that Mr. Channing had there sketched his
own portrait. The passage is as follows, and with it this
chapter may most suitably be closed.
"On this occasion, I have thought that it would be useful
to dwell on the importance of a zealous and affectionate per-
formance of ministerial duties. On this subject I could wish
ནཱ
1
N 2
180
[ET. 23-34.
EARLY MINISTRY.
to hear rather than to speak. I feel that the place which
belongs to me is not that of a confident teacher, but of an
humble, self-accusing learner. When I look round on my
fathers and brethren in the ministry, whose years and ex-
perience and improvements in piety peculiarly fit them for
this theme, I feel no faint desire to resign to them the office
I am expected to perform. But my feelings and wishes have
been overruled; and now that I must speak, I wish to suggest
something which will tend to quicken my own heart, which
will stir up the minds of my brethren, and which will impress
this numerous assembly with the duties and objects, the
tremendous responsibility, and the infinitely solemn conse-
quences of the sacred ministry.
"It is the exhortation of Paul to Timothy, 'Be instant in
season, out of season;' that is, 'Be urgent, engaged, in
earnest, not only at stated seasons of instruction, not only
when thine own ease and convenience may permit, but at
every season when thou canst hope that truth may be im-
parted, or serious impressions be produced.' These words
furnish us with this practical doctrine, that a minister of
Jesus Christ should be distinguished by zeal, earnestness,
and affection in the discharge of his sacred office. In the
present discourse, I propose to offer a few remarks on the
duty enjoined in the text, and then to present considerations
suited to enforce it on our consciences and hearts.
"To be instant in season and out of season, is to be cor-
dially devoted to the great object of the Christian ministry.
It is to exert on this object the strength of our affections, to
make it the centre of our thoughts, and the great end of our
labours. In this zeal and earnestness it is implied that our
work is our happiness; that we do not make our ministry a
means to some further, selfish end; that we do not enter on
it from love of ease, or distinction, or gain; but that it is
itself our choice, and that we cling to it with an affection
which overpowers all private considerations. It is implied
that we oversee the flock of God, not from constraint, but
willingly, not for filthy lucre, but from a ready mind; that
the love of Christ bears us away, and that from this love we
desire to feed his sheep.
"To be instant in season and out of season is to be carried
by affection to habitual, continued efforts for human salva-
tion. It is not to make a few convulsive efforts when our
feelings are accidentally warmed, and then to settle down
{ ',
1803-1814.7
THE GOOD MINISTER.
181
into supineness and sloth. It is not to confine ourselves to a
cold, mechanical round of what we call our duties, and to feel
that we have done enough when we have done what is
claimed and expected. It is to glow with a desire of suc-
cess, to stand watching opportunities of doing good to the
souls of men. It is to think that we have done nothing,
whilst multitudes within our reach are perishing in their
sins. It is to think no labour difficult, no sacrifice great, by
which men may be saved. It is to explore new means of
usefulness; to inquire what peculiar forms of Christian exer-
tion our peculiar conditions and relations may admit; and
then to follow with resolute purpose and strenuous effort the
plans which approve themselves to our serious judgment.
Perhaps there is no profession, no occupation, which en-
courages so much musing as the profession of a minister. It
is very easy and very pleasing to mark out paths of useful-
ness, to set at work in our imaginations a variety of means
from which the happiest effects are to flow. But to do as
well as to will, this is the toil. To be instant in season and
out of season, implies that we carry deliberation into prac-
tice; that we convert possible into real good; that no discou-
ragements have power to shake those purposes which we
deliberately approve; that we wait not to consult ease or
opinion, when we have already consulted God and our own
consciences; that we press forward in the path of duty, un-
dismayed by the opposition, unabashed by the ridicule, of the
world.
"This zeal and earnestness ought to pervade our whole
ministerial duties. We should carry it into our private
studies and devotions. A minister can impart to his people
only what he has himself received. His own understanding
must be first enlightened, his own heart first kindled, before
he can communicate a rational and fervent piety. Hence a
minister should apply with zeal to the various means of per-
sonal improvement. He should never be contented with his
present attainments, never imagine that he has learned all
which God has revealed, never say that he has formed his
system, and has nothing to do but to preach it. Divine truth
is infinite and can never be exhausted. The wisest of us are
but children; our views are very dim and narrow; and even
where we discern the truth, how faint is its practical impres-
sion! Every minister, I think, who studies the Scriptures
with a simple heart, must feel that there is much to be cor-
182
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ET. 23-34.
rected in his views of religion. From the difficulty which
he finds in making all Scripture easily and naturally harmonize
with his own sentiments, or with any other system, he must
infer that, even where the truth is held in the greatest purity,
it is still blended with not a little error. This conviction,
united with a consideration of the influence which he neces-
sarily exerts over the minds of others, should lead him to his
Bible with almost trembling solicitude. He ought to bend
on it the whole powers of his mind, that he may attain en-
larged and consistent conceptions of the Divine character and
will. He ought, in his studies, habitually to exert a watch-
fulness over his mind, lest some unworthy feeling, some nar-
row interest, some prejudice of education, some attachment
to a party, secretly insinuate itself, and incline him to one
view of religion rather than another. He ought to unite
fervency of prayer with earnestness and freedom of inquiry,
and, distrusting himself, seek the better guidance of the
Father of Lights and the Spirit of Truth.
"But a minister must not only be earnest in his private
studies; he must be urgent and alive in his public duties.
From his retirement he should bring into the sanctuary a
heart glowing with Christian affections. His prayers should
discover a mind familiar with God, accustomed to the mercy-
seat, elevated by habitual devotion, and breathing without
effort the pure and humble desires of a Christian. In preach-
ing, his heart should disclose itself in his sentiments, manner,
and style. Whilst unfolding the Divine perfections, he
should let men see that they are perfections he himself loves
and adores. In enjoining a Christian temper, he should
urge it as one who has felt its beauty and power. When
describing the promises of the gospel, he should speak with
the animation of a holy hope. Whilst directing men to the
cross, he should.speak as one who has prostrated himself at
its foot. This is pulpit eloquence. He should let men see
that he has come, not to dazzle them with the studied orna-
ments of rhetoric, not to play before them the tricks of an
orator, but to fix their solicitous attention on the concerns of
eternity, to persuade them to be reconciled to God, and to
incite them to universal obedience. Let me here mention,
that it is highly important that his manner be earnest. By
this I do not mean a noisy, tumultuous manner. I do not
mean that a minister must have lungs of iron and a voice of
thunder. Noise and earnestness are very different things.
1803-1814.]
THE GOOD MINISTER.
183
I only mean that the minister should deliver his message as
if he felt its infinite weight, as if his whole soul were in-
terested in its success; and this he may do without being a
brawler. In the still, small voice we may discern the lan-
guage of the heart. I repeat it, this expression of the heart
is the perfection of ministerial eloquence. Rules are very
useful to teach us what to avoid. But when rules have done
all that they can for us, they will leave us chilling preachers,
unless we superadd that tenderness and earnestness which an
engaged heart can alone breathe through our delivery. May
I be permitted to mention the want of this earnestness as a
prevalent defect at the present day? My brethren, should
not our sleeping hearers, and the faint effects of our ministry,
lead us to inquire whether we present religious truth in the
most impressive form? Is it asked, how this coldness of
manner is to be remedied? Let us not, for this end, mimic
feelings we do not possess. Let us rather, before we preach,
possess our souls with the importance of the truth we are to
deliver. Let us make our discourses truly our own, by
catching first ourselves the impressions we wish to make on
others. Whilst preaching, let the presence of the Divine
Majesty frequently recur to us, that it may extinguish our
fear of man, and excite an animating confidence in the
blessing of God. Were these our habits, should we not be
more interesting preachers?
"But further, the zeal of the minister of Christ should
extend beyond the sanctuary. He should carry into his
common walks and conversations a mind bent on his great
end, and ever ready to seize an opportunity of impressing
men with religion. He should particularly labour in his own
life, in his own familiar intercourse, to exhibit a uniform and
interesting example of the truth he preaches. He should not
only be solicitous to preach, but still more to live, Christianity.
That minister is not instant in season and out of season, who
has learned to excite in himself some momentary feelings,
and to employ words and tears of entreaty, whilst in the
pulpit; but who comes into the world ready to sympathize
with its evil feelings, and to comply like a slave with its
tyrannical requisitions.
"Such is Christian zeal. I need not mention that this
zeal cannot be maintained without great attention to the go-
vernment of our desires and passions. The mind and heart
can never act vigorously on religion whilst fettered and be-
184
EARLY MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
numbed by any sensual lust, by avarice or ambition. Would
we attain the bold and persevering zeal enjoined by the
apostle? We must keep under the body; we must partake
with rigid temperance of animal pleasure; we must look with
holy indifference on worldly wealth and honour; and thus
preserve unwasted the energy of our souls, that we may con-
secrate it to the work which we have voluntarily assumed.
"This genuine Christian earnestness is too rarely seen.
Ministers and private Christians are, indeed, very often in
earnest; but their zeal is not seldom an unhallowed, destruc-
tive fire, kindled at any altar rather than that of God. There
are some whose zeal is madness, who place religion in the
fervours and ecstasies of a disordered mind, and who shatter
their own and others' understanding in a whirlwind of sound.
There are some whose zeal is partial; they spend it all on
forms and opinions, which, though not unimportant, are not
the essentials of Christianity. They compass sea and land,
not to make followers of Christ, but converts to their sect.
They overlook the heart, that they may rectify the head; and
make Christianity, not a vital, inward, efficient principle, ex-
pressed in increasing conformity to Jesus Christ, but a dry,
cold, barren system of modes and speculations. There are
some who are earnest enough, but their earnestness is pas-
sionate and irritable. They cannot bear contradiction. They
do not address serious argument to the erroneous, and affec-
tionate persuasion to the sinful; but express their zeal in
clamour, abuse, hard names, and all the varieties of persecu-
tion which their situation places within their reach. There
is also a zeal which is the base-born progeny of pride and
ambition. It is ever busy and active, for it loves to be seen
and heard, and to acquire influence in the church. It is
greedy of services which draw attention, and seeks to
heighten itself by casting severe reflections on the luke-
warmness of others. Remote from all these is true Chris-
tian zeal. True zeal is enlightened and judicious, meek and
gentle; sensible of its own infirmities, and therefore ready to
bear long with others; not devoted to a party, but to the
wide interests of Christian piety; not anxious for elevation,
but willing to be eclipsed and thrown far behind by the more.
splendid and useful exertions of others for the common cause
of Christianity. So single, disinterested, and fervent, is the
zeal which the gospel requires of its ministers."
Java
1
be
1803-1814.]
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
CHAP. II. SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
ET. 23-34.
1803-1814.
We have followed Mr. Channing through the first ten years
of his ministry, and have seen how the living temple was
built up within him-from the holy of holies, where Divine
Love shone on the tabernacle of conscience, to the outer
courts in which even worldly interests were taught to bow
before the presence of the All Good. In his hours of prayer
and study, truthful earnestness had ministered at the altar;
and in the circles of home and society, kindly affections had
come up in tribes to worship. His profound experience veri-
fied the words,-
"God many a spiritual house hath reared, but never one
Where lowliness was not laid first, the corner-stone."
185
He had entered upon the pastoral office with many doubts
and fears, humbled by conscious unworthiness, subdued be-
neath a sense of the stern realities of earthly discipline, and
intent with all his moral energy to lead the heavenly life.
His enthusiasm had been concentrated in a solemn purpose of
perfect fidelity, and the force of his intellect absorbed in
solving the problems of man's degeneracy, and his restoration
to dignity and freedom. The feeling that he had assumed
the most responsible of human functions, in the performance
of whose duties he could not but affect a large number of
fellow-beings by the contagion of his inward maladies, or
the refreshment of his health, had made him severely scru-
pulous. And through every act, in all relations, he had offered
the petition,—
"Lord! place me in thy concert, give one strain
To my poor reed."
His earliest preaching was pathetic, perhaps even sad, in
tone. It was full of aspirations after the peace of a will
made one with the will of God, and of strict demands for the
purest self-denial. But gradually, as he was prepared, the
beauty and blessedness of Divine communion streamed in
upon his wakeful heart, like the glow of dawn through
eastern windows.
This spiritual development we have now to trace, and
extracts from his sermons will afford us the surest guidance.
186
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
His discourses, indeed, were his best diary. Their topics
and the treatment of them were transcribed from the records
in his heart; and his reproofs and appeals to his people were
but the outward symbol of his own private struggles. In
making these extracts, the rule has been kept of selecting
such passages as were apparently of most interest to him at
the time when they were written, and which are proved to
have been the native growth of his mind by containing the
views most fully and frequently unfolded by him in later
years.
The attentive reader can hardly fail to be impressed with
the manifestation of moral and mental unity given in these
papers. Through modes of thought and expression merely
adventitious, a few grand ideas are put forth, at first feeble,
but slowly expanding until they absorb into their strong
trunks and wide-spread boughs the whole vigour of his life.
In sentiment and style, these sermons are original, in the
sense that they were not derived from the atmosphere of the
surrounding community, or from the leading minds with
which Mr. Channing held intercourse. Indeed, there was
little resembling them in the preaching at that time prevalent
in Boston or New England. They express his deepest con-
sciousness, his intuitions of spiritual realities, his testimony
from experience to Providential guardianship, hopes which
were gathered from his own devotedness, encouragements
which were justified by humble yet glad remembrances of his
own success. In the strongest sense of the word, these
writings are genuine, and thus truly indicate their author's
genius. The unity of his nature yet further appears in the
mutual connexion which runs through his doctrines. Each
part coheres with the whole; one life organizes them. And
finally, his integrity is shown in the steadiness with which he
pursued through the remainder of life the avenues of thought
thus early opened. From the outset of his course, he was
earnestly resolved to be what God designed him for, and to
fulfil the special end for which he came. But while original,
he was far from being eccentric. He felt no desire to push
his views to their extremes, no passion for system-making
prompted him, no unqualified statements were hazarded, no
extravagant zeal led to reckless positiveness, and imagination
threw around his path no delusive glare; but good sense and
modesty made him always moderate and mindful of due limits.
Again, while true to himself, he was not isolated in his
JJ, P
1803-1814.7
HIS FIRST SERMON.
187
intellectual aims. On the contrary, his mind was open to
the full influences of the age, and his heart beat responsively
to the great impulses and longings with which humanity
throughout Christendom was then instinct. The chief value,
indeed, of these writings is to be found in the fact, that they
are the answers of a sincere seeker to the questions which all
the leading minds of the time were discussing throughout
Europe. They are the observations of a patient student of
the skies on this side of the ocean, and so may serve to deter-
mine by parallax the orbit of the truths whose light was then
just discerned in the firmament.
In the very first sermon which Mr. Channing wrote, he
showed the singular consistency of his inward nature by thus
expressing the essential principle of all his after thoughts and
teachings:-"The end of life, God's one grand purpose, is,
to prepare mankind for the holiness and blessedness of heaven
by forming them to moral excellence on earth. Redemption
is the recovery of man from sin, as the preparation for glory.
And all Christian morals may be reduced to the one principle,
and declared in one word, LovE. God is love; Christ is
love; the gospel is an exhibition of love; its aim is to trans-
form our whole spirits into love. The perfection of the
Divine system is revealed in the mutual dependencies which
unite all creatures. All lean upon one another, and give
while they receive support. No man is unnecessary; no man
stands alone. God has brought us thus near to each other,
that his goodness may be reflected from heart to heart.
Holiness is light. We glorify God when by imitation we
display his character. The good man manifests the beauty
of God." Thus he struck the key-note of the symphony, in
the evolving of whose melodious strains his whole life was to
be passed.
The order adopted in arranging the following extracts is
the one chosen by himself for the work which he was engaged
in writing at the time of his death, and of which a full notice
will be hereafter given. As it was his purpose, in that book,
to sum up the results of his inquiries, and to justify his
leading views, its general divisions will safely direct us in
attempting to trace his upward path.
188
[ET. 23-34,
SPIRITUAL GROWTH,
SECTION FIRST.
RELIGION.
1811. GOD OUR FATHER. "When we conceive of God
as a pure Spirit, and dwell on his incommunicable perfections,
of which we see no image or resemblance in any beings
around us, he eludes the feeble vision of our minds. It is
then almost impossible that the affections can be excited and
centred upon him. Such views of God furnish us no object
on which we can rest, as on a reality. Now the Scriptures
invest this pure and infinite Spirit with a character, rela-
tions, and qualities which we can comprehend,-such as are
continually displayed around us, such as constantly address
and touch our hearts, such as we can revolve in thought and
meditate upon with ease and delight, such as are attractive
and promise happiness; and thus they furnish us the best and
most effectual means for exciting and cherishing the love of
God. Of all the interesting characters and relations in
which the Scriptures, especially the books of the New
Testament, exhibit the Supreme Being, that of Father is the
most common, prominent, striking.
"No character could bring God so nigh as this of the
Father. There is no relation which we know so familiarly
as the parental. What name recals so many thoughts and
feelings, so many favours and tender remembrances, as that
of parent? The Scriptures, then, in giving this view of
God, place him before us in a clear, intelligible light. We
are not called to dwell on perfections which are utterly
incomprehensible, the names of which are sounds in the ear,
but excite no ideas in the mind, and which have no tendency
to interest the heart. God is our Father.
"I fear it has been the influence of many speculations of
ingenious men on the Divine character to divest God of that
paternal tenderness, which is of all views most suited to
touch the heart. I fear we have learnt insensibly to view
him as possessing only a general benevolence, which he ex-
tends over his wide creation; a benevolence neither very
strong nor ardent, not descending to individuals, and not
essential to the felicity of the Divine nature. Now this dis-
tant and almost indifferent benevolence will hardly seize on
our affections. It may please us in moments of calm specu-
lation. It will not inspire a love strong enough to curb our
!
1803-1814.]
GOD OUR FATHER.
189
passions, to compose our sorrows, to influence our lives.
For these ends, we need to have other views frequently
suggested to us—those views of God's affection for us and
for his wide family, which his parental relation to us suggests,
and which the kindness of his providence compels us to
receive.
"Let me now ask, why these views of God may not be
cherished, and why we may not suppose that God has pro-
perly the feelings of a father towards us. It is objected, that
the supposition implies that God is not infinitely happy in
himself, but derives happiness from his creatures; and this
derivation, we are told, is dishonourable to God. But I do
not perceive that we dishonour God by believing that his
creation is a real source of felicity to him, that he finds a real
happiness in doing good, and in viewing with complacency
obedient, virtuous, and happy children. To me there is no
view of God more honourable than this. Is it not the cha-
racter of a perfect man, that the happiness of others is his
own, that he knows no higher joy than to confer and to wit-
ness felicity, that his heart responds to the feelings of those
around him? And if this is perfection in man, can it be an
imperfection in God? Do we, indeed, exalt God, when we
represent him as unaffected by the state of his creatures?
Next to ascribing malignity to him, what can we say worse
of him than this-that he looks on the joys and sorrows of
his own creatures without joy and without pity?
•
"We cannot see much to envy in the felicity of a being
who has no feeling of interest and love extending beyond
himself. Deprive God of the happiness of love, and we de-
prive him of that enjoyment which we have every reason to
believe the purest and most inexhaustible in the universe."
1805. LOVE THE PRINCIPLE OF HARMONY IN THE UNI-
VERSE. "The Christian possesses a great advantage in the
contemplation of nature. He beholds unity in the midst of
variety. He looks round on the changing scenery, and in
every leaf of the forest, every blade of grass, every hill, every
valley, and every cloud of heaven, he discovers the traces of
Divine benevolence. Creation is but a field spread before
him for an infinitely varied display of love. This is the har-
monizing principle which reduces to unity and simplicity
the vast diversity of nature-this is the perfection of the
universe. It clothes in moral glory every object we con-
template. The Christian truly may be said to hear the music
190
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
of the spheres. He hears suns and planets joining their
melody in praise to their benignant Creator. His ear, and
his alone, is tuned to this heavenly harmony. His soul is
love."
1811. THE MERCY AND JUSTICE OF GOD. ((
Mercy is an
essential attribute of God, not an affection produced in him
by a foreign cause. His blessings are free, and bestowed
from a real interest in his creatures,-not purchased from
him, and bestowed by another on those whose welfare he
disregards. He really loves mankind; and this is the great
motive, first cause, and highest spring of their redemption.
Thus I have endeavoured to place before you Divine goodness
in the glory in which it shines in Scriptures.
"But I must not stop here. This doctrine, whilst ob-
scured by some, is carried to excess by others. There are
those who, when they hear of the essential and infinite mercy
of God towards even the sinful, imagine that God has no
aversion towards sin, and cannot punish. Unhappily the
minds of men are prone to run to extremes. They cannot be
driven from one sentiment without vibrating to its opposite.
Some men, as we have seen, array the Divinity in darkness
and terror. God, according to them, is so holy, that he looks
on sinners with no feelings but indignation. His anger burns;
his sword is unsheathed; it falls more rapidly than the
lightning; and nothing saves us from its sharp destruction
but the merciful Son, who interposes between us and the
descending ruin, receives it into his own breast, and thus
appeases the wrathful Deity. When these representations
are opposed as inconsistent with the character of Him whose
name is Love, who created and who preserves us, the mind is
then prone to reject all its former conceptions, and to form a
deity altogether insensible to the distinction between good
and evil, between holiness and sin,-incapable of feeling dis-
pleasure or of inflicting punishment.
"But the Scriptures forbid us to cherish these partial and
mutilated views of the Divine character. They teach his
essential, self-moved mercy; and this most affecting view of
God I would always hold up to you, that you may love him
with your whole hearts. Happy should I be, were I per-
mitted to make them my only theme. Happy, indeed, could
I hope that no other motive is needed than this, that the
goodness of God, whenever enforced, excites, in all who hear,
the sentiments of gratitude, and the purpose of obedience.
1803-1814.]
REGENERATION.
191
But there is reason to fear that some minds are so fallen, that
this very doctrine which imposes such obligation is abused to
licentiousness, and employed to produce the feeling of security
in a sinful course. There are some who think, if they do not
say, that, since God is so good, his laws may be broken with
impunity. To guard against such a perversion of the doc-
trine I have enforced, let me repeat, that his mercy is not an
undistinguishing fondness; that whilst he compassionates the
offending, and has appointed methods for their reformation
and forgiveness, he is unchangeably the enemy of sin; that
his very character, as the universal Father, requires him to
punish and humble the disobedient, selfish, unjust, proud, and
impure, to redress every principle and practice opposed to
the order and happiness and perfection of his creatures."
1811. REGENERATION. "Is man a Christian by his first
birth, or do his early propensities impel him to the cultiva-
tion of Christian virtues in proportion as they are known?
Do sensual and earthly desires hear the voice of conscience,
shrink at once within the limits which reason assigns, and
leave the throne of the heart to the Creator? How many
desires and habits which conscience forbids are indulged!
How many deviations from the path of God's commands are
registered in the memory of every man who practises the
duty of self-recollection? A religious character, then, is an
acquisition, and implies a change; a change which requires
labour and prayer, which requires aid and strength from
heaven; a change so great and important, that it deserves to
be called a new birth. The Christian is a new man. Once
the dictates of conscience might have been heard; now they
are obeyed. Once an occasional gratitude might have shed a
transient glow through his heart; now the Divine goodness
is a cherished thought, and he labours to requite it by an
obedient life. Once his passions were his lords; now he bows
to the authority, and waits to hear the will, of God. Once
human opinion was his guide, and human favour the reward
he proposed; now he feels that another eye is upon him, that
his heart and life are naked before God, and to approve him-
self to this righteous and unerring witness and judge is his
highest ambition. Once he was ready to repine and despond
when his wishes and labours were crossed; now he sees a
Providence in life's vicissitudes, the discipline of a father in
his sufferings, and bears his burdens, and performs his duties,
with cheerful resignation to him who assigns them. Once he
192
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
you
was sufficiently satisfied with himself, or unwilling to feel his
deficiencies; now he is humble, conscious of having sinned,
desirous to discover his errors, contrite in his acknowledg-
ments, earnest in his application to Divine mercy, and reso-
lute in his opposition to temptation. Once the thought of a
Saviour suffering for human pardon, and rising from the
dead to confer immortality, excited little interest; now the
promises, love, cross, and resurrection of Jesus come home
to him with power, and awaken gratitude and hope. Once
he lived chiefly for himself; now he has learnt to love his
fellow-beings with a sincere and an efficient kindness, to lose
sight of himself in the prosecution of benevolent designs, to
feel for the misery, for the sins, of those around him, and to
endure labours and sacrifices, that he may give relief to the
frail body, and peace and health to the immortal mind.
Το
conclude,—once he was alive to injury, and suffered anger
and revenge to direct his itreatment of an enemy; now his
indignation is tempered by mercy, and he is ready to forgive.
"From this brief sketch, from this comparison of the
Christian character with that to which our nature is so
prone, do we not see that a great change is required to make
men Christians? I do not say that the same change is re-
quired in all. I do not say that education has no influence.
I do not say, that Christianity, now that it is so widely
diffused, and so early enforced on the mind, may not check
many passions before they have grown up into habits. But
after all the benefits of discipline, we see our nature still
weak, erring, yielding to temptation, negligent of known
duty. Still, to be Christians, all have much to put off, to
subdue, to correct, to renounce; and all have much to put on,
to acquire, to cherish. So that the Christian character may
still be called a second birth. The best Christians can ordi-
narily look back to the period, when they were governed by
inferior and unworthy principles; when the world was more
powerful than conscience and God, or at least when the
sense of duty was comparatively faint and uninfluential.
By the precepts, doctrines, motives, promises of Christianity,
and by the secret influences of God's Spirit on the heart,
they have been raised to a faith, hope, and love which may
be called a new life. They have been born again.
"The fact is, there is a general resemblance between
birth and the production of the Christian character. By
both, a being is brought into a new state, and a most in-
C
1803-1814.]
REGENERATION.
193
teresting change is produced in his conduct. Here, indeed,
the analogy stops. The difference between the two changes
which are here compared proves that the mode and cir-
cumstances of their production must be very different.
Scripture and experience lead us to believe that the change
which makes a man a Christian is gradual, progressive.
The Scriptures are very far from speaking of regeneration
and conversion in the language of human systems, as effects
which take place in a moment. On the contrary, regenera-
tion and conversion are spoken of as if they were taking
place through the whole of life. The Christian is continually
experiencing the change which is expressed by these and
similar terms.
"I consider that experience as well as Scripture proves
the gradual production of the change of heart, or the new
birth. Our observation will teach us that great changes
are not often suddenly produced in the human character.
There are, indeed, instances of men who are suddenly
stopped in a career of sin, and seem almost in a moment to
turn back and retrace their steps. But religion is generally
introduced and formed in us by a gentler operation. Where
religious instruction has been given in early years, there is
always some conviction of duty to God, some sensibility to
sin, some uneasiness at neglect of religion, some vague pur-
pose of improvement. This seems to be the first stage of
the religious character; and some never pass beyond this,
beyond a feeble and deceitful purpose of being better.
Others, as they advance, have their attention in various
methods drawn to religion and a future life. Perhaps some
gross sin, into which they are hurried, startles their con-
sciences, and forces on them the thought of their exposure
to God's dreadful displeasure. Perhaps some religious com-
panion, or good example, wins their affections, impresses
them with the loveliness and importance of Christian virtue,
and shows them by contrast their own miserable deficiency.
Perhaps some affliction throws a gloom over the present
state, leads them to consider the emptiness of the world
and the need of Divine support, and directs their dejected
minds to that gospel which is the only comforter of human
woe. Perhaps sudden, unexpected blessings recal power-
fully to them their heavenly Benefactor, and fasten on them
a painful sense of their ingratitude. Perhaps an alarming
providence, dangerous sickness, the near approach of death,
VOL. I.
0
•
194
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
appals, compels them to look into eternity, and to feel the
necessity of preparation for another life. Perhaps a serious
discourse arrests their thoughts, and convinces them that the
concerns of their souls are too weighty to be trifled with.
By these and other means, their attention is awakened to
religion. Attention produces solicitude; for none can think
seriously on the subject without feeling that they have sins
to be forsaken, to be forgiven. This solicitude produces
prayer; and prayer obtains the aid and influence of our
merciful Father in heaven. The Scriptures are read with
new seriousness, interest, self-application. The mediation
and promises of Jesus Christ are embraced with new grati-
tude and hope. His example appears more amiable, excel-
lent, worthy of imitation and obedience; gross sins are for-
saken; irregular desires are checked; gradually the deliberate
purpose is formed of following him; and at length this be-
comes the strongest and most settled purpose of the soul.
"This may be considered as an outline of the general
method of regeneration. I am sensible that there is a great
variety in the paths by which men are brought to God.
No two minds resemble each other in all their feelings.
The religious history of every man is in some measure his
own, peculiar to himself. The experience of each is influ-
enced by his education, his companions, the kind of instruc-
tion he hears, and by his natural temperament. The timid
mind is awakened by the terrors of the Lord; the tender
and affectionate is drawn by his mercies. But amidst this
great variety, the multitude of Christians agree in this, that
they can point to no particular moment when a change was
wrought in their hearts. Their religion has grown up by
degrees, very often as silently and imperceptibly as the tree
-to which it is compared-sends forth its roots and
branches."
1810. LOVE OF God. "The love of God which the
Scriptures call us to cherish, and which we are formed to
attain and enjoy, is not a blind, irrational sentiment. It is
founded on the clearest views of the understanding, on the
abundant evidence we possess, that there is an Infinite
Being, in whom reside wisdom, and power, and goodness,
without beginning, or end, or any limit; who sustains to us
the near and tender relation of Creator, Father, Benefactor,
and Lord; whose commands are equitable and kind; and
who is willing to pardon our offences on the terms of re-
1803–1814.]
THE LOVE OF GOD.
195
pentance. It is the offering of the heart to this best of
beings; it venerates his majesty, esteems and adores his
excellence, is grateful for his goodness, rejoices in his
felicity and in the felicity of his creation, implores his for-
giveness, resigns itself to his providence, and desires to do
his will; and is this an affection to be decried and renounced?
In the love of God are united the most delightful affections
we exercise towards our fellow-beings,-filial love, thank-
fulness to benefactors, reverence for the great and good,
sympathy with the happy, and universal goodwill. These
pure affections all meet in the love of God; and are refined,
exalted, and rendered sources of inconceivably high delight,
in consequence of the infinite amiableness and superiority of
the Being whom we love.
"Do not confound this love with the ravings of enthusiasm.
It is a calm, mild, reverential sentiment, improving the un-
derstanding, subduing the passions, giving serenity to afflic-
tion, and uniformity to the whole character and life. Do not
confound it with a morose, churlish, and censorious bigotry.
It is a happy, cheerful principle; accepting blessings with a
gratitude which improves them, delighting in all God's works,
and seeing him in all, rejoicing in his providence, and hoping
immortality from his mercy, regarding all men as his children,
and discerning with pleasure all the excellences with which
he has endowed them. Can that heart be gloomy, which
adores and loves the infinitely wise and merciful God, and
views him as a father-which associates him with all its joys
and pains, with all the works of nature, and all the changes
of life-which feels him near in danger and in death, and
which hopes from his mercy a blessed immortality? No!
It is not the love of God which sheds gloom and despair, but
a very different principle. True love of God illuminates the
darkness of the present life, and is a foretaste of the felicity
of heaven."
1808. THE HAPPINESS OF being loved BY GOD. "In con-
sidering the great happiness of possessing the divine favour,
I first observe that they who love God, must derive an inex-
pressible joy from the mere consciousness that they are beloved
by such a Being, without regard to the benefits which flow
from this favour.
"The Christian views God as the best, the most lovely, the
most venerable of all beings. He sees, that to this glorious
Being he and all things owe their existence; that the universe
•
o 2
196
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
is full of God; and that all happiness, from the rapture of
archangels, down to the faintest pleasures of animal life, is his
unmerited and constant gift. With these exalted, delightful
views of God, how full of joy is the conviction of the Chris-
tian, that this God looks on him with complacency and appro-
bation! His heart is softened by the condescension of the
infinite Deity, who notices with pleasure his feeble attempts
to serve and to imitate him. He would not resign the honour
of such friendship for the empire of the universe.
"My friends, did your hearts never beat with joy, when
you have seen the eye of a beloved and revered friend and
benefactor fixed on you with tenderness and approbation; and
can you be wholly insensible to the pleasure of him who feels
the presence of God wherever he goes, and is able to say,
"The infinite Parent of the universe is my approving friend?”
Can any one be so blind as not to see that here is a source of
unfailing, of increasing happiness? To the real Christian,
the Divine character continually becomes more and more
amiable. All creation, all the events of life, tend to endear
to him his God. But the more he loves God, the more he
must delight in the consciousness of his favour. The more
his conceptions of the Supreme Being are enlarged, the more
his heart must thrill at the thought, that this Being looks on
him with the tenderness of friendship. You who know not
from experience the pure and joyful sensations which are
here described, can you form no conception of the happiness
of that man who looks round with adoring humility on the
immensity of creation, on the endless variety of Divine bless-
ings, and in the midst of his reverence and gratitude feels
that the universal Parent, though encircled in his majesty,
thinks of him continually, despises not his humble offering,
is well pleased with his sacrifices of praise and love, and bears
towards him an increasing, an unbounded affection? Are you
so debased, as to prefer the sordid pleasures of sense, of the
world, to a happiness so rational, so sublime! Can you con-
sent to live without this delightful conviction, that the God
who made you, the best of beings, delights in you as his
children and servants?
"Is there one who is wholly insensible to the blessedness
of that man who has liberty of access to God, approaches
him with confidence, speaks to him as a friend, spreads before
him all his wants, believes that he is heard, and knows that
he shall advance continually nearer and nearer to his Father,
1803-1814.]
UNIVERSAL RECTITUDE.
197
and be introduced to his presence in a purer world? These
are the indescribable enjoyments of the man who is recon-
ciled to God. The Christian who views God as his approving
friend, needs no compulsion to bring him into the Divine
presence. The thought, that God condescends to regard
him with a favourable eye, swells his heart with unutterable
gratitude, and gives new ardour and confidence to his devo-
tions. He no longer worships with cold formality a distant
Deity; but casts himself into the arms of an ever-present
Father. He no longer shrinks from God as a being whom he
has offended. He may, indeed, shed tears, but they are
filial tears; he may blush, but it is from ingenuous shame,
called forth by unmerited love; he feels that the Father whom
he has offended has requited his guilt with infinite tenderness,
and the recollection of his sins only gives a new glow and
sensibility to the exercise of his devotion. What happy
communion necessarily results from a consciousness of the
favour of God! This consciousness disperses all those fears
which haunt the guilty mind. The thought of God, which
once was painful, once filled us with apprehension of judg-
ment, now becomes our highest joy, the centre of all our
thoughts, all our hopes, all our affections. We glow with
new sentiments, new anticipations. We feel a new dignity
in our nature, when we conceive of ourselves as being the
friends of God."
1809. UNIVERSAL RECTITUDE. "This is one important
mark of him who hungers and thirsts after righteousness,
that he is not satisfied with a partial rectitude: that he pro-
poses all the branches of holy living, and seeks to preserve
a conscience void of offence both towards God and towards
man. He proves himself to be a sincere lover of righteous-
ness, by choosing it without reserve and without exception.
He endeavours to become acquainted with his whole duty,
to enlarge his conceptions of excellence, to form a correct
standard of human perfection, and he labours to bend to this
all his actions and desires. He does not dwell with com-
placency on some constitutional propensity which looks like
excellence, and flatter himself that he needs nothing more.
He rather fixes his eyes on his deficiencies, and is more
solicitous to supply what is wanting, than to admire what is
already possessed. He does not apply himself to duties
which are easy and pleasant, and rest in these as his title to
the Christian character and hopes. He gives his first atten-
198
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
tion to those which are most difficult, in which he most fre-
quently languishes, which are most opposed to his interest
and ease; and judges of himself by the promptness and affec-
tion with which he does these. He has no desire to substitute
one command for another, to relax any of the commands by
superfluous strictness in the rest, to plead his general obe-
dience in extenuation of particular offences, to balance his
virtues against his sins, and thus to quiet himself in a broken,
partial, limited observance of the laws of God. Whatever
bears the stamp of Divine authority, of righteousness and
goodness, he venerates and loves. It is his end to render
his character a consistent, harmonious, well-proportioned
whole, an assemblage of all Christian graces, in which the
love of God shall be the supreme, the animating, the all-
pervading principle, regulating every desire, setting just
limits to every duty, and nourishing and guiding every social
and useful affection.'
""
1805. GROWTH IN HOLINESS. "True religion is not to
be measured by subservience to a farther end; but is the end
of ends itself. It is the health, purity, vigour, rectitude, of
the soul; and can too much of these be possessed? Is there
an unattainable degree of them which we should not desire
and pursue? Can God, the infinite fountain of good,-
whose glory creation reflects, and before whom creation is as
nothing,―can he be too much loved, revered, or praised?
Can we ever render him all the honour which is his due?
Shall we ever embrace his whole character and government,
and have reason to restrain our views and affections, for want
of new excellence to behold and admire? ...
"Let us feel that the authority and excellence of God
claim all our hearts, all which we now are, all which we can
be; that it is the glory of the hosts of heaven to be con-
formed to his image and his law; that we can approach
those higher orders only by growing in piety and goodness;
that religion is the excellence of the intellectual nature in all
its varieties and degrees; that this is the only true improve-
ment of our nature, and that we can never rise too high;
that according to our growth in these will be our rank in the
scale of existence; and, in a word, that by these alone we
approach God and prove ourselves his children.
(6
Religion is the rectification of the soul; it is inward
health; it is the direction of affection to the most interesting
objects. It consists of feelings and dispositions which in-
1803–1814.]
SIGNS OF GROWTH.
199
clude everything generous, disinterested, sympathetic, and
pure. It is in its very nature peace. . .
“If, indeed, there were narrow limits to the Divine nature
and perfection, and scanty happiness to be promoted in his
system, then the joy of extended piety and goodness might
be changed into sorrow, at the discovery of the imperfection
and narrowness of the objects. But the infinity of God and
of his designs and government is an assurance that the most
fervent affections shall not be disappointed. His character
invites the warmest friendship, the most exalted complacency
and esteem. His condescension encourages unbounded con-
fidence. His goodness animates unbounded hope.
"What an argument is it for growth in religion, that by
it we shall be raised to angelic purity and happiness? What
a commendation is it of that excellence which the Christian
is called to cultivate, that heaven holds nothing more
precious, that heaven consists only in superior degrees of
this excellence of soul!"
•
1805. SIGNS OF GROWTH. "We are not growing in
religion, if we make piety a substitute for kindness, or kind-
ness a substitute for piety; if we hope by generosity to atone
for extravagance or lust, or by honesty to atone for avarice.
We are not growing in religion, if we are satisfied with per-
forming occasional acts which suggest themselves to our
minds, but make no exertion to learn how we may pursue
the
whole will of God. We are not growing in religion, if the
thought of living habitually in any omission or any positive
disobedience sits easy upon us, and makes no painful impres-
sion. If, on the contrary, our consciences testify that God's
goodness and majesty excite us to seek universal obedience;
if in our hearts we feel that every branch of known duty is
the object of our attention and pursuit; if we can hope that
not one sin of heart or life is habitually allowed and know-
ingly indulged, then we may expect to grow in all excel-
lence. Then the various duties which we seek to perform
will confirm one another. Our temperance will invigorate
our love, and this our piety, and piety will add stability to
both. In a life in which all duties meet, there is a harmony
which is favourable to all. One spirit circulates through all.
They grow like the limbs of a well-proportioned body. . . .
"When our duty and our happiness shall entirely coin-
cide, then we shall be perfect beings; and in proportion as
we approach this state, we approach perfection......
C
·
200
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
"When one is growing in religion, in excellence, he con-
verts more and more the common pursuits of life into means
of piety and goodness, and makes them the way to heaven.
The spiritual temper gives more and more its own colour to
all objects, and influences every choice of the mind. The
soul becomes more and more impregnated with piety and
love, and sees and pursues all things under the influence of
these principles.
"If we are growing in Christian excellence, we shall
become more simple in our characters, We shall be the
same everywhere. The love of God and man will diffuse
itself more and more through our common looks and words,
emotions and actions. We shall feel this temper at home
and abroad. It will influence us when no eye sees us, as
well as when we are excited by numbers. It will lead us
peculiarly to secret, unobserved performance of duty, to
habitual acts of kindness and devotion which lie beyond the
notice of man. We shall not only be more serene in provo-
cation, more cheerful in affliction, more moderate in pro-
sperity, but everything will take a hue from religion, and
lead to the exercise of pious, humble, disinterested affec-
tions.
"If we are growing in religion, we shall make advance to
this simplicity of heart, this harmonious, tranquil state of
mind. We shall act more from one principle, act more and
more for one end; and hence our feelings and actions will be
more consistent, uniform; the colour of our souls and lives
will become more single; and we shall exhibit one form to
the world and to our own consciences.'
99
1804. HARMONY OF HOLINESS. "As no holy temper
can exist in separation from any branch of moral excellence,
it follows that particular actions are to be approved only
when they evince a general conformity of heart to the law of
God. There is a beauty in real religion. All its sentiments
and views and desires are harmonious; all its actions are
guided by one light, and animated by one spirit. It is founded
on the crucifixion of selfish affections, and it flows out in
good-will to God and man, and in complacent regard to all
excellence in heaven and in earth. It has no desire to avoid
particular duties, for its happiness springs from the simplicity
and consistency of its principles and pursuits; and its serenity
would be destroyed by the counteraction of holy and sinful
dispositions.
1803-1814.]
HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN.
201
"If, my friends, you are animated by real religion, it will
appear in the beautiful and harmonious exercise of all holy
dispositions. You will possess a principle of devotion and
of impartial benevolence, which will eradicate the debasing
and enfeebling lusts and passions of your souls; which will
dispose you to blend your interests with those of other
beings; which will unite you with the universe, and flow
out in tenderness to man, and submission to God. Trust
not in any single virtue. If your religion be genuine, it will
draw in its train the whole of moral excellence. Search,
then, whether in all respects you are conformed to the law of
God."
1805. FUTURE REWARDS OF USEFULNess.
"One great
end of the Deity in forming such an extensive connexion
and dependence in his system undoubtedly is, that he may
give room to the benevolent exertions of his children. He
peculiarly delights in communicating happiness through the
good exertions of his creatures. He has so constituted the
universe, that its happiness flows from the co-operation of
its various parts, from benevolent reciprocation, and the
mutual dispensing of blessings. God, therefore, may be
considered as governing, not so much to impart good im-
mediately, as to bless the good exertions of the benevolent.
Hence we see that every benevolent deed will produce by its
success peace and joy to the heart from which it flows; for
there is One infinitely wise and powerful, who has taken
upon himself the care of advancing every labour of love; the
good heart, therefore, will for ever be called to rejoice in the
happiness which it has produced.
66
Why may we not suppose that the blessedness which will
be enjoyed in the heavenly world will be the result of the
joint exertion of all good beings; and that each will have the
felicity of knowing that by his humble labours the blessings
of God have contributed to this abundant increase? In the
present state, indeed, we see but little of the consequences of
actions. Often the benevolent seem to labour in vain; seldom
do they witness a harvest proportioned to their desires; and
hence they are in danger of fainting in well-doing. But the
scene which now meets our eyes is narrow in comparison
with the mighty system of God. We know not the modes in
which he operates. We cannot take in the innumerable
ways in which he makes the labours of the good conducive to
the end they propose. At the great consummation of all
202
[AT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
things, the darkness will be dissipated, and the good will
reap. Then they will see their prayers, their toils, their
liberal contributions, their exhortations, all their various
exertions for the interests of men, and for the kingdom of
the Redeemer, improved by infinite wisdom to accomplish
the happiest ends. They will see that their good works
failed to accomplish the object they desired, only that they
might conduce to greater good. They will see happiness
existing and destined to exist and to increase for ever, which
they were the honoured instruments of promoting. They
will be hailed by some grateful voice, ascribing to their
prayers and exertions the attainment of heavenly blessedness.
They will see the connexion of their labours with the pros-
perity and triumphs of the kingdom of God. And joy will
fill their hearts at finding that they have not lived in vain,-
that while, perhaps, they have laboured in stations too humble
for the notice of man, they have been workers together with
God, and been permitted to lay the foundation of felicity
which shall never end.
"True benevolence is not happy in itself; it is happy in
the felicity of other beings; and in proportion to its strength
we shall ardently desire to attain to a state of existence in
which we may behold and promote the highest good, may
grow in goodness, become members of an active society
warmed with purest benevolence, and be entirely devoted to
the designs of the merciful God. The prospect of eternal
life must be inconceivably more dear to a benevolent heart
than to any other being, because this heart is fixed on an
object so glorious and extensive, that it wants an eternity to
enjoy and pursue it. Take away the rewards of the gospel
from the benevolent soul, let him see no spheres of usefulness
beyond the grave, let him see all his labours confined to the
narrow sphere of this changing world, and his heart will sink
and grow cold. There will be no object large enough for
him to embrace. The good heart naturally allies itself with
eternity. It is its nature to expand its views. Let it be-
hold a kingdom of endless and increasing glory under the
government of infinite love, and let it be invited to press
forward to this kingdom, and its benevolence will give it
vigour to pursue the prize.
"It is true, indeed, that if the common conceptions of the
world respecting the rewards of the gospel were just, the
benevolent heart could not pursue them. Men make a
1803–1814.]
SPIRITUAL PERFECTION.
203
heaven of pleasures in no respect congenial to the heart of
benevolence. A good man can be quickened only by the
prospect of a future world in which goodness will be ex-
ercised and displayed. Jesus will reward his followers, not
by introducing them to a paradise of sensual delight and to
bowers of undisturbed repose; but by enlarging their faculties,
shedding new light into their minds, and welcoming them to
a state where every excellence will be confirmed,-where
they will behold God as a friend face to face, and approach
the Divine majesty with new affection,-where they will
accomplish the Divine purposes with increasing vigour,
delight, and success, and receive and communicate more
happiness in an hour or a day than they have done in the
whole of their lives on earth. Here is an object worth
ambition. Here is an immortality the thought of which
should kindle every hope and desire, and quicken to the
practice of universal piety."
1810. MAN'S SPIRITUAL PERFECTION THE END OF PRO-
VIDENCE. "By these obvious remarks we are led to the
very important truth, that Providence has a principal regard
to the mind of man, that divine principle by which man is
distinguished above all the other inhabitants of the earth,
and is rendered so capable of progression in truth, virtue,
and happiness. To the Infinite Mind nothing can be so
dear as mind. There is nothing over which he must watch
with such affection. To a wise and good Creator no object
can be so important as souls capable of goodness and wisdom;
and to form, expand, enlighten, purify, invigorate, and bless
these souls must be the great end of his administration. The
perfection of mind, or of intelligent creation, is the great end
of God.
"Do you ask in what this perfection consists? I answer,
in knowledge, in love, and in activity. That mind which has
a wide range of thought, knows much of God and of his
creation, and loves what it knows,-which is bound by a
strong affection to its Creator and its fellow-beings, and acts
as well as loves,-which puts forth all its powers, employs all
its knowledge, in the service of God, and in blessing his
creatures,—that mind is a perfect mind; and it is as happy
as it is perfect. Its happiness partakes of the purity and
serenity of the Divine felicity. Now this I conceive is the
end of God, to bring his rational offspring to this perfect and
blessed state, to give them the widest, clearest, and brightest
204
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ET. 23-34.
views, to give them the strongest, purest, most disinterested
love, and to form them to the most vigorous and efficient
exertion of all their powers in the promotion of the best
designs."
SECTION SECOND.
HUMAN NATURE.
"We
1811. PRINCIPLE OF RELIGION IN HUMAN NATURE.
have not merely capacities of attaining just ideas of God;
there is a foundation in our nature for feeling and loving, as
well as discerning, his character. Let us dwell on this point.
In human nature there is a sensibility to what is great and
good. There is no man whose heart has not sometimes been
moved, when he has heard of illustrious deeds, of pure, ex-
alted, disinterested goodness, of an enlarged and vigorous
mind employed in vast and noble designs. Now this moral
sensibility is a preparative for the love of God, an impulse
towards him, and evidently designed to be a bond of union
between him and the human heart. In his character alone
can this love of excellence find an adequate object and full
gratification. We represent to ourselves higher excellencies
than we discern in the best around us, and want a purer and
more disinterested friend than earth can give. God is the
only being without stain or blemish, without excess or defect.
He is unerring wisdom, unsullied purity, unfailing faithful-
ness, impartial rectitude, and unbounded, unwearied, all-
ennobling, universal goodness. Are we so constituted, that
these qualities, when dimly seen in imperfect man, impress
the heart, and shall we not direct our minds and hearts to
this Being, in whom they are concentred in infinite perfec-
tion, and shine with unclouded splendour?
"This sensibility to excellence should be cherished by us,
and employed to unite us to God. Have you ever felt the
heart glow, whilst you have contemplated the true and good?
Then you will acknowledge that this is one of the happiest,
most improving, and ennobling sentiments of which we are
capable. We not only enjoy, but catch the excellence we
admire. That mind which is often directed towards the best
of beings will not only possess a happiness peculiarly pure
and refined; it will approach the goodness it loves, it will
catch a ray of the celestial glory, it will be changed into the
same image. God cannot enter the heart without leaving
1803-1814.]
PRINCIPLE OF RELIGION.
205
traces of himself. It might seem presumptuous to speak of
man as being a partaker of the Divine nature, did not Scrip-
ture employ this bold and elevated language. But this is
really the happiness of him who contemplates God in his
venerable and amiable perfections, until he is warmed with
love. Why, then, do we not love God? .
"God is, in the strictest propriety of language, our Father.
What is the love of God, then, but a refined filial affection?
And this is an affection which we drew in with our first
breath, and which was implanted at the very dawn of our
being. From this view of love to God, we may see that the
foundation of it is laid, that the heart is in a degree prepared
for it, by the earliest feelings. We were learning this duty
as soon as we began to learn anything. This bond of union
with God was formed in our cradle; why, then, do we not
follow this indication of the end for which we were formed?
Why do we not lift up our hearts to our Heavenly Father?
Does not the sentiment of filial reverence and love towards
such a parent approve itself to our minds, our consciences,
as reasonable, becoming, fair, and lovely? Is man ever more
ennobled than when he feels his high and near relation as a
child of the infinite God?. . .
"Let me mention one other principle of our nature which
forms a foundation of the love of God, and marks us out as
designed for piety. I refer to that sense of the insufficiency
of worldly enjoyments, to that thirst for higher happiness
than the world can give us, which I trust all who hear me
have felt and can understand. There is an unsatiableness in
human desires. Look where we will among our fellow-
beings, and we can hardly avoid seeing that there is dis-
proportion between the capacious mind of man and the
sources of enjoyment by which he is surrounded. Our
wants, instead of being satisfied, grow with possession. We
imagine that this and another object will fill our minds and
wishes. We obtain it, and are still hungering and discon-
tented as before. The first moment of success and gratifica-
tion may inspire transport, but we soon feel that the good we
have sought is insufficient. It leaves a void. Perhaps it
only inflames desire, and makes us more restless than before.
With an ardent thirst for happiness, for increasing, perma-
nent, and even endless happiness, we are placed in a world
where nothing fills the mind, where the brightest prospects
are soon darkened, and where the thick gloom of approaching
-
206
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 23-34.
death hangs over every path. In such a state the heart feels
the want of something which the world cannot give,—it
wants an unchangeable being of boundless perfection, on
whom it may repose, and in whom it may find excellence
wide enough for its ever-enlarging capacities."
1810. SPIRITUAL THIRST, ASPIRATION. "Have you not
felt that you possess a nature far exalted above the brutes,
souls infinitely superior to your bodies, souls which ally you
to higher orders of being,-that you are capable of know-
ledge, of goodness, of virtuous friendship, of intercourse with
heaven? and has not an inward voice admonished you that
you were made for this felicity, and has not this felicity
excited some thirst? some earnest desire? Have you never
felt that this intellectual nature admits of endless improve-
ment, that whilst the body grows for a few years, and to a
limited extent, the soul has no bounds,-that you may enlarge
your being, leave your present selves behind, and take a new
rank in creation? Have you never lifted an aspiring eye to
the eminence which has thus invited you, and been pained
and humbled by your sloth, your low, earthly views, your
reluctance to become what you might be, what you were
made to be? and have you not, for the moment at least,
spurned the bondage of your passions, and resolved to press
forward to the excellence and liberty of children of God?
Have not objects of a noble character, generous and useful
pursuits, sometimes presented themselves to you, and brought
with them the consciousness, that he alone is happy and
excellent who gives himself up to them? and have you not
blushed at the recollection of the narrow and trifling objects
which have filled your minds and wasted your time? and
have you not wished to live for something wider, for ends
which embrace the best interests of others as well as your
own? Has the thought of the great, good, and perfect God
never come home to you with force? and have you never felt
that he is the most worthy object of your hearts, that in for-
saking him you are wretched and guilty, that there is no
happiness to be compared with loving him, and enjoying his
love and presence? and have you not felt some pain at your
distance from him, some desire to return to your Father,
some thirst after the knowledge and favour of this best of
beings? Have you not sometimes heard of distinguished
excellence in beings of your own race, of men in whom the
glory of humanity has broken forth, whose fervent piety,
1803-1814.]
MORBID SENSIBILITY.
207
whose patient endurance of calamity, whose generous self-
denial, whose perseverance in duty, have almost taken them
out of the order of beings to whom they belong? and has not
this heavenly excellence touched some kindred chord within
you, kindled some warmth, excited you almost to rapture?
Have you not done homage to holiness and virtue, felt that
they are worth more than the riches and baubles of the
world? Have you not sighed after the excellence you
admire, and wished to be the object of that complacency,
approbation, and love which this excellence always excites in
ingenuous minds? Have you never looked into your own
hearts, and shed tears over the ruin which you there beheld,
over your disordered passions, your prejudices, your errors,
your ingratitude towards God, your injustice and insensibility
towards men? and have you not thirsted after deliverance
from sin, after a better state, after that perfection, the idea
of which has not been obliterated by human apostasy, and
the hope of which is one of the first and most powerful
impulses towards the renovation of our nature?”
1807. MORBID SENSIBILITY. "When God is banished
from our habitual reflections, we lose the only ground of
consistent conduct, and fall easy victims to temptations and
delusions..
"Some men possess a delicacy of taste, and a sensibility of
soul, which render them uneasy and dissatisfied with the
grossness of animal pleasures. But instead of elevating their
views to a spiritual state, they employ imagination in refining
away the impurities and removing the imperfections of
worldly enjoyment, and intoxicate themselves with airy
dreams of unalloyed felicity. Roses without thorns, streams
ever clear, seas ever smooth, skies ever blue and serene, love
ever warm, hope ever new and gratified, applause without
envy, profusion without labour, and undisturbed retirement
in the sequestered cottage and peaceful valley,—these are the
stuff of which their baseless fabrics are composed. This
wildness of imagination is one of the greatest dangers which
beset unexperienced youth. Satan appears as an angel of
light, when he guides us to these worlds of fancy. We feel
a superiority to the world in ascending these airy heights,
and pride ourselves in this refinement of the soul.
But
nothing is more ruinous. We learn to loathe the common
pleasures and duties of our present existence. After arraying
ourselves in robes of honour, we cannot take the low seat
208
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
which Christianity assigns us, and humble ourselves in sack-
cloth and ashes. After relieving worlds with our bounty,
we cannot content ourselves with the little offices of kindness
which form the principal exercise of our benevolence. After
associating with congenial spirits and exalted minds, we find
the common sense of the world insipid, and its common forms
cold and repulsive. Thus this diseased sensibility alienates
us from our fellow-men, and unfits us for useful exertion....
"Others waste thought, not in delineating bright pros-
pects, but in throwing shades and darkness across the future,
brooding over possible misfortunes, and cherishing irritable
anxiety about events which they cannot control, and which
piety would submit to the providence of God. Our Saviour
says, 'Take no thought for the morrow;' but these people
think of little else, and make every blessing a curse by the
fear of losing it. In these various ways, the mind, instead
of acquiring strength and knowledge by useful exercise, is
enfeebled and intimidated; and, instead of generous fortitude
and persevering patience, exhibits the imbecility of childhood
and the irritableness of dotage."
1807. THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE. "If, indeed, God de-
signed to give as much ease and rest to rational beings as
possible,—if this were the happiest state,—we might wonder
at many vicissitudes which we behold. But God has the
better end in view, of training up the mind to attention,
observation, perseverance, and efficiency; and in this view
all those changes are good which disturb our indolence, which
compel us to look forward and to form and execute long and
laborious plans. Even danger is sometimes the best state for
the individual. Apprehensions of great evil may be neces-
sary excitements. This is not mere speculation. We every-
where see the happy influence of the difficulties, exigencies,
hardships, and even dangers of life. We see minds, if I may
so speak, of a stronger texture formed by scenes of trial.
Those habits of sound judgment, of calm deliberation, of
steady effort, of bold, unconquerable perseverance, which we
so much admire, are the effects of situations in which men
feel that they have much at stake, that they are exposed to
serious evils, that they must act with prudence and vigour,
or they will certainly suffer."
1810. THE BLESSINGS OF HARDSHIP.-
"Let none con-
sider this state of things as severe, as reflecting on the good-
ness of the Creator. The difficulties of our state are among
-
1jmu višja ju
1803-1814.]
BLESSINGS OF PROGRESS.
209
its best blessings. The distance at which good objects are
placed, and the obstacles which intervene, are the means by
which Providence rouses, quickens, invigorates, expands, all
our powers.
These form the school in which our minds and
hearts are trained. Difficulty and hardship bind us more
closely to objects. We love more ardently what we have
suffered to attain, and enjoy nothing so exquisitely as what
we have pursued through calamity and danger. It is in such
pursuits, when we endure and labour for ends which con-
science and religion enjoin, that our whole nature is called
forth and perfected. The heart gains new ardour, the under-
standing new clearness and vigour. A delightful conscious-
ness of rectitude sustains us even if we fail, and gives a
rapture to success. Especially if the ends for which we toil
and suffer are of a benevolent character, do we receive a
reward which swallows up our sacrifices and pains. The
virtuous friendships which grow out of such labours, the
glow of affection with which we are embraced by the good
and holy, the consciousness of acting in union with Jesus
Christ, and the excellent of all ages and all worlds, the
sympathy, and approbation, and love which we excite, are
indeed luxuries of the heart which cannot be too dearly pur-
chased. Never does conscience speak to us in such cheering
tones; never does our Heavenly Father look on us with such
approbation; never are we so dear to those whose love it is
indeed an honour and privilege to enjoy; never does our
nature seem so exalted, so worthy of its Author, so worthy
of immortality, as when we devote ourselves to the best
interests of our fellow-beings, and, undismayed by danger,
unseduced by pleasure, unwearied by hardship, unprovoked
by contempt, and reposing a humble confidence in God, the
originator and rewarder of all good exertions, press forward
with every power to the holy end we have proposed. Who,
then, will repine at the hardships of a good life? These
prove, refine, and exalt the human character. Ease, indul-
gence, luxury, sloth, are the sources of misery. They
benumb the mind, quench the warm emotions of the heart,
sever man from his Creator and his fellow, and make him a
poor, sordid, selfish, wretched being.
39
1810. BLESSINGS OF PROGRESS, "There is a happiness
in progress, in anticipation, in activity, which no man, I
think, would exchange for a quiet, unchanging, unimproving
felicity. There is an unspeakable delight in rising, in having
VOL. I.
P
L
210
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 23-34.
something in view better than our present state, in the ani-
mation of hope, in the eagerness of pursuit, in the conscious-
ness of having gained our elevation by our own labour; and
all this happiness would be wholly lost, were we created in a
state of the greatest possible elevation. Were the inconsi-
derate wishes of men granted, they would place themselves
in a condition which would deprive them of some of the best
enjoyments of humanity. They would leave in the divine
system none of those excitements to which we owe the
vigour of our minds and the warmth of our hearts. They
would crowd into the present all future good."
1811. DUTY OF SEEKING truth. "It is the great excel-
lence of man, that he is capable of knowledge,—that he not
only receives impressions from outward things, but can com-
pare and combine what he sees, can learn the properties,
causes, and influences of surrounding objects, can discern the
future in the present, and rise from visible nature to its invi-
sible Author. He is formed for the acquisition and applica-
tion of truth; and his happiness and excellence very much
depend on the truths he perceives. A mind which is open
to truth, which sees things as they are, which forms right
judgments of its own duties and condition, and of the cha-
racter and rights of all with whom it is connected, is immea-
surably exalted above the narrow, dark, confused, intellect,
which sees everything as through a mist, gives to everything
the colour of its own feelings, confines itself to what coin-
cides with its wishes, contents itself with superficial views,
and thus perpetually falls into errors and misapprehen-
sions.
It is sometimes asserted, that belief, assent, or judgment
is beyond our control, that we cannot think as we please, that
we are necessarily swayed by evidence, and that therefore we
cannot be accountable for the decisions of understanding.
It is true that the understanding is obliged to conform to the
evidence which it distinctly discerns. If I distinctly perceive
in my neighbour the undoubted marks of a certain character,
I must ascribe to him this character, however I may wish to
reverse the judgment. When evidence is brought fully
before the mind, and forced on its attention, belief or opinion
does become a necessary result. It is no longer subjected to
our power; and there is nothing morally good or evil in con-
victions which are thus irresistibly formed.
"But it is comparatively rare that the mind is subjected
1803-1814.]
211
to this compulsion. Generally speaking, evidence is not
forced on the attention. It is placed within reach, but not
so near that we are obliged to see it. On the contrary, a
voluntary effort is generally required to bring to view the
arguments which support or oppose an opinion on which
we are called to decide. The operations of our minds are
left very much to our own control. We cannot, indeed,
judge in opposition to the evidence we see; but then it de-
pends on ourselves whether we will see the evidence which
is placed before us. If we please, we can shut our eyes
upon it. We can overlook proofs which we do not wish to
feel. We can select particular views of a subject, and dwell
on them to the exclusion of all the rest.
And in this way
we may bring ourselves to believe almost anything we
please. The present life has been often and justly repre-
sented as a state of trial; and it seems peculiarly designed
to try the fairness and honesty of our minds. Truth is not
hidden from us by an impenetrable veil. We may discern
it, if we please; but it does not present itself in so definite
a form and so clear a light, that we cannot but discern
it.
●
SEEKING TRUTH.
"These observations on the common guilt of voluntary
error teach us the great importance of cherishing fairness
and honesty of mind, a supreme love of truth, and a deter-
mination to follow it wherever it may lead, or whatever
sacrifices it may require. This temper I would most earnestly
recommend to you, as the happiest and noblest temper, as the
great duty of a rational being, and as indispensable to a con-
sistent, useful, self-approving, and respected life.
"Am I asked in what this honesty of mind consists, or
what is included in it? I answer,—would we be honest, we
must fill ourselves with a deep sense of the infinite value of
truth, with a desire to see everything as it is, to form a
right judgment on every subject; and we must labour that
this desire may exceed in strength all those passions which
so often darken and blind the understanding. A supreme
love of truth, a disposition to make all sacrifices to it, and
to follow it, though it lead to contempt, loss, and danger,-
this is the very essence of honesty of mind; and where
this exists, it will induce impartial and serious inquiry.
"Our honesty of mind bears an exact proportion to the
patience, steadiness, and resolution with which we inquire.
When an opinion is proposed to us which does not agree
•
P 2
212
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
with our past conceptions, we must not reject it as soon as
proposed, and, to save ourselves the trouble of inquiring and
the shame of retracting, say that on this point we have made
up our mind; but, on the contrary, under a sense of falli-
bility, we must be willing to review our opinions, to examine
afresh their foundations, and to receive any new light which
our opponent may throw on the subject. We must be very
careful, too, not to enter on the discussion with a previous
determination to form only one opinion. This is the case
with many. They profess to be willing to inquire; and yet
they are fully satisfied, before they begin, as to the point at
which they will stop. But this is only a mockery of ex-
amination; and we may as well spare ourselves all trouble,
and hold fast our present opinions without pretending to sift
them. Our duty is to enter on the consideration of every
subject with a sincere desire to learn the truth, and to re-
nounce whatever errors we may have imbibed. For this
end, we should meet the subject fairly, look it fully, if I may
say so, in the face, and give ourselves time to examine it
with deliberation. We must not cast over it a glance, and
from unmanly sloth pretend that we see all which can be
seen, and hurry to a conclusion before we have laid a founda-
tion for correct judgment. We must not catch at arguments
which support the sentiment we approve, and say these are
unanswerable, and refuse to look further. We are very apt
to shut our eyes, under pretence that there is nothing to be
seen, at the very moment that new light is breaking in upon
Unhappily, this new light detects old errors, and there-
fore it is that we eagerly exclude it. Instead of this partial
view, we must labour to attain as full and comprehensive a
knowledge of the subject as possible. We must invite
evidence from all quarters, open our ears to all that can be
urged on both sides, and give attention to every argument
proportioned to its importance. In this especially consists
an honest inquiry for the truth. All our passions and pre-
judices incline us to hear only one party. Would we be
honest, we must extend our views, and weigh with serious-
ness what is urged in favour of opinions we dislike. We
too easily take it for granted that an opponent has nothing
to urge in his favour. Let us first hear, and then decide.
us.
"After this dispassionate attention to all the evidence
within our reach, the time for judging has come. Perhaps
our inquiries have left us in a state of doubt on subjects
1
1803-1814.]
SEEKING TRUTH.
213
where before we were confident. In this case we must be
careful not to express a stronger belief of a sentiment than
we really feel. Perhaps it will be expected that we shall
use the language of decision. But our language should
ever be the faithful expression of our conviction. When
we affect greater confidence in a sentiment than we possess,
we become interested in bringing our mind into this state
of confidence, and shall almost inevitably be led to practise
imposition on ourselves, as well as on others. Perhaps, in
consequence of this inquiry, we shall come to a decision,
but to a very different decision from what others wish and
expect. This is a trying condition; but we must show our
sense of the sacredness of truth by steadfastly adhering to
it, wherever we are called to express our sentiments. Nothing
should tempt us to belie the convictions of our minds. It
is better to be forsaken and renounced by men, than to
seek their friendship by affecting compliance with what
seem to us errors. We are not called to be forward, rude,
intemperate, in expressing our sentiments. We ought to be
prudent; but Christian prudence is never to be separated
from Christian simplicity and sincerity. When called to act,
we should uniformly espouse what we deem to be truth, and
in this cause should be willing to suffer..
"This is honesty of mind,-a most noble spirit,—the dis-
tinction of a truly good and great man. It is a quality of
character without which the most splendid talents are of
little avail; for then intellectual vigour may prove a curse,
and may only help to plunge us deeper into error. This
fairness of mind is not a very showy virtue, especially when
it is exercised in the common concerns of life; but perhaps
it includes more magnanimity, courage, and self-denial than
any other virtue. Multitudes have dared to face death in
the field of battle, who have yet wanted strength and spirit
to oppose their own and others' prejudices.
"This virtue will especially give inward peace. The man
of an honest mind has a consciousness of the truth of his
convictions, which no other man can have. He learns to
distinguish truth with an ease peculiar to himself. Truth
offers herself, if I may so speak, in her native simplicity and
beauty to an upright mind.
"The fair and upright mind dwells in a region of light.
Conscious of sincerity, it does not wish to hide itself from its
own inspection, or from the inspection of God. It is con-
214
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
!
scious of his approbation, and confidently hopes, through his
mercy, to be at length released from all error, and to attain
pure and unclouded vision in his heavenly kingdom."
1811. THE HABIT OF MEDITATION. "We should find
ourselves far happier, even as it respects this life, were we
to learn the art of Meditation; were we able to concentrate
our powers on any subject, to exclude foreign thoughts;
and, especially, could we find pleasure in applying our
thoughts to worthy subjects. In this way our minds would
be enriched...
"I need not tell you the value of a sound, vigorous, dis-
cerning intellect. But the intellect acquires health and vigour
by exercise, labour, close attention, patient observation. The
treasures of wisdom are not to be seized with a violent
hand, but to be earned by persevering labour. That solid
judgment which estimates things according to their value,
and points out the surest means of attaining the best ends, is
the fruit of reflection on our own and others' experience.
It is not the work of an hour or a day to store the mind with
pleasing subjects of thought, with wide and just views, to give
it a quick discernment, an habitual activity, and the power
of forming extensive, judicious plans of action. None, surely,
can be so mad as to expect a capacious and accurate intellect
in those who live to be exhilarated, and who, for this end,
give themselves up to a rapid succession of objects, who seek
only scenes which promise pleasure, who place happiness in
a whirl of excitement, in a light, hurried, unreflecting life, in
boisterous and extravagant conversation, in bustle and show,
and every method of quickening the spirits and dissipating
the thoughts..
"No means of instruction, of illumination, can be so perfect
as to supersede, to render unnecessary, the exertion of our
own powers. The mind must be active, in order to attain
clear and influential views. There must be a love of truth,
a desire to know the character and will of God, and an
honest application of the understanding to this object, or we
shall ever dwell in a region of darkness and shadows; our
ideas on these subjects will be dim, unsteady, and unin-
fluential.
"It is not true that a sufficient knowledge of duty is to be
gained without serious attention. Nothing is more evident
than that conscience is often erroneous, often defective.
This faculty, like every other, is to be improved by care and
1803-1814.]
TRUE HUMILITY.
215
habitual exercise. We are continually tempted to silence or
seduce it.
“To attain clear and just views of our duties in their full
extent, of the various virtues and excellences which belong
to our nature and state, and which must combine to render
the character perfect and the life truly happy, we must
employ frequent reflection; we must dwell on the precepts
and life of Jesus Christ, in which all human excellences are
unfolded; we must make our minds familiar with the lofty
sentiments, pure principles, devout and generous affections
from which the Christian is called to act; we must consider
the various kinds of exertion included in each duty, the
various modes in which each good disposition will express
itself, the proper feelings and actions in the various circum-
stances amidst which we are to be placed.
"By this activity of mind on the duties of religion, we
shall gradually attain a very desirable state of mind, so that
we shall carry within us, as it were, a chart of Christianity.
Conscience will be prepared with instruction in every con-
dition into which we may be thrown. At every moment,
the purest and best feelings and actions—such as we shall
approve when we review our course-will rise to our view,
and invite and attract us. This habitual activity and quick-
ness of conscience, this power of seizing at the first glance on
the best rules, on the most becoming, honourable, fit, and
useful course, is most desirable, if we would live consistently
and escape remorse.
1810. HUMILITY AND THE DIGNITY OF MAN. "Humility
is that impartial, just, and upright state of mind in which
we view ourselves as we are. Humility has sometimes been
described as a disposition to deny ourselves what we have, to
think worse of ourselves than we really are, to take a lower
seat than belongs to us. But christianity is a religion of
truth, and never calls us to practise deception on ourselves.
It does not ask us to spend useless tears and regrets on sins
we have never committed, or to apply to ourselves terms of
degradation and reproach which we have not deserved.
There is no firm foundation of religion but truth. To ascribe
to ourselves imaginary imperfections and crimes is the mark
of an abject and timid mind, and gives little reason to hope
from us that improvement which is the great end of Christian
humility.
"I wish to suggest some reflections on this leading virtue
.
216
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
*
of the gospel, in order to show you that it is perfectly con-
sistent with elevation of sentiment, with the most encourag-
ing and ennobling virtues of the nature which God has given
us. Humility has probably suffered in the estimation of
many from the exaggerated and injudicious language of those
who have wished to commend it. This virtue has sometimes
been represented as including contempt for everything belong-
ing to human nature. Were this view correct, humility would
deserve to lose its place among the virtues.
It would generate
a degraded mind, a depression of spirit, a low and sordid cast
of thought and action. Humility is to be ranked amongst
virtues only as far as it is founded on truth. Humility per-
mits and requires us to view ourselves as we are, to ascribe
to ourselves qualities which are suited to inspire respect and
love as far as we possess them; but it requires us to stop
here, to be equally sensible to our defects and sins, and to
feel what is the truth,-that we have no claims on the respect
and service of God and intelligent beings, compared with the
claims which they have on us. This appears to me the
essence of humility. We are not to be blind to any excel-
lences we possess; but we are to feel that nothing is due to
us compared with what we owe, and that it becomes us to
cherish a sense of our inferiority, submission towards God,
and modesty and meekness in our intercourse with other
beings.
"It is a duty to estimate highly the nature which God has
given. It should be regarded with reverence, rather than
contempt. Our danger is, that we shall think of it too
meanly, not too highly. We ought to think of this nature
soberly, indeed, but still to attach to it a high importance.
Man was formed in the image of God, and, notwithstanding
the unhappy change which has taken place in his state, he
has yet capabilities of excellence which show him to be a
noble work of the Creator. There are yet in him powers of
thought and action, a range of intellect, an ardour of feeling,
a tenderness of conscience, a sensibility to what is right,
which entitle man to respect. There are yet in him many
indications of a being formed for the highest happiness, the
happiness of wisdom, piety, and goodness. There are many
testimonies, too, that man is not forsaken by his Maker.
There is an indulgent providence extended over him; there
is a liberality in the supply of his wants, there is a provision
for the improvement of his faculties, which prove that he is
1803-1814.]
WORTH OF MAN'S NATURE.
217
yet an interesting object in the sight of God. Yet more, we
have an evidence of the most affecting kind to the value of
human nature. God has given his own Son,-a being re-
specting whose nature, perhaps, revelation communicates no
precise ideas, but whom we are yet taught to view as sus-
taining a peculiar relation to the infinite Father, and pecu-
liarly beloved by him, he has given this only-begotten Son
to perform for us the kindest offices, to sustain towards us
the most interesting relation,-that of saviour, friend, guide,
and giver of eternal life. He has sent this beloved Son to
take our nature, to become one of us, in the human form to
display the virtues of heaven, and, by his promises, example,
and aid, to inspire the same virtues into the hearts of mankind.
"Here is enough to attest the worth of our nature. Here
we are assured that man is capable of the greatest, best, and
most honourable endowments; that he can resemble God;
that he is designed for immortality; that abodes in heaven
are provided for his reception; that the society of that better
world are ready to welcome him as a sharer of their excel-
lence and happiness. Consider man as a favoured child of
God, united by the tie of brotherhood to the Son of God,
called to an immortal life, destined to endure and improve
through all ages, to extend his views and affections, to fill a
wider and a wider sphere, and to perform more and more
noble services in the universe, through an endless exist-
ence; and surely such a being is not to be viewed with
contempt. There is something sacred in that spiritual na-
ture which the breath of God has quickened, and which the
blood of Jesus has been shed to cleanse, refine, and make for
ever happy.
"These views of human nature are not only warranted
by Scripture, but I think an acquaintance with our race will
lead a reflecting and pious mind to cherish the same hopes.
We are sometimes permitted to behold humanity in so de-
lightful a form, adorned with such virtues, exalted by such
vigour of thought and such ardour of affection, so dead to
self and so alive to all other beings, so superior, yet so un-
assuming, exerting an influence so beneficent, cheering, con-
soling, so resigned and devoted to God, and so sustained by
the hope of heaven, so arrayed in intellectual and moral
glory, that we have, as it were, a pledge of the height which
man is to attain. Humility does not check these views, but
rather calls us to cherish them, to cast our eyes forward to
218.
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
I
:
the glory and honour with which humanity is to be crowned,
to form large and generous hopes, to burn with a strong
desire for this elevated state. It is by feeding on these
sentiments that the mind is expanded, fortified, and impelled
to excellence. It is by this hope we are saved. This hope
makes us to become what it promises."
"The
1818. HUMAN NATURE AS GLORIFIED IN JESUS.
incarnation of Christ should inspire joy, as it is an attesta-
tion to the great capacities and excellence of human nature
when undepraved by sin. That nature, which the Divine
Word assumed, must be capable of every good principle and
pure affection, and must be designed to bear the image, to
reflect the perfections, of God. Were man a mere creature.
of sense, were he susceptible of no improvement in know-
ledge and holiness, were he not formed to draw nearer to
this great original of all excellence and happiness, it is in-
credible that the Son of God would ever have appeared as
the Son of Man. The incarnation declares man to be an
important being in the creation of God. It declares that
the human soul is a germ, in which are wrapped up noble
powers,—an inextinguishable flame, which will grow bright
and clear with truth and goodness. It declares that the
interests of man are of boundless magnitude; and it proves
that these interests are not forgotten, not försaken, by God,
-that man is precious in the sight of his Creator, that his
powers shall not be lost, his nature not be left in ruin, his
name not blotted out of the universe. O man! has God
clothed his own Son in thy nature, and does he not teach
thee that thou art formed to be his son, that thy nature is
one of his fairest works, and that he views thee, though
fallen, with unbounded compassion? Seek, then, to fulfil
the designs of thy Creator! Admit the encouraging hope of
restoration to purity; and let this hope help to raise thee
from thy fall!..
'
We have reason to rejoice that the Word was made flesh,'
as, in consequence of this, we are favoured with a view of
human nature in a state of perfection. What a great and
happy privilege! Human nature, as exhibited in every
other being, as marked with imperfection and sin. Wherever
we look, to whatever page of history we turn, we see human
nature bearing traces of ruin. We see the glory of man
obscured, his powers perverted, his understanding darkened,
his conscience seared, his passions unrestrained. Even the
1803-1814.] HUMAN NATURE IN CHRIST.
219
best men are still frail, weak, and fallen beings. What
reason have we to weep and blush, when we survey our-
selves or our fellow-beings! Human nature and guilt and
disorder seem inseparably connected. But when we look to
the incarnate Saviour, we see man as he was before the fall,
man restored, raised from his ruins, man in the true glory of
his nature, man such as God designed. We see all the pas-
sions tempered and harmonious, and every word and action
expressive of pure love to God and to mankind. .
"If we have attained any refined and elevated sentiments
on human excellence, we owe them entirely to the character
of Jesus Christ. He came into the world, not with the
bloody pomp of the hero, but with all meekness and mercy,
breathing nothing but peace and love. He came, not
wrapped in the unsocial robe of the philosopher, but easy of
access, ready to instruct, stooping to the feeblest understand-
ing, and encouraging the most imperfect goodness. He came,
not offering sacrifice, with the formalist, as the essence of
piety, but serving God by active goodness and purity of life.
In him human nature had laid aside all its ferocity, all its
pride, its unforgiving malice, its violence, its selfishness, its
sensuality, its discontent, and appeared all tenderness, hu-
mility, forbearance, liberality, patience, and self-denial. It
was chaste and temperate in its thoughts and desires, resigned
to God, unwearied in doing good, firm without severity,
ardent without passion, hating sin, and yet full of compassion
for the sinner. How worthy of God does our nature appear,
as it was exhibited in Jesus Christ! We see it unadorned
by that outward splendour which is so often employed to
cover its deformity, and yet it shines with a lustre which no
outward show ever conferred. How grateful should we be
that human perfection is thus placed before us,—not in de-
scription, but in real life,-that we are permitted to follow a
perfect human being through the changes of an active career,
and to learn from him the temper which we should maintain
în all the vicissitudes of our present existence ! The state
of perfection to which man is to be raised is not an ideal one,
does not merely exist in promise, is not something which is
only hereafter to be known. Human nature has already
been displayed, triumphant over all temptation, clear from
every stain, glorious in love and holiness, pure as heaven,
and bright with the image of God.
Sau đ
220
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
SECTION THIRD.
CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY.
1811. CHRIST a gift of GOD'S LOVE. "There are some
who are so desirous to magnify the justice of God, that they
represent him as viewing our race with unmingled indignation,
and speak as if his love towards man were excited, and even
purchased, by the sacrifice of his Son. In this way the un-
thinking are led to associate the ideas of an awful justice
with the Father, whilst they clothe the Son with the de-
lightful and attractive attributes of mercy, and consider him
as peculiarly the source of their deliverance. I do not say
that it is the intention of any to make this impression. I
only state the fact, that such impressions are produced by
the unguarded language used on this subject.
"I fear that false conceptions have arisen on this subject,
from the habit of speaking of our pardon and future happi-
ness as 'purchased for us by the death of Christ.' The
effect of such language is to fix in many minds the idea
that our Saviour has offered to God an equivalent,-a price
for our happiness,-and thus obtaimed for us what would
have been reluctantly bestowed, had we been left to the
mercy of God. Many, indeed, do not carry this language so
far; but they still feel as if forgivenness and future happiness
were a purchase, and therefore not altogether the gift of free
and pure benevolence. I will not say that it is improper to
speak of our deliverance as purchased by Christ, because we
usually speak in this manner of blessings which have been
procured for us by the labour and love of other beings. But
I am certain that this language never should be used, if the
tendency is to weaken our convictions of the great truth,
that God is moved with compassion towards us by the essen-
tial benignity of his nature; that of himself he is inclined to
save our race; that his blessings flow to us from a sincere
desire to bless us; and that pardon and life are free gifts,-
not something paid for,-not something obtained for us from
the severe justice of the Father by the compassion of the
Son.
"I have said that our salvation is nowhere spoken of in
Scripture as bought for us by Christ. I may err, although
1803-1814.]
CHRIST A GIFT OF GOD.
221
6
،
I have a strong conviction, that, on careful inquiry, you will
find the statement correct. Christians themselves are said to
be bought, but not their salvation. Thus, Christ is said to
have purchased the church with his own blood,' and the
apostle says to the Corinthians, Ye are bought with a price,
therefore glorify God.' But these passages convey a very
different idea from what I have just opposed. They do not
represent our blessings as purchased from God, but give us a
sentiment as remote from this as possible. They teach us
that God was so desirous to receive us again into his family
as his servants, worshippers, and children, that he was will-
ing to give his own Son for us, to purchase us at this ines-
timable price. In the language of Scripture, men, having
sinned and become subject to death, are represented as
enslaved to sin and to death. In this wretched and hard
bondage their Heavenly Father pitied them and desired their
release, desired that they might be rescued from this cruel
oppression, and restored to his easy and happy service, that
they might enter his family, and become his property in the
sense of yielding him cheerful obedience and of enjoying his
love. To effect this most happy deliverance he sent his own
Son; and as the wisest, most suitable, and effectual means to
this end, he gave this Son to die the bitter death of cruci-
fixion. According to the customs of the age when the Scrip-
tures were written, it was very common to redeem men from
captivity by paying a price. The blood or death of Christ,
which is the instrument of our deliverance from the capti-
vity of sinful affections and of death, is therefore called a
price, a ransom; and we are said to be bought by it. This
is the plain, obvious meaning of Scripture, and so far from
representing our blessings as bought for us from God by
another, it represents God as buying or purchasing us, that
he may shed on us his richest blessings. The mercy of
God has not been excited towards us by the mediation of
the Son; but his mercy preceded, appointed this mediation,
and gives it its efficacy.
1812. THE LIFE OF CHRIST. "Among the truths relating
to Jesus Christ, which should be preached, I have mentioned
the holiness of his life. Let me here observe, that from the
large portion of the Gospels which is taken up in relating the
life and actions of our Saviour, I cannot but think that
preaching should be often directed to this subject. I cannot
222
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
but think that this most delightful part of the Christian sys-
tem-the life which Jesus led, the character which he ex-
pressed-has been too much overlooked. The controversies
relating to the precise dignity of his person have drawn
attention from the holy and heavenly spirit which is every-
where discovered in the simple history of the Evangelists.
The life of Jesus, as drawn in the gospels, has been pro-
nounced, perhaps with truth, the strongest evidence of his
gospel, more impressive to a good mind even than the mira-
cles. This, I think, may be affirmed with truth, that, if we
would learn perfect goodness, if we wish to warm our hearts
with the love of it, we can adopt no method so effectual as
the study, the frequent contemplation, of the life of Jesus."
1810. CHARACTER OF CHRIST. Jesus Christ is the Son
of God in a peculiar sense, the temple of the Divinity, the
brightest image of his glory. In seeing him we see the
Father. On this account it is delightful to contemplate him.
It is delightful to think that his mildness, compassion, for-
bearance, and unwearied goodness, are beams, reflections, of
the character of the universal Father. No other manifesta-
tion is so suited to teach us that God is love.
"It is also interesting to contemplate Jesus Christ, as in
him are displayed, in the brightest forms, all the virtues and
excellences of human nature. He, and he alone, is the per-
fect man, an unerring standard; and it is in contemplation of
Jesus that we can best learn the glory for which our nature
is designed, that we shall best learn to love and aspire after
excellence.
"It is a kind ordination of God that the evidence of Chris-
tianity should be a growing evidence. When we begin our
inquiries into the truth of Christianity, we are first impressed.
with the miraculous works of Christ, those exertions of
divine power which prove that the Father was in him,
that he was commissioned from heaven. In proportion as
we attend to the subject, a new source of evidence springs
up and brings new conviction to our minds. In the moral
character of Jesus we see a miracle more striking than the
most stupendous work of a physical nature. We see in
brighter and clearer light the impressions and evidences of a
sincere, upright, devout and most benevolent heart. We see
a character most original and yet most consistent; such as
the Evangelists could never have feigned, such as impostors
would never have imagined, but which is exactly suited to
1803-1814.]
THE CLAIMS OF CHRIST.
223
the wants and miseries of man, and to our highest concep-
tions of the Divinity.
"If from the contemplation of this character we are so
blest as to imbibe the spirit of Jesus, our conviction of his
excellence and sincerity acquires new vigour. Every attain-
ment in purity and benevolence opens our minds to behold
and enjoy yet more of the benignity and glory of the Saviour.
We feel a new delight in studying his history, in tracing his
life. We feel an accordance between our best and purest
sentiments and the conduct and instructions of Christ, and
we find these invigorated as our knowledge of his character
is enlarged. We perceive ourselves growing more and more
like God; we perceive our narrow and sensual hearts ex-
panding with pure benevolence: we perceive the storms of
passion calmed, and a serene hope in God, and a patient en-
durance of injuries taking possession of our souls. We know
by an evidence which we cannot communicate to any but
Christians, that Jesus is the Son of God, for we feel ourselves
elevated and strengthened by his presence.
"I hope I am not insensible to the obligations of virtue
and piety and benevolence, however displayed, however en-
forced. But never do I feel how lovely is virtue,-never do
I feel so deeply my own wretchedness, unworthiness, and
guilt,―never do I so earnestly desire to subdue my evil pas-
sions, and to put on humility and universal love, as when I
behold the glory of God in the face, in the actions, in the
words, of Jesus Christ.
""
1808. THE MAJESTIC CLAIMS OF JESUS. "Can we read
this solemn declaration of Jesus without wonder and vene-
ration? We now see him in a situation where everything
tended to depress his mind. We see him surrounded by
men who he well knew would ridicule his claims, and make
them the foundation of his ruin. We see him in circum-
stances in which ambition and every earthly interest united
to oppose the assertion of this high character. From his
silence we see that at this trying moment he was perfectly
composed, not agitated, not provoked, not hurried to impru-
dence by violence of passion, but capable of the calmest anti-
cipation of the consequences of his acknowledgment. In this
situation, when the solemnity of an oath was imposed on him,
and when life or death rested on the words he uttered, we
hear him breaking that silence which calumny could not in-
terrupt, and in the most firm, serious, and majestic language
224
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH,
}
?
claiming the honours of the Son of God, of the promised
Messiah, of the Saviour of the world. We not only hear him
assenting to the question, 'Art thou the Christ?' but adding
to his assent a declaration of his glory, which he must have
known would have been peculiarly offensive to the Jews, and
applying to himself language which, under the old dispensa-
tion, had been limited to God,-thus expressing his intimate
union with the Father. If we consider the solemnity of the
occasion, and the language employed by Christ, we are au-
thorized in saying, that, if Jesus did not declare the truth, he
was not merely a common deceiver, but the very worst of
deceivers. But how can this be reconciled with his whole
life and doctrines? and how could a man of such a character
have made such a profession in circumstances which threat-
ened nothing but humiliation and suffering?
"If we view Jesus, bound as a criminal at a human
tribunal, hemmed in with malignant enemies thirsty for his
blood, how can we help astonishment at the serene, dignified,
sublime language in which he spoke? What marks of an
elevated mind, conscious of majesty, unintimidated by the
worst forms of danger, and assured of triumphs over all op-
posers! It cannot be said that this is the language of boast-
ing. It was extorted from the silent sufferer by an oath.
He who had heard without reply the accusations of malice,
and discovered a mind free from every discordant feeling, at
length lifted his eyes to his judges, and declared, 'Ye shall
hereafter see me sitting at the right hand of God, and coming
in the clouds of heaven.'
1808. DIGNITY OF JESUS. "A few days before, he had
entered this city in triumph, he had wrought miracles which
extorted admiration, he had heard the shouts of a crowd wel-
coming him as the promised Son of David. Through this
same city he now passed as a criminal in bonds, a silent
sufferer, and experienced only contempt or indifference. He
saw a fickle, worldly people converted into enemies, because
he had refused to assume the outward glory which they ex-
pected in the Messiah. It is peculiarly hard to bear a sudden
reverse of circumstances, to maintain benevolence towards
men who, from selfish feelings, express attachment, and then
forsake, injure, and conspire to destroy us.
But Jesus wept
over Jerusalem, when he foresaw its ingratitude; and even
whilst its inhabitants thronged after him to extort a sentence
of condemnation, he expressed no emotions of disappointment
1803-1814.]
MAJESTY OF CHRIST.
225
or anger, and bore, with equal tranquillity, the malignity of
rulers, and the versatility of the populace. He saw how little
effect had been produced by his ministry. He saw his enemies
prosecuting their designs without any of the opposition they
had feared. No friends appeared to accompany and defend
him. But he made no attempts to excite anew the hopes and
attachment of the multitude. And he, who had so often ad-
dressed them for their own salvation, offered not one appeal
to secure himself. . . .
"Pilate marvelled greatly. He had been accustomed to
observe in prisoners a disposition to clear themselves from
such aggravated charges. He saw how easily these accu-
sations might be repelled; he was astonished at the com-
posed, unbroken silence of the accused. This silence of
Jesus expresses great dignity and conscious innocence. He
knew that the occasion required no defence. A Roman
governor, residing in the narrow province of Judea, needed
not to be told that no insurrection had been stirred up within
his jurisdiction. Pilate must have been too well acquainted
with the affairs of Judea, to need that Jesus should declare
that he had forbidden none to pay tribute to Cæsar. Pilate
must have known the Jewish people too well to believe that
they would ever have accused a man who really aimed to
break the Roman yoke from their necks. It was not neces-
sary that he should speak in order to prevent misconception
in his judge; and he was therefore silent. In this position
of Jesus, in this declining to use any means with the governor
or populace for his safety, we see the evidences of a mind
submissive to God, superior to fear, undisturbed by passion,
and persuaded that its sufferings were instrumental to some
important end. This conduct of Christ, especially if we con-
sider the friendly sentiments of Pilate, was inconsistent with
all the views and motives which influence selfish men.....
W
"In these words we see the majesty and fearless com-
posure of Jesus. 'I cannot and will not deny that I am a
king. It is my great office to declare the truth; it is by the
influence of truth, that I am to reign in the hearts of men;
and I cannot shrink from asserting this most important truth,
that I have the power and authority of a sovereign at once to
rule and to defend my people. Let not this doctrine offend.
Every one who is of the truth, who loves the light, and
whose mind is open to conviction, heareth and acknowledgeth
this and all my doctrines.' These words, spoken at so inte-
VOL. I.
Q
226
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
resting and trying a period, discover to us the elevation of our
Saviour in a very striking light. We see his mind unbroken by
suffering. We see in him the firmest adherence to the doc-
trines he had formerly taught. We see in him a conscious
dignity, a full conviction of the glory and power with which he
was invested. He asserts his royal office, not from ostentation,
not amidst a host of flatterers, but in the face of enemies; and
when he made this solemn declaration, his appearance bore
little conformity, indeed, to the splendour of earthly monarchs."
C
1813. CHARACTER OF JESUS CHRIST ILLUSTRATED IN HIS
LAST PRAYER. "Observe in this prayer the self-possession
of Jesus. Does the thought of his danger overwhelm him ?
He hardly seems to recur to it. His allusions to his death
are only slight and distant, as if he feared to wound the
tender and fearful minds of his disciples. Father, I come
to thee. I am now to offer myself. I am no more in the
world.' Such is the language in which he clothes the solemn
event which was so near. Instead of being absorbed by his
approaching sufferings, instead of indulging in depressing
complaints, instead of appealing to the sympathy of those
around him, we see his mind opening itself to the noblest
views and sentiments, exerting itself with clearness and free-
dom, raising itself to God and heaven, and looking forward to
distant ages. What marks of a pure and exalted spirit are
here unfolded to us!.
"Observe next the filial trust which breathes through this
prayer. Jesus had called himself the Son of God in language
which had offended the Jews; but in the prospect of danger
and death he still claims the same high relation. We see
not a trace of that apprehension which must have oppressed
a mind conscious of having urged unauthorised claims to a
mission from heaven. Hear his first words: Father, glorify
thy Son!' Can you read this prayer, and not see in every
line the marks of filial trust?
“Observe next the temper with which Jesus reviews his
life. It is natural at the approach of death to look back.
To a guilty mind, the past is gloomy and appalling. To a
holy mind it imparts a serene satisfaction and hope. What
feelings did it awaken in Jesus? Hear his language:—
'Father, I have finished the work which thou gavest me to
do. I have glorified thee on the earth.' What a mild, yet
triumphant, consciousness of a holy life! . .
"Observe next, the majesty which is expressed in every
1803-1814.]
LAST PRAYER OF CHRIST.
227
part of this prayer. In what sublime language does Jesus
everywhere speak of himself! Through his whole ministry
he had claimed the most exalted character and titles; and is
he prepared to abandon these, now that they have roused the
malice of the world?
"From whom do these lofty words proceed? From Jesus,
distinguished as he was in manner by meekness and humility;
from Jesus, poor, friendless, and persecuted; from Jesus,
ready to sink under the bloody cruelty of his enemies. What
a singular union of lowliness and majesty! With what ad-
miration ought we to contemplate that spirit, which, in cir-
cumstances so depressed, is yet in its claims and hopes so
exalted, so unsubdued! The character which Jesus here
assumes of Lord and Sovereign of the whole human race,
appointed by God to recover the world to piety, and to give
eternal life to his obedient disciples, is one which never be-
fore had entered human imagination; it is a character more
august and sublime than was ever before assumed. But this
character we find the humble and devout Jesus mildly claim-
ing, in solemn prayer, at the approach of death. Although
every event conspires to throw depression on his spirits
and gloom over his prospects, although contempt and infamy
threaten to overwhelm his name, his spirit is unbroken, his
language is unchanged; he even speaks of the dignity of his
character with new solemnity and elevation of style. What
testimony is here given to his sincerity and greatness! Will
any say that this is the language of enthusiasm? Read again
this prayer; observe the calmness which pervades it. You'
see no transports, no raptures. A devout, benevolent, and
mild spirit breathes through this whole act of piety; and
elevated as are his claims, you still see an all-pervading
humility and reverence.
·
“Let me next ask you to consider the benevolence of Jesus
as it breaks forth in this prayer. In this view, I consider
this act of devotion as peculiarly worthy of regard. It is a
delightful testimony to the benignity and amiableness of his
character. You will remember that he was in a few hours to
die in the most ignominious manner by the hands of men.
The murderous crowd were even now collecting, and thirsting
for his blood. But not one mark of an inflamed or irritated
mind can be found in his prayer. You hear no imprecation
on his enemies. He delights to speak of himself as sent to
give eternal life to men; and he desires to be exalted, that he
Q 2
228
[ÆT. 23–34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
may communicate to the whole world the knowledge of God.
The universal benevolence which this prayer expresses, has
been obscured by an unhappy misinterpretation of a parti-
cular passage. Jesus, in praying for his disciples, says, ‘I
pray not for the world, but for them whom thou hast given
me.
•
"The meaning of this passage is very obvious. He was
now commending his chosen disciples to the particular care
and blessing of God; and to enforce his request, he says,
'I pray not, I am not praying, for the world, for men who
disregard thee, but for men devoted to thy service, and on
these I hope thy peculiar blessing.' That he did not mean
to exclude the world from his intercession is very obvious
from his whole language on the present occasion. For in-
stance, why is he so earnest in praying that his disciples may
be one, or perfectly united? He desires this, to use his own
words, 'that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.'
The reformation of the world is, in fact, the great object
which fills the mind of Jesus through this whole prayer. He,
indeed, prayed particularly for his disciples; but, observe, he
prayed for them as preachers of his religion to the world.
He regarded them, not in their individual, but in their
public character. 'As thou hast sent me into the world, so
have I sent them into the world.' His great desire and
prayer was, that these men, to whom his religion was to be
confided, should fulfil their high trust, and by their lives and
preaching fill the world with his truth. The prospect of
suffering could not drive from his mind a benevolent concern
for the improvement and salvation of our race. Future
ages crowded on his mind. Though insulted, dishonoured,
he thought only of enlightening and saving mankind. How
ardent, sublime, and pure is this benevolence! You see him
on the brink of suffering, but still forgetting himself, and
extending his solicitude over the whole human race.
"But do not stop with observing Christ's universal bene-
volence. Observe, particularly, his tenderness towards his
disciples. Do you here see any marks of a leader who has
drawn after him followers only to swell his train, and to pro-
mote his triumphs? Is his regard withdrawn from them by
the approach of personal evil? No. Never was Jesus more
affectionate, more alive to their feelings and interests. In
their hearing he offers up a fervent prayer, and commends
them to God. On former occasions he had reproved them,
·
1803-1814.]
CLAIMS OF CHRIST.
229
<
C
but now no complaint escapes his lips, no allusion to their
imperfections. On the contrary, he speaks with satisfaction
of their virtues. They have kept thy word;' they are
thine, they are not of the world.' How soothing this appro-
bation of a dying friend! This pleasure Jesus, in death,
wished to leave to his mourning disciples. . .
"Let me close my remarks on the character of Jesus, as
expressed in this prayer, by desiring you to observe the
strong, unsubdued hope, which he everywhere expresses, of
the future triumphs of his religion. He was surrounded by
a few trembling disciples, from whom he was soon to be
severed, and who were to encounter the opposition of the
world; but we hear no despondence, no doubts, no relinquish-
ment of his great object. On the contrary, we see him
anticipating a state of glory, in which he should extend the
knowledge of God throughout the world; we hear him speak-
ing with confidence of those who should believe on him in
future ages, and praying for the conversion of all mankind.
This energy of hope, in circumstances so depressing, marks
a mind of great elevation. There is something unspeakably
sublime in the spirit of Jesus, sinking as he was into the
grave, and yet looking forward with a serene, unshaken con-
fidence to the triumphs of his religion in all succeeding time.
Whence this hope, and whence its accomplishment?"
1812. SINCERITY OF Jesus, AS ILLUSTRATED IN HIS DEATH.
"Let me first ask you, my friends, to observe the testimony
which the last actions and words of Jesus bear to his mission
from heaven, to the truth of his claims, to the Divine origin
of his religion. How irreconcileable with deceit is the prayer
with which he resigns his spirit, and how expressive is it of
a heart conscious of its innocence-how accordant with the
character of the Son of God! Jesus was at this moment
exhausted by acute sufferings, which he felt were immediately
to end in death. His enemies were surrounding him in
triumph, exulting over him as a fallen impostor. Had he
been what his enemies believed, can you imagine a condition
more wretched, more suited to crush his fainting spirit?
Scourged, mocked at, branded as a malefactor, driven from
life with execration, he must have abandoned every hope from
this world; and had the aspersions of his enemies been true,
what could he have hoped in the future world? It is with
pain that I make even this supposition. Had it been true,
how full of horrors, how peculiarly destitute of comfort and
230
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
1
hope, must have been his death on the cross? But do we see
in Jesus one mark of a mind conscious of having spoken
without authority in the name of God? Does he mourn over
his blasted hopes, his disappointed schemes? Do we discover
fear, despondence? Does he speak like one who was ready
to be torn from every object for which he had lived, like one
who felt in suffering a just reward for crime? Hear the last
words which break from his dying lips: Father, into thy
hands I commit my spirit.' Is this the language of defeated
imposture; or is it that of the Son of God returning to his
Father?
"With what unconquerable firmness Jesus adhered to his
claims! Through all his sufferings,-sufferings which com-
bined every circumstance to shake his resolute soul,-suffer-
ings which he did nothing to avert and nothing to mitigate,
he held fast to the profession, that he was the Son of God;
and his last breath bore this claim to heaven. Whence
this firmness, when nothing but death was its reward?
whence could it have originated, but in the consciousness of
truth? ..
"It deserves to be remarked, that this assertion of his
claims was addressed by Jesus, not to the multitude, but to
God himself. It was in prayer that he bore his dying testi-
mony to his union with the Father; and if this testimony
was not true, can you conceive of impiety more aggravated
than that with which the life of Jesus was closed? And
this awful impiety had no motive;-and it closed a life of
unspotted purity! Who for a moment can admit the
thought?
“What mark of deranged imagination do we discover?
With what patience, composure, serenity, does he suffer!
You hear no bursts of passion, no extravagance of language;
and if you listen to his last prayer, what a mild, tranquil
confidence does it express! Here is no boasting, rapture,
transport. We see a gentle spirit resigning itself to its
Father: Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit.'
There is a sublime composure in this death of Jesus, which
I feel, but I cannot express. This is indeed the Son of
God.
6
"He is as great in death, as when his word revived the
dead; as great as when multitudes hung in silent attention
on his lips. Approach and see. His body is indeed dis-
figured, lacerated, stained with blood. But in that counte-
1803-1814.] CHARACTER OF CHRIST.
231
nance, lifted
up to heaven, what mild confidence beams forth!
You see him anticipating immediate death. But death has
no terrors. Death brings no agitation. In death he sees
only the ascent of his spirit to his Father. What conscious
uprightness, what firmness, what elevation of character, does
this scene discover! Jesus has suffered,-drank deeply of
suffering. But his spirit is unbroken; his mind is clear and
collected: his heart is warm and active; it retains its hold
on God."
1810. THE UNIVERSALITY OF CHRISTIANITY A PROOF OF
ITS DIVINE ORIGIN.
"I wish at this time to call your at-
tention to the extent of the influence which Jesus ascribes to
himself in the text:-'I am the light of the world.'
"He here represents himself as sent to diffuse his lustre
through all the regions of the earth, to introduce a religion
for the whole human race, to improve the human character
in every nation under heaven, to be a universal benefactor,
to guide the steps of all men, however widely dispersed, to a
better world.
•
"From the whole tenor of the New Testament, we learn
that Jesus Christ claimed to himself the high character of
the guide, instructor, and Lord of the whole human family.
He declared himself commissioned to diffuse most salutary
doctrines through the earth, to bring all nations to one faith,
to introduce a new worship in the place of the various
systems which divided mankind, to unite the discordant
world under himself as a common head.
•
"It is, I think, an undisputed fact, that, before the time of
Jesus Christ, no man had ever appeared who professed him-
self authorized by the universal Father to proclaim one re-
ligion to all mankind. The character of a Divine instructor
of the whole world had never before been assumed. There
had, indeed, been many who pretended to communications
from God. Such were most of the ancient legislators. But
they claimed only the commission to instruct the particular
nation to which they were sent. Even Moses and the pro-
phets were limited to one people. The plan of bringing all
men to the belief and practice of one religion was never con-
templated. No mind had formed so bold an attempt. The
object was so little suited to their selfish principles of action,
and presented such insuperable difficulties, that it does not
appear ever to have occupied the thoughts of an individual.
Before the time of Christ there had been great conquerors,
232
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ET. 23-34.
who had cherished, and almost accomplished, the scheme of
universal dominion; but they were satisfied with a dominion
over the bodies and outward actions of men. They aspired
not to subdue their minds. They overturned governments,
but left religion untouched. It is an argument in favour of
Jesus Christ, that he appeared in a character altogether new.
His plan of producing a change in the religion of the world
was wholly his own. May we not argue, that, if he had
acted on merely human principles, he would have resembled
those who went before him? Human nature is the same in
all ages. There is a peculiarity in the character of Christ,
an originality in his purpose, a remoteness from the common
views of men, a superiority in his objects to the greatest men
who had appeared before him, which we cannot easily explain
but on the supposition of his Divine commission. This great
design suits the Son of God, but cannot easily be reconciled
with another character.
"That a Jew should devote himself to the work of bring-
ing the world to a participation of the same religion, and this
a new religion too, was indeed wonderful. There never was
a people among whom so strong a national spirit existed as
among the Jews; and their national pride was peculiarly
built on this idea, that they had been, and ever should be,
distinguished by their religious privileges from the rest of
mankind. The idea of a religion, which should be the com-
mon and equal property and blessing of all nations, was the
last idea which would have entered the mind of a Jew.
Judea was the most unlikely place for the growth of so
liberal a sentiment, so diffusive a system.
"Let me point out some of those features of the gospel
which fit it for being a universal religion. The representa-
tions of God, given by Jesus Christ, are fitted to draw to
him the hearts and hopes of all human beings. Under all
other religions, the Divinity was represented as sustaining a
peculiar relation to the particular nation for which the re-
ligion was designed.
•
"But Jesus represented him as the Father of all, as having
no regard to outward distinctions, as the God of Jew and
Gentile, as looking with a father's compassion on those
nations who had wandered from him, and as extending his
arms to receive them. In the gospel, the paternal character
of God is continually brought to view. 'Our Father,' is the
language in which we are to address him; and all men are
1803-1814.] UNIVERSALITY OF CHRISTIANITY.
233
invited to approach in the character of children. This is at
once a very tender and a very noble sentiment. We, indeed,
are so accustomed to it, that we see nothing singular in that
religion which enforces it. But we should go back to the
age of Christ. We should remember the blindness of the
idolater, and the narrow feelings of the Jew; and then we
shall be struck with the elevated and enlarged mind of Jesus
Christ, who so clearly taught that God is no respecter of
persons, that he is the God and Father of all men, and
that before his throne all nations may bow and find equal
acceptance.
•
،،
Again, another feature of the gospel which renders it fit
to be a universal religion is this. The worship it prescribes
is remarkably free from forms, rules, ceremonies, and thus it
is adapted to all climates, all modes of life, all states of society,
and other circumstances under which men are placed.
"It is very remarkable, that when he was brought up and
living amidst the pomp, and show, and forms, and bigotry of
the Jews, he should yet teach a religion in which the whole
stress is laid upon sentiments, dispositions, and principles,
which give to forms all their value; in which the worship of
God in spirit and in truth is declared to be the only accept-
able worship, and in which nothing of the outward religion
and burdensome ritual of his time is to be found; in which
are enjoined only two positive institutions, so simple and so
expressive that they may be observed by all men of all
nations with equal ease and with constant improvement.
Does not this purity, this simplicity, this spirituality of the
gospel, substantiate the claim of Jesus, that he came indeed
from God, to be the light of all mankind? . . . .
"Let me conclude this branch of the subject with directing
you to another feature of the gospel which fits it to be a uni-
versal religion. It is a plain, perspicuous religion, and suited
to the comprehension and wants of all classes of society. A
universal religion ought to have, if I may so speak, the clear-
ness, brightness, of the sun, and to diffuse its beams of truth
and consolation on high and low, rich and poor,
the varieties of the social state. This is eminently the cha-
racter of the gospel, and distinguishes it from all other reli-
gions. Jesus Christ, whilst he claimed the highest title, yet
descended in a sense to the level of the humblest of mankind.
He dispensed his religion in familiar language, in striking
and easy comparisons, in affecting narratives, and in brief
-on all
234
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
He
and comprehensive precepts. He did not, like the ancient
teachers, affect a distance from the multitude, and reserve his
mysteries, incomprehensible by vulgar minds, for select dis-
ciples. He addressed all men with one voice, with the same
doctrines, promises, and admonition; and, what is remarkable,
whilst he instructed the ignorant, he yet presented to the
refined and intelligent more sublime and interesting truths
than they had ever conceived before. He was simple and
familiar, but in reading his discourses we discover a majesty
in his simplicity, an authority mingled with his condescension.
He taught as one who came to instruct the race, for he spoke
on subjects which come home to every man's breast.
did not adapt himself to the circumstances of any particular
age, or nation, or rank. He spoke of that God on whom all
men depend, of that obedience and love which all men owe,
of those sorrows which pierce every heart, of that sin which
burdens every conscience, of that death which terminates
every mere earthly prospect, and of that futurity to which
the eyes of all nations have ever turned with inquiring
anxiety. This is the excellence of the gospel, that it is fitted
for the many, for the mass of mankind, in every age and
every nation. It does not treat of local or temporary in-
terests. It warns of danger to which all are exposed, enjoins
virtues which all may practise, and offers consolation which all
at some seasons need. Its spirit, which is universal love and
benevolence, is fitted for all climes, for all classes. It makes
the true dignity of man in every condition; it forms the
happiness of families and communities; and it is the best
preparation for happiness in heaven. Surely a religion so
suited to the whole human race is worthy the universal
Father. And when we consider the circumstances of him
who proclaimed it, and the darkness, narrowness, and cor-
ruption of the age in which he lived, have we not conclusive
proof that he came from God, that the end for which he was
sent will be accomplished, that he will yet be the light of the
world, in the most extensive sense of the words, and that his
truth, designed for all nations, will finally be extended to all
the regions of the earth?
"Before this sun of righteousness, the mists of error,
superstition, idolatry, will melt away; all nations, receiving
one pure faith, will be reduced to peace. The predicted
time, when the lion and lamb shall lie down together, will
come; from an enlightened and a united world one offering
1803-1814.]
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST.
235
These
will ascend to the common Father and Redeemer.
are prospects which almost overpower belief by their vastness
and their happiness. But God has sent his Son to be
the light of the world; and causes are in operation suffi-
ciently powerful to produce these desired effects. The diffu-
sion of Christianity through so many nations, amidst so many
difficulties in the past, is a pledge of its future progress. This
religion is now the religion of the civilized world, of the most
improved nations, of nations who are extending themselves
through the earth, and who, according to all human proba-
bility, must acquire a decided influence over all other coun-
tries. Here, then, is a rock and foundation of hope to the
good man amidst the fluctuations of the world. The cause
of truth, holiness, and human improvement, is the cause of
God himself."
1811. CHRIST'S RELATIONS TO THE RACE.
"The exalted
state of our Saviour is a subject on which the Scriptures
often dwell, although it is necessarily attended with a degree
of obscurity. The manner in which he now exists can very
faintly be conceived by us. Our experience is limited to this
world. Jesus is the inhabitant of heaven; he has entered
on an immortal life, and is clothed with power, such as is
unknown amongst men,-a power felt through heaven and
earth,- -a power which is one day to be displayed in the most
wonderful effects.
"That God has invested his Son with authority over the
whole human race, to accomplish the most benevolent ends,
is not to be wondered at as something unprecedented, and
unlike everything we see in the course of providence. This
relation of Jesus Christ to the human race is not altogether
without example. On the contrary, it is God's common
method to connect one being with others, for the sake of im-
parting to them the blessings we need. All the good which
we have received has flowed to us, not immediately from the
Father, but from other beings, who have received power,
authority, wisdom, and love from God, that they might be
sources of good to us and all around us.
•
"It may be objected to the views which have now been
given as to the power to which Christ is exalted for human
salvation, that we do not see such sensible effects as might be
expected from this universal sovereign. To this I answer,
that a being so far exalted above us must have innumerable
modes of operation which we cannot discern or comprehend.
236
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
His agency may continually be mingled with human events,
and yet we not discern it. No being acts, if I may use the
words, with so much silence and secrecy as the Infinite Father.
He is ever present, and ever operating, and yet we see him not,
we hear him not; and his Son Jesus Christ, who is the image
of his power as well as of all his perfections, may act in the
same unseen, yet efficacious manner. The narrowness of our
vision is sufficient to account for our not distinguishing more
sensibly the operation of Jesus Christ in human affairs.
"The agency of Christ is at present silent and concealed;
but the time is approaching, when the veil which conceals
our Lord will be removed, when he will be revealed, with
the angels who now obey him, in the glory of the Father,
when his power will be felt through the regions of the dead,
when all who have lived will receive new life at his hands,
and when all will surround his judgment-seat. Then will be
seen, and felt, and acknowledged by all, the exalted authority
of Jesus Christ..
"At that day men will be as angels, and will be associated
in a measure with angels; and then will be understood that
striking language of Paul, that it is the purpose of God to
'gather together in one all things in Christ."
1811. CHRIST'S RELATIONS TO THE CHURCH. "By his
Church, our Saviour does not mean a party, bearing the
name of a human leader, distinguished by a form or an
opinion, and, on the ground of this distinction, denying the
name or character of Christians to all but themselves. He
means by it the body of his friends and followers, who truly
imbibe his spirit, no matter by what name they are called, in
what house they worship, by what peculiarities of mode and
opinion they are distinguished, under what sky they live, or
what language they speak. These are the true church,-
men made better, made holy, virtuous, by his religion,—men
who, hoping in his promises, keep his commands.
"Ever since Christ's church was established, such a unity
has existed, such characters have been formed by the gospel;
and this influence it will exert through all ages. As we have
said, we have reason to suppose, from what has been expe-
rienced, that great changes will take place in the present state
of Christianity; and the time is, perhaps, coming, when all
our present sects will live only in history. But the influ-
ences of the gospel will not therefore cease; the church will
not die with the sects into which it is broken. On the con-
1803-1814.]
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST.
237
trary, we may hope that the vine of God will flourish more,
when these branches are lopped off which exhaust its strength
and bear little fruit. Men will then learn that Christianity
is designed for practice, and not for contention; ceasing to
censure others, they will aim to reform themselves. The
simple gospel, divested of human addition, no longer dis-
figured by absurd explanation, will be the centre and bond
of union to the world. The name of Christian will absorb
all other names; and the spirit of love to God and man will
take the place of unhallowed zeal and bitter contention.
Human churches, human establishments,—the effects and
monuments of folly and ambition, will fall. But the
church of Christ—which is another name for piety, goodness,
righteousness, peace, and love-shall endure for ever. . . . . .
"The recovery of men to holiness, by the diffusion of a
holy doctrine, was not one of the inferior objects of Christ's
mission, not an accidental end, which may fail, and yet his
great purpose be accomplished. This was the central work
which brought him into the world. Forsaking all other
ends, he lived for this,-to unfold, and confirm, and enforce
a religion which should fill the whole earth, and subsist to
the end of time.
GRAN
"It is a delightful and elevating thought, that the Son of
God, of whom the Scriptures speak in such magnificent
language, has this peculiar interest in the sanctification and
recovery of our race; that after living to teach, and dying to
confirm, his truth, he is now clothed with majesty and might,
to extend it through the earth. Can that cause fail which
has this advocate in heaven; that kingdom be overthrown
which this immortal and benignant Sovereign watches with
a constant care? We must never imagine Jesus Christ
withdrawn from the support of his Church, or indifferent to
the holiness and virtue of our race.
""
SECTION FOURTH.
SOCIETY.
1810. PROVIDENCE MANIFESTED IN THE PROGRESS OF
SOCIETY. "We must not suffer the miseries which history
brings to view to fill our minds, and to crowd from them the
animating conviction of an overruling Providence, which
238
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
will make light spring up in darkness, and the furious waves
subside into peace. We ought to remember, that, whilst
society has been so agitated, innumerable individuals have,
in all ages, enjoyed peace and security; that, in the family
retreat where history never penetrates, the domestic virtues
have been cherished, and all the endearments and improve-
ments of social intercourse enjoyed. We ought to remember,
that, amidst the convulsions of the world, the cause of truth
and religion has ever maintained its ground, and been silently
extending its influence; that the race has been progressive;
that the light of revelation, which at first faintly gleamed
in an obscure corner of the world, is now beaming on many
nations; and that treasures of knowledge and wisdom have
constantly been accumulating as they have been transmitted
from age to age. Let us not, then, waver in the belief, which
there is so much to confirm, that there is a wise and almighty
Providence extended over all the changes of society.
"As the individuals of the human race pass through stages
of helplessness, inexperience, and suffering, before they attain
the vigour of their powers, so the race itself is destined to
pass through its infancy and growth, before it attains to
wisdom and happiness. As the individual improves by ex-
perience, and gains the best lessons from suffering, so, per-
haps, society is to be instructed and ameliorated by calamity.
Future ages may look back on the present, and, whilst they
shudder at the scenes of confusion and bloodshed which are
now exhibited, may be kept from that depravity of manners,
that selfish, mercenary spirit, that neglect of Christianity and
of education, that pride and ambition, which are the sources
of our miseries. But, whatever be the methods of Providence,
we may be assured that the interests of virtue and religion
will triumph, and with these all the interests of society will be
advanced. Nothing is wanting, except the extension of pure
principle and pure manners, to make society happy; and
without this, all other improvements will be of no avail. But
this will be effected. . .
"The time is coming when the wicked will be remembered
only to instruct and improve, and the miseries of men be re-
membered only to illustrate the triumphs of goodness and
happiness. Let us, then, never faint; but in the darkest
period cleave to the cause of righteousness, seek to bless and
reform mankind, and exult in the thought that our labours
shall not be in vain in the Lord Jesus."
1803-1814.]
239
1804. JUSTICE. “It is right that every individual should
be secured in all enjoyments which consist with general en-
joyment. An individual in a state of nature would suffer
a wrong, if made to experience any unnecessary harm or
privation. Thus, before all compact, it appears that in-
dividuals have a right to appropriate the useful objects of the
world; and social compact is necessary only to establish cer-
tain rules or principles according to which those objects may
be appropriated to general advantage. These rules or prin-
ciples form what we term the rights of man; they grow out
of that eternal moral truth, which is the fountain of all right,
that the greatest good should be promoted; they belong to the
nature of man, as a being capable of enjoyment, and depen-
dent for comfort and support on the productions of the earth.
It is important thus to consider the foundation of property
and of the rights of man, that we may form a correct opinion
of that Justice which consists in respecting these rights and
that property. If the institution of property originates in the
general good, if the right of property be nothing more than
the right of the individual to enjoy all which is consistent
with general good, then justice is in truth one with benevolence.
It consists in embracing the general welfare, and in revering
those rules and principles on which this welfare depends. . .
"Justice differs from mercy, not in its nature, but in the
circumstances under which it is exercised. Both justice and
mercy have the same object, the general good; but justice is
limited to those cases where public good prescribes a clear,
precise, and unchanging course of action; while mercy is
exercised in circumstances to which no definite rules can be
applied, and in which the general good requires that the
individual should be left to his own judgment and discretion.
Thus justice is something more than that petty honesty which
seeks nothing but self, and which is contented with regarding
such established principles as cannot be violated without
incurring punishment or disgrace. Its whole nature is
impartial, diffusive benevolence.
"I would further observe, that, if it be the nature of
justice to avoid whatever is clearly opposed to our neighbour,
it is unjust, in our dealings with others, to desire and seek
more than the value of our commodities. Mutual benefit is
the very end of trade or commerce. We know, when our
neighbour contracts with us, that he expects an equivalent.
We know that he makes a transfer of his property for some
JUSTICE.
*
240
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
valuable consideration, and we have no right to offer as an
equivalent what we certainly know bears no proportion to the
property he transfers. A just man will never lose sight of
the interests of his neighbour. He will not, indeed, feel
himself bound to take the same care of another's property as
of his own, for this is impracticable. He will suppose that
every man, who possesses common understanding, knows
best his own interests, and on this ground he will deal with
him. But when he certainly knows that his neighbour is
injuring himself, that a proposed contract cannot be attended
with mutual benefit, he has no right to presume that his
neighbour is taking care of himself. As surely as he regards
the rights of others, he will feel that he has no right to offer
as an equivalent what he knows has no value.
(6
My friends, believe it, and impress it on your hearts,
that justice unconnected with benevolence is not worth
possessing. It is the growth of selfishness, and knaves may
boast of it. That man, who makes his own private interest
supreme, who cares not how much his neighbour suffers, if
he may himself be advanced, who can take pleasure in gains
which he knows are necessarily connected with the loss and
injury of others, who, under pretence of leaving his neighbour
to provide for himself, will impose upon him, as an equivalent,
what he knows to be worth nothing,-that man may talk of
integrity, and hold high his head in a mercenary world, but
he knows not the meaning of justice. He never felt that
generous regard to right which is of more worth, and confers
more happiness, than all the gains of selfishness and iniquity.
It is not hard to determine what such a man would choose, if
he had no alternative but poverty or injustice. This, my
friends, is the test of our character. The principles of that
man are worth little, who will not sacrifice all he possesses to
principle; and can you expect such sacrifice from the selfish
soul, which is willing, yea, happy, that others should fall, if
his own interests may be advanced? Beware of selfishness;
consider that you can never obtain a right to do injury, that
the foundation of all property is general good.
"If such be perfect justice, so incorruptible, what reason
have we to fear that there is little of this principle, when we
see the expedients and precautions which are adopted to
prevent men from abusing a trifling trust, from sacrificing
the interests of their neighbours to a trifling gain!
carry our own shame on our foreheads. Most of our civil
1803-1814.]
241
institutions grow out of our corruptions. We cannot live
without mutual dependence, and yet we are forced to hedge
each other round, to bind and shackle each other, to institute
inquiries, and to watch with anxious caution lest we should
abuse each other's necessities, and take advantage of trust to
betray it. If men were what men should be, we should feel
our property as safe in the hands of others as in our own.
We should find in every man a guardian, instead of an
invader, of our rights. We should lay open our possessions.
We should want no better security than our neighbour's
word, and no better witness than our neighbour's conscience.
Imagination dwells with delight on this state of peaceful,
unsuspicious, undisturbed enjoyment. Is it never to be
made a reality?..
"Justice forbids us to borrow what we have no prospect
of repaying. When we are reduced to such low circum-
stances, it is more honourable to beg, to cast ourselves on
mercy, than to deceive our neighbour into an opinion of our
ability, and thus to rob him of his property. We should
never subject ourselves to larger demands than we shall
probably be able to answer. We should never use arts that
we may obtain larger credit than we deserve. We have no
right to borrow when our circumstances are such as, if
known, would prevent others from lending. We have no
right to borrow that we may run some desperate risk for
retrieving a falling fortune. Whenever we have contracted
debts, we should be prompt and earnest to discharge them.
We should particularly remember the labourer who depends
on daily wages for subsistence. The Scriptures tell us that
his hire crieth unto the Lord for vengeance. We should
never allow ourselves pleasures and indulgences while our
neighbour is complaining for want of what we owe him.
Let us consider that nothing belongs to us while we are
indebted to another. It is our duty to use the property in
our hands as the property of our creditor. He has a right to
expect that we be frugal, that we retrench all unnecessary
expenses, that we exercise prudence, economy, and regularity,
that we avoid all desperate hazards, and labour patiently
that we may render him his due. . . . . .
"Power confers no claim, and weakness can impair no
right. It is the glorious design of civil institutions to con-
centre public strength in support of individual right, to guard
the property of the feeble by the majesty of the state. But
VOL. I.
R
JUSTICE.
242
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 23-34.
no government can fully accomplish the ends of its institu-
tion. No outward penalties can supply the place of an
inward principle of justice. They who have power can
always find some opportunity of abusing it. Justice forbids
us to violate the possessions of those who depend upon us,
and who therefore dare not provoke our displeasure by the
assertion of their rights. It forbids us to abuse any circum-
stance which puts our neighbour in our power, or to extort
his consent to injurious measures, or to reduce him to the
necessity of sacrificing his property, by threatening him with
evils to which we are able to expose him.
"Justice brands as robbery the abuse of power for sup-
pressing the claims of the feeble, or alarming the fears of the
dependent. It recommends the weak and poor to our pro-
tection. It renders the defenceless hovel of poverty as
sacred as the palace of affluence. It makes the cause of the
oppressed our own, and animates us with generous zeal to
rescue the helpless from the grasp of the rapacious.
"Justice, being sincere regard to right, requires us to
disapprove and to discourage the imperious. It requires us
at all times to throw our whole weight into the scale of the
injured. It forbids us to connive at imposition, to furnish
others with the means or temptations to fraud or violence, to
reduce them to dishonesty, that we may be benefited. It
calls us to frown on the base, to separate ourselves from their
fellowship, to keep none of their counsels, to bring their
designs to light, and to crush their schemes of dishonesty.
Men are prone to stoop to successful villany. They seem to
forget the steps by which wicked men have ascended to
eminence. They forget the tears of the oppressed, the
necessities of the plundered, the hopeless poverty of the
fatherless and widow. But justice is inflexible. It can give
no countenance to extortion and dishonesty. It looks through
the false splendour with which the wicked are surrounded,
and sees and detests their baseness. No threats, no seduc-
tions, can bend the just man to smile on the knave and the
robber. He takes a firm, elevated ground. He dares to be
poor himself; and he dares to remember the oppressions and
injuries of the great. . . .
"A just man appeals from the laws of the land to the
dictates of conscience. He does not cling to every shadow
of right. He does not take advantage of ambiguity of ex-
pression, to beat down what he knows to be a substantial
1803-1814.] A WISE BENEVOLENCE.
+
243
claim. He does not abuse the ignorance of his neighbour,
and uphold, by legal subtleties, an unfounded demand. He
does not press even his undoubted rights too close, lest he
should border upon injustice. He reverences the laws as
they are the guardians of right. He holds nothing merely
because the laws do not take it away. He seizes nothing
merely because the laws do not prohibit it. He considers
that laws do not create right, that there are eternal principles
of truth and rectitude to which all civil laws must be reduced
as their standard; and to the principle written by God on the
heart, and confirmed in the Holy Scriptures, he refers all his
actions which relate to the property of others."
-
1807. BENEVOLENCE UNITED WITH Wisdom.
"I am sen-
sible, my friends, that I am cautioning you against an ex-
cess to which you are not very much exposed. It is not
the fault of the present day, that men, in their zeal for others,
forget themselves. We hear of romance, but there is very
little of romantic benevolence in the world. The great
difficulty is to draw men out of themselves; and when it is
so hard to persuade them to take a few steps beyond their
narrow circle, there seems little reason for cautioning them
against running too far and hurrying too fast from this
narrow point. But to those who have caught some of the
light and life of Christian goodness, whose hearts go abroad
and embrace the family of their Father in Heaven, it may
not be useless to suggest, that the influence of your characters
very much depends on your uniting with the amiableness of
the dove the wisdom of the serpent. Let men see that your
kindness is not a rash, sudden, ungoverned feeling, but a
rational, calm, steady principle,—an image of Divine benevo-
lence, which is regular, wise, and marked by order, harmony,
and extensive views in all its operations. Let them see that
your benevolence is not a transitory emotion, which is excited
by some present object, and which sacrifices future good and
future means of usefulness to accomplish some pleasing
end immediately in its view; but teach them that Christian
benevolence, with all its ardour, is yet consistent with the
highest prudence, that it examines its objects with calmness,
anticipates consequences, acts on a wide and generous
scale."
1809. PEACE ON EARTH. “Peace is a state of harmony
between beings who have one interest, are alive to the same
pleasures and pains, and participate in each other's views
R 2
244
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
and feelings. Our Saviour, in his last prayer for his dis-
ciples, has taught us what he meant by the peace which he
came to establish on earth, when he expresses again and
again this desire, that they might be one, even as he and
the Father were one.'
6
،،
By this peace we are not to understand merely that
state of things in which men abstain from mutual injury.
It is that mutual affection which prompts us to every sacri-
fice for one another's good, and renders each happy to do
and to suffer for his friend. Peace is sometimes spoken of
as a negative, inactive state. But in the gospel it expresses
something very different,-the union of good hearts, which
are inflamed with the best sentiments, which are attracted
by congeniality, and which conspire to act for the common
welfare. This peace is not the profession of lips, but living
concord.
"The end for which Jesus Christ came was to convert
men into real friends, to make them objects of each other's
attachment, to give them a common feeling and a common
interest. He came to operate on the spirit, to produce in-
ward effects, to implant a principle of true love, to fit men
for the most endearing relations. He came to adorn the
human character, to strip it of everything fierce and re-
pulsive, to make it attractive, to shed round it the mild
lustre of benevolence. He came to take from men's hands
the implements of war, and to open their arms to embrace
one another. He came to dispel distrust, suspicion, and
jealousy, to render man worthy of the confidence of his
brother, to bring men to that exalted state in which they
will lay bare their whole souls without fear. He came to
draw men off from separate interests, and to win them to
objects in which all may combine, to which all may lend
their aid, and which will thus form the means of affectionate
intercourse. He came to soften insensibility, to make many
hearts beat in unison, to excite the tenderest concern for
each individual's welfare, and the most generous, disinterested
labours for the common good. He came to root out envy,
to give every person an interest in the excellence of others,
to make us look with delight on all promises of goodness, to
rouse us to be helpers of each other's purity and perfection,
to teach us to feel that the progress of our brethren is our
own. He came to form such a union amongst men as would
lead them to pour freely from their hearts the noblest views
1803-1814.]
PARTY SPIRIT.
245
and feelings, and thus become the means of enkindling every
grace and virtue, and mutual sources of love and wisdom. He
came, in a word, so to bind us together that we should count
nothing material or spiritual our own, but hold all things in
common, and give all to the general well-being."
1812. PARTY SPIRIT. "I wish to address you at this
time on the subject of party spirit, the great instrument by
which free states are divided and destroyed. As this spirit
may be considered the sin of our nation, and as it is the
spring of so many crimes, we may with great propriety con-
sider it on this day, which is designed to produce national
humility and reformation.
·
"Party spirit is by no means the same thing with warm
attachment to a party, and with asserting with spirit its prin-
ciples. It is very possible to be connected with a party,
and yet to escape the contagion of party spirit. We shall
be most unjust, if we ascribe this spirit to all who, from
political connexions, engage in political contests.
We are
possessed by this bad spirit, not when we join a party, but
when we prefer its interests to the good of the state; when
we propose, as our end, to keep our party in power, and
are indifferent to the character of the men by whom this
end is promoted; when, having taken our side, we determine
to keep it, because we will not acknowledge that we have
erred, and because our advancement or interests are involved
in the success of our party. This is party spirit,—the off-
spring of selfishness, passion, pride, jealousy, and love of
distinction; a spirit which is willing to sacrifice the whole
to a part, which hypocritically pretends devotion to the
public good for the mere purpose of getting or keeping in-
fluence, which will injure the state rather than make con-
cessions to opponents, or renounce principles which it has
pledged itself to support. Such is party spirit, the worst
enemy of free governments, the enemy from which we have
everything to fear,-which has already laid its polluting and
destroying hand on our best institutions, and has made the
sacred fabric of the state tremble to its foundation.
66
•
Party spirit corrupts the individual.
There is no pas-
sion which has such influence in perverting the judgment
and darkening the understanding. A slight observation will
teach you
that the man who devotes himself to the interests
of his party loses all independence of mind.
Let his party
do what it may, he sees nothing wrong in their measures, or
246
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
at least he vindicates them as if satisfied of their correctness.
He takes his tone from his leaders, and judges as he is told
to judge. In vain are the principles and falsehoods of his
party exposed. Too proud to retract, and pledged to sup-
port the cause, he flies to artful evasion or clamorous asser-
tion, and continues to justify gross iniquity. You may look
to any man for fairness of mind and sensibility to truth,
rather than to a confirmed partisan. He gives up his reason,
his dignity as a rational being, to his party. Party spirit
has as fatal effects on the heart as on the understanding.
The man who surrenders himself to the interests of his party
becomes a malignant man. Irritation becomes the habit of
his mind. He cannot think of his opponents without ani-
mosity. He cannot speak of them without bitterness. He
condemns all they do, believes all the crimes which are im-
puted to them, and circulates, if he does not magnify, calum-
nious rumours. He watches for their halting, exults in their
vices, and looks unmoved on their miseries. Am I wrong
in saying that nothing hardens the heart, nothing sheds
malignant poison through the feelings, more than party
spirit? Look anywhere for candour, generosity and tender-
ness, rather than to the breast of a partisan. Where this
spirit prevails in a community, fellow-citizens learn to hate
each other more than they hate a foreign foe, and thus be-
come inflamed and ripe for civil convulsions.
"From what has been said, you will easily comprehend
the next evil of party spirit, when it prevails in a state. It
reconciles the people and their rulers to the most criminal
practices. The sense of right is gradually impaired, and at
length borne down, by the desire of exalting the party. The
end sanctifies the means. The doctrine is almost explicitly
asserted, that moral principle is not to be strictly applied to
political movements. The question is not, Are measures
righteous?-but, Will they build up the party? Intrigue
and stratagem are called policy. To lie, to mutilate the
truth, to deceive the ignorant, to pour out slander on good
men,—these become things of course, so common as to be
expected, so common that the moral sensibility is at length
blunted, and we hear of them without indignation. The
partisan is insensibly goaded and incited by numbers into
measures from which his better principles would at first have
recoiled. So many share his guilt, that his own part of the
burden seems light. At length he loses the feeling of re-
1803-1814.]
247
sponsibility for his political conduct, and there is nothing too
base which you have not to fear from him, if his party may
be advanced by it.
"Another tremendous evil attending the prevalence of
party spirit is this: the door of honour and office is thrown
open to the worst men in the community. The only ques-
tion respecting the candidate for office is, Can he serve the
party? It is of little importance that he is abhorred by the
good, and despised even by his own associates, that he is
known to be unprincipled, that none will trust the smallest
part of their property to his hands. Will he serve the cause?
is the only question. If with want of principle he combines
great cunning,—a combination not uncommon, he is the
very man the party want. His vice is his recommendation.
Power and honour are thrown into his polluted hands. Base
as he is, he is adorned with the badges of office, the marks of
public confidence; and though unfaithful in everything, he
is very seldom unfaithful to the party which raised him to
power. He never forgets to whom he owes his elevation,
and the patronage and influence of his station are all em-
ployed to throw office and wealth into the hands of his con-
federates. Office is made a bribe. Exclusive privileges are
granted to the party. New laws are made, ancient usages
abolished, ancient institutions thrown down, to confirm the
dominant party. My friends, you can easily conceive the
effect on public morals, when the worst men have the easiest
access to power, when the glare of station is thrown around
the unprincipled, when character has ceased to be a qualifi-
cation for public confidence. You can easily conceive the
instability, and the ruinous influence, of that government
which is administered for the very purpose of giving strength
to a faction, and crushing the falling party.
PARTY SPIRIT.
•
"When party spirit has reached this tremendous height,
when it wields the power of the state, I need not tell you
that liberty is in effect lost. The name of liberty may, in-
deed, ring through the land; but who is free? The very
adherents of the dominant party are in bondage.
The
vengeance of the party hangs over the individual who dares
to think or act for himself. The leaders issue laws, dictate
the measures, say who shall be chosen, and select the arts
and falsehoods which will best suit the occasion. The
obedient partisan opens his lips to receive the invented lie,
and puts his hands to the vile task which is assigned him.
248
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 23-34.
In such a state of things public sentiment is a name;—the
voice of a few leaders alone is heard and obeyed. If the
dominant party are in chains, what can we hope for the
minority? No pains are spared to strip them of their just
and lawful influence in the state. Their rights are trampled
under foot. They are divided, broken into fragments, that
they may exert no joint power for counteracting their adver-
saries. Do they proclaim their wrongs, they are menaced.
Freedom of speech is a crime, is treason; opposition to the
reigning faith is rebellion. Passive obedience is preached to
them by the very men who rose to power by proclaiming
liberty. The venerable patriot hears himself denounced by
men who hate him because he knows their baseness, and who
are fattening on the spoils of that country for which he
toiled and bled. Thus despotism in effect grows out of party
spirit, and despotism in form, in its true and undisguised
shape, is not slow to follow."
1810 (April 5, Day of Public Fast). THE MILITARY DES-
POTISM OF FRANCE. "Am I asked, what there is so pecu-
liar in our times! I answer:-In the very heart of Europe,
in the centre of the civilized world, a new power has sud-
denly arisen on the ruins of old institutions, peculiar in its
character, and most ruinous in its influence. We there see
a nation, which, from its situation, its fertility, and population,
has always held a commanding rank in Europe, suddenly
casting off the form of government, the laws, the habits, the
spirit, by which it was assimilated to surrounding nations,
and by which it gave to them the power of restraining it?
and all at once assuming a new form, and erecting a new
government, free in name and profession, but holding at its
absolute disposal the property and life of every subject, and
directing all its energies to the subjugation of foreign
countries. We see the supreme power of this nation passing
in rapid succession from one hand to another. But its object
never changes. We see it dividing and corrupting by its arts,
and then overwhelming by its arms, the nations which sur-
round it. We see one end steadily kept in view,—the creation
of an irresistible military power. For this end, we see every
man, in the prime of life, subjected to military service.
see military talent everywhere excited, and by every means.
rewarded. The arts of life, agriculture, commerce, all are of
secondary value. In short, we see a mighty nation sacrificing
every blessing in the prosecution of an unprincipled attempt
at universal conquest.
;
1803-1814.]
MILITARY DESPOTISM.
249
"The result you well know. The surrounding nations,
unprepared for this new conflict, and absolutely incapaci-
tated by their old habits and institutions to meet this new
power on equal terms, have fallen in melancholy succession;
and each, as it has fallen, has swelled by its plunder the
power and rapacity of its conquerors. We now behold this
nation triumphant over Continental Europe. Its armies are
immensely numerous; yet the number is not the circumstance
which renders them most formidable. These armies have
been trained to conquest by the most perfect discipline. At
their head are generals who have risen only by military
merit. They are habituated to victory, and their enemies
are habituated to defeat.
“All this immense power is now centred in one hand,
wielded by one mind,—a mind formed in scenes of revolution
and blood,—a mind most vigorous and capacious, but whose
capacity is filled with plans of dominion and devastation. It
has not room for one thought of mercy. The personal cha-
racter of Napoleon is of itself sufficient to inspire the gloomiest
forebodings. But in addition to his lust for power, he is
almost impelled by the necessity of his circumstances to carry
on the bloody work of conquest. His immense armies, the
only foundations of his empire, must be supported. Impo-
verished France, however, cannot give them support. They
must therefore live on the spoils of other nations. But the
nations which they successively spoil, and whose industry
and arts they extinguish, cannot long sustain them. Hence
they must pour themselves into new regions. Hence plunder,
devastation, and new conquests, are not merely the outrages
of wanton barbarity; they are essential even to the existence
of this tremendous power.
"What overwhelming, disheartening prospects are these!
In the midst of Christendom, this most sanguinary power has
reared its head, and holds the world in defiance; and now,
let me ask, how are we impressed in these dark disastrous
times? Here is every form of misery. We are called to
sympathize with fallen greatness, with descendants of ancient
sovereigns, hurled from their thrones, and cast out to con-
tempt; and if these do not move us, our sympathy is de-
manded by a wretched peasantry, driven from their humble
roofs, and abandoned to hunger and unsheltered poverty.
The decaying city, the desolated country, the weeping widow,
the forsaken orphan, call on us for our tears. Nations,
250
[ET. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
:
broken in spirit, yet forced to smother their sorrows, call on
us, with a silent eloquence, to feel for their wrongs; and
how are we moved by these scenes of ruin, horror, and
alarm? Does there not, my friends, prevail among us a cold
indifference, as if all this were nothing to us, as if no tie of
brotherhood bound us to these sufferers? Are we not prone
to follow the authors of this ruin with an admiration of their
power and success, which almost represses our abhorrence of
their unsparing cruelty?
"But we are not merely insensible to the calamities of
other nations. There is a still stranger insensibility to our
own dangers. We seem determined to believe that this
storm will spend all its force at a distance. The idea, that
we are marked out as victims of this all-destroying despotism,
that our turn is to come and perhaps is near,—this idea
strikes on most minds as a fiction. Our own deep interest in
the present conflict is unfelt even by some who feel as they
ought for other nations.
"It is asked, What has a nation so distant as America to
fear from the power of France? I answer:-The history of
all ages teaches us, all our knowledge of human nature
teaches us, that a nation of vast and unrivalled power is to
be feared by all the world. Even had France attained her
present greatness under a long established government, without
any of the habits which the Revolution has formed, the world
ought to view her with trembling jealousy. What nation
ever enjoyed such power without abusing it? But France is
not a common nation. We must not apply to her common
rules. Conquest is her trade, her business, her recreation.
The lust of power is the very vital principle of this new
nation. Her strength is drained out to supply her armies;
her talents are exhausted in preparing schemes of wider
domination. WAR, WAR is the solemn note which resounds
through every department of state. And is such a nation to
be viewed with indifference, with unconcern?
Have we
nothing to fear, because an ocean rolls between us?
"Will it be said that the conqueror has too much work at
home to care for America? He has indeed work at home;
but, unhappily for this country, that work ever brings us to
his view. There is one work, one object, which is ever
present to the mind of Napoleon. It mingles with all his
thoughts. It is his dream by night, his care by day. He
did not forget it on the shores of the Baltic, or the banks of
•
1803-1814.]
ENGLAND AND FRANCE.
251
the Danube. The ruin of England is the first, the most
settled purpose of his heart. That nation is the only barrier
to his ambition. In the opulence, the energy, the public
spirit, the liberty of England, he sees the only obstacles to
universal dominion. England once fallen, and the civilized
world lies at his feet. England erect, and there is one asy-
lum for virtue, magnanimity, freedom; one spark which may
set the world on fire; one nation to encourage the disaffected,
to hold up to the oppressed the standard of revolt. England,
therefore, is the great object of the hostile fury of the French
emperor. England is the great end of his plans; and his
plans of course embrace all nations which come in contact
with England; which love or hate her, which can give her
support, or contribute to her downfal.
"We, then, we may be assured, are not overlooked by Na-
poleon. We are a nation sprung from England. We have
received from her our laws, and many of our institutions.
We speak her language, and in her language we dare to ex-
press the indignation which she feels at oppression. Besides,
we have other ties which connect us with England. We
are a commercial people, commercial by habit, commercial
by our very situation. But no nation can be commercial
without maintaining some connexion with England,—without
having many common interests with her, without strength-
ening the foundations of her greatness. England is the great
emporium of the world; and the conqueror knows that it is
only by extinguishing the commerce of the world, by bring-
ing every commercial nation to bear his yoke, that he can fix
a mortal wound on England. Besides, we are the neighbours
of some of the most valuable English colonies, and can exert
an important influence on those channels of her commerce,
those sources of her opulence.
"Can we, then, suppose that the ambitious, the keen-
sighted Napoleon overlooks us in his scheme of universal
conquest; that he wants nothing of us, and is content that
we should prosper and be at peace, because we are so distant
from his throne? Has he not already told us that we must
embark in his cause? Has he not himself declared war for
K
us against England?
"Will it be said, he wants not to conquer us, but only
wishes us to be his allies? Allies of France! Is there a
man who does not shudder at the thought? Is there one
who would not rather struggle nobly, and perish under her
I
252
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
j
open enmity, than be crushed by the embrace of her friend-
ship,-her alliance?
"Will it be said that these evils are political evils, and
that it is not the province of a minister of religion to concern
himself with temporal affairs? Did I think, my friends, that
only political evils were to be dreaded,—did I believe that the
minds, the character, the morals, the religion, of our nation
would remain untouched,—did I see in French domination
nothing but the loss of your wealth, your luxuries, your
splendour,―could I hope that it would leave unsullied your
purity of faith and manners,-I would be silent. But reli-
gion and virtue, as well as liberty and opulence, wither under
the power of France. The French Revolution was founded
in infidelity, impiety, and atheism. This is the spirit of her
chiefs, her most distinguished men; and this spirit she
breathes, wherever she has influence. It is the most un-
happy effect of French domination, that it degrades the
human character to the lowest point. No manly virtues.
grow under this baleful, malignant star. France begins her
conquests by corruption, by venality, by bribes; and where
she succeeds, her deadly policy secures her from commotion
by quenching all those generous sentiments which produce
revolt under oppression. The conqueror thinks his work not
half finished until the mind is conquered, its energy broken,
its feeling for the public welfare subdued. Such are the
effects of subjection to France, or, what is the same thing, of
alliance with her; and when we consider how much this sub-
jection is desired by Napoleon, when we consider the power
and the arts which he can combine for effecting his wishes
and purposes, what reason have we to tremble!
-
"It may be asked, whether I intend by these remarks to
represent our country as in a hopeless state. No, my friends.
I have held up the danger of our country in all its magnitude,
only that I may in my humble measure excite that spirit
which is necessary, and which by the blessing of Providence
may be effectual, to avert it. Alarming as our condition is,
there does appear to me to be one method of safety, and only
one:-As a people, we must be brought to see and to feel our
danger; we must be excited to a public spirit, an energy, a
magnanimity, proportioned to the solemnity of the times in
which we are called to act. If I may be permitted, I would
say to the upright, the disinterested, the enlightened friends
of their country, that the times demand new and peculiar
1803-1814.]
NAPOLEON AND FRANCE.
253
exertions. In the present state of the world, there is, under
God, but one hope of a people; and that is, their own exalted
virtue. This, therefore, should be your object and labour,-
to fix the understandings of the people on the calamities that
are approaching them; to enlighten the public mind; to im-
prove our moral feelings; to breathe around you an elevated
spirit; to fortify as many hearts as possible with the generous
purpose to do all which men can do for the preservation of
their country. You should labour, not to excite a temporary
paroxysm, for the danger is not to be repelled by a few im-
passioned efforts. We want a calm and solemn apprehension
fixed in every mind, that we have everything at stake,-that
great sacrifices are to be expected, but that the evils are so
tremendous as to justify and require every sacrifice. We
want to have a general impression made of the character,
spirit, designs, power, and acts of France;-of the un-
paralleled wretchedness, the political, moral, and religious
debasement, attendant on union with her, or on subjection to
her power. To effect this end, I have said that new exer-
tions should be made. The common vehicles of political in-
formation have done, and may do, much, but cannot do all
which is required. Authentic publications in the names of
our wisest, purest, most venerated citizens should be spread
abroad, containing the plain, unexaggerated, uncoloured his-
tory of the revolution and domination of France.
·
"It may be said that the people have all the evidence on
this subject already communicated to them. I fear that many
have not received sufficiently distinct and connected informa-
tion from sources on which they rely; and I am confident
that many who know the truth need to have the convictions
of their understandings converted into active principles, into
convictions of the heart. I fear there are many who are
blinded to the true character of the conqueror of Europe, by
the splendour of his victories; many who attach to him the
noble qualities which have been displayed by other heroes,
and who repose a secret hope in his clemency. They ought
to know, and they might know, that he has risen to power in
a revolution which has had a peculiar influence in hardening
the heart; that his character is unillumined by one ray of
beneficence; that he is dark, vindictive, unrelenting; that no
man loves him, that he cares for no man's love; that he asks
only to be feared, and that fear and horror are the only sen-
timents he ought to inspire.
254
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ET. 23-34.
1
"I fear there are many who attach ideas of happiness and
glory to France, because they hear of the conquests of French
armies; and I fear that this impression reconciles them to
the thought of union with her. They might know, and they
ought to know, that France is drinking, even to the dregs,
that cup of sorrow which she has mingled for other nations.
They should be taught that she is most degraded in her
moral and religious condition, and wretchedly impoverished;
that her agriculture, her manufactures, her commercial cities,
are falling to decay; that she is ground with oppressive taxes,
most oppressively collected; that her youth are torn from
their families to fill up the constant ravages which war and
disease are making in her armies; that, with all her suffer-
ing, she is not permitted the poor privilege of complaining;
that her cities, villages, and houses are thronged with spies,
to catch and report the murmurs of disaffection. In a word,
the people might and should be taught, that social confidence,
public spirit, enterprise, cheerful industry, and moral and reli-
gious excellence, have almost forsaken that unhappy country.
"On these topics, and on many others which would illus-
trate the character and tendency of the French domination,
might not conviction be carried to some minds at least, and
might not many sluggish minds be awakened, if persevering,
steady efforts were made by men whose characters would be
pledges of their veracity and disinterestedness? Sudden
effects might not be produced, and perhaps sudden effects are
not to be desired. We do not want a temporary, evanescent
ardour, excited for partial purposes and local objects. We
want a rational conviction of their great danger fastened on
the people, and a steady and generous purpose to resist it by
every means which Providence has put within their power.
Let me entreat all who are interested in this great object,
the improvement and elevation of public sentiment, to adhere
to such means only as are worthy that great end; to suppress
and condemn appeals to unworthy passions, misrepresentation,
and that abuse which depraves public taste and sentiment,
and makes a man of a pure mind ashamed of the cause which
he feels himself bound to support. Let me also urge you
to check the feelings and the expressions of malignity and
revenge. Curses, denunciations, and angry invectives, are
not the language of that spirit to which I look for the safety
of our country. We ought to know that the malignant pas-
sions of a people are among the powerful instruments by
1803-1814.] CHRISTIANITY OUR safeguard.
which the enemy binds them to his yoke. The patriotism
which we need is a benevolent, generous, forbearing spirit;
too much engrossed with the public welfare to be stung by
personal opposition; calm and patient in exhibiting the
truth, and tolerant towards those who cannot, or who will
not receive it. Let me repeat it; the end we should propose,
the elevation of public sentiment and feeling, is not to be
secured by violence or passion, but by truth from the hearts
and lips and pens of men whose lives and characters give it
energy.
255
"But as the most effectual method of exalting the views,
purposes, and character of our nation, let me entreat you
who are lovers of your country to labour with all your power
to diffuse the faith and practice of the gospel of Christ. The
prevalence of true Christianity is the best defence of a
nation, especially at this solemn and eventful period. It will
secure to us the blessing of Almighty God; and it will
operate more powerfully than any other cause in making us
recoil from the embrace of France. No greater repugnance
can be conceived than what subsists between the mild, hu-
mane, peaceful, righteous, and devout spirit of the gospel,
and the impious, aspiring, and rapacious spirit of this new
nation. Christianity will, indeed, exclude from our breasts
all feelings of ill-will, malice, and revenge towards France
and her sovereign; for these are feelings which it never
tolerates. But it will inspire a holy abhorrence of her spirit
and designs, and will make us shudder at the thought of
sinking under her power, or aiding her success.
"But it becomes us to promote Christianity, not only be-
cause it will help to save our country. We should cherish
and diffuse it, because it will be a refuge and consolation,
even should our country fall; a support which the oppressor
cannot take from us. The sincere Christian is not comfort-
less, even in the darkest and most degenerate times. He
knows that oppressive power is but for a moment; and his
benevolence is animated by the promise of God, that, even
in this world, this scene of cruelty and wretchedness, there
will yet be enjoyed the reign of peace, of truth, and holiness
under the benignant Saviour."
EXTRACTS FROM A SERMON PREACHED IN BOSTON, JULY
23, 1812, THE DAY OF THE PUBLIC FAST APPOINTED BY THE
EXECUTIVE OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS,
IN CONSEQUENCE OF THE DECLARATION OF WAR AGAINST
256
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 23-34.
1
I
"
GREAT BRITAIN.
"That we have received no injuries from
the nation we have selected as our enemy I do not say; but
when I consider the conduct of our own government in re-
lation to the two belligerents,-the partiality and timid sub-
mission they have expressed towards the one, the cause of
suspicion they have given to the other, and the spirit in
which they have sought reparation from England, I am un-
able to justify the war in which we have engaged. To
render the war justifiable, it is not enough that we have re-
ceived injuries;-we must ask ourselves, have we done our
duty to the nation of which we complain? have we taken and
kept a strictly impartial position towards her and her enemy?
have we not submitted to outrages from her enemy by
which he has acquired advantages in the war? have we
sought reparation of injuries in a truly pacific spirit? have we
insisted only on undoubted rights? have we demanded no
unreasonable concessions? These questions must be answered
before we decide on the character of the war, and I fear the
answer must be against us. . .... If we have rushed into it
when we might have avoided it by an impartial and pacific
course, then we have wantonly and by our own fault drawn
on ourselves its privations and calamities. Our enemy may,
indeed, divide the guilt with us; but on ourselves, as truly as
on our enemy, falls the heavy guilt of spreading tumult,
slaughter, and misery through the family of God.
"If on the ground of right and justice this war cannot be
defended, what shall we say when we come to consider its
expediency, its effects on ourselves and the world? It is a
war fraught with ruin to our property, our morals, our re-
ligion, our independence, our dearest rights, whilst its in-
fluence on other nations, on the common cause of humanity,
is most unhappy. · ·
The ocean,
"This war is a death-blow to our commerce.
which nature has spread before us as the field of our enter-
prise and activity, and from which we have reaped the
harvest of our prosperity, is, in effect, forbidden us. Our
ships and superfluous produce are to perish on our hands,—
our capital to waste away in unproductive inactivity,—our
intercourse with all foreign nations is broken off, and the
nation with which we sustained the most profitable inter-
course is our foe. Need I tell you the distress which this
war must spread through the commercial classes of society,
and among all whose occupations are connected with com-
I
1803-1814.] DEMORALIZING INFLUENCES.
257
merce? How many are there from whom the hard earnings
of years are to be wrested by this war, whose active pur-
suits and cheering prospects of future comfort are exchanged
for discouragement, solicitude, and approaching want!
"In addition to this, as our resources are decreasing, the
public burdens are growing heavier; and government, after
paralysing our industry and closing the channels of our
wealth, are about to call on us for new contributions to sup-
port the war under which we are sinking. And, to fill up
the measure of injury, we are told that this war, so fatal to
commerce, so dreaded by the friends of commerce, is carried
on for its protection. We are required to believe, that re-
striction and war, the measures which have drained away the
life-blood of our prosperity, are designed to secure our rights
on the ocean.
"But loss of property is a small evil attending this war,
its effect on our character cannot be calculated. I need not
tell you the moral influence of a war which is bringing to a
gloomy pause the activity of the community,-which is to
fill our streets with labourers destitute of employment,-
which is to reduce our young men to idleness,—which will
compel a large portion of the community to esteem their
own government their worst enemy. Regular industry is
the parent of sobriety, and gives strength to all the virtues.
A community must be corrupted in proportion as idleness,
discontent, and want prevail. We have reason to fear that
these temptations will prove too strong for the virtue of
common minds,-that, with the decline of commerce, the
sense of honour and uprightness in pecuniary transactions will
decline,—that fair dealing will be succeeded by fraud,—that
civil laws will be treated with contempt,-that habits of dis-
soluteness and intemperance, already too common, will be
awfully multiplied,—that our young men, thrown out of em-
ployment and having no field for their restless activity and
ardent hopes, will give themselves up to lawless pleasure or
immoral pursuits.
"Let me here mention one pursuit which this war will
encourage, and which will operate very unhappily on our
character. I have said that the ocean will be abandoned.
I mistake; the merchant-vessel will indeed forsake it, but
the privateer will take her place. The ocean is no longer to
be the field of useful and honest enterprise. We are no
longer to traverse it, that we may scatter through the world
VOL. I.
S
258
[ÆT. 23-34.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
1
the bounties of Providence. Henceforth plunder,-plunder
is our only object. We are to issue from our ports, not to
meet the armed ship of our enemy,-not to break her naval
power,—not to wage a war for public purposes; but we shall
go forth to meet the defenceless private merchant, and, with
our sword at his breast, we are to demand his property, and
to enrich ourselves with his spoils. This pursuit is, indeed,
allowed by the law of nations; but Christians, and the friends
to public morals, must dread and abhor it, as peculiarly cal-
culated to stamp on a people the character of rapacity and
hardness of heart. Yet this is the pursuit, this the character,
in which Americans are henceforth to be found on the ocean.
"But all the ruinous effects of this war are not yet un-
folded. To see it in its true character, we must consider
against what nation it is waged and with what nation it is
connecting us. We have selected for our enemy the nation
from which we sprang, and which has long afforded and still
offers us a friendly and profitable intercourse,-
-a nation
which has been for ages the stronghold of Protestant Chris-
tianity, — which everywhere exhibits temples of religion,
institutions of benevolence, nurseries of science, the aids and
means of human improvement,—a nation which, with all the
corruptions of her government, still enjoys many of the best
blessings of civil liberty, and which is now contending for her
own independence, and for the independence of other nations,
against the oppressor of mankind. When I view my country
taking part with the oppressor against that nation which has
alone arrested his proud career of victory,-which is now
spreading her shield over desolated Portugal and Spain,-
which is the chief hope of the civilized world,—I blush,—I
mourn. We are linking ourselves with the acknowledged
enemy of mankind,-with a government. which has left
not a vestige of liberty where it has extended its blasting
sway,—which is at this moment ravaging nations that are
chargeable with no crime but hatred of a foreign yoke. Into
contact and communion with this bloody nation we are
brought by this war,-and what can we gain by building up
its power? On this subject too much plainness cannot be
used. Let our government know that we deem alliance with
France the worst of evils, threatening at once our morals,
our liberty, and our religion."*
• •
*The reader who wishes to learn more fully Mr. Channing's views at
this eventful period, is referred to the remarks on the "Duties of the Citizen
in Times of Trial and Danger." Works, Vol. V., pp. 411–421.
1803-1814.]
HOLINESS, TRUTH, HUMANITY.
259
CHAP. III. — THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
EVENTS were now about to summon Mr. Channing from
the quiet scenes in which he was earnestly seeking a religious
life, to take an active though unwilling part in the Unitarian
controversy; and any one who wishes to understand aright
his relations to this movement should cast a glance backward,
and note the progress of the different influences which then
met to intermingle in unpleasant but inevitable conflict. If
with a catholic and not sectarian temper we survey the eccle-
siastical history of New England, we cannot fail to see, that
in this commotion of the spiritual world, as in those which
disturb the atmosphere, the elements were but seeking equi-
librium, and that modes of thought and feeling which at first
seem to run most counter to each other were really different
cloud-currents of one storm. Certainly the candid of all
parties must admit, that, by means of this agitation, the
heaven of piety has become more clear, the air of thought
more fresh, the earth of charity more green.
From the middle of the last century onwards, three distinct
tendencies may be traced in the minds of the Christians of
this country, and, indeed, of Europe also. The first is
Spiritualism, devoutly longing for a near communion with
the Infinite Being and the heavenly world, manifesting itself
in various forms of enthusiasm, and desiring universal sancti-
fication. The second is Philanthropy, demanding a thorough
application of the law of love to all the actual relations and
practical concerns of life, and animating men to an unprece-
dented zeal in moral and social reforms. The third is Free
Inquiry, seeking a harmony between religion, philosophy,
and experience,-between revelation, reason, and common-
sense, and aiming to give such a view of man's destiny
upon earth as shall do justice to nature, to history, and to
Divine Order. With what was good in each of these ten-
dencies Mr. Channing sympathized and co-operated, while
from the extravagances of each he sought to guard himself
and others; and the sincere student of his writings cannot
but observe with admiration the calm consistency with which
he twined his threefold cord of existence. He was from
original impulse, by method, and in action, complex and not
simple, always reconciling differences by a living synthesis,
averse to every kind of partisanship, and each year becoming
s2
260
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23-34.
more liberal, various, expansive, well balanced. The appro-
priate motto of his life is HOLINESS, TRUTH, HUMANITY.
Extracts from letters, manuscripts, and publications, at
this period, will sufficiently indicate Mr. Channing's position.
They are suitably introduced by one in which, at the very
close of his career, he has himself reviewed the way whereby
Providence had led him up to peace.
"February, 1840.
"I read your communication with much sympathy. In-
deed, it carried me back to the earlier stages of my own
religious history. Not that I have ever suffered as you
have done; but no person can think on the subject of religion
without encountering difficulties. Most people owe their
freedom from doubts to the absence of thought. As soon as
we begin to reflect, we are compelled to call in question a
part of our traditionary faith; and the shaking of a part
sometimes makes us tremble for the whole. I have spent
years of earnest, anxious search for the truth; nor do I
repent of my toil. All my toil and solicitude vanish, when
I think of the calm faith, the enlargement of views and hopes,
in which they have issued.
"You wish to know the history of my mind, but it would
fill a volume. My inquiries grew out of the shock given to
my moral nature by the popular system of faith which I
found prevailing round me in my early years. All my con-
victions of justice and goodness revolted against the merciless
dogmas then commonly taught. I went to the Scriptures,
and the blessed light gradually beamed on me from the word
of God. I soon learned the great end for which Christ came
into the world,—that his first, highest purpose was, not to
deliver us from punishment, but from that which deserves
punishment, from moral evil, from every impurity of heart
and life, from whatever separates us from God; that he came
to exert a moral, spiritual influence, by which man was to
become a pure, disinterested, excellent being. I soon learned
that heaven and hell belong to the mind, that 'the fire and
the worm' have their seat in the soul, and that we can attain
to the happiness, only by drinking into the spirit of heaven.
In other words, I learned that the kingdom of heaven is
within us,'—that Christianity is eminently a spiritual system,
or intended chiefly to redeem the mind from evil,-that we
understand its records only when we interpret them accord-
ing to this principle. One great truth came out to my
€
1803-1814.]
261
6
apprehension more and more strongly. I felt, I saw, that
God is most willing to impart his Holy Spirit,' his strength
and light, to every man who labours in earnest to overcome
evil, to press forward to that perfection which is the only
heaven. You will easily see how these views scattered all the
darkness into which I had been plunged by a false, tradi-
tionary faith.
STANDARD OF TRUTH.
"I beg you to feel that I sympathize with you in your
trials. I can say for your encouragement, that the noblest
human beings have sometimes passed through similar ones,
and have emerged into the light of a calm and happy faith.
Be not anxious to make up your mind in a moment. Be
assured that God, the good, the just, cannot demand of you
assent to what shocks your best feelings. Inquire as you
have opportunity. Seek light from above. Especially be
faithful to your convictions of duty, and live up to the light
you already have, and I am confident that your difficulties,
as far as they are mental, will give way."
TO THE HON. WILLIAM ELLERY.
•
"Boston, March, 1806.
"DEAR AND HONOURED SIR,—. You will see from this
that our standard of divinity does not entirely correspond
with yours. It is clear that we cannot all be right. The
great question, then, offers itself, Whether any deviate so
far from truth as to be disqualified for receiving the blessings
of the gospel, or whether any of the errors of the day neces-
sarily imply a temper opposed to the spirit of the gospel.'
"It seems to be universally granted, that the state of the
heart and affections is the great point by which a Christian
is to be judged; and that sentiments are no farther important,
than as they involve, imply, and cherish a state of heart.
Now, can we say of the common errors which prevail in the
Christian world, that they cannot co-exist with a penitent, a
pious, a benevolent spirit? Unless we can prove a clear re-
pugnance between certain sentiments and the spirit of the
gospel,-such a repugnance as forces us to conclude that he
who holds these sentiments cannot possess this spirit,—are we
authorized to declare the sentiments damnable? An essential
doctrine seems to be one which is necessary to the existence
of Christian love, and is necessarily implied in this temper.
I cannot, therefore, charge a man with damnable heresy,
unless I see that his sentiments prove an opposite temper, or,
262
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
at least, exclude the exercises of Christian love. If this be
just, are we not called to be cautious in judging of the
character, while we freely criticize the opinions, of others?
May we not love the heart, when we think poorly of the head,
of our neighbour?"
TO THE HON. WILLIAM ELLERY.
Boston, May, 1806.
"Dear and HONOURED SIR,-I thank you for your letter,
and for the comment which it contains upon our divinity.
You complain that our standard is not particular enough.
But this is the distinguishing feature of our system of
liberality. The greater the variety of sentiments with which
a system will harmonize, or the fewer its fundamentals, the
more worthy it is of liberal minds.
<<
"I conceive these to be the leading principles of modern
divinity: Practical righteousness is all in all, and every
system which embraces motives enough to a good practice is
sufficiently correct. Love is the fulfilling of the law and of
the gospel. All truth is designed to excite this temper, and
to form the habits which flow from it, and this is the only test
which we fallible mortals can apply to doctrines. We have
reason to think there are good men in every denomination.
Every sect, therefore, embraces sufficient truth for the great
end of Christ, the attainment of everlasting life. It does not
follow from this, that all systems are equally valuable; for
some may tend more to purify the heart than others. But
we cannot be certain that any system is wholly inadequate to
this all-important end, and we must, therefore, condemn no
man, unless his practice be corrupt.'
"The general sentiment which runs through this system,
that the temper of the heart is the one thing needful in order
to acceptance with God,' appears to me scriptural. All sects
acknowledge that mere speculative assent is of no avail, that
it is the cordial acceptance of the truth which makes the
Christian. If, then, the same state of heart can exist in those
who embrace different systems, I should pronounce them
equally acceptable to God. This appears to me to be the
great question, Whether the different systems embraced
by professing Christians imply different tempers, principles
of action, ends, and affections in those who embrace them;
or, in other words, whether any of these systems, from their
very nature, prove the absence of the Christian spirit in those
by whom they are supported.'
1803–1814.]
THE ONE THING NEEDFUL.
263
"We find in the Scriptures denunciations against those
who do not believe in Christ; but the reason seems to be,
that they who reject Christ prove and express by this rejec-
tion a corruption of heart. Ye are not of God, therefore ye
hear me not.' In the same way we must make it to appear
that the reception of a system can flow only from a corrupt
heart, before we exclude those who hold it from Divine
favour. It is not so much the reception of one system, or the
rejection of another, as the temper of heart implied in this
reception or rejection, which affects a man's acceptance with
God. If this be true, it seems, that, to judge of the impor-
tance of doctrines, we must first form clear conceptions of the
peculiar, characteristic, distinguishing spirit and temper which
the gospel requires; and doctrines are to be estimated in pro-
portion as they are necessary to this temper, are implied in
it, or flow from it.
"I hope I have not wearied you upon this subject. I
have lately occasionally made it the subject of reflection, and
from the abundance of the head, as well as the heart, the
mouth speaketh."
TO THE HON. WILLIAM ELLERY.
"Boston, May, 1807.
"Dear and HONOURED SIR,-I conclude from your last
letter, that we both agree in thinking that the great effect
proposed by God, in the revelation he has made, is the
sanctification of the hearts of mankind, that a certain state
of heart is the end for which God exhibits certain objects to
our view.
"You justly observe that this sentiment is no ground for
indifference to truth, because the system of doctrines con-
tained in the Scriptures must have a greater purifying ten-
dency than any other. But while we acknowledge this, and
acknowledge the solemn obligation which it imposes to
search the Scriptures with impartiality and zeal, are we
authorized to say that he who in any degree departs from
the system of Scripture must be a stranger to their purifying
influence? Can we say how much of the Scriptures must be
received to constitute a man a subject of the promises of
Christ?
“You ask, "if it is not necessary, in order to the love of
God and man, that we should entertain just ideas of the
moral attributes of God, of the depravity of man, of the
264
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
atonement of Christ, and of the influence of the Holy Spirit.'
It is certain, that, to love God, some just ideas of him must
be formed. But how little, after all, do we know! And may
not mistakes with respect to the moral attributes of God
consist with such a spirit as he has promised to bless? With
respect to the depravity of man, I think it important that it
should be most deeply and painfully felt; for it is hard to
conceive of any rectitude of heart in him who is insensible to
his transgressions, and it is impossible that he should seek to
put away iniquity who does not feel it to be a burden. But
while I acknowledge this, I am by no means ready to say
that no man can be a Christian who does not believe in the
total depravity of human nature. A man may doubt on that
subject, yet hate sin. With respect to the atonement of
Christ, you know that the highest Calvinists are very much
divided on this point. In this State, and in Vermont, several
of the strictest of that denomination reject the idea of vicarious
suffering and satisfaction, and suppose that Christ's obedience
alone has rendered the exercise of Divine mercy toward men
consistent and glorious. These persons are embraced by their
brethren who hold the more ancient doctrine on this point.
Shall we say that error on this point is fatal and irreconcilable
with love of God and of man? With respect to the Holy Spirit,
few or none deny its influences, but many differ in explain-
ing its mode of operation. Some conceive that the Spirit
operates according to certain general fixed rules, that its
efficiency is to be expected and sought in the use of means,
and that God has connected his agency with means in the
spiritual world as constantly as in the natural world. They
ascribe all their goodness to God, as the only fountain, on
the same principle that they ascribe to him all the blessings
of the present state. May not such men possess the love of
God and of their neighbour?
"You ask, 'whether the Holy Spirit, in imparting holi-
ness, has no regard to the system of doctrine maintained by
the recipient.' I answer, that the Divine Spirit operates by
truth; but can we say what number of propositions must
exist in the mind as a preparation for those dispositions
which constitute the Christian? Or can we say what num-
ber of propositions will be assented to, after these dispositions
have been produced? In one word, can we draw up a num-
ber of propositions, and declare that assent to these is neces-
sarily connected with a Christian character, so that the want
tr
1803-1814.]
REV. DR. MASON.
265
of such assent is a proof that this character does not exist?
This is the question which I wish to have resolved. There
are doctrines which appear to me important, and suited to
the humiliation and sanctification of sinful men. I hear
others oppose them. I think these persons suffer by the
rejection of such important truth. But they assent to other
truths of the greatest magnitude, and appear to feel and live
as Christians. Shall I say to such,- Depart from me, I
cannot sit with you at the table of the Lord. You are in the
bond of iniquity? Taught by experience to know my own
blindness, shall I speak as if I could not err, and as if they
might not in some disputed points be more enlightened than
myself?"
FROM THE REV. HENRY CHANNING.
Canandaigua, February 27th, 1810.
66
I perceive by your letter that the denouncing
spirit rages and is confident. Surely no dispassionate man
can be at a loss in determining whether it proceeds from the
wisdom from above or from beneath. It seems they denounce
Boston ministers as deists in heart and almost in profes-
sion.
"You express a wish that I could be with you, as the
time may be near when you will need the advice of a
serious, experienced friend. It would, indeed, be a pleasure
to be so situated that I could often see you, and render you
any aid in my power. But I must add that I am satisfied
that you stand on the firmest ground, while you 'determine
to maintain a good conscience,' and as far as possible 'keep
at a distance from dissension.' You justly remark that 'self-
defence may oblige the most moderate to take a part in con-
troversies which they would willingly avoid.' It will be your
duty to be as bold in asserting your right of judging, and
declaring your sentiments, as others are in attempting to
control inquiry."
LETTERS TO FRIENDS.
"Boston, February 27th, 1811.
"I was interested by the account you gave of the religious
services of Dr. Mason. I have heard him, and know his
forcible style of conception and elocution. I can only lament
that such powers are not employed in recommen ling a purer
and simpler form of Christianity. Is it not an evidence of
the truth of Christianity, that, distorted and disi gured as it
I
266
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23-34.
1
to me.
is by so many sects, it still commands assent, and retains its
influence over so many minds? The distinction between
mysterious doctrines and mysterious facts is rather mysterious
Do not think that it is my wish to find faults in one
whom you admire. I feel my inferiority to Dr. Mason in
talents and acquisitions; but I cannot suffer even a superior
to strip my religion of its reasonableness, beauty, and sim-
plicity."
"Boston, December 24th, 1812.
"I have received your letter asking my advice on the
subject of a profession of religion, and have read it with very
great satisfaction. One of the earnest wishes of my heart is
accomplished. My friend, for whom I have so often feared,
has consecrated herself to God, and is seeking immortality.
I advise you immediately to connect yourself by profession
as well as by affection with the body of believers, to bear
your testimony to the excellence of your Saviour, and to the
truth of his religion.
"The rite of the supper, as Jesus has left it, is as simple
as it is affecting. It is only a memorial, a method of im-
pressing the understanding and the heart. It is designed to
confirm our faith, hope, love, obedience. The nature of the
ordinance decides the qualifications for approaching it. Do
you wish to cherish the sentiments which this institution is
suited and designed to awaken? Have you that impression
of the truth and importance of Christianity which will lead
to a serious and beneficial use of this means of improvement?
Then are you authorized to approach; for you the table is
spread. Let no apprehension of unworthiness deter you.
What is there in the view of an affectionate friend suffering
for us to repel and alarm us? Could Jesus Christ have
placed himself before us in a character more suited to give
hope and peace to a mind conscious of its errors and sins?
"I would not, however, advise you to unite yourself with
any Christian church, if you are required to subscribe to
articles of the truth of which you are not fully persuaded;
and I beg you not to force your mind into the belief of any
principles which human guides enforce as necessary to com-
munion with the faithful. I confess I have some fears for
you on this povat. You are living, as I think, in a region of
many errors, and your creed, as you formerly gave it to me,
is not in my estimation altogether conformed to the simplicity
and purity of the gospel. Your ears are familiarized to
f
1803-1814.]
CALVINISM.
267
sentiments which I cannot hear without shuddering, and
which appear to me more dishonourable to the Universal
Father than any error born in the darkness of Popery.
From the acceptance of these your moral feelings have pre-
served you; but if you give up the independence and sincerity
of your mind to assertion and denunciation, you know not
where you may be carried.
"Do not think me uncharitable, because I speak so freely
of the doctrines of Calvinism. I truly love and honour many
by whom these doctrines are embraced. I cannot easily be
a bigot, whilst memory retains what I have recorded on one
of her fairest tablets, and what I delight to recollect,—that
Popery boasts of a Fénelon, Massillon, Pascal, &c.; Calvinism,
of the New England Pilgrims, of Cowper, &c.; Arminianism,
of Barrow, Tillotson, Butler, &c.; and Unitarianism, of
Newton, Watts, Locke, S. Clarke, Price, Lardner, &c. So
much for theology."
"Boston, December 29th, 1812.
"I have spent this evening with our dear — and she
put into my hands your letter on the subject of religion, to
which you
referred in the last which I received from you. I
read it with sorrow. I saw that your mind was yielding to
impressions which I trusted you would repel with instinctive
horror. I know that Calvinism is embraced by many excel-
lent people, but I know that on some minds it has the most
mournful effects, that it spreads over them an impenetrable
gloom, that it generates a spirit of bondage and fear, that it
chills the best affections, that it represses virtuous effort, that it
sometimes shakes the throne of reason. On susceptible minds
the influence of the system is always to be dreaded. If it be
believed, I think there is ground for a despondence bordering
on insanity. If I, and my beloved friends, and my whole
race, have come from the hands of our Creator wholly de-
praved, irresistibly propense to all evil and averse to all
good, if only a portion are chosen to escape from this
miserable state, and if the rest are to be consigned by the
Being who gave us our depraved and wretched nature to
endless torments in inextinguishable flames,—then I do think
that nothing remains but to mourn in anguish of heart; then
existence is a curse, and the Creator is
"O my merciful Father! I cannot speak of thee in the
language which this system would suggest. No! thou hast
been too kind to me to deserve this reproach from my lips..
268
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23-34.
L
Thou hast created me to be happy; thou callest me to virtue
and piety, because in these consists my felicity; and thou wilt
demand nothing from me but what thou givest me ability to
perform.
"I see with sorrow that you are beginning to depart from
the simple and affecting truths which you once cherished.
You have become the advocate of an 'inborn corruption'
which incapacitates for duty, and yet you think man to be
responsible. You even seem to be leaning to the melancholy
doctrine, that he may be abandoned to endless misery for not
experiencing a change of heart, over which he has little or
no control, and which depends entirely on the will of another
being. Perhaps I have mistaken your sentiments. Your
letter is written in an obscure, mystical style, very different
from what distinguishes your ordinary compositions. Your
conceptions seem to me loose, unsettled, undefined; but, as
far as they have form or substance, they are melancholy and
forbidding. I am also deeply grieved to find you talking
about persons, who call themselves Christians, and who be-
lieve this or that doctrine. My dear friend, let me beseech
you to resist the bitter, censorious spirit which like a wasting
pestilence has infected the air you breathe. Let us never
forget how many purer and wiser minds than ours have
viewed Christianity under forms and aspects very different
from those which this religion has presented to us.
"You talk of some persons who hope to be saved, 'partly
by their own merits and partly by Christ's.' I confess I have
not met with this description of Christians; but I can easily
conceive that men whose heads are thus confused may still
have very good affections. I do know Christians whose hope
rests on the infinite, essential, unmerited, and unpurchased
mercy of God, who think that the freedom and glory of this
mercy are diminished by that system which represents it as
excited or produced by the merits or vicarious sufferings of
another being, and who therefore dislike that unscriptural
phrase 'the merits of Christ,' and the common, and as they
think unsupported, explications of the atonement. Such
Christians, who say nothing about their own worth, and whose
fear is that they may throw a stain on the essential mercy
and placability of the Father, do not seem to me to err in
affections, even though they may in sentiment; and I have
found among them some of the most pious and disinterested
of human beings.
1803-1814.]
REV. NOAH WORCESTER.
269
،
"Your sweeping conclusion about those who do not think
the Son equal to the Father' astonished me still more. Can
you be ignorant of the scruples of the best minds on this
darkest of all doctrines, of the great number of learned and
excellent men who have rejected it, and of the many passages
of Scripture which seem to contradict it, and which may de-
cide a man's opinions whose heart is devoted to God and
truth? Let me ask you to read a popular work on this sub-
ject, Worcester's Bible News, not so much with the hope
that it may influence your judgment, as that it may teach you
respect for those who differ from you. Locke's Reasonable-
ness of Christianity, also, will give you some valuable ideas
on the nature of faith, a subject which seems to you very
obscure, and which Calvinism wraps in tenfold darkness.
66
My good friend, if I know myself, I have no proselyting
zeal about me. I wish only to aid you in recovering the
freedom and independence of your mind, in order that you
may think with calmness and deliberation. . ....
"Your sincere friend."
TO THE REV. NOAH WORCESTER.
"Boston, January 11th, 1813.
"DEAR SIR, I have long known you by your writings,
and have long wished to express my gratitude to you for the
service you have rendered to the cause of truth and free
inquiry. But a variety of occupations have prevented.
"I am now led to write you in consequence of the wishes
of many in this quarter to establish a work,* in which your
aid will be very important. It has long been the opinion of
many friends of Scriptural truth, that we need a periodical
publication which shall be adapted to the great mass of
Christians, and the object of which shall be to increase their
zeal and seriousness, to direct their attention to the Scrip-
tures, to furnish them with that degree of Biblical criticism
which they are capable of receiving and applying, to illus-
trate obscure and perverted passages, and, though last not
least, to teach them their Christian rights, to awaken a zealous
attachment to Christian liberty, to show them the ground of
Congregationalism, and to guard them against every enemy
who would bring them into bondage.
"Our conviction of the importance of this work has been
* The Christian Disciple.
270
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
strengthened by the appearance of a publication in The
Panoplist, recommending the immediate erection of eccle-
siastical tribunals. After conversing about the best means
of attaining the end above described, the general question
was, 'To whom shall we commit the superintendence of
such a periodical?' and we unanimously concurred in the
opinion that you are peculiarly fitted for the office of editing
it.
"You may expect aid from gentlemen in this town and
vicinity. With the sentiments of these gentlemen you are
generally acquainted. They are not precisely agreed as to
the person or dignity of Christ, nor do they wish that the
work should be devoted to any particular view of that sub-
ject. Whilst they are willing to admit the arguments of all
sects, they wish chiefly to exhibit those relations and offices
of Christ which Christians generally acknowledge, and to
promote a spirit of forbearance and charity among those who
differ in relation to this and other difficult subjects. As to
the peculiarities of Calvinism, we are opposed to them, with-
out censuring those who embrace those sentiments. We are
opposed to that system particularly, inasmuch as it prostrates
the independence of the mind, teaches men that they are
naturally incapable of discerning religious truth, generates a
timid, superstitious dependence on those who profess to have
been brought from darkness into light, and so commonly in-
fuses into its professors a censorious and uncharitable spirit.
"You will do us the justice to believe, that in this business
we are not actuated by the spirit of partisans. We have
long given proof of our aversion to contention by bearing
patiently and silently the most grave misrepresentations of
our characters and sentiments. We have no desire to diffuse
any religious peculiarities. Our great desire is to preserve
our fellow-Christians from the systematic and unwearied
efforts which are making to impose on them a human creed
and to infuse into them angry and bitter feelings towards
those who differ from them. Our great desire is to direct
men to the Word of God, and to awaken in those Christians
who receive this as their only standard a more devout, serious,
earnest, and affectionate piety than they often discover."
"Boston, April 28th, 1815.
"MY DEAR -
I received your letter of the 21st, and
thank you for the confidence in me which it discovers. I am
1803-1814.]
271
very much interested in the subject of it, and wish to see as
far as possible the operation of religious sentiments in the
hearts of others. Your simplicity of character is a proof that
I have received a tolerably faithful picture of your feelings.
I attach vastly less importance to what you have experienced
than you do yourself; but God's providence frequently makes
our weaknesses and sufferings the means of our improve-
ment; and I hope that your character will be purified, and
your purposes of obedience confirmed, by terrors and emo-
tions which seem to me to imply no supernatural agency.
66
CONVERSION.
Religion, in my view of it, belongs to man as a rational
and moral being. It consists of affections, dispositions, and
habits voluntarily cherished, and especially founded on just
and amiable views of God. The religion which you describe
seems to me a tumult of the soul, an involuntary impulse, a
triumph of the passions over reason.
I think that I respect
religion too much to believe that it commonly springs up
amidst such disorders, and, I may almost say, ruins, of the
rational nature. You seem to me to have yielded yourself
up to terror, not remembering that this passion, like every
other, needs restraint, and that no passion is so apt to pass
its bounds and to disorder the mind. The worst supersti-
tions of the heathens originated in terror, and I have no
doubt that to this the worst corruptions of Christianity are
to be traced. You will grant, my young friend, that, whilst
your mind was so powerfully excited by fear, you were not
in the best frame for judging correctly of any religious truths.
If
you have ever seen a man under the influence of a panic,
you will recollect that he was in a measure insane, and
capable of being led anywhere by a firmer mind. All strong
passion has the effect of insanity on the judgment, and makes
a man a very different being from what he is in his cooler
hours.
"You will permit me in all frankness to say to you, that
I see much of human weakness and timidity in your descrip-
tion of your state before you received comfort, a weakness
not peculiar to yourself, but at some periods of life ex-
perienced by almost every human being. In fact, we are all
in some measure children to the end of life, without firmness
where we ought to be most deliberate, and governed by
passion where we ought to follow most resolutely the dictates
of reflection. As to the joy which followed your depression,
it was, I apprehend, a very natural effect. The mind, espe-
272
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
cially in youth, is soon exhausted by a strong emotion, and
is prepared to receive an opposite feeling with peculiar force.
Great depression and great joy are often seen to succeed each
other. The mind overwhelmed with the thought of danger
is equally overwhelmed with transport by the thought of
escape. My own temperament is rather equable, but my
life is too much made up of successions of feeling. I am
sometimes dull and dispirited, and feel as if all my powers
and affections were dead. An interesting book, or a religious
friend, or other circumstances, will at once awaken me from
this low and desponding state, and then a new soul seems
kindled within my breast. I have feelings and views so
fresh, and tender, and animated, that I hardly appear to my-
self like the same man. This is the condition of our poor
nature; and I have learned to ascribe these changes much
more to my physical organization than to any peculiar in-
fluences from above. I see and hear of such vicissitudes of
feeling as you describe very frequently, especially among the
Methodists and Baptists, and I am nowise disposed to ascribe
to hypocrisy the narratives given by these persons of sudden
transitions from horrid thoughts and deep distress to a state
of peace and assurance of God's favour. I learn, however,
from the unhappy issue of many of these conversions, that
they deserve little confidence, and that there is but one sure
test of piety which is an habitual regard to the will of God,
leading us to correct every unchristian disposition, and to
cherish all the virtues of the gospel.
"I think your errors may be traced very much to one
source,―unjust and unworthy views of God. This is the
great spring of corruption in religion. The great contro-
versies in the church may be resolved into one question,—
'IS GOD INDEED PERFECTLY GOOD? To my mind, most of
the prevalent theories of religion rest on the supposition that
he is not good, that his government is dreadfully severe, and
that it is the greatest of evils to receive existence from his
hand. I do not mean that these sentiments are professed,
but they are really involved in the common theories of
Christianity, and by being early fixed in our minds they
throw a sad darkness over God, over the present and future
life, and prepare men for doctrines which hardly yield in
gloominess to some of the superstitions of heathenism.
Perhaps it is one of the last lessons which many of us learn,
that God is truly good; and perhaps the hardest of all reli-
-
T
24
www.de
wakanan maa
1803-1814.]
TEST OF PIETY.
273
gious duties is to confide in his equity and benevolence. The
severe views of religion which prevail are thought favour-
able to piety, very much on the ground that the most rigid
monastic institutions were segarded with so much veneration.
That these 'institutions often produced uncommon strictness
and uncommon fervour I do not doubt; but their general
influence on the character was not favourable, nor did they
promote the great cause of piety.
"You speak of the creed you have signed, and justify it
on the ground that you ought to show what sense or meaning
you give to the Scriptures. When, therefore, you said, 'that
there were three persons in one God,' you intended by this
to give the meaning of certain passages of Scripture which
have been variously interpreted, or to show in what manner
you understand them. Now I object to this article, that it
wholly fails of its end, that I cannot conceive what you mean
by it; it brings to my mind but one idea, which I know
you cannot intend, that one God is three Gods.
In using
language for the express purpose of showing what we mean,
we cannot be too careful to avoid equivocal words, or un-
usual' meanings of common words. The word person you
use in a sense which I do not comprehend, and which is
wholly unauthorized by common usage. What, then, is
gained by forsaking the language of Scripture?
"On reviewing this letter, I find it written in a manner
which you may possibly misapprehend. There may seem to
you a want of tenderness, and a positiveness, which I assure
you are far from my heart. I am obliged to write as fast as
my pen will run, and in aiming at brevity I have omitted
expressions of kindness which my heart would prompt. I
have simply wished to guard you against what I deem great
errors, and to give you my views of the true spirit of Christi-
anity. I only ask from you calm reflection. I beg that no
authority may be given to my sentiments because they are
asserted with strength. Confidence is no mark of truth. I
wish you to write me with perfect frankness, and to point
out what you think my errors. That your character will be
improved by the scenes through which you have lately passed
is my sincere hope. I shall never love you less for any
opposition of sentiment, whilst I discern in your character the
badge of a true disciple, which is love. As to your entering
the ministry, you do well to deliberate. It is a profession to
which we should be led by a desire of doing good, and a hope
VOL. I.
T
}
274
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
=
-
that we shall be more useful in it than in other pursuits.
You will excuse any inaccuracies in so hasty and long a
letter.
"Yours, affectionately,
"W. E. CHANNING."
*
1814. MISTAKES AS TO THE NATURE OF RELIGION.
"Were love to God a transport which we want ability to
acquire, and which our nature cannot sustain, our merciful
Father would never have required it as our duty. He is
perfectly kind and equitable in his injunctions. He propor-
tions his commands to our strength. The love which he
requires is a sentiment of gratitude, esteem, and obedience,
-such as we are capable of feeling towards an excellent
and benevolent father, and such as we are to express in
submission to his will, and especially in observance of his
commands, and in imitation of his goodness.
"This love, from our very nature, is to be a gradual, pro-
gressive sentiment. No one expects it in the child in the
same force and purity as in the ripened mind of man. It
is to grow with our growth, and to be strengthened by daily
exercise, daily reflection, daily thanksgiving, and daily
prayer; and thus to be exalted to that pure and unremitting
fervour with which it glows in the breasts of angels and the
spirits of the just made perfect.”
1811. FREEDOM OF INQUIRY IN RELIGION. "From the
manner in which Christ and his apostles introduced and
established the gospel, we learn that they considered re-
ligion as a subject on which all men ought to think for
themselves, to employ their own minds, to inquire, to de-
liberate, to fix a serious, impartial attention. It was the wish
and intention of the great Founder of our religion, that his
religion should be examined, should be received on very
different grounds from false religions, should have no sup-
port but what it derived from its own excellence, and from
the evidences of a Divine interposition by which it was ac-
companied..
"Christianity everywhere considers it as a settled, con-
ceded point, that men, on the subject of religion, are to ex-
ercise their own judgment, and to follow their own con-
viction. I know it is thought by some that this freedom of
inquiry in religion is dangerous, especially to the great
* Christian Disciple, Vol. II., No. 10, p. 308.
1803-1814.]
MULTIPLICITY OF SECTS.
275
mass of mankind. It is thought more safe that a few should
lead, and that the multitude should follow. It is said, what
is common should be admitted as true, that the hereditary
faith of men should never be disturbed by suggesting the
importance of examination.
"It is true that the right of private judgment may be
abused. Men, under pretence of thinking for themselves,
may renounce the plainest and most important truths, may
choose to depart from the multitude, and, to show their
boldness and independence, may advance sentiments at which
a common mind shrinks with horror. But liberty in every
form may be abused. There is but one infallible method we
can employ of preventing men from doing evil,-they must
be bound hand and foot, and not be suffered to exert one
power of body or of mind. Give them a power, and they
will sometimes misapply it. Furnish a field of action, and
they will sometimes go astray. Invigorate the mind, and
they will sometimes employ this vigour in accomplishing
unworthy ends. Encourage them to examine before they
believe, and they will sometimes practise unfairness, dis-
honesty of mind, and array error in the garb of truth. But
these evils form no balance against the innumerable advan-
tages of a vigorous exertion of the powers we possess; and
he who, in order to remove these evils, would restrain men's
liberty of thought and action, would rob our nature of every-
thing which ennobles it, and reduce the race almost to the
level of brutes.
"The opinion is not entirely correct, that inquiry into re-
ligion has produced the multiplicity of sects in the Christian
world. I would rather say, that the want of examination
has often originated and extended them. The readiness
of numbers to embrace what is dogmatically and loudly
asserted, what addresses the passions instead of the under-
standing, has been the greatest temptation to the heads of
sects to propagate their peculiarities, and furnishes them
with followers. The heads of sects have generally their
full share of ambition, and their ambition is fostered and
made more active by the common disposition which they
see to receive their doctrines without examination. We
must not imagine that the way to stifle sects is to encourage
men to receive religious opinions without thought or inquiry.
In a land of universal toleration, this is the most direct way
of laying them open to imposition and enthusiasm.
The
T2
276
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
only way of producing uniformity is to encourage serious and
honest inquiry.
"This uniformity has sometimes been sought by con-
straint; but in vain. If, indeed, the power of a state should
command one form of religion to be preached, and should
prohibit the expression of all others, I grant that something
like uniformity would appear. There would be no clamours
of contending sects. We should have in their place the
silence of the grave. But even in this case there would be
no real uniformity of sentiment; for where the activity of
the mind is checked on the subject of religion, men can
hardly be said to have any sentiments. They may hear,
they may receive words, but all their conceptions are vague.
They may utter the same sounds, but as far as they attach
any distinct meaning to what they say, the probability is
that they resemble each other in opinion as little as do now
the different sects. Besides, this vassalage of mind cannot
for ever be maintained. There is an elastic force in the
human understanding which resists this weight of oppres-
sion; and when the enslaved world once obtains freedom,
and begins to think for itself, it will by reaction become
more devious and extravagant in its operation than if no
burden had been imposed. Again I say, the only way to
produce lasting uniformity of sentiment is to encourage men
to think seriously and honestly on religion, to inquire into
the grounds of what they believe, to separate the true from
the false, and the clear from the obscure.
"It is the influence of such examination to bring truth to
light. Truth is not hidden beneath an impenetrable veil,
but reveals herself to the sincere inquirer. Men of this
character are not easily led away by noisy declamations,
by bold assertions, by high pretensions. They soon learn
that true wisdom is not characterized by positiveness, and
that those who claim most unreserved assent from others
deserve it the least. They demand proof, and this is the
last demand which enthusiasm is prepared and inclined to
answer. They are not carried away by sounds and names.
They do not range themselves under a particular banner
and denounce war and destruction on all who take a different
standard of belief. Claiming for themselves the right of
inquiry, and taught by inquiry that they are prone to err,
they become more diffident of their own judgment, and lay
aside their censoriousness towards others. And if they do
1
1803-1814.] IMPORTANCE OF FREE INQUIRY.
277
not agree entirely in sentiment with those around them,
they still live in peace, and give and receive light; and thus
a foundation is laid for real and increasing uniformity of
opinion...
"This subject is never uninteresting. It is peculiarly im-
portant at the time in which we live, when so many opinions
divide the religious world, and so many are summoning us
with confidence to come over to them, if we would find truth
and salvation. In this state of things we are peculiarly called
to examine before we approve. Among the various sects
into which our community is broken, none can produce any
warrant of infallibility, any appointment to the high office of
interpreting the word of God for their brethren. Let us not
be swayed by names or numbers; let us not give up our un-
derstandings to the sway of the positive and dictatorial. Let
us seriously inquire into the grounds of our Christian faith,
and, having established the great principle that Jesus Christ
is the authorised teacher and light of mankind, let us repair
-to his word, where he speaks to us and to all mankind, and
with sincere, honest, humble, impartial minds, desirous to
receive and resolved to obey his truth, let us earnestly medi-
tate on his instruction.
"If once we forsake this guide, to whom shall we attach
ourselves? If once we choose to rest on human authority,
whom shall we select as our teacher out of the multitude
who wish to number us among their proselytes? What
pledge have we, that we shall not throw ourselves into the
arms of the most deluded? Let us, then, stand fast in the
liberty with which Christ has made us free. Let us receive
nothing because positively asserted by others. And neither
let us settle down in our own present conceptions, as if they
were infallibly right and could not be corrected. Let us avoid
equally the desire of singularity and the desire of conformity,
and, with dispassionate, unprejudiced minds, follow our Master
wherever he shall lead."
*
1813. HUMILITY IN THE INVESTIGATION OF CHRISTIAN
TRUTH. "A timid and abject spirit, at once unfavourable to
truth and degrading to the character, has often been recom-
mended as humility, and been cherished as a virtue on account
of the honourable name which it has borne. I wish to con-
sider what is intended by that humility which we ought to
* Christian Disciple, Vol. I., No. 1, p. 18.
278
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
carry with us into our inquiries after religion. And for the
sake of greater clearness, I will begin with pointing out what
this humility does not imply.
"1. To search for truth with Christian humility does not
imply that we consider ourselves incapable of judging for
ourselves, and that we resign our understanding to the
guidance of others. This is a humility which aspiring and
haughty men very naturally recommend, for it is the great
foundation of spiritual dominion. But we ought to be just
to ourselves and to the powers which God has given us. We
ought to feel that we are rational and moral beings, bound
to exert our faculties, and accountable for their improve-
ment.
•
"If, indeed, we were assured that any human being was
infallible, we might safely commit to him the keeping of our
consciences. But where is this privileged mortal, whose
understanding is a region of unclouded light, a temple of
truth too holy for the entrance of a single error? Who will
dare, in so many words, to claim this exemption from human
frailty?
CC
Some, indeed, talk with great boldness of the perfect
assurance which they have attained, as to the truth of the
most disputed doctrines. But who are these bold and con-
fident men? Are they distinguished by the patience of their
inquiries, the calmness of their minds, the deliberateness of
their judgments, the humility and meekness of their tempers?
Or are they the precipitate, ardent, vain, and ignorant?
"Some men are sure that they are right on points where
the wisest have doubted, because light has flashed upon their
minds from heaven. They carry within them an indescribable
feeling which assures them of the truth of their sentiments.
They have received sudden, irresistible impressions, which
are worth more than a thousand arguments. Are these the
men we are prepared to follow? Then there is no extrava-
gance of sentiment or practice which we must not embrace.
There is no absurdity of which some weak enthusiast has not
felt the certainty.
"Some men owe their confidence not so much to enthu-
siasm as to their ignorance. Perhaps nothing produces so
much positiveness, as narrowness of views. No difficulties
ever strike that mind which looks only at one side of a ques-
tion. No doubts disturb him who will not inquire.
"If, then, loud claims are not to be believed, how are we
as
1803-1814.]
CHOICE OF GUIDES.
to choose the guide to whom we may resign our understand-
ing? A thousand offer to conduct us to truth and heaven.
Whom shall we follow? We must, at least, compare their
different systems; and what is this but saying that we must
employ our own understandings on religion, that we must
judge for ourselves?
279
"Am I told by some of my readers, that they intend to
take for their guides, not enthusiasts or the ignorant, but
men of enlarged minds, more favoured than themselves with
the power and means of discovering truth? To this the
answer is obvious. If men of enlarged minds were united in
their views of Christian doctrines, the presumption would be
strong in favour of their correctness. But who does not
know that on several subjects the wise are divided; that
every age has teemed with the controversies of the learned;
that great names are ranged under very different standards;
that every sect can number among its advocates profound
reasoners and laborious inquirers? The fact is, that the
most vigorous minds are accessible to error, that the wisest
men cannot escape all the prejudices of education, all the
biases to which they are exposed from their connexions and
pursuits. Great men are often very weak. Some are blinded
by attachment to old opinions, which they began to defend
before they had examined them. Others are perverted by a
passion for novelty, and by the proud hope of raising a name
on the ruin of ancient systems. Before we attach authority
to another man's opinions, we should not merely ask, Is he
intelligent and profound? We should inquire, How was he
educated? where has he lived? And especially we should
inquire, whether his reputation or interest be not in some
degree connected with the sentiments he defends. And after
all, how poorly can we judge of the degree of impartiality
with which the mind of another has conducted its inquiries
after truth!
“But some will say that they choose for their guides, not
the learned, but the most pious class of Christians, and that
they can hardly err in the company of saints. But, my
friends, let me ask you, Who has constituted you the judges
of other men's piety? Are the hearts of men so easily
searched, are the marks of goodness so obvious and un-
doubted, are false professors of piety so easily detected, that
you feel no hesitation in deciding to what denomination of
Christians the purest piety ought to be ascribed? For myself,
280
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
I had much rather be the judge of doctrines than of characters.
If you act upon the principle of making the most pious your
spiritual guides, you will probably attach yourself to those
who make the loudest professions of religion. But are you
sure that you will find among these the profoundest humility
and the tenderest love of God and Jesus Christ? Do those
who make the longest prayers always wear the purest
hearts?....
"I am far from applying the character of the Pharisees to
any class of Christians. Whilst every denomination has its
hypocrites, there is no one, I trust, which, as a body, is
marked by hypocrisy. I only mean to say that loud preten-
sions and fair appearances are not always to be trusted; that
popular opinion may invest with peculiar sanctity the very
sect which is most unsound in faith and practice. The purest
piety is modest, unobtrusive, retiring. It is often concealed,
or discloses itself only to the eye of friendship. It is not
ambitious of controlling the opinions of the world, and puts
in no claim to obedience from the multitude. How, then,
shall we be sure that the class of Christians whom we may
select as our guides are the purest who bear the Christian
name?
"Another objection may be made to the principle of
choosing the pious as our spiritual directors. If we look
round on the Christian world with candid and inquiring
minds, we shall see marks of the purest piety in every
deno-
mination. Every church will exhibit to us its saints. It is
a delightful thought, that religion is confined to none of those
enclosures of sect and party which are so often the limits of
our narrow charity. As Protestants, we shrink from the
corruptions of the Church of Rome. But what venerable
sanctity has adorned many of its members! Who can pro-
nounce the name of Fénelon without thinking better of
human nature? Calvinism numbers among its disciples the
fathers of new England, men of exalted piety, who breathed
the spirit of the early martyrs. On the other hand, who can
number the host of worthies who have looked with a shud-
dering abhorrence on the doctrines of Calvin? Into what
perplexities shall we be thrown, into what opposite paths.
shall we be attracted, if we choose to believe whatever the
pious have believed!
"Let us love and respect the good, but let us not lean
upon them, as if they could never_fall into error. The best
1803-1814.] REVELATION AND REASON. A
281
heart is not always guided by the most enlightened mind.
Sometimes very conscientious men are weak and timid.
They are alarmed by the denunciations of the positive, fear
to inquire, and thus yield themselves slaves to gross super-
stitions. Sometimes very excellent men have more fancy
than judgment. They delight in the marvellous, and find
hidden meanings in the plainest language of Scripture; they
send their thoughts into the spiritual world, and mistake their
vivid and pleasing dreams for Divine communications.
Where shall we not be led, what absurdity shall we not
adopt, if every opinion is to be embraced which has found a
place in the minds of the devout?
"2. To search for truth with Christian humility does not
imply that we renounce our reason, and yield our assent to
inconsistent or contradictory propositions. A humility of
this kind is sometimes urged. We are told that the human
mind cannot penetrate the depths of Divine wisdom; that it
is pride to bring God's truth to the bar of our reason; that
we are to receive the obvious meaning of Scripture, however
it may contradict our previous conceptions of truth and
rectitude; and that our humility is proportioned to the readi-
ness with which we embrace what shocks our understand-
ings.
66
Every man must have met with language like this, not
very precise, and not altogether erroneous, but yet adapted
to produce unhappy effects, to terrify and subdue the spirit
of inquiry, and to prepare men for the reception of any ab-
surdity which is urged on them, as a revelation from
God..
"But because our faculties and improvements are limited,
we ought not to expect that we shall ever be called by our
Creator to yield assent to doctrines which, after deliberate
and impartial attention, clearly appear to contradict one
another, or to contradict the truths which God is teaching
us by reason and by nature. If our rational powers are
among the best gifts of God, if they form, in no small
degree, the distinction and glory of our nature, and if it is
our duty to employ and improve them, can we expect a
revelation which will require us to renounce them, and
will introduce into our understandings perplexity and con-
fusion? .
"Let me ask, why is it that a revelation has been made to
man, rather than to inferior animals? Is not this the plain an-
282
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
swer, that man is a rational being? Is not the possession of
reason the very ground on which this signal benefit is con-
ferred upon our race? And can we suppose, then, that
revelation contradicts reason, that it calls us to renounce the
very faculties which prepare us for its reception?
To
be Christians we need not cease to be rational. There is no
such hostility as many seem to represent between reason and
revelation. Revelation addresses its proofs and instructions
to reason. Both are God's gifts, both are beams from the
same source of light, both are consistent, and both designed
to conduct us to perfection and immortality. Let it be
remembered that I am speaking of reason, when exercised
with seriousness, deliberation, and impartiality. Will any
say that this deserves no respect, no confidence?
"True humility is founded in a conviction of our ignorance,·
and of our exposure to error; and I now come to consider
the influence which this conviction should have on our
temper and conduct. In this humility chiefly consists. The
mere conviction of our ignorance and fallibility is of little
value. Every man in a degree possesses it. Every man
will tell you, and tell you with sincerity, that his views are
narrow, that he has often erred, that there are many things
too vast to be grasped, many too intricate to be traced, and
many too subtile to be detected by his imperfect vision. Still
all men are not humble. It is one thing to admit a truth,
and another to reduce it to practice. Now it is a practical
regard to the sentiments which I have endeavoured to illus-
trate which constitutes humility. We are humble only as far
as we possess and discover the dispositions and habits which
these sentiments are suited to produce. What, then, are these
dispositions and habits?
"1. A strong and operative desire of extending and im-
proving our views of Christian truth may be mentioned as
the first disposition which ought to spring from a conviction
of our ignorance and fallibility. Do we know little? then
we should labour to know more. Of what avail is it to feel our
mental wants, if we do not strive to supply them? Of what
avail to reflect on the little progress we have made, unless we
are induced to quicken our steps? Christians are too apt to
think that there is virtue in merely perceiving and lamenting
their imperfections. But the humility which stops here is un-
worthy the name. It may even prove injurious, by weak-
ening the tone of the mind, and rendering it abject and de-
1803-1814.]
LISTENING TO OBJECTIONS.
283
sponding. True humility does not spend its time and strength
in brooding with motionless and unavailing grief over its
many imperfections. It is a spring of exertion. It teaches
us, indeed, to count our present attainments trifling, but not
to despise our nature and faculties. Of these we cannot
think or speak too highly. They bear the signature of God,
the indications of immortality, for they are capable of endless
improvement.
"2. Caution in forming our religious opinions is another
habit of mind which a sense of our ignorance and fallibility
should lead us to cultivate.
From the present narrow-
ness and imperfections of our minds, our first views are
necessarily partial. Our first impressions are never precisely
conformed to the truth. We must give ourselves time to
'penetrate beneath the surface; to remove from a subject
what is accidentally associated with it; to survey it on every
side; to examine it at different times, in different lights, and
in different states of mind; or we must not hope that our
decisions will be correct. My friends, beware of precipitate
judgments. Patient attention is the price of truth. You
know nothing of yourselves, nothing of your mental weak-
ness, if you hope by casual and careless thought to attain to
just and enlarged apprehensions.
"3. A willingness to listen to objections is another most im-
portant disposition, to which we are directly led by a serious
consideration of our ignorance and exposure to error.
This
is one of the most decided marks of true humility,—worth
more than a thousand loud professions of our unworthiness
and imperfections. I would that it were as common as it is
just and honourable. ... Reluctance to submit your
opinions to scrutiny is suspicious. It argues a latent fear of
the result of inquiry. It is too often the refuge of conscious
weakness, of timid yet stubborn error. Listen patiently to
the arguments which are directed against your favourite sen-
timents. Look at them with a steady eye. Meet them in all
their force. Do not examine them with a settled purpose to
evade them. Be truth your single aim. Especially be not
angry when your opinions are assailed. Many resist opposi-
tion to their sentiments as if it were an insult. But why
should you consider an honest objector as an enemy? If he
attack your errors, he is an invaluable friend; and if he
oppose the truth, his good intention still entitles him to
respect. To repel objections with passion, betrays both
284
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
weakness and pride, and most effectually bars the mind
against the entrance of truth.
"This openness to conviction which has now been recom-
mended is one of the noblest virtues. It is infinitely more
valuable than learning or genius. It is the foundation of
improvement, and the surest defence against error; and yet
how many want it! How many hate that light which ex-
poses the weakness of some long-cherished opinions! How
many refuse to hear or to read whatever assails their favourite
system! How many attach a sanctity to every doctrine
they receive, and shrink from doubts, as from undisguised
impiety!
4. Modesty in advancing and enforcing our sentiments
is another disposition which ought to spring from a sense
of our ignorance and fallibility. Surely, it does not become
beings so erring as we are to claim submission, to offer
ourselves as guides, to impose authoritatively our belief on
other minds.
"Genuine zeal for truth displays itself in presenting clearly
and persuasively to our fellow-beings the evidences of what
we deem important truth. It does not storm their minds
with denunciation and positive assertion; but only asks to be
heard with seriousness and candour, and invites and urges
them to think and to judge for themselves. This is the
only influence which benevolence and humility permit you to
employ over the minds of men. Beware of exerting any
other. Beware of wishing to be heads, and to give the hue
of your own minds to all around you. This passion for
spiritual power is very common, and has done incalculable
injury. It has reared and sustained many a fabric of super-
stition. To accomplish its end, to establish its control over
the faith of mankind, it assails the timid with threats, and
the credulous with confident assertions. It pours out invec-
tive on men of independent minds, and teaches the multitude
to recoil from them with instantaneous horror. By these
means the most galling yoke is imposed on men.
Their un-
derstandings are enslaved. They dread to inquire. A tre-
mendous account is to be rendered by those who, instead of
being clothed with humility and love, thus lord it over God's
heritage, arrest the progress of the mind, and multiply ob-
structions in the path of truth.”
August, 1814. ON THE SINFULNESS OF INFANTS.* "There
* Christian Disciple, Vol. II., No. 8, page 245.
1803-1814.]
SINFULNESS OF INFANTS.
285
are those whose language respecting children, if it have any
meaning, directly affirms their guilt and their desert of ruin.
According to some, human nature is sinful, corrupt, depraved
at birth. Infants are demons in human shape, objects of
God's abhorrence; and, if treated according to their deserts,
they would be plunged into hell.
"Common sense asks, Why, what has the infant done?
He has only drawn a few breaths, and uttered a few un-
meaning cries. He is an entire stranger to his nature and
state; has not one idea of duty, and has not enjoyed a single
means of improvement. Right and wrong, heaven and hell,
all the truths and motives of religion, are as unknown to him
as to the cradle in which he sleeps. Can sin, guilt, and ill-
desert be ascribed to such a being? Can he be a sinner, who
has never acted, never judged, and never felt anything ex-
cept a few pains and pleasures of the body?
-
"A sinful character is that which deserves blame and
punishment. But do those qualities which children have
received from their Creator, and brought with them into the
world, to which they have added no strength by voluntary
indulgence in opposition to their sense of duty, and which
they are as unable to prevent as they are to stop the course
of the sun in the heavens-do these deserve blame and punish-
ment? It seems one of the clearest truths, that we are
responsible only as far as we have power to know and do
our duty; that we are depraved and guilty only as far as we
indulge passions, or perform actions, which we have the
means of resisting or avoiding.
“I ask, then, if children were demons fit for hell, would
God have given them that attractive sweetness, that mild
beauty, which renders them the most interesting objects on
earth, and which compels us to shrink with horror from the
thought of their everlasting ruin? Let those who support
this sad doctrine, contemplate the countenance of infancy,
its unfurrowed brow, the smile with which it rewards the
caresses of parental affection, and the tranquillity which sleep
diffuses over its features. Who has not felt the turbulent
passions of his nature calmed by the sight of childhood? And
is this winning child, whom God has adorned with charms
the most suited to engage the heart, abhorred by God, and
fit only for the flames of hell?
“We must always remember that the moral perfections of
God, his equity and justice, his benevolence and mercy, are
Ad
1
-T
286
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ET. 23-34.
the great and only grounds on which he claims, or can claim,
our veneration and love. These perfections lie at the very
foundation of piety. Let these be shaken, and the whole
fabric of religion totters. God is the proper object of our
love and worship, not because he is a powerful Creator, but
a righteous, equitable, and benevolent Creator. We learn
from these obvious remarks, that we cannot suspect too
strongly a doctrine which, after serious and impartial atten-
tion, appears to us to clash with God's moral perfections.
Now, let me ask, can we conceive anything more repugnant
to justice and benevolence, than the doctrine, that God brings
children into existence with a nature deserving his abhor-
rence, and that he abhors them on account of the very nature
which he has given them? How can we ascribe to God a
more repulsive and unamiable character? How calamitous
would it be to receive existence from such a Creator! We
are taught to regard God as infinitely kinder than earthly
parents. But with what severity of language should we
speak of an earthly parent who should stamp a character of
sin on his child, and then regard it with aversion! Is it pos-
sible that creatures fresh from the hands of God are at their
first breath utterly vile and heirs of his wrath?"
May, 1815. Dangers of LIBERALITY.* "It is best, then,
to acknowledge with Christian frankness and sincerity, that
men of liberal minds have often been defective in fervour;
that the spirit of free inquiry has sometimes, if not frequently,
produced an indifference about opinions; and that the dread
of bigotry and fanaticism has hurried many into the opposite
extreme of languor and insensibility. In admitting all this,
we do not disparage candour and free inquiry, any more than
we disparage a zeal for truth by saying that it has sometimes
degenerated into intolerance, and lighted the fires of persecu-
tion, or than we condemn religious fervour by saying that it
has sometimes, for want of judicious direction, broken out
into delirious transports and a blind and furious enthusiasm.
The fact is, human nature is prone to extremes. Every
principle of action, and every feeling, may pass its proper
limits.
•
"That a man of study and reflection should slide into a
moderation of feeling bordering upon coldness, and should
distrust and fear the admission of the affections into religion,
ought not to excite our wonder. . .
* Christian Disciple, Vol. III., No. 5, page 134.
•
1803-1814.]
LIBERALITY AND FERVOUR.
287
"When he sees the extravagances of imagination, which
in
ages of darkness were propagated as communications from
God; when he sees the usurpations of the proud, the denun-
ciations of the arrogant, and the frauds imposed on the cre-
dulous multitude by those who pretended to extraordinary
sanctity; when, in a word, he sees human systems, the growth
of gloomy or heated minds, taking the place of the mild and
simple doctrines of Christianity, rending whole kingdoms
with dissension, embittering social life, quickening and arming
the worst passions of our nature, and even promising the
highest seats in heaven to the most unrelenting and un-
charitable; when the reflecting man reviews these melancholy
scenes in the history of the Church, can we wonder if, from
dread of extravagance and from distrust of the affections, he
should fall into a habit of cold speculation, and should prefer
a religion which, retiring from the heart, resides only in the
understanding?
"The affections are not useless parts of our nature, but
on their just direction our excellence and happiness pecu-
liarly depend. The affections give to the character its prin-
cipal charm and interest. We delight to see the heart
awakened by a pure emotion.
"Is affection an improper tribute to be offered to God?
His whole character is an appeal to our affections. His
character is the concentration of all that is lovely and
venerable; and in his relation of Father, Benefactor, and
Sovereign, how powerful are his claims on the best senti-
ments of our nature!
•
"It is of great importance that religion should be an
affection of the heart, as well as a conviction of the under-
standing; because it is to govern in a soul which is agitated
by various passions, which is powerfully solicited by the
world, and which is prone to contract a sensual taint and a
sordid character. These strong and dangerous propensities.
of human nature are not to be counteracted by mere specu-
lations of the intellect. The heart must be engaged on the
side of God and duty. To subdue the love of the world,
a nobler love must be kindled within us. A new and better
channel must be formed for that desire which we would
turn from unworthy ends. We cannot, if we would, ex-
tinguish the affections. Our safety consists in directing
their force and energy to noble and elevated objects,—to
God, to virtue, and to immortality.
288
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
"Religious sensibility is of great importance, as it gives
animation and delight to the obedience of all God's com-
mands,-to the practice even of painful duties. Sensibility,
affection, communicates an almost incredible force to human
nature. Where men love strongly, what toils and sacrifices
can they endure! how lightened is labour! how cheerful is
suffering! A warm affection seems almost to create new
faculties in the soul. It spreads a new lustre over the
countenance, and seems even to nerve the body with new
power.
Men have never done much when the heart has
been cold; and what have they not done, what have they
not subdued, when the heart has been quickened to generous
emotions? To rob religion of sensibility is to make it inert
and unproductive, to render obedience to God a toil, and
his worship a mechanical and wearisome service.
"Let us, then, beware of that tendency to coldness which
has been charged on Liberal Christians. Their views of
religion have certainly nothing to chill the heart, but every-
thing to raise it into love and hope. Their views might
well be distrusted, were they unfavourable to an affectionate
piety; and, what is more, their cause might be given up in
despair, did it require the extinction of sensibility. Human
nature will never be satisfied with a system which does not
awaken sentiment and emotion. Man has a thirst for excite-
ment, he delights in the exercise of his affections, and his
Creator can hardly be supposed to give him a religion which
contradicts this essential part of his nature."
CC
August, 1815. PRACTICAL CHRISTIANITY.* Christianity,
we must always remember, is a temper and a spirit, rather
than a doctrine. It is the life of God in the soul of man.
It consists of practical truths, designed to enlarge the heart,
to exalt the character, to make us partakers of a divine
nature. Now in the Epistles of St. Paul we have Christianity
displayed to us in the very form which accords with the
genius of such a religion,-not as a speculation of the intel-
lect, but as a living principle, a sentiment of the heart, a
spring of holy action. We see its nature in the influences
which it exerts. We see a soul penetrated with love to
God, with a disinterested charity, with anticipations of a
higher existence, with a consciousness of guilt, with gratitude
to the Saviour, and with an inextinguishable desire to make
known his love and promises to the ends of the earth.
* Christian Disciple, Vol. III., No. 8, page 236.
J
1803-1814.] THE PANOPLIST REVIEW.
289
These sentiments break forth as from a heart too full to
contain them, with an energy which discovers the mighty
power of the religion which gave them birth, and with a
freedom which no other style but the epistolary would have
admitted. We cannot but consider the letters of Paul, with
all their abrupt transitions and occasional obscurities, as
more striking exhibitions of genuine Christianity than could
have been transmitted by the most laboured and artificial
compositions...
"The connexion between faith and practice seems to
be considered by some as mysterious, or as the effect of
some inexplicable union, which is formed by faith between
Jesus Christ and the human soul. But this subject seems to
be very simple. Faith is the sincere and practical reception
of the whole religion of Jesus, and particularly a strong per-
suasion of that future life which is offered to us through
Jesus Christ; it is a deep conviction of practical truths,
that is, of truths suited to operate on the human heart, and
to excite to action. To have a true faith is to feel deeply the
most powerful motives which can be offered to a life of piety
and virtue. The connexion between faith and holiness,
then, is natural and palpable, and involved in no obscurity."
EXTRACTS FROM A LETTER, ETC., TO THE REV. SAMUEL
C. THACHER.
"June 20th, 1815.
"MY FRIEND AND BROTHER,-I have recollected with
much satisfaction the conversation which we held the other
morning, on the subject of the late Review, in the 'Panoplist'
for June, of a pamphlet called 'American Unitarianism.'
After leaving you, my thoughts still dwelt on the
subject; and, painful as is the task, I have thought it my
duty to exhibit to the public the topics which we discussed,
as well as to add some reflections suggested by private medi-
tation.
"I bring to the subject a feeling which I cannot well ex-
press in words, but which you can easily understand. It is
a feeling as if I were degrading myself by noticing the false
and injurious charges contained in this Review. I feel as if
I were admitting that we need vindication, that our reputa-
tions want support, that our characters and lives do not speak
for themselves. My self-respect, too, is wounded, by coming
into contact with assailants who not only deny us the name
VOL. I.
U
290
THE
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
[ÆT. 23-34.
men.
of Christians, but withhold from us the treatment of gentle-
These feelings, united with my love of peace, would
induce me to pass over the Review in silence, if it were
limited to the sphere within which we are personally known.
In this sphere, I trust, its bitterness, coarseness, and misre-
presentations will work their own cure; and that no other
defence is required, but the tenour of our ministry and lives.
But the work in which this article is published is indus-
triously spread through the country, and through all classes
of society. The aspersions which it contains are also diffused,
as widely as possible, by conversation, and even by news-
papers. We owe, then, to ourselves, and, what is more im-
portant, to the cause of Christian truth and charity, some
remarks on the representations and spirit of the Review....
"The Panopolist Review, though extended over so many
pages, may be compressed into a very narrow space. It
asserts,-
par ma
“1. That the great body of Liberal ministers in this town
and its vicinity, and of Liberal Christians, are Unitarians in
Mr. Belsham's sense of the word; that is, they believe that
Jesus Christ is a mere man, who when on earth was liable
to error and sin; to whom we owe no gratitude for benefits
which we are now receiving; and for whose future interpo-
sition we have no reason to hope.
“2. The Review asserts that these ministers and Liberal
Christians are guilty of hypocritical concealment of their
sentiments, and behave in a base, cowardly, and hypocritical
manner.
"3. Christians are called to come out and separate them-
selves from these ministers and the Liberal body of Chris-
tians, and to withhold from them Christian communion.
"I will consider these three heads in their order.
"The first assertion to be considered is, that the great
body of Liberal ministers in this town and vicinity, and of
Liberal Christians,* are Unitarians, in Mr. Belsham's sense
of that word.. It is unnecessary to multiply extracts to
* "I have used the phrase or denomination Liberal Christians because
it is employed by the Reviewer to distinguish those whom he assails. I
have never been inclined to claim this appellation for myself or my friends,
because, as the word liberality expresses the noblest qualities of the human
mind,—freedom from local prejudices and narrow feelings, the enlargement
of the views and affections,-I have thought that the assumption of it would
savour of that spirit which has attempted to limit the words orthodox and
:
1803-1814.]
LIBERAL CHRISTIANS.
291
show, that not only Boston, but its vicinity, is involved in
the charge. In fact, the Liberal party, in general, is ranged
under the standard of Mr. Belsham. Now we both of us
know this statement to be false.
"The word Unitarianism, as denoting opposition to Trini-
tarianism, undoubtedly expresses the character of a consider-
able part of the ministers of this town and its vicinity, and
the Commonwealth. But we both of us know that their
Unitarianism is of a very different kind from that of Mr.
Belsham. We agreed in our late conference, that a majority
of our brethren believe that Jesus Christ is more than man,
that he existed before the world, that he literally came from
heaven to save our race, that he sustains other offices than
those of a teacher and witness to the truth, and that he still
acts for our benefit, and is our intercessor with the Father.
This we agreed to be the prevalent sentiment of our brethren.
There is another class of Liberal Christians, who, whilst they
reject the distinction of three persons in God, are yet unable
to pass a definite judgment on the various systems which
prevail, as to the nature and rank of Jesus Christ. They
are met by difficulties on every side, and generally rest in
evangelical to a particular body of Christians. As the appellation, however,
cannot well be avoided, I will state the meaning which I attach to it.
CC
By a Liberal Christian, I understand one who is disposed to receive as
his brethren in Christ all who, in the judgment of charity, sincerely profess
to receive Jesus Christ as their Lord and Master. He rejects all tests or
standards of Christian faith and of Christian character, but the word of
Jesus Christ and of his inspired apostles. He thinks it an act of disloyalty
to his master to introduce into the church creeds of fallible men as bonds
of union, or terms of Christian fellowship. He calls himself by no name
derived from human leaders, disclaims all exclusive connexion with any sect
or party, professes himself a member of the Church Universal on earth and
in heaven, and cheerfully extends the hand of brotherhood to every man of
every name who discovers the spirit of Jesus Christ.
"According to this view of Liberal Christians, they cannot be called a
party. They are distinguished only by refusing to separate themselves in
any form or degree from the great body of Christ. They are scattered, too,
through all classes of Christians. I have known Trinitarians and Calvinists
who justly deserve the name of Liberal, who regard with affection all who
appear to follow Jesus Christ in temper and life, however they may differ
on the common points of theological controversy. To this class of Chris-
tians, which is scattered over the earth, and which I trust has never been
extinct in any age, I profess and desire to belong. God send them pros-
perity!-In this part of the country, Liberal Christians, as they have been
above described, are generally, though by no means universally, Unitarians,
in the proper sense of that word. It is of this part of them that I chiefly
speak in this letter.”
U 2
292
[ÆT. 23–34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
the conclusion, that He whom God has appointed to be our
Saviour must be precisely adapted to his work, and that ac-
ceptable faith consists in regarding and following him as our
Lord, Teacher, and Saviour; without deciding on his nature
or rank in the universe. There is another class, who believe
the simple humanity of Jesus Christ; but these form a small
proportion of the great body of Unitarians in this part of our
country; and I very much doubt whether of these one indi-
vidual can be found, who could conscientiously subscribe to
Mr. Belsham's creed as given in the Review. The conduct of
the Reviewer, in collecting all the opinions of that gentleman,
not only on the Trinity, but on every other theological subject,
in giving to the whole collection the name of Unitarianism, and
in exhibiting this to the world as the creed of Liberal Chris-
tians in this region, is perhaps as criminal an instance of
unfairness as is to be found in the records of theological con-
troversy. The fact is, that the great body of Liberal Chris-
tians would shrink from some of these opinions with as
much aversion as from some of the gloomy doctrines of
Calvin..
"I trust that the statement which has now been made will
not be considered as casting the least reproach on those
amongst us, who believe in the simple humanity of Jesus.
Christ. Whilst I differ from them in opinion, I have cer-
tainly no disposition to deny them the name and privileges of
Christians. There are gentlemen of this class, whom I have
the happiness to know, in whom I discover the evidences of a
scrupulous uprightness and a genuine piety; and there are
others, whose characters, as portrayed by their biographers,
appear to me striking examples of the best influences of
Christianity. . .
"I now come to the second charge of the Review: That
the liberal ministers of Boston and the vicinity, and the most
considerable members of the liberal party, 'operate in secret;
intrust only the initiated with their measures; are guilty of
hypocritical concealment of their sentiments; behave in a
base and hypocritical manner.' . . . . . This charge is in-
finitely more serious than the first. To believe with Mr.
Belsham is no crime. But artifice, plotting, hypocrisy, are
crimes; and if we practise them, we deserve to be driven,
not only from the ministry, not only from the Church, but
from the society of the decent and respectable. Our own
hearts, I trust, tell us at once how gross are these aspersions;
1803-1814.]
CHARGE OF CONCEALMENT.
293
and our acquaintance with our brethren authorizes us to
speak in their vindication with the same confidence as in our
own.
"It is not to be wondered at, that those who have charged
us with holding sentiments which we reject should proceed
to charge us with hypocritically concealing our sentiments.
Most of us have often contradicted Mr. Belsham's opinions;
and they who insist that these opinions are ours will be
forced to maintain that we practise deceit. They start with
a falsehood, and their conclusion cannot therefore be true. I
am not, however, disposed to dismiss this charge of artifice
and hypocrisy so lightly. ...... As to myself, I have ever
been inclined to cherish the most exalted views of Jesus
Christ which are consistent with the supremacy of the Father;
and I have felt it my duty to depart from Mr. Belsham in
perhaps every sentiment which is peculiar to him on this
subject. I have always been pleased with some of the senti-
ments of Dr. Watts on the intimate and peculiar union be-
tween the Father and Son. But I have always abstained
most scrupulously from every expression which could be
construed into an acknowledgment of the Trinity. My
worship and sentiments have been Unitarian, in the proper
sense of that word. In conversation with my people, who
have requested my opinion upon the subject, especially with
those who consider themselves Trinitarians, I have spoken
with directness and simplicity. Some of those who differ
from me most widely, have received from me the most ex-
plicit assurances of my disbelief of the doctrine of the Trinity,
and of my views in relation to the Saviour. As to my
brethren in general, never have I imagined for a moment,
from their preaching or conversation, that they had the least
desire to be considered as Trinitarians; nor have I ever
heard from them any views of God or of Jesus Christ but
Unitarian, in the proper meaning of that word.
"It is indeed true, that we seldom or never introduce the
Trinitarian controversy into our pulpits. We are accustomed
to speak of the Father as the only living and true God, and
of Jesus Christ as his son, as a distinct being from him, as
dependent on him, subordinate to him, and deriving all from
him. This phraseology pervades all our prayers and all our
preaching. We seldom or never, however, refer to any
different sentiments, embraced by other Christians, on the
nature of God or of Jesus Christ. We preach precisely as
294
[ET. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
if no such doctrine as the Trinity had ever been known. We
do not attempt to refute it, any more than to refute the
systems of the Sabellians, the Eutychians, or the Nestorians,
or of the other sects who have debated these questions with
such hot and unprofitable zeal. But, in following this course,
we are not conscious of having contracted, in the least degree,
the guilt of insincerity. We have aimed at making no false
impression. We have only followed a general system, which
we are persuaded to be best for our people and for the cause
of Christianity; the system of excluding controversy as much
as possible from our pulpits. In compliance with this system,
I have never assailed Trinitarianism; nor have I ever said
one word against Methodism, Quakerism, Episcopalianism, or
the denomination of Baptists; and I may add Popery, if I
except a few occasional remarks on the intolerance of that
system. The name of these sects, with that single exception,
has never passed my lips in preaching, through my whole
ministry, which has continued above twelve years. We all
of us think it best to preach the truth, or what we esteem to
be the truth, and to say very little about error, unless it be
error of a strictly practical nature. A striking proof of our
sentiments and habits on this subject may be derived from the
manner in which you and myself have treated Calvinism.
We consider the errors which relate to Christ's person as of
little or no importance, compared with the error of those who
teach that God brings us into life wholly depraved and wholly
helpless, that he leaves multitudes without that aid which is
indispensably necessary to their repentance, and then plunges
them into everlasting burnings and unspeakable torture for
not repenting. This we consider as one of the most injurious
errors which ever darkened the Christian world; and none
will pretend that we have anything to fear from exposing this
error to our people. On the contrary, we could hardly select
a more popular topic; and yet our hearers will bear witness
how seldom we introduce this topic into our preaching. The
name of Calvinist has never, I presume, been uttered by us
in the pulpit. Our method is, to state what we conceive to
be more honourable, and ennobling, and encouraging views.
of God's character and government, and to leave these to
have their effect, without holding up other Christians to cen-
sure or contempt. We could, if we were to make strenuous
efforts, render the name of Calvinist as much a word of re-
proach in our societies, as that of Unitarian is in some parts
1803-1814.]
AVERSION TO CONTROVERSY.
295
of our country. But we esteem it a solemn duty to disarm,
instead of exciting, the bad passions of our people. We wish
to promote among them a spirit of universal charity. We
wish to make them condemn their own bad practices, rather
than the erroneous speculations of their neighbour. We
love them too sincerely to imbue them with the spirit of
controversy.
"In thus avoiding controversy, we have thought that we
deserved, not reproach, but some degree of praise for our
self-denial. Every preacher knows how much easier it is to
write a controversial than a practical discourse; how much
easier it is to interest an audience by attacking an opposite
party, than by stating to them the duties and motives of
the gospel. We often feel that our mode of preaching ex-
poses us to the danger of being trite and dull; and I presume
we have often been tempted to gratify the love of disputation
which lurks in every society. But so deeply are we con-
vinced that the great end of preaching is to promote a spirit
of love, a sober, righteous, and godly life, and that every
doctrine is to be urged simply and exclusively for this end,
that we have sacrificed our ease, and have chosen to bé
less striking preachers, rather than to enter the lists of
controversy.
"We have seldom or never assailed the scheme of the
Trinity, not only from our dislike to controversy in general,
but from a persuasion that this discussion would, above all
others, perplex, and needlessly perplex, a common congrega-
tion, consisting of persons of all ages, capacities, degrees of
improvement, and conditions in society. This doctrine we all
regard as the most unintelligible about which Christians have
ever disputed. If it do not mean that there are three Gods (a
construction which its advocates indignantly repel), we know
not what it means; and we have not thought that we should
edify common hearers by attacking a doctrine altogether in-
conceivable, and wholly beyond the grasp of our faculties.
We have recollected, too, the mischiefs of the Trinitarian
controversy in past ages, that it has been a firebrand lighting
the flames of persecution, and kindling infernal passions
in the breasts of Christians; and we have felt no disposition
to interest the feelings of our congregation in a dispute which
has so disgraced the professed disciples of the meek and lowly
Jesus. Many of us have been disinclined, not only to assail
systems which we do not believe, but even to enforce the
296
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
views which we have given of the rank and character of
Jesus Christ; because we have known how divided the best
men have been on these topics, and how largely we ourselves
partake of the fallibility of our nature; because we have
wished that our hearers should derive their impressions on
these points as much as possible from the Scriptures; and
because we have all been persuaded that precision of views
upon these subjects is in no degree essential to the faith or
practice of a Christian. We have considered the introduc-
tion of the Trinitarian controversy into the pulpit as the less
necessary, because we have generally found that common
Christians admit that distinction between God and his Son,
and that subordination of the Son, which we believe to be
the truth; and as to that very small part of our hearers who
are strongly attached to the doctrine of the Trinity, while we
have not wished to conceal from them our difference of
opinion, we have been fully satisfied that the most effectual
method of promoting their holiness and salvation, was to urge
on them perpetually those great truths and precepts about
which there is little contention, and which have an im-
mediate bearing on the temper and the life. To conclude,
we have never entered into discussions of the doctrine of the
Trinity, because we are not governed by a proselyting temper.
I will venture to assert, that there is not on earth a body of
men who possess less of the spirit of proselytism than the
ministers of this town and vicinity. Accustomed as we are
to see genuine piety in all classes of Christians, in Trini-
tarians and Unitarians, in Calvinists and Arminians, in
Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists, and Congregationalists,
and delighting in this character wherever it appears, we are
little anxious to bring men over to our peculiar opinions. I
could smile at the idea of a Unitarian plot, were not this fiction
intended to answer so unworthy an end. There cannot be a
doubt, that, had we seriously united for the purpose of
spreading Unitarianism by any and every means, by secret
insinuations against those who differ from us, by uncharitable
denunciations, and by the other usual arts of sects, we might
have produced in this part of the country a Unitarian heat
and bitterness not inferior to that with which Trinitarianism
is too often advocated. But not the slightest whisper of any
concert for this end has ever reached me; and as to these
arts, our people can best say how far we have practised them.
Our people will testify how little we have sought to influence
1803-1814.]
HERESY AND EXCLUSION.
297
them on the topics of dispute among Christians, how little we
have laboured to make them partisans, how constantly we
have besought them to look with candour on other deno-
minations, and to delight in all the marks which others
exhibit of piety and goodness. Our great and constant ob-
ject has been to promote the spirit of Christ, and we have
been persuaded that in this way we should most effectually
promote the interests of Christian truth.
6
"I now come to the third head of the Review, which I
propose to consider. The Reviewer, having charged us with
holding the opinions of Mr. Belsham, and hypocritically con-
cealing them, solemnly calls on Christians who differ from us
in sentiment to come out and be separate from us, and to
withhold communion with us.'. This language does
not astonish me, when I recollect the cry of heresy which has
been so loudly raised against this part of the country. But
I believe that this is the first instance in which Christians
have been deliberately called to deny us the Christian name
and privileges. As such, let it be remembered; and let the
consequences of it lie on its authors.
Why is it that our brethren are thus instigated to cut us
off, as far as they have power, from the body and church of
Christ? Let every Christian weigh well the answer. It is
not because we refuse to acknowledge Jesus Christ as our
Lord and Master; it is not because we neglect to study his
word; it is not because our lives are wanting in the spirit
and virtues of his gospel. It is because, after serious in-
vestigation, we cannot find in the Scriptures, and cannot
adopt as instructions of our Master, certain doctrines which
have divided the Church for ages, which have perplexed the
best and wisest men, and which are very differently conceived
even by those who profess to receive them. It is, in par-
ticular, because we cannot adopt the language of our
brethren in relation to a doctrine which we cannot understand,
and which is expressed in words not only unauthorized by the
Scripture, but, as we believe, in words employed without
meaning (unless they mean that there are three Gods) by
those who insist upon them. This is our crime, that we
cannot think and speak with our brethren on subjects the
most difficult and perplexing on which the human mind was
ever engaged. For this we are pursued with the cry of
heresy, and are to have no rest until virtually excommu-
nicated by our brethren.
(C
+
F
298
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ET. 23-34.
"Most earnestly do I wish that the Dissertation of Dr.
Campbell on Heresy, in his Translation of the Four Gospels,
was more generally read and considered. He has proved, I
think, very satisfactorily, that heresy, as the word is used in
the Scriptures, does not consist in the adoption or profession
of wrong opinions, but in a spirit of division, of dissension,
of party, in a factious and turbulent temper; and that the
heretic is not a man who entertains erroneous or even inju-
rious sentiments, but one who loves to be called Rabbi and
master; who has a disposition to separate Christians, to create
or to extend sects and parties. . . Let Christians weigh
well the nature and guilt of schism, the consequences of
separation, and the spirit of their religion, before they adopt
the measure recommended in this Review. For myself, the
universe would not tempt me to bear a part in this work of
dividing Christ's church, and of denouncing his followers.
If there be an act which, above all others, is a transgression
of the Christian law, it is this. ..... I know it will be said
that Christians are not called upon to reject real Christians,
but heretics and false pretenders to the name. But heresy,
we have seen, is not a false opinion, but a sectarian spirit;
and as to false pretences, we desire those who know us to
put their hands on their hearts, and to say whether they can
for a moment believe that we hypocritically profess to follow
the instructions of Jesus Christ. Does charity discover no-
thing in our language and lives to justify the hope that we
are united to Jesus Christ by love for his character, and by
participation of his spirit?
"I wish that my motives for these earnest remonstrances
against division may be understood. I feel as little personal
interest in the subject as any individual in the community.
Were the proposed separation to take place, I should still
enjoy the ordinances of the gospel in the society of those
whom I best love. The excommunication which is threat-
ened gives me no alarm. I hear this angry thunder murmur
at a distance, with as little concern as if it were the thunder
of the Pope, from whom it seems, indeed, to be borrowed.
But whilst I fear nothing for myself, I do fear and feel for
that body of which Christ is the head, which has been bleed-
ing for ages under the contests of Christians, and which is
now threatened with a new wound. I feel for the cause of
our common Christianity, which I am set to defend, and
which has suffered inconceivably more from the bad passions
•
•
1803-1814.]
GOOD-WILL TO OPPONENTS,
299*
and divisions of its friends than from all the arts and violence
of its foes. I cannot but look forward with pain to the
irritations, hatreds, bitter recriminations, censoriousness,
spiritual pride, and schismatical spirit which will grow up
under this system of denunciation and exclusion, and which
may not only convulse many churches at the present moment,
but will probably end in most unhappy divisions among the
very Christians who denounce us; who seem indeed to be
united, now that a common enemy is to be trodden under
foot, but who have sufficient diversities of opinion to awaken
against each other all the fury of intolerance, when this shall
have become the temper and habit of their minds. I repeat
it, I have no interest in this point but as a Christian; and as
such, I look with a degree of horror on this attempt to in-
flame and distract our churches. Error of opinion is an evil
too trifling to be named, in comparison with this practical
departure from the gospel, with this proud, censorious, over-
bearing temper, which says to a large body of Christians,
'Stand off, we are holier than you.'. .
"C
Having thus considered the three principal heads in the
Review, I now proceed to offer a few words of friendly ad-
monition, as to the temper and conduct which become our
brethren and ourselves, under the injuries which we receive.
"The first suggestion you have undoubtedly anticipated.
It is, that we remember the great duty which belongs to us
as Christians, of regarding our enemies with good-will, if
possible with a degree of approbation, at least with dis-
pleasure tempered with compassion..
As to the great
mass of those Christians who view us with so much jealousy,
we must remember that they know us only by report, that
they believe as they are taught by men to whom they ascribe
an eminent sanctity, and that they are liable to be carried
away on this, as on every other subject, by loud assertion,
and by addresses to their fears. Accustomed as they are to
hear us branded with names and epithets, to which they have
attached no definite ideas, but which seem to them to ex-
press everything depraved, can we wonder that they shrink
from us with a kind of terror? To this great class of our
opposers we certainly owe nothing but kindness; and we
should esteem it an unspeakable happiness, that we can look
with so much pleasure and hope on those by whom we are
dreaded and shunned; that we are not obliged by our system
to regard our adversaries as the enemies of God, and the ob-
$300
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
jects of his wrath. On this point, above all others, I would
be urgent. Our danger is, that reproach will hurry us into
language or conduct unbecoming the spirit of our Master.
Let us remember that our opposers cannot ultimately injure
us, unless we permit them to awaken bad passions, and to
impair our virtues. Let us remember what is due from us
to our religion. The more uncharitable our age is, the more
the glory of the gospel is obscured by its being exhibited as
a source of censoriousness and contention, the more we owe
it to our Lord to wipe off this reproach from his truth, to
show the loveliness of his religion, to show its power in
changing the heart into the image of divine forbearance and
forgiveness.
"Another important suggestion is this:-Let us hold fast
our uprightness. That our churches are to be generally
shaken by the assault which is made upon them, I am far
from believing. But some may suffer. It is not impossible
that the efforts which are now employed to direct against us
the uncharitableness and mistaken zeal of the country, and
to spread disaffection through the most uninstructed and the
most easily excited classes of society, may produce some
effect. We know the fluctuations of the human mind. We
know that the sincerest Christians are often unduly influ-
enced by timidity, and may be brought to suspect a minister,
when he is decried as a heretic who is leading souls to hell.
It requires more strength of nerves and more independence
of mind than all good people possess to withstand this in-
cessant clamour. A storm, then, may be gathering over
some of us, and the sufferers may be tempted to bend to it.
But God forbid, my friend, that any of us should give sup-
port to the aspersions cast on our uprightness, by ever sup-
pressing our convictions, or speaking a language foreign to
our hearts. Through good report and through evil report,
let us with simplicity and sincerity declare what we believe
to be the will of God and the way to heaven, and thus secure
to ourselves that peace of conscience which is infinitely better
than the smiles of the world. Let us never forget that the
most honoured condition on earth is that of being sufferers
for the sake of righteousness, for adherence to what we deem
the cause of God and holiness; and let us welcome suffering,
if it shall be appointed us, as bringing us nearer to our perse-
cuted Lord and his injured apostles. My brother, we pro-
fess to count man's judgment as a light thing, to esteem this
•
1803-1814.]
FEAR OF SECTARIANISM.
301
world and all which it offers to be vanity. We profess to
look up to a heavenly inheritance, and to hope that we shall
one day mingle with angels and just men made perfect.
And with these sublime hopes, shall we tremble before frail
and fallible fellow-creatures, be depressed by difficulties, or
shrink from the expression of what we deem important and
useful truth? God forbid!
"I have time to add but one more suggestion. Let us
beware lest opposition and reproach lead any of us into a
sectarian attachment to our peculiar opinions. This is a
danger to which persons of ardent and irritable temper are
peculiarly exposed. Too many of us are apt to cling to a
system in proportion as it is assailed, to consider ourselves.
pledged to doctrines which we have openly espoused, to rally
round them as if our own honour and interest were at stake,
and to assert them with more and more positiveness, as if we
were incapable of error. This is the infirmity of our frail
nature; and whilst we condemn it in others, let us not allow
it in ourselves. Let us be what we profess to be, patient
inquirers after truth, open to conviction, willing to listen to
objections, willing to renounce error, willing to believe that
we, as well as others, may have been warped in our opinions.
by education and situation, and that others may have acquired
important truths which, through weakness or prejudice, we
may have overlooked. Were we a party, anxious to make
proselytes, we should do well to be positive and overbearing.
But we profess to be anxious that our fellow-Christians
should inquire for themselves into the difficulties of religion,
instead of implicitly receiving what we have embraced. We
profess to believe that candid and impartial research will.
guide mankind to a purer system of Christianity than is now
to be found in any church or country under heaven. Most
earnestly do I hope that we shall not be betrayed by any
violence of assault into a sectarian heat and obstinacy, which
will discredit our profession, and obstruct this glorious re-
formation of the Church of God."
EXTRACTS FROM REMARKS ON THE REV. DR. WORCESTER'S.
LETTER TO MR. CHANNING.
August, 1815. "By the advice of friends whose judgment
I respect, I have resolved to offer to the public some remarks
on the letter of Dr. Worcester in reply to mine addressed to
•
302
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
1
Mr. Thacher. They will be few in number, and as free as
possible from personalities. . . . .
"C
My letter to Mr. Thacher is considered by Dr. Wor-
cester as bitter and severe; but, called as I was to repel the
charge of immorality brought against men whose virtue and
piety I know and honour, and to whom I am bound by ties
of friendship and Christian affection, I felt it a solemn duty
to express what I deemed a virtuous indignation. I laboured,
however, to temper displeasure with Christian moderation;
and, on finishing my letter, my fear was, not that I had ex-
pressed an improper warmth, but that I should be considered
as wanting in sensibility to the injuries done to some of the
best men in this community. I know, however, the many
weaknesses and imperfections of my nature. I
I may have
erred, for the provocation was great; and I sincerely repeat
the declaration with which I closed my letter, that for every
departure from the spirit of the gospel I implore the Divine
forgiveness.
"One great object of Dr. Worcester's letter, if I under-
stand him, is to convey to his readers the impression, that
the mode of preaching of Liberal ministers is 'concealed, in-
distinct, and unfaithful.' This he attempts to prove, first,
from the statement which I made of the views of Liberal
Christians in relation to the character of Jesus Christ. This
statement, he says, is ambiguous. That it is general, that it
does not descend to particulars, I grant; but I deny that it
is ambiguous, if considered, as it ought to be, in relation to
the object for which it was made. It was simply designed
to repel the charge of the reviewer, that we are Unitarians
in Mr. Belsham's sense of the word. Was it necessary
that in such a statement every question should be met and
answered, which might possibly be started in relation to our
sentiments?..
•
"The next proof of our preaching in a 'concealed, in-
distinct, and unfaithful manner' is derived from the account
which I have given of our general style of preaching.
My statement was plainly this:-that we labour to preach
the truth, to preach whatever we clearly discover in the word
of God; but that, in doing this, we generally avoid references
to opinions which we do not receive, and never hold up
those Christians who differ from us to censure or contempt.
According to this statement, we evidently preach the whole
counsel of God, as far as we understand it. But Dr. Wor-
·
1803-1814.] REMARKS ON DR. WORCESTER'S Letter.
303
،
،
<
cester, passing over this account, has selected a passage in
which I observe that we urge perpetually those great truths
and precepts about which there is little contention, and which
have an immediate bearing on the temper and life.' From
this passage he infers that we can urge none of the 'primary
and peculiar doctrines and institutions of the gospel, because
about all these there has been great contention.' To this I
answer, first, that I have never understood that there has
been much contention about the 'great precepts' of the gospel,
not even about those which have been most habitually dis-
regarded. Christians, satisfied with dismissing these from
their lives, have retained them in their systems. Even the
bitterest persecutors in the Church have never disputed the
precepts of loving their neighbour as themselves,' and of
doing to others as they would have others do to them.'. . . .
It may next be observed, that the common disputes about the
'great doctrines' of the gospel have not related so much to
their truth and importance, as to some inferior points con-
nected with them. For example, there has been much debate
about the benevolence of God, whether it forms his whole
moral character and his highest spring of action, or whether
it be subordinate to wisdom or rectitude; but all parties have
agreed that God is benevolent. In the same manner, many
have disputed about the omnipresence of God, whether his
substance be extended through infinite space, or whether he
be present only by his knowledge and power to every portion
of space; but all have agreed that God is omnipresent. In
like manner, Christians have disputed about the precise way
in which Christ's death has an influence on our forgiveness;
but that it has a real and important influence on forgiveness
almost all unite in asserting. Once more, Christians have
never been weary with disputing on the mode and extent of
spiritual influences; but, with very few exceptions, all main-
tain that these influences are real, and are promised to our
prayers. Let no one, then, say, that we preach no primary
or peculiar doctrines of Christianity, because we insist per-
petually on principles in which the different classes of
Christians generally concur. Such principles, we sincerely
believe, form the very substance and glory of the gospel.
They shine with a clear and unsullied splendour. We are
deeply impressed with their truth, their supreme importance,
and their sufficiency to salvation; and therefore we urge them
with unwearied importunity, with zeal and affection.
304
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
箱
​"It is possible that Dr. Worcester will go on to object,
that, according to this very account, our preaching must be
extremely general, vague, wanting in precision, and therefore
unfaithful. The answer is short. If we are indeed generat
and vague in our representation of the truths of the gospel,
it is because we are faithful, because we dare not be precise
above what is written, because we stop where the Scriptures
seem to us to stop, and because we have a very deep and
sorrowful persuasion that our religion has been exceedingly
defaced and corrupted by the bold attempts of theologians to
give minute explanations of its general truths, and to cramp
it with the fetters of systematic precision. We tell our
hearers, that God sent his Son to die for us, exalted him to
be our Prince and Saviour, and ordained him to be Judge of
the quick and dead, and never think it necessary or faithful
to fill up the outline of Scripture, by adding, that the Son
who was sent was the very God who sent him, or by specu-
lating on the infinite evil of sin, and on the necessity of an
infinite atonement, in order to illustrate the fitness of such a
mediator. Thus, then, we preach. Whether our preaching
be nothing more than the inculcation of 'natural religion,' let
our hearers determine.
6
•
"Dr. Worcester asks, if the apostles avoided controversy,'
and never attempted to refute error,' &c. We think the
answer very obvious. In the first place, we wonder that any
can confound the situation of ministers in a Christian country,
where the gospel has long been known and acknowledged,
with the situation of the apostles, who preached a new religion
which the multitude derided and opposed, and which their
new and ignorant converts were continually corrupting with
Jewish and heathen mixtures. We sincerely believe that the
great principles for which the apostles contended are now
received with little dispute in Christian communities, and we
conceive that the great business of a minister is to urge those
truths in their primitive simplicity on the hearts and con-
sciences of men, instead of making them subjects of con-
troversy.
"There is another important remark on this point. We
do not pass sentence like apostles on many subjects of con-
troversy among Christians, for this very plain reason,—that
we are not apostles. We are, what we labour never to forget,
uninspired and fallible men; and we are apt to distrust our-
selves, when persons of intelligence and piety see cause to
1803-1814.]
LOVE OF TRUTH.
305
differ from us in the interpretation of Scripture. We dare
not preach like apostles on points which have perplexed and
divided men of the profoundest thought and the purest lives;
and we know from the genius and leading principles of
Christianity, that these points are not, and cannot be, essen-
tial to salvation. We dare not imitate the bold and positive
language in which the darkest doctrines are sometimes urged
as undoubted and essential, and in which the sentence of
excommunication is pronounced on serious inquirers after
truth, by some who discover no superiority of intellect or
virtue. ・ ・ ・ ・
"It is urged, that our sentiments lead us into an entire
indifference to Christian truth; that we believe all error to be
innocent; that we consider belief in the truth as no virtue;
and that we thus set aside those passages of Scripture in which
the highest importance is attached to this belief. This ob-
jection is founded on our extending the name and privileges
of Christians to the lowest Unitarians, who hold some senti-
ments from which, as I stated, we generally shrink with
aversion. Now I deny that any indifference to truth, or any
contempt of those passages which enjoin belief of the truth,
is implied in this extension of our charity. . The faith
to which salvation is promised in Scripture seems to us to
reside in the heart much more than in the understanding.
The true believer is distinguished, not by clearness and ex-
tent of views, but by a 'love of light,' a 'love of the truth,'
originating in a sincere desire to do the will of God.'
"This love of divine truth, this honest, unprejudiced,
obedient mind, we highly venerate, and always enjoin as
essential to salvation. But we know that this love of truth is
consistent with the reception of many errors. We know
that the apostles, during the life of their Master, possessed
this temper in a sufficient degree to constitute them his fol-
lowers, and yet they grossly misunderstood some of his
plainest and most important declarations. We believe, too,
that, at the present day, many in every Christian country are
placed in circumstances almost, if not quite, as unfavourable
to a clear understanding of the gospel, as the apostles were
under the ministry of Jesus. From considerations of this
nature, from a knowledge of the amazing power of education
and other circumstances, over the opinions of every mind,
and from a fear that we, as well as others, may have been
swayed and blinded by unsuspected infelicities attending our
VOL. I.
X
306
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
condition, we are very unwilling to decide on the degree of
truth which is required for the salvation of every individual,
or to say that the errors of an apparently sincere professor of
Christianity are inconsistent with a pious character. In our
judgment of professed Christians, we are guided more by
their temper and lives than by any peculiarities of opinion.
We lay it down as a great and indisputable principle, clear as
the sun at noonday, that the great end for which Christian
truth is revealed is the sanctification of the soul, the forma-
tion of the Christian character; and wherever we see the
marks of this character displayed in a professed disciple of
Jesus, we hope, and rejoice to hope, that he has received all
the truth which is necessary to his salvation. Acting on this
rule, we cannot exclude from the Church the lowest Uni-
tarians who profess subjection to Jesus Christ. Of this class
we have known or heard of individuals who have breathed
the genuine spirit of their Master; who have discovered a
singular conscientiousness in all the walks of life; whose
charity has overflowed in good deeds; whose wills have been
resigned in affliction; and who lived as seeking a better
country, even a heavenly. Such men we have not dared to
exclude from the Christian Church, on the ground of what
seem to us great errors, any more than to exclude the disciples
of Calvin; whose errors we also deeply lament, but whose
errors are often concealed from us by the brightness of their
Christian virtues.
"We are not conscious that by this liberality we at all
oppose those passages of Scripture in which great stress is
laid upon belief of the truth; for we are convinced, from
laborious research into the Scriptures, that the great truth
which is the object of Christian belief, and which in the first
age conferred the character of disciples on all who received
it, is simply this, that Jesus is the Christ, or anointed by God
to be the light and Saviour of the world. Whenever this
great truth appears to us to be sincerely acknowledged,
whenever a man of apparent uprightness declares to us his
reception of Jesus in this character, and his corresponding
purpose to study and obey his religion, we feel ourselves
bound to give him the hand of Christian fellowship, and to
leave it to the final Judge to determine how far he is faith-
ful in searching after the will of his Lord. This duty of
searching, and of searching with humility and with a single
and fearless regard to truth, we constantly inculcate; and
1803-1814.]
VERBAL DIFFERENCES.
307
we sincerely believe that in this way we approve ourselves
friends of truth much more decidedly than if we should aim
to terrify and prostrate the minds of our hearers by threaten-
ing them with everlasting misery, unless they receive the
peculiar views of the gospel which we have seen fit to
espouse.
•
"The principal argument which Dr. Worcester offers in
favour of the proposed separation of Trinitarians and Unita-
rians, is the great differences between them. I sincerely
regret that these differences are so studiously magnified, whilst
the points of agreement between these classes of Christians
are as studiously overlooked. Dr. Watts and Dr. Doddridge
have left us a better example. Trinitarians and Unitarians
both believe in one God, one infinite and self-existent mind.
According to the first, this God is three persons; according
to the last, he is one person. Ought this difference, which
relates to the obscurest of all subjects, to the essence and
metaphysical nature of God, and which common Christians
cannot understand, to divide and alienate those who ascribe
to this one God the same perfections, who praise him for the
same blessings, who hope from his mercy the same forgive-
ness, who receive on his authority the same commands, and
who labour to maintain the same spirit of devotion to his will
and glory? According to Trinitarians, Jesus, who suffered
and died on the cross, is a derived being, personally united
with the self-existent God. According to the Unitarians, he
is a derived being, intimately united with the self-existent
God. Ought this difference, which transcends the conception
of common Christians, to divide and alienate those who love
the same excellent character in Jesus Christ, who desire to
breathe his spirit and follow his steps, who confide in him as
perfectly adapted to the work which he was sent to accom-
plish, and who labour to derive just conceptions of his nature
from his own instructions? The differences between Trini-
tarians and Unitarians are very often verbal. As soon as
Trinitarians attempt to show the consistency of their doctrine
of three persons with the Divine unity, their peculiarities
begin to vanish, and in many of their writings little or nothing
is left but one God acting in three characters, or sustaining
three relations, and intimately united with his son Jesus
Christ. Ought distinctions so subtile and perplexing to
separate those who love the same Divine character, and re-
spect the same Divine will?
x 2
308
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ET. 23-34.
،
6
"Dr. Worcester, however, seems disposed to widen the
breach between these classes of believers. He says, the
Saviour whom you acknowledge is infinitely inferior to
ours.' I answer, we believe that God saves us by his son
Jesus Christ, in whom he dwells, and through whom he
bestows pardon and eternal life. A higher Saviour we do
not know, and cannot conceive. But Dr. Worcester does
not stop here. He says, 'The God whom you worship is
different from ours.' To this I answer, as others have an-
swered before, that I with my brethren worship 'the God of
Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, who hath glorified his son
Jesus,' whom Peter preached. (Acts iii.) We worship the
God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,' to whom Paul
'bowed the knee.' We worship that God whom Jesus in his
last moments worshipped, when he said, 'Father, into thy
hands I commend my spirit.' We worship that God to whom
our Lord directed us, when he put into our lips these affecting
words, 'Our Father who art in heaven.' We worship that
God of whom our Master spoke in these memorable words-
'The hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers
shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth.' Dr. Wor-
cester speaks of a different God; but we can renounce ours
for no other. This worship we are persuaded is a spring of
purity, joy, and hope; and we trust that it will prove to us a
source of unfailing consolation amidst the trials, reproaches,
and rude assaults of the world. But I must stop. The
points of dispute between Unitarians and Trinitarians cannot
be treated with any fairness within the narrow compass of a
pamphlet, and I wish not to discuss them in connexion with
the present controversy, which primarily relates to the moral
character of the great body of Liberal Christians.
"Dr. Worcester has laboured to show, that charity, in-
stead of forbidding, encourages and requires Trinitarians to
exclude Unitarians from Christian fellowship, because charity
commands us to promote truth, and truth is promoted by this
system of exclusion. But let me ask, Why is truth to be
promoted? Not for its own sake, but for its influence on
the heart, its influence in forming a Christian temper. In
what, then, does this temper consist? very much in candour,
forbearance, and kind affection. It follows, that any method
of promoting truth which is unfriendly to these virtues, is
unchristian; it sacrifices the end to the means of religion.
Now let me ask, whether the practice of rejecting as ungodly
1803-1814.]
INTOLERANCE.
309
men those who differ from us on subtile, perplexing, and
almost (if not altogether) unintelligible doctrines, be not ob-
viously and directly opposed to the exercise and diffusion of
candour, forbearance, kind affection, and peace. Has it not
actually convulsed the church for ages with discord and war?
The right of denouncing those who differ on such doctrines,
if granted to one Christian, must be granted to all; and do
we need the spirit of prophecy to foretel the consequences,
if the ignorant, passionate, and enthusiastic, who form the
majority of every community, shall undertake to carry this
right into practice? The idea, that a religion which is de-
signed for weak and fallible mortals of all classes and capa-
cities, and which is designed to promote unity, peace, candour,
and love, should yet make it our duty to reject, as wholly
destitute of goodness, every man, however uniform in con-
duct, who cannot see as we do on points where we ourselves
see little or nothing, appears to me the grossest contradiction
and absurdity. If this be Christianity, we may say anything
of our religion more truly, than that it is a religion of peace.
A more effectual instrument of discord was never devised.
Charity, then, does not command the Trinitarian to exclude
his Unitarian brother. Charity commands us to use mildness
and persuasion; to open our eyes to the marks of virtue in
those from whom we differ; to beware of ascribing error to
a corrupt heart, unless the proof be striking; to think mo-
destly of ourselves, and to drive from our minds the conceit
of infallibility, that most dangerous error which ever crept
into the Church of Christ."*
"I cannot forbear earnestly desiring Christians to obtain, if possible,
some accurate ideas of the most important point in the present controversy.
Let them learn the distinction between Trinitarianism and Unitarianism.
Many use these words without meaning, and are very zealous about sounds.
Some suppose that Trinitarianism consists in believing in the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Spirit. But we all believe in these; we all believe that
the Father sent the Son, and gives, to those that ask, the Holy Spirit.
We are all Trinitarians, if this belief is Trinitarianism. But it is not.
The Trinitarian believes that the one God is three distinct persons, called
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; and he believes that each of these persons
is equal to the other two in every perfection, that each is the only true
God, and yet that the three are only one God. This is Trinitarianism.
The Unitarian believes that there is but one person possessing supreme
Divinity, even the Father. This is the great distinction; let it be kept
steadily in view. Some Christians have still more vague ideas on this
subject. They suppose that Trinitarians think highly of Jesus Christ,
whilst Unitarians form low ideas of him, hardly ranking him above common
men, and therefore they choose to be Trinitarians. This is a great error:
310
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
EXTRACTS FROM REMARKS ON THE REV. DR. WORCESTER'S
SECOND LETTER TO MR. CHANNING.
November, 1815. "As far as I understand the prevalent
sentiments among liberal Christians in this quarter of our
country, they appear to me substantially to agree with the
views of Dr. Samuel Clarke and the author of Bible News;
and were we required to select human leaders in religion, I
believe that we should range ourselves under their standard
in preference to any other.
"Dr. Clarke believed that the FATHER ALONE is the Su-
preme God, and that Jesus Christ is not the Supreme God,
but derived his being and all his power and honours from
the Father, even from an act of the Father's power and will.
He maintains, that, as the Scriptures have not taught us the
manner in which the Son derived his existence from his
Father, it is presumptuous to affirm that the Son was cre-
ated, or that there was a time when he did not exist. On
these subjects the word of God has not given us light, and
therefore we ought to be silent. The author of Bible News
in like manner affirms that the Father only is the Supreme
God, that Jesus is a distinct being from God, and that he
derives everything from his Father. He has some views re-
lating to the 'proper Sonship' of God, which neither Liberal
'Orthodox' Christians generally embrace. But the
prevalent sentiments of Liberal Christians seem to me to
accord substantially with the systems I have above described.
Like Dr. Clarke, the majority of this class feel that the Scrip-
nor
Some Unitarians believe that the Father is so intimately united with Jesus
Christ, that it is proper, on account of this union, to ascribe Divine honour
and titles to Jesus Christ. Some Unitarians deny that Jesus is a creature,
and affirm that he is properly the Son of God, possessing a Divine nature
derived from the Father. Some Unitarians, who assert that Jesus is a
creature, maintain that he is literally the first-born of the creation, the first
production of God, the instrumental cause by whom God created all other
beings, and the most exalted being in the universe, with the single excep-
tion of the Infinite Father. I am persuaded that under these classes of
high Unitarians many Christians ought to be ranked who call themselves
Orthodox and Trinitarians. In fact, as the word Trinity is sometimes
used, we all believe it. It is time that this word was better defined.
Christians ought not to be separated by a sound. A doctrine which we are
called to believe, as we value our souls and our standing in the Church,
ought to be stated with a precision which cannot be misunderstood. By
the Trinity, I have all along understood the doctrine, that God is three
persons.
!
#
1803-1814.]
THE ATONEMENT.
311
tures have not taught the mode of Christ's derivation. They,
therefore, do not call Christ a creature, but leave the subject
in the obscurity in which they find it, carrying with them,
however, an impression that the Scriptures ascribe to Jesus
the character of Son of God in a peculiarly high sense, and
in a sense in which it is ascribed to no other being.
"With respect to the ATONEMENT, the great body of
Liberal Christians seem to me to accord precisely with the
author of Bible News, or rather both agree very much with
the profound Butler. Both agree that Jesus Christ, by his
sufferings and intercession, obtains forgiveness for sinful
men; or that, on account, or in consequence, of what Christ
has done and suffered, the punishment of sin is averted from
the penitent, and blessings forfeited by sin are bestowed. It
is, indeed, very true, that Unitarians say nothing about infi-
nite atonement, and they shudder when they hear that the
ever-blessed God suffered and died on the cross. They reject
these representations, because they find not one passage in
Scripture which directly asserts them or gives them support.
Not one word do we hear from Christ or his apostles of an
infinite atonement. In not one solitary text is the efficacy of
Christ's death in obtaining forgiveness ascribed to his being
the supreme God. All this is theology of man's making, and
strongly marked with the hand of its author. But the doc-
trine of the Atonement, taken in the broad sense which I
have before stated, is not rejected by Unitarians. On the
question, which is often asked, How the death of Christ has
this blessed influence, they generally think that the Scrip-
tures have given us little light, and that it is the part of
wisdom to accept the kind appointment of God, without con-
structing theories for which the materials must be chiefly bor-
rowed from our own imagination.
66
My motive for making the preceding statement is no
other than a desire to contribute whatever may be in my
power to the peace of our churches. I have hoped, that, by
this representation, some portion of the charity which has
been expressed towards Dr. Clarke and the author of Bible
News may be extended towards other Unitarians; and that
thus the ecclesiastical division which is threatened may be
averted. Let it not, however, be imagined, that I or my
friends are anxious on our own account to extort from the
'Orthodox' an acknowledgment, that possibly we hold the
true gospel, and are not 'devoid of Christian faith and virtue.'
{
312
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
We regard other Christians as brethren, but can in no de-
gree recognise them as superiors in the Church of our com-
mon Master. We do not dread the censures which they
may pass on our honest opinions. We rejoice that we have
a higher judge, whose truth it is our labour to learn, obey,
and maintain, and whose favour will be distributed by other
principles than those which prevail in a prejudiced and short-
sighted world. But, whilst we mean not to be suitors to our
brethren, we are willing and desirous, by any fair repre-
sentations, to save them from a course which, as we firmly
believe, will be injurious to their own characters, unjust to
their fellow-Christians, unfriendly to the diffusion of the
gospel, and highly offensive to our benevolent Master. Most
happy should I be, if, by any honourable concessions on our
part, our churches could be preserved from the shock which
threatens them. . . .
<
"It is intimated that we dread a development.' We re-
spect many of our opponents, but we dread none. Our love
of peace, they may be assured, has another origin than fear
or selfish views. It is from deep conviction that I have
stated once and again, that the differences between Unitarians
and Trinitarians lie more in sounds than in ideas; that a bar-
barous phraseology is the chief wall of partition between
these classes of Christians; and that, would Trinitarians tell
us what they mean, their system would generally be found
little else than a mystical form of the Unitarian doctrine,
These two classes of Christians appear to me to concur in
receiving the most interesting and practical truths of the
gospel. Both believe in one God of infinite perfection; and
we must remember that it is this perfection of God, and not
his unknown substance, which is the proper object of the
Christian's love. Both believe in the great doctrine, that
eternal life is the free gift of God through Jesus Christ. Both
learn from the lips and life of Jesus the same great principles
of duty, the same exalted views of human perfection, and the
same path to immortality. I could easily extend these points
of agreement. And what are the questions which divide
them? Why, these :-First, Whether the One God be three
distinct subsistences,* or three persons, or three ‘somewhats ’†
called persons, as Dr. Worcester says, for want of a 'better
* "Wardlaw."
+ “This word has been used by Trinitarians in writing and conversa-
tion."
Bowery
1803-1814.] THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION.
313
word'; and, secondly, Whether one of these three subsist-
ences, or improperly called persons, formed a personal union
with a human soul, so that the Infinite Mind, and a human
mind, each possessing its own distinct consciousness, became
a complex person.
Such are the points, or rather phrases, of
difference between these Christians. And ought phrases
like these of which we find not a trace in the Bible, which
cannot be defined by those who employ them, which convey
to common minds no more meaning than words of an un-
known tongue, and which present to the learned only flitting
shadows of thought, instead of clear and steady conceptions
-to separate those who are united in the great principles
which I have stated? Trinitarians, indeed, are apt to sup-
pose themselves at an immeasurable distance from Unitarians.
The reason, I think, is, that they are surrounded with a mist
of obscure phraseology. Were this mist dispersed, I believe
that they would be surprised at discovering their proximity
to the Unitarians, and would learn that they had been wast-
ing their hostility on a band of friends and brothers."*
June, 1818. WHAT IS RELIGION ?† "We may answer
in general, that religion consists in a moral resemblance of
God, in a willing, a chosen, a conscientious, and habitual
conformity to his commands, as our supreme rule of life,
and our highest happiness,-in supreme love of God,-in
doing to others as we would that others should do to us,-
and in keeping ourselves unspotted from the world. The
seat of religion is the heart; and this emphatically is the
will of God, even our sanctification; a separation of our
hearts, our wills, and affections to his service. All besides
this, which belongs to religion, comes under the denomination
either of means or of motives. Let us endeavour clearly to
understand this distinction, that we may ever use the means
and motives of religion with a steady view to its infinitely
important end; and in that end seek, where alone we can
find it, the true and eternal good of our souls.
•
"I said that the seat of religion is the heart. From the
abundance of the heart, or according to its moral state, we
think, and feel, and speak, and act. Love to God and love
to our neighbour form, therefore, the essence of religion;
* For a yet fuller statement of Mr. Channing's views at this period, the
reader is referred to the remarks on "The System of Exclusion and De-
nunciation in Religiou," Works, Vol. V., pp. 373-391.
+ Christian Disciple, Vol. VI., No. 6, page 161.
{
314
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
because, in proportion to their prevalence in the heart, they
will produce a conformity of all our thoughts and words,
our feelings and actions, to the will of God; they will subdue
every passion and appetite to the dominion of his law; they
will make his approbation absolutely essential to the peace of
our hearts; they will make it the very life of our happiness.
But let us comprehend the commandment, for it is exceeding
broad. We cannot love God till we know him. Religion
comprehends, therefore, a knowledge of God. In proportion
to our love of God will be our confidence in him, our entire
satisfaction with the courses and designs of his providence,
whether we understand them or not, and our resignation to
his will. If we love him, we shall earnestly desire and en-
deavour to be like him; we shall do whatever we know or
believe will please him; we shall avoid whatever we have
reason to believe that he cannot approve. If we so love God,
we shall feel also a Christian love of one another; for the
greatest obstacles to the exercise of this love, of the active
and universal charity of the gospel, will then be overcome in
our hearts. We shall feel a love which not only worketh no
ill to our neighbour, but all practical good,—a love that can
bear and forbear, that hopeth all things and endureth all
things, that can return blessings for curses, and prayers for
injuries,—in fine, a love which will excite us in all circum-
stances to do to others as we would that others should do to
us. To be religious, therefore, is to be wholly conformed to
the will of God; it is to have in ourselves the mind that was
in Christ; it is to possess the will, the temper, and affections
of Christians.
•
“What, then, is the connexion between Religion and its
Doctrines and Rites?
"I answer:-1. The doctrines of religion comprehend all
that we are taught of the character, government, and pur-
poses of God, of the person and offices of our Lord, of our
moral nature and capacities in this world, of the happiness of
the good and the misery of the wicked in the life to come.
These doctrines are addressed to our faith; and it is obvious
that simply to believe them will not make us religious. How,
then, are they conducive to this end? Reflect on them but
for a moment, and you will perceive that in these doctrines
are comprehended all the motives by which the gospel excites
us to a godly, a sober, and a righteous life. As motives, it is
immediately apparent how very important they are to the
+
1803-1814.]
CHRISTIAN UNION.
315
great and infinitely momentous purposes for which God has
revealed them.
"But they will save us only by conducing to the end for
which they were given. Even as the body without the spirit
is dead, so is faith in these and all the doctrines of religion,
unless productive of a Christian temper, of good works, of
obedience to God, dead also.
"2. Still more plain is the true relation between the rites
of religion and religion itself. No positive institutions could,
indeed, be more expressive, more appropriate, than are
Baptism and the Lord's Supper. And yet, separated from
the ends of their appointment, what tendency has their ob-
servance to make us more acceptable to God?.....
"We can scarcely exaggerate the importance of these
ordinances as means of religion. But, unless they conduce
to the ends for which they were intended, they will avail us
nothing.
"I will only add two inferences:-1. The means of religion
may be changed in conformity with the circumstances of those
for whose use they are appointed. But religion itself can
never change. Like God, it is the same yesterday, to-day,
and for ever.
2. Is religion itself for ever essentially
the same? Does it consist in an unreserved devotion of the
heart, the passions, will, and affections, to God; in a choice
of God as our supreme good, and a ready obedience to his
will, from a principle of love? Then let us value and improve
the means, with a faithful reference to their infinitely im-
portant end."
September, 1816. CHRISTIAN UNION. "The guilt of a
sectarian spirit is but little understood, or it would not be so
often and inconsiderately incurred. To bestow our affections
on those who are ranged under the same human leader, or
who belong to the same church with ourselves, and to with-
hold it from others who possess equal if not superior virtue,
because they bear a different name, is to prefer a party to the
Church of Christ. Still more, to look with an unfriendly,
jealous eye on the improvements and graces of other denomi-
nations, is one of the most decided acts of hostility to Jesus
Christ which his disciples have power to commit; for the
virtue towards which they thus cherish and express dislike is
the image of Christ, the promotion of which is the highest end
of his life, of his death, and of his mediation at the right hand
of God.
#
316
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
"I speak not this to the reproach of one class of Christians
rather than of another. All have reason for deep humiliation.
All have been infected with this accursed leaven of party
spirit. Few Christians, it is to be feared, look on the virtues
and attainments of other denominations with equal pleasure
as on those of their own. Few do entire justice to those who
differ from them. It is to be hoped, however, that in this
respect a real improvement is spreading through Christendom.
The partition walls are beginning to fall. The fires of per-
secution are going out.
"This union of Christians is the brightest feature, the dis-
tinguishing glory of our age. Let it be extended, and our
religion will have free course through the earth. A new
face will then be given to the world. Hitherto the strength
of Christians has been spent in mutual conflict. The force of
the kingdom of Christ has been wasted in civil war. Let
Christians of every name and every region feel and respect
the holy bond of brotherhood; let their prayers and labours
be united for the diffusion, not of sectarian peculiarities, but
of that genuine Christianity which all hold in common; let a
co-operation as extensive as the Christian world be formed to
diffuse it and make it practically efficient.
"Let churches lay down their arms and love one another,
and nations will begin to learn war no more. Let Christians
of different countries embrace one another as brethren, let
them co-operate in schemes of general utility to the Church
and to mankind, and they will shudder at the thought of
breaking this sacred union. Peace, universal peace, will be
then their constant prayer."
""
1817. CHRISTIAN LIBERTY. "It was by asserting their
right to the free use of the Scriptures, and to private judg-
ment, that the Reformers laid the foundation of that purer
state of religion in which we now rejoice. Let these rights
never be wrested from us. Let us hold them dearer than all
civil immunities. Better have our persons and property than
our minds subjected to a despot.
"Is it said, that this jealousy is no longer needed in Pro-
testant countries, that faith and conscience are here left free?
We certainly have reason to thank God for the enjoyment
of greater religious liberty than was ever possessed before.
The fire of persecution is quenched; the Scriptures are in
every man's hand. But still, to read the Scriptures with in-
dependent minds, requires no little effort. There are still
}
|
1803-1814.] . LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE.
317
obstructions to the privilege of judging for ourselves. The
spirit of popery did not expire among our ancestors with its
forms. Human nature and its ruling passions are always the
same. The same love of power, the same desire to lead, the
same wish to dictate to the consciences of others, which
burned in the breasts of the Romish clergy, and built up the
Romish hierarchy, still subsist and operate among us. There
is still, and always will be, until man is more exalted by
Christianity, a conspiracy against the religious as well as the
civil rights of men. In Protestant countries there are those
who are impatient of contradiction, who wish to impose their
views on others, who surround their creeds with similar
terrors to those made use of by the Papal church, and doom
to destruction all who have the temerity to differ from their
opinions. And what is yet more melancholy, in Protestant
countries are multitudes who, awed by great names and loud
denunciations, want courage to inquire for themselves, fear
to doubt what positive men and popular opinion pronounce
sacred, take the name of a human leader whom they dread to
desert, and adopt as their standard not so much the Scriptures
as the interpretation of confident fellow-beings, who condemn
all but themselves and their servile adherents. To this timid
spirit we owe the worst corruptions of Christianity in earlier
times, and it is this which still obscures the glory of our
religion.
Remember, my friends, that the great doctrine of the
Reformation was this-that Jesus Christ is the only infallible
teacher of his church, and that to him, as he speaks in his
word, and not to human guides, we are all bound to listen.
It is the character of the consistent Protestant, and of the
enlightened Christian, that he calls no man master, and bows
his faith and conscience to no human tribunal. He is not
intimidated by positive assertion, anathemas, and cries of
heresy. He goes to no infallible head, whether at Rome,
Geneva, or Wittemberg; borrows no creed from Trent or
Westminster; takes no name from Luther, Calvin, or Arminius;
intrenches himself behind no traditions of forefathers and
ancient saints. He, indeed, avails himself of the lights and
arguments of good and great men of present and former
times. But Jesus is the only authority to whom he submits.
Every church in Christendom has its errors; and perhaps
errors which to future ages may seem as gross as many earlier
superstitions appear to the present generation. In reading
(6
318
[ÆT. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
scripture impartially, we may be compelled to dissent from
opinions which are embraced by multitudes with an excess of
zeal. In this case our path is plain. Let us be meek, but
bold, professors of truth. Let us all adhere with firmness to
what we deliberately and solemnly believe to be the truth of
God. Let us not shrink from its defence because it is perse-
cuted, because it is unpopular, because it may expose us to
an evil name. Truth should be dearer to us than reputa-
tion. We must remember that it has seldom made its way
without exposing its professors to suffering and reproach;
and in the reproach of our Master we should be willing to
share.
"This right to consult and judge for himself of God's word
is our neighbour's as well as our own. Whilst we claim it
for ourselves, let us not deny it to others. Let us give what
we ask. Let us be anxious, not to make men think as we do,
but to direct them to the only source of truth; and let us not
condemn their motives, if in interpreting the Scriptures they
differ from ourselves.
"There is a strong disposition in men to make their own
creeds standards for those around them, to cling to the
opinions on which they differ from others with peculiar con-
fidence and tenacity; and, as if incapable of error, to look
with an evil eye on those who doubt them. But this is a
strange inconsistency in a Protestant. The claim of infalli-
bility was the very article of the Romish church against
which Luther most strenuously set his face. He maintained
that popes, councils, fathers, and the whole church might err;
and who of us that reads the records of the church, who that
sees the lamentable and now acknowledged errors, both of the
Romish and Protestant communions, will not assent to this
doctrine of human frailty? Yet, in opposition to this prin-
ciple, how many Protestants clothe themselves with that in-
fallibility which they have condemned and derided in Rome,
assume this very place of pope in the church, prepare articles
of faith for their brethren, and give over to perdition those
who will not receive their decrees! To this usurping and
uncharitable spirit the miseries of the church in every age
are to be traced. It is this which has divided Christians
into hostile bands, kindled public wars, and made the page
of Christian history as black and bloody as the records of
heathenism.
CE
"Strange, that, with all history to instruct us, we do not
I
4
1803-1814.] BERRY-STREET CONFERENCE.
319
learn to be humble, candid, and tolerant; that we do not
remember that we, and not our brothers, may have erred;
and that, even if we are right, it does not become us to pro-
nounce his error a crime.
"The peace of the church has been long enough disturbed.
There is but one way to restore it. We must respect each
other's rights, feel our own fallibility, be kind to them that
differ from us, and be just to the excellencies and sincerity of
all denominations. Look where we will into the innumerable
divisions of the church, we may everywhere find marks of
the spirit of Jesus. The Catholic church, even if it seems
to us the most corrupt, can boast of names which do honour
to humanity. Let us cease to think that our own sect has
engrossed all truth and all goodness. This charity is the
ornament of the true Christian, and the only bond which can
unite disciples too long divided; the only remedy which can
heal the wounded and lacerated body of Christ.”
ADDRESS AT THE FORMATION OF THE BERRY-STREET CON-
FERENCE.
May, 1820. LIBERAL CHRISTIANITY.
"The views and
dispositions which have led to this meeting may easily be
expressed. It was thought by some of us, that the ministers
of this Commonwealth who are known to agree in what are
called Liberal and Catholic views of Christianity, needed a
bond of union, a means of intercourse, and an opportunity
of conference not as yet enjoyed. It was thought that by
meeting to join their prayers and counsels, to report the state
and prospects of religion in different parts of the Common-
wealth, to communicate the methods of advancing it which
have been found most successful, to give warning of dangers
not generally apprehended, to seek advice in difficulties, and
to take a broad survey of our ecclesiastical affairs, and of the
wants of our churches-much light, strength, comfort, ani-
mation, zeal, would be spread through our body. It was
thought that, by such a meeting, brotherly love would be
advanced, that a foundation would be laid for joint exertion,
and that many valuable objects, which now languish through
our ignorance of each other, and want of concert, might be
prosecuted with vigour and success. It was thought that the
circumstances of the times demand a more earnest co-opera-
tion than formerly-that, living, as we do, in an age in which
320
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23-34.
ставу наст Добрични
the principle of combination, the power of associated num-
bers, is resorted to by all sects and parties in an unprece-
dented degree, we were bound to avail ourselves of this
instrumentality, as far as consists with the free, upright, in-
dependent spirit of our religion. For these ends it was
proposed that an annual meeting should be held, which
should be spent in prayer, in hearing an address from one
of our number, in offering reports as to the state of our
churches, and in conference as to the best methods of advancing
religion.
"The individuals who originated this plan did not, how-
ever, intend to forestal the opinions of their brethren, by
making their plan too minute; but wished that at the first
meeting the whole question should be considered at large:-
In what way the ministers who are understood to hold the
milder forms of Christianity may be brought into closer con-
nexion and more united exertion.' I have only to add, that
in one particular they were agreed,-that, whilst the meeting
should be confined to those who harmonize generally in
opinion, it should be considered as having for its object, not
simply the advancement of their peculiar views, but the
general diffusion of practical religion and of the spirit of
Christianity.
Having thus given the views of the individuals who
suggested this meeting, I.proceed to address you on some of
the topics which were considered to be most suited to the
occasion, and shall offer some remarks,—first, on the general
spirit which belongs to our profession; and secondly, on the
duties which are particularly appropriate to us in the present
state of the Church.
66
"The general spirit which belongs to us as ministers,
which constitutes the spirit of our profession, which gives
force and earnestness to exertion, and seriousness and dignity
to the character, originates in a cherished conviction of the
greatness of our end. We are to feel as men set apart to a
great work, who have great interests depending on us, great
powers and instruments for doing good entrusted to us, and
a solemn account to render for our use of these means.
We
must labour to raise our minds to the height of our vocation,
to think generously, nobly of its design, to feel that we are
devoted to an object deserving a far more intense energy of
purpose than any of the interests for which worldly men
contend so keenly, and keep society in an uproar. Nothing
1
A
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1803-1814.] BERRY STREET CONFERENCE.
321
calls forth the soul like a consciousness of being dedicated to
a sublime work, in which illustrious beings are our associates,
and of which the consequences are interminable. I am
speaking with no inflation, I trust. I am not using common-
place language to which I attach little meaning, when I say
that this is the consciousness which should accompany us
through our office, and be the all-pervading, all-quickening
spirit of our private studies and public labours.
"The Christian religion is in a particular manner com-
mitted to the care, watchfulness, protection of ministers; and
Christianity, if it be true, must be acknowledged as eminently
the cause of God, and the highest interest of human beings.
We exaggerate nothing when we speak of all human insti-
tutions,-government, science, arts, public wealth, public
prosperity, of all the outward, positive goods of life, and
even of the progress of intellect and the development of
genius, as inferior and comparatively unimportant concerns;
for man's relations to God and to a future life are, after all,
the true springs of purity, goodness, greatness, consolation,
joy; and it is by making them known in their reality and
extent, that society is to be advanced and refined, as well as
individuals redeemed and trained for Heaven.
"Let us, then, never forget that the religion which reveals
the True God and Immortal Life, which is the best legacy
of past ages, and the only hope for the future, is committed
to us, to be preserved, extended, perpetuated; and let the
dignity of our office-an office before which the splendour of
thrones, and the highest distinctions of earthly ambition grow
dim-be used by us to develop a just elevation of mind, a
force of resolution and action, a superiority to temporary
applause, a willingness to live and die, to labour and suffer,
for the promotion of Christianity..
"The present is not an age of controversy of believers
with infidels, but of believers with believers; and it is not
uncommon now to hear the name of Christian denied to those
who, in earlier seasons of peril, were thought the most powerful
defenders of the faith. It is not, however, the distinguishing
peculiarity of our times that Christian fights with Christian,
for such contentions make up the burden of ecclesiastical
history; but this seems to me to be the striking distinction
of the age, that Christians, instead of being arrayed, as here-
tofore, under the different standards of little sects, are gra-
dually gathering by large masses and with systematic order
VOL. I.
Y
1
322
[ÆT. 23–34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
into two great divisions. These two great divisions are
known among us by the names of ORTHODOX and LIBERAL;
and although it is true that other party distinctions remain,
yet these are so prominent and comprehensive, that they
deserve our peculiar and almost exclusive attention, in con-
sidering the special duties which are imposed on us by the
times.
"This most important division of the Christian community
is traced to different causes by the different parties. The
Orthodox maintain that the great cause of it is an arrogant
disposition in their opponents to exalt reason at the expense
of Revelation, to scatter the sacred cloud of mystery which
hangs over the deep things of God, to reject the Divine word
because it apparently contradicts the conclusions of human
understanding. On the other hand, the Liberal or Rational
maintain that this division is to be traced to the advancement
of the human mind, to the establishment of just principles of
Biblical criticism, to the emancipation of Christianity from
the corruption of ages of darkness, and that it is not their
unwarrantable boldness, but a servile adherence on the part
of their opponents to prejudices consecrated by antiquity,
which prevents the union of Christians.
"These explanations, though totally opposed to each other,
assist us to understand the true nature of the controversy
which agitates the community. We may learn from them,
that particular doctrines are not the chief walls of separation.
The great question is not, whether the trinity, or vicarious
punishment, or innate sin, be true. There is a broader
question which now divides us, and it is this,-How far is
REASON to be used in explaining REVELATION?
"The Liberal Christian not only differs from his Orthodox
brother on particular points, but differs in his mode of ex-
plaining that Book which they both acknowledge to be the
umpire. He maintains that the great, essential principles of
Christianity, such as God's unity and paternal character, and
the equity and mercy of his administration, are there revealed
with noontide brightness, and that they accord perfectly with
the discoveries of nature, and the surest dictates of our moral
faculties. Consequently he maintains that passages of Scrip-
ture, which, taken separately, might give different ideas of
God's nature and government, are, in common candour to
the sacred writers, to be construed in consistency with these
fundamental truths. He affirms, too, that just as far as we
1803-1814.]
DUTIES OF UNITARIANS.
323
acquaint ourselves with the circumstances under which these
passages were written, such a consistent interpretation is
seen to be the intention of the authors, and that we are
therefore justified in believing that nothing but the antiquity
of the sacred writings prevents us from making the same
discovery in relation to other passages which continue to be
obscure.
"The Orthodox Christian discards as impious this exercise
of reason, though he himself not seldom is compelled to resort
to it, and maintains that the Scriptures are frittered away by
his opponents because they take the liberty, which, when
needed, is taken by all, of explaining figuratively certain pas-
sages, which, according to their literal import, seem to con-
tradict the general strain of Scripture and the clearest views
which God's works and word afford of his wisdom and good-
ness. Such is the state of the controversy among us.
A
rational, consistent interpretation of Scripture is contended.
for by one party, who maintain that before such an inter-
pretation the doctrines of the Trinity, of Infinite Satisfaction,
of Election, of Irresistible Grace, and Sudden Conversion,
fly as the shades of the night before the sun; whilst the
other party maintain that these doctrines are not a whit the
less credible because they offend reason and the moral sense;
that an important part of faith is the humiliation of the
understanding, weakened and perverted as it is by sin, and
that mystery is one of the sure and essential marks of Divine
revelation.
"The question now presents itself, What duties result
from this state of the Church?
"Is this controversy an important one? Is this rational
interpretation of the Scriptures for which we plead important?
Are the doctrines which seem to us to flow from such inter-
pretation worth contending for? These questions will help
us to judge of our duty at the present moment. And in
answer to them I would maintain, that the controversy is of
great importance, and that we owe to Jesus Christ, our
Master, and to his gospel, a strenuous defence of the rational,
consistent interpretation which we are seeking to give to his
word. The success, perhaps the very existence, of Christi-
anity requires this service at our hands. Christianity cannot
flourish, or continue, unless thus interpreted. It is a fact,
that, however disordered human affairs seem to be, society is
becoming more enlightened; and there is a growing demand
1
Y 2
324
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY. [ÆT. 23–34.
for a form of religion which will agree with the clear dic-
tates of conscience, and the plain manifestations which the
universe makes of God. An irrational form of religion can-
not support itself against the advances of intelligence. We
have seen in Catholic countries a general revolting of en-
lightened men from Christianity, through disgust at Popery,
the only form under which it was presented to their view.
Let an irrational Protestantism be exclusively propagated, so
that the intelligent will be called to make their election be-
tween this and infidelity, and the result can hardly be
doubted. The progressive influence of Christianity depends
mainly on the fact, that it is a rational religion; by which I
mean, not that it is such a system as reason could discover
without revelation, and still less that it is a cold and lifeless
scheme of philosophical doctrines, but that it is a religion
which agrees with itself, with our moral nature, with our
experience and observation, with the order of the universe,
and the manifest attributes of God.
•
"I have time to add but one more reason for earnestly
and firmly defending and spreading what we deem the con-
sistent, rational, and just interpretation of Christianity; and
it is this, that the cause of Practical Religion, of evangelical
piety and morals, is deeply concerned in this movement. On
this point a more particular discussion is needed than the
present limits allow, because increasing pains are taken to
represent our views as unfriendly to vital religion, and to
connect with opposite doctrines the ideas of devoted zeal and
seriousness. This fact is particularly interesting to us, for
our great work as Christian ministers is to promote Practical
Christianity, love to God and love to man; and our pecu-
liarities are suspicious indeed, if they are in any manner
unfavourable to this supreme end of our office.
"But the reproach is groundless. On the contrary, the
chief motive, I conceive, for insisting on and spreading
rational views is, that they are manifestly more suited than
so-called Orthodox views to reconcile men's hearts to God, to
purify and exalt human nature, to advance charity and phi-
lanthropy, and all the peculiar virtues of the gospel. Did I
not believe this, I should say, let us at once lay down the
weapons of controversy, for even if we hold the truth, it is
not worth contending for, it ought not to be contended for,
at the hazard of the peace of the community, if it is only a
theorem for the speculative intellect, an abstract science,
1803-1814.]
CONGREGATIONALISM.
325
without power to operate on the character, inapplicable to
the conscience and life. Again I say, it is the practical in-
fluence of Liberal views, it is the baneful tendency of Ortho-
dox views, which summons us to the zealous advocacy of
rational and consistent Christianity."
1820. CONGREGATIONALISM. Our fathers maintained
the independence of Christian churches. This was their
fundamental principle. They taught that every church or con-
gregation of Christians is an independent community,—that
it is competent to its own government, has the sole power of
managing its own concerns, electing its own ministers, and
deciding its own controversies, and that it is not subject to
any other churches, or to bishops, or synods, or assemblies,
or to any foreign ecclesiastical tribunal whatever. This
great principle seemed to our fathers not only true, but in-
finitely important.
"The question now offers itself, Were our fathers justi-
fiable in adopting and asserting this principle? And one
answer immediately suggests itself. In the Scriptures we
find not one word of a national church, not an intimation
that all the churches of the same country should link them-
selves together, should give up their independence and self-
control, and subject themselves to a common master and a
few prelates. In Scripture we find but two uses of the
word Church, when applied to religious concerns. It some-
times means the whole body of Christians spread over the
earth, and sometimes a particular congregation of Christians
accustomed to meet in one place. That such congregations
are to submit themselves to one common head or pope, as the
Catholics teach, or to a national head, as the English church
teaches, or to any power or tribunal distinct from that which
subsists in each, is nowhere even hinted in the Scriptures.
Such connexions are human arrangements, and can be de-
fended only by arguments drawn from their necessity, or their
obvious fitness to promote the ends of the Christian religion.
"But can such a defence be sustained? What benefits, I
pray you, are to be expected from uniting particular churches
into a mass, a body, under one government? To answer
these questions, consider the purposes for which churches
are instituted,—and they may be expressed in a short com-
pass. Churches are instituted that Christians may grow
in knowledge, piety, and charity, by meeting together as
Christians, by joining in worship, by communing together in
•
326
[ET. 23-34.
THE UNITARIAN CONTROVERSY.
Christ's ordinances, by receiving instruction from a public
teacher, and uniting in good works. The association is a
friendly one, intended to promote holiness, truth, and uni-
versal virtue, by persuasion, example, and intercourse. Now,
I ask, how are these objects advanced by combining many
churches under one government? Will a church be more
strongly united in love, will it worship more fervently, or
make surer progress in truth, if its minister be appointed, its
worship regulated, its creed established, by a foreign power,
be that power a pope, or a king, or an assembly of bishops,
or an assembly of elders? One would think that every
church could better consult its own edification-and this is
its great object-than strangers.
"There should undoubtedly be a close union between
different churches, but a union of charity, and not a consoli-
dation into one mass, or a subjection to one tribunal. This
last mode of binding churches together is uncongenial with
the free and equal spirit of Christianity, engenders ambition,
intrigue, and jealousy, subjects Christ's Church to civil or
ecclesiastical bondage, substitutes force for persuasion, and
stifles the spirit of inquiry. These are almost inevitable
effects. Once create a power or jurisdiction over all the
churches of a country, or over a large number, and you
create a prize for ambition. This power becomes important
to the magistrate, it excites the craving of the clergy. They
who gain it will not fail to strengthen and extend it; free
inquiry will be its prey; and the cardinal virtues of the
gospel-humility, meekness, and charity-will be trodden
under its feet.
،،
•
Congregationalism is the only effectual protection of
the Church from usurpation, the only effectual security of
Christian freedom, of the right of private judgment. As
such let us hold it dear. Let us esteem it an invaluable
legacy. Let us resist every effort to wrest it from us.
Attempts have been made, and may be repeated, to subject
our churches to tribunals subversive of their independence.
Let the voice of our fathers be heard, warning us to stand
fast in the liberty with which Christ has made us free. The
independence of our churches was the fundamental principle
which they aimed to establish here, and here may it never
die." *
* The reader, who would trace the gradual development of Mr. Chan-
ning's principles, should read, in connexion with this address, the tracts on
"Objections to Unitarian Christianity Considered," 1819, Works, Vol. V.,
1814-1822.]
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
327
CHAP. IV. — SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
ÆT. 34-42. 1814-1822.
CONTROVERSY was utterly uncongenial to Mr. Channing;
his temper, tastes, desires, habits, all conspired to make it
repugnant. He was discriminating in processes of thought,
instinctively repelled dogmas, however time-hallowed, which
were abhorrent to the dictates of his moral nature, made nice
distinctions between opinions resulting from accidental in-
fluences and truths addressed to the reason of man universally
in the creeds transmitted by tradition, and was earnestly
watching for a brighter spiritual day to dawn; but, while
thus impelled to join the ranks of the progress-party, and
fitted by eloquence to be a leader there, he yet appreciated
so justly what was good in the tendencies of established
bodies of believers, and so cordially sympathized with the
character displayed by Christians of every denomination, that
he felt he was doing violence to his heart by withdrawing
from their communion. Above all, he was so conscious of
the darkness, ignorance, sophistry, overspreading the theo-
logical world, and so fervently longing for some full vision
of Divine Wisdom, that a position of sectarian dogmatism
seemed to him as absurd as it was presumptuous. He was
chiefly desirous to forget the things behind and to press on.
It would be treating him with great injustice, then, not to
present some more positive traces of his spiritual growth
during these years of painful dissension. How very small a
space controversy occupied in his mind is proved by the fact,
that, among his unpublished sermons and manuscripts of that
period, there does not remain a single controversial paper.
He was seeking to reverence and love God, to respect and
sympathize with man, to form himself and his fellows anew
in Christ's image, to mould society upon the pattern of
Divine justice. This will appear in the following extracts.
SECTION FIRST.
RELIGION.
66 I
Oct. 1814. DIVINE GOODNESS AND JUSTICE One.
would have you penetrated with the conviction that God is
pp. 393-410, "The Moral Argument against Calvinism," 1820, Works,
Vol. I., pp. 217-241, and chiefly the "Discourse at the Ordination of the
Rev. Jared Sparks, Baltimore," 1819, Works, Vol. III., pp. 59–103.
328
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
G
JE
most just; but I would have you hold this truth in consis-
tency with that most interesting of all truths, that God de-
lights to do good, and that all his operations are directed by
benevolence. Benevolence and justice are harmonious attri-
butes of God, to which all others may be reduced; and the
true idea of justice is, that it is a branch or mode of exercise
of benevolence.
"This thought is so important, especially as giving us the
clearest view of the justice of God, that I shall proceed to
offer a few remarks in illustration of it. There is reason to
fear that this attribute has not always been placed in its true
light. Some persons, misled by confining their attention to
a few passages of Scripture, have represented justice as a
distinct perfection from goodness, and as sometimes clashing
with it, and opposing the wishes of Divine benevolence.
Such sentiments are dishonourable to God, and injurious to
true piety, by stripping his character of its chief excellence,
the infinity of goodness. Such representations of justice
have induced some to regard it as an attribute to be dreaded
rather than to be esteemed and loved; and many have wished
to exclude it from their conception of God. But an atten-
tion to the general scope of Scripture will correct the error,
and teach us that God's justice coincides with goodness, and
is even a branch of it, and that it is therefore to be regarded
with affectionate reverence.
"Divine justice is, in fact, an exercise of enlarged be-
nevolence, enjoining and enforcing by rewards and punish-
ments those dispositions and actions on which the peace,
order, improvement, and felicity of rational beings depend.
I repeat it, the principle of justice is benevolence. It is
God's goodness which inclines and impels him to maintain a
moral government, or to treat beings according to their cha-
racters; for nothing has so much influence as character on
the happiness or misery of his universe. The more benevo-
lence a being possesses, the more he will honour, reward, and
encourage that spirit of universal love which is the very soul
of happiness, and the more he will discountenance that selfish
and ungrateful spirit which disorders, and darkens, and
desolates creation.
"God's justice, then, is a wise benevolence, employing
rewards and punishments to exalt intelligent creatures to the
most perfect and happy character, to a participation of that
love or moral goodness which forms his own felicity."
"
1.
1814-1822.]
SENSIBILITY TO SIN.
329
1816. SENSIBILITY TO SIN. "I will arise and go to my
father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against
heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called
thy son.' There is no man, who knows himself, who will not
admit that the language of this text is an acknowledgment
which should often proceed from his own lips. All, indeed,
have not committed the same sins. The stain of guilt is not
equally broad and deep on every conscience. Some, through
the good providence of God, and the influences of a wise and
pious education, have escaped the gross vices into which the
prodigal son was precipitated, and some from their earliest
years have been swayed by the principles of piety. But
none have advanced in the path of duty with a step which
has never faltered. No man has been always true to God,
and to the dictates of his own mind. All have sinned. All
have cause for humble acknowledgment, and the sense of
unworthiness before God should form a part of every man's
habitual tone of feeling.
"I am aware that this duty of preserving a sensibility to
our sins has often been overstated, or enjoined in language
too unqualified or unguarded. Men have sometimes been
addressed as if they had nothing to do but to remember and
lament their sins, as if they could not speak of themselves in
language too full of abasement, and as if there were a virtue
in doubting their capacity for good, and denying whatever
improvements they may have made in holiness.
"Do not imagine for a moment that Christianity en-
courages an unnatural, morbid, extravagant mode of thought.
It calls you to other duties and services besides the recollec-
tion of your sins; and it teaches you, even when engaged in
these recollections, still to be just to yourselves, to think
soberly or judiciously, to charge on yourselves no imaginary
or exaggerated guilt, and to be sensible of virtues, if you really
possess them, as truly as of defects and transgressions. True
humility has its foundation in a correct estimate of our cha-
racters. It is the virtue of an enlightened understanding.
It is to be formed, not by fixing our thoughts exclusively on
the worst parts of our conduct, and ascribing the guilt of
these to our whole lives, but by observing our whole lives
impartially, surveying the good and the evil in our temper
and general deportment, and in this way learning to what
degree we are influenced by the various dispositions and
principles which enter into our character. Such discriminat-
330
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 34-42.
ing attention to ourselves will make the best of us humble;
but a humility thus formed will be very different from that
vague feeling which some persons cherish, that they have
contracted enormous guilt. We shall thus learn to know
what are the particular defects and sins which we ought to
confess, what proportion they bear to our whole character,
and what methods may be most successfully applied for their
correction."
1820. REPENTANCE. "We repent then, and then only,
when, seeing a propensity to be evil, we resist it as such,
and bring it into subjection to the principle of duty. Repent-
ance is a revolution of mind which we resolve upon, in which
we are voluntarily active, and which is established by our
perseverance. The command to repent is founded on the
fact, that God has given us a power over our own minds; and
until this power is exerted, until a change is produced by
our own deliberate efforts, we are not penitent.
"When I speak of power over our own minds, I do not
mean that a man can by a single act of his will, by the effort
of a moment, change his character, efface the impression of
years, calm the violence of long-indulged anger, cleanse
imagination from impurities on which it has long surfeited,
or raise to God a mind which has grown to the earth. These
miracles are not suddenly wrought in the mind, any more
than is the full-grown and fruitful tree made to spring in an
instant from the seed. The work of undoing evil habits, of
retracing wrong steps, of subduing passions which in our
folly we have allowed to become our masters, is gradual and
slow. But still, a man who acknowledges the importance of
such a change, who feels his responsibility, and who expects
to reap as he shall sow, has power given him to accomplish
it,-power to gain daily victories over himself,-power to fly
from situations which tempt him too strongly and surely from
his duty,-power to reflect on those great truths respecting
God and his mercy to the penitent, and his inflexible purpose
of punishing persevering guilt, which weaken vice and build
up holy resolutions,-power to avail himself of virtuous com-
panions, pious examples, and the counsel of good men,-
power to examine himself, and learn his particular danger,—
and, above all, power to pray to God, the original of all
strength, success, and purity. We are endowed with these
powers, which, if exerted, will certainly make us better, will
change the frame of our minds, and effect an amendment
1814-1822.1
REPENTANCE.
331
which, though it may not be perceptible from day to day,
becomes very obvious when we compare distant periods of
our lives. It is by the use of these powers that all true
repentance is accomplished. Some, indeed, tell us that re-
pentance is a work done immediately for us by God, that we
are transformed, regenerated, renewed, by a sudden and
resistless agency of the Divine Spirit. But why, then, are
we called to repent and renew ourselves? Why is penitence
assigned as a duty, and the neglect of it punished as a crime?
True, it is God who gives repentance. All good comes from
him, whether spiritual or natural; but it comes through the
powers which he bestows, and through his blessing on the
faithful use of them. The character is never changed in a
moment, or without our own activity.
66
Repentance, we have said, is a change of mind effected
by our own exertions. Another characteristic of repentance
is, that it is a universal change, a turning from sin, at least
as far as the will is concerned. Repentance is a strong pur-
pose to remove everything evil from our character. It
excepts no form, mode, degree of evil. It makes no com-
promise with sin, but wages against it an unsparing and ex-
terminating war. I do not repent, if to bribe conscience I
sacrifice one evil desire or pleasure whilst others are tolerated;
if I hope to atone by earnestness in some duties for negligence
in others; if particular virtues are used to weigh down par-
ticular sins, and a general correctness is made a substitute
for efforts to improve. To repent, is not to do wrong with
moderation and under certain restrictions. It does not mean
that we allow ourselves to wander only a certain distance
from our duty. To repent, is to try to perform our whole
duty, to mark every known departure from it, and to aim at
universal rectitude of heart and life. Repentance is not,
indeed, one with full perfection. It is a state consistent with
many failures and sins. But it is perfect in its seed and
root, perfect in its aim and aspiration, perfect in purpose and
prospect. God accepts it because it is a pledge of spotless
purity, and an advancing step towards it..
66
Some, when they speak of repentance, mean little more
than that they have grieved for transgression. Now, sorrow
is, I admit, an entrance-way to repentance, a preparation for
it, a means of it; but it is not the grace itself. The truth is,
we must toil and struggle, as well as lament; and grief does
no good any farther than it leads to a habit of watchfulness,
332
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 34-42.
and of opposition to the first motion of guilty desire. The
common sorrow of men over their consciousness of miscon-
duct is no great virtue. To mourn for a past sin is neither
a rare nor a high attainment. The difficulty is, to hate the
sin before it is committed, to look upon it in the moment of
strong temptation as we shall do when it is performed, to
resolve against it when it is yet in our power to withhold our
act, and not when it is completed and irrevocable."
1815. SPIRITUAL INFLUEnces. "There is another class
of Christians, who, whilst they believe that God constantly
operates on the human mind, and that without his operation
no fruits of goodness are produced, yet believe that the mode
of his influence is essentially different from that presented in
the view just given. They believe that Divine influence is
not sudden and irresistible, but suited to the nature of man
as a free and accountable being; that it is habitual, gentle,
persuasive, offering truth to the mind and motives to the will,
but leaving the individual at liberty to comply with or reject
it. They conceive that compulsion or irresistible power
would entirely destroy the virtue of human actions, would
reduce man to a machine, and would thus entirely defeat
God's end, which is to render us objects of approbation and
reward. They conceive that our whole goodness is to be
ascribed to God as its author, because he gives us all our
powers, our understanding, our consciences, our knowledge
of duty, our capacity of improvement, because he furnishes
in his gospel the most powerful motives to obedience, and
because, by the silent influences of his providence and spirit
on the heart, he suggests good thoughts, awakens desires of
holiness, and furnishes all the strength which we need to
resist temptation. But they believe that God's agency stops
here, that he does not in any manner compel men to follow
the light and the motives which he presents,-does not force
them to use the strength which he bestows. It depends on
themselves whether they concur with or resist his grace,
whether they use well or neglect the powers which he gives,
whether they will serve God or disobey him."
1817. WALKING WITH GOD. "It is the earnest desire of
the pious man, whose heart has been touched by God's good
spirit, to feel what he believes, that God is with him; and
his attention is often withdrawn from all finite things, that
he
may bring home this thought with power to his heart.
"The quickness of perception, the sensibility, to which
1814-1822.]
THE DIGNITY OF PIETY.
333
the mind, by use and time, may attain on these subjects, is
not easily believed by those who have made no progress in
religion. The pious man, whose mind is exercised on God,
comes to see him in a peculiar manner. He has a conscious-
ness of his presence which he cannot easily describe or com-
municate to one who has lived wholly in the world. In
scenes which to others are blank and desolate, he feels that
he is not alone; and in society where others see only their
fellow-beings, a higher presence is revered and perceived.
Even when thinking of outward things, there is, if I may so
speak, in the breast of a devout man, a latent sense of God;
just as, when we are near or in sight of an individual whom
we respect, there is a consciousness of him, and a reference
to him, even though we are conversing freely with other
beings.
"The pious man finds in the whole of life, in its successes
or reverses, in the kindness of friends or the calumnies of
foes, in the difficulties and trials of his state, calls and mo-
tives to this secret converse with God, and life becomes more
and more interesting in proportion as it strengthens this
sacred intimacy. Often, when to those around he seems to
be living among things seen, and engaged by human agen-
cies, he is holding a high and pure intercourse with the
Father of his spirit. And this piety brings its reward in
the serenity and refinement which it imparts to the whole
spirit of him who thus walks with God."
1813. THE DIGNITY OF PIETY. "What is there which
gives such dignity to our nature as the capacity of knowing
and of loving the best of things? It is chiefly this capacity
of religion that lifts us above brutes, that allies us to superior
orders of beings. You must at once acknowledge that the
mind is ennobled just in proportion to the grandeur and sub-
limity of the objects on which it is employed. Think, then,
of the elevation of that mind which habitually directs itself
to God, of that heart in which this infinitely great and good
being is enthroned. We ought to consider piety as the
highest, most generous, and dignified attainment which is
placed within our reach,-in fact, as the noblest characteristic
which an intelligent creature can exhibit.
"It is melancholy that piety should not be associated in
every mind with the idea of dignity and honour. But, un-
happily, religion has been so often worn as a mask by the
unprincipled, it has so often been accompanied by mummery
334
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
and superstition, that some have associated with its venerable
name feelings of contempt and degradation. They think
that to be devout is to be weak. Of all delusions there is
none greater than this.
We should feel that piety is the very spirit of heaven, the
very life of angels, a pure celestial flame, ever tending to
that world from which it descended, and aspiring towards
Him by whom it is enkindled. We should feel that piety
partakes the glory of God, who is its object, and assimilates
us to him; that it gives warmth to benevolence, strength to
fortitude, firmness to integrity, and calmness and peace to
afflicted virtue. These are the venerable and attractive
attributes in which piety should be arrayed."
1816. RESEMBLANCE TO GOD. "There is something
most affecting in the thought of resembling God. It is a
reflection which ought to fill and almost overwhelm our
minds, that we have a nature capable of bearing the image of
God's perfections. This single view of our nature throws
round it a lustre infinitely surpassing all the honours of the
world; and this thought of resembling God is not a presump-
tuous one. The purity, the virtue, to which we are called in
the gospel, and which men have in a measure attained, is the
same in nature with that which constitutes the glory of God.
In particular, that disinterested love, that diffusive benevo-
lence, to which Jesus Christ so emphatically calls us, forms
the highest glory of the Divine character. The language of
John on this subject is remarkable. 'God is love, and he
that dwells in love dwells in God.' Astonishing thought!
By Christian goodness we are made partakers of God's
nature, we shine with a ray of his light, we share his highest
perfection, we become temples of the Divinity, God dwells
in us. This grand reality is too faintly felt by us. We do
not with sufficient force conceive the intimate relation which
we may sustain to God. We do not heartily believe that
Christian virtue constitutes us his children, by making us
like him. We do not bring it home to ourselves, that in
sinning we are extinguishing a ray of Divinity within our
souls, and that by every step in moral progress we are
ascending towards God, the Original and End of all excel-
lence and felicity.
"Re-
1818. TRUE PIETY ONE WITH ACTIVE GOODNESS.
ligion is a high degree of delight in all the perfections of
God,-in his wisdom, his rectitude, his benevolence; and
1814-1822.]
PIETY AND GOODness.
what is the most acceptable expression of this veneration?
Is it enough to admire and praise? Do we not most effi-
ciently manifest our esteem by seeking to become what we
praise, by transcribing into our lives the perfections of God,
by copying his wisdom in the judicious pursuit of good ends,
his justice in the discharge of all our obligations, and his
benevolence in the diffusion of all possible happiness around
us? Then is our love of God the most exalted, when in our
several spheres we aim to be like him, to reflect his glory,
to act for the great end for which he is ever active, the
improvement and happiness of every being within our in-
fluence.
335
"I wish you to feel that religion, love to God, is in no
way at war with our relations and present state. It does
not take us out of the world. It is not inconsistent with
any of the useful pursuits of life, but unites them with itself,
and makes them oblations to God. He who feels the true
influence of religion does not relinquish his labour. On the
contrary, he becomes more industrious, labours with more
cheerfulness, is more contented with his lot, however difficult.
Religion furnishes motives which give to existence a dignity
and animation such as he was unconscious of before. Neither
does he forsake society. On the contrary, his social character
is improved. Taught by God's goodness, he looks round on
his fellow-beings with new tenderness. A more benignant
smile lights up his countenance at sight of human virtue and
happiness, a more frequent pain is felt at sight of human
guilt and misery. He is more conscientious, more just in his
transactions, more faithful in all his relations, milder in his
temper, and more active in his charity. Neither does he
give up all his enjoyments. His religion cuts off no innocent
and healthy stream of pleasure. It heightens pleasure, by
making it more rational, more pure, more equable, more con-
sistent with all the duties of life. This, my friends, is the
nature and influence of true religion.
"In one word, religion is designed to refine and improve
our whole nature, to make us better in every condition, to
awaken all our faculties, to render us active, intelligent, ge-
nerous, pure, temperate, meek, contented, and serene. And it
is genuine just so far, and no farther, as these effects are pro-
duced. This influence of religion over the whole life is the
proper standard by which it should be measured.'
""
1819. PIETY AND MORALITY. "What is it in God which
336
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 34–42.
calls forth our veneration, gratitude, love, filial attachment?
What attribute gives him a claim to these sentiments? On
this point there is little difference of opinion. All Christians
will tell you that God is chiefly to be loved and revered be-
cause he is good or benevolent, and because he is righteous
or just, because he desires at once the happiness and the ex-
cellence of his creatures,-because he rejoices to send benefits
on all who are fitted to receive them, because he enjoins
and rewards virtue, and abhors and punishes impenitent
guilt. Benevolence and righteousness, then, are the attri-
butes on which Piety chiefly rests as its object, and by com-
munion with which it acts and grows.
"But consider a moment what benevolence and righteous-
ness are. Are they not the very qualities which we mean by
Morality? What is morality but the exercise of a benevolent
and just temper towards all beings within our knowledge and
influence? If so, what is God's character, the character
which we are to love, but perfect morality?-what but the
very dispositions, in their fulness, which conscience enjoins
upon every man, and which form what we call rectitude?
To love God, then, is to love morality in its most perfect
form; and thus we see how religion and morals pass into each
other and become one.
"This idea seems to me too important to be passed over
lightly. Men have always sunk a great gulf between piety
and morality, religion and rectitude, devoutness and virtue.
To love God has been thought something quite distinct from
loving our neighbour, loving our duty, loving right and
worthy actions. But they are not to be divided! To love
God is the same thing as to love rectitude, for God is recti-
tude; this is the central principle of his character. His cha-
racter is the perfection of morality, and the love of him is
the love of morality. The love of God is but another name
for the love of essential benevolence and justice-it is a sin-
cere and obedient delight in a Divine government, by which
these virtues are manifested, enforced, spread abroad, and
renewed most gloriously. So inseparable are religion and
morality. If we could conceive of God as wanting the
qualities and attributes which in men we call moral virtues,
we should thereby tear up and destroy the vital germ of
piety. Nothing would remain for our love, veneration, and
filial attachment to cling to in God. He would have no claim
on us. It is because he is The Good, because he is a moral
1814-1822.]
PIETY AND MORALITY.
337
being, and because in loving him we love Perfect Morality,
that we are bound to love him with all the heart, soul, and
strength.
"C
According to these views, the genuineness and strength
of our religion appear altogether in our love of righteousness
and goodness, and in our endeavour to approach God in
these moral perfections. I know religion is generally repre-
sented as something different from this. The labour of men
has always been to divorce piety from virtue-to substitute
adulation for moral obedience, acts of homage to God for
equity and benevolence to men. Heathenism was little more
than an attempt to conciliate the Divine favour by outward
rites, to please God by other means than a pure and good
life. We cannot wonder that men fly to these false modes
of religion, for the obligations they impose are light and easy,
when compared with those of rectitude. It is vastly easier
to flatter the Supreme Being than to subdue ourselves. No-
thing is so hard as to root out bad passions, to be upright, at
whatever cost, and to be benevolent and charitable under all
provocations and difficulties. To seek a resemblance of God's
moral purity is unspeakably more toilsome than to praise him
with transport.
"The happiest influence of religion appears, not in giving
us occasional joys and raptures, but in communicating delicacy
and power to our sense of duty, in strengthening conscience
to resist all created things when they oppose its convictions,
in exalting our ordinary life, in making our control of the
passions complete, our charity superior to all sacrifice and
suffering, and our uprightness immovable as the throne of
God. The happiest influence of religion appears, not in
raising us to something higher than morality, for that would
be to raise us above God himself, but in giving us sublime
ideas of morality, a pure will and high aim, a purpose of
excellence such as never could exist without a knowledge
of God's character, and a hope of his aid in imitating his
goodness. Religion makes us moral by renewing our cha-
racters and lives in the image of Divine virtue. It forms
us to a rectitude, and benevolence, and purity, of a higher
order than worldly men can conceive. In this its glory and
strength are made manifest. Religion is the perfection of
morality."
1816. THE HAPPINESS OF A RELIGIOUS life.
"The human
heart not only needs objects of affection, but it demands an
VOL. I.
Z
338
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
object vast, infinite as God, completely to fill and to satisfy it.
The soul of man, though often debased and contracted, often
discovers to us a remarkable property, perhaps the most re-
markable in its constitution—a certain insatiableness of desire,
a love of great objects, a discontent with what is narrow and
limited, a thirst for something better than it finds on earth.
This principle has sometimes been called the love of the infi-
nite, and though often suppressed by want, and oftener by
vice, it is ineradicable in human nature, and shows to us that
the human mind can find repose only in the Infinite Being.
God is the only fit end and object for such a being as man.
The world cannot fill his mind. You see him discontented,
restless, even amidst its fairest prospects. A secret uneasi-
ness preys on him, which he can neither analyze nor describe.
The truth is, his soul, whilst confined to the world, has not
yet found its true element. He has desires and affections to
which nothing here is proportioned.
"Whilst earthly objects are exhausted by familiarity, the
thought of God becomes to the devout man continually
brighter, richer, vaster; derives fresh lustre from all that he
observes of nature and providence, and attracts to itself all
the glories of the universe. The devout man, especially in
moments of strong religious sensibility, feels distinctly that he
has found the true happiness of man. He has found a Being
for his veneration and love, whose character is inexhaustible;
who, after ages shall have passed, will still be uncompre-
hended in the extent of his perfections, and will still commu-
nicate to the pure mind stronger proofs of his excellence and
more intimate signs of his approval."
1816. HEAVEN. 66
Descriptions of this nature too often
convey the impression that heaven is a state of rapturous
ecstasy, suspending reason and the calm exercise of under-
standing. It is, indeed, true, that the Scriptures teach us
that in the future life the affections will be powerfully ex-
cited. New sensibility will be communicated to the heart.
God will be loved with a vastly purer and intenser love than
is known on earth. But still the understanding will not be
sacrificed to the feelings. Devotion will be calm, deliberate,
reasonable. It will be the fruit of extended knowledge.
All the faculties of the understanding will be exerted and
invigorated, as well as the affections; and the happiness
of heaven will possess that serene and reflecting character
which it is becoming and honourable for rational beings to
enjoy.
1814-1822.] ERRONEOUS VIEWS OF HEAVEN.
339
"Another representation of heaven, which seems to me
unfavourable to a strong impression of its happiness, is this:
Heaven is often described as a place where eternity will be
spent in immediate acts of Divine worship. This error arises
from a too literal and narrow interpretation of passages in
Scripture. Their true meaning is, that at all times, and in
all places, spirits in heaven will possess that sensibility to
God which places of worship are particularly designed to
promote. Whatever region of this vast universe they may
visit, they will regard it as God's empire, God's temple; his
presence will be felt, his perfections be traced and adored,
his will be cheerfully obeyed. The spirit of devotion which
we ought to cherish on earth, will, indeed, be the habit of
heaven; but its exercise will be consistent with the greatest
variety of scenes and employments, and very unlike that
wearisome monotony of an endless round of religious services
which some seem to anticipate.
"I proceed to consider another view of heaven which
renders it uninteresting. Heaven is sometimes described in
a manner which excludes the idea of improvement, of pro-
gression. The thought of a stationary existence, of remain-
ing the same through eternity, of a world where the mind,
as it looks forward to endless ages, will see no change, no
progressive ascent to superior virtue, is a most discouraging
and melancholy one. The human mind seems so impatient
of limits, it so delights in boundless prospects, that we can
hardly feel as if it would be happy, even in heaven itself,
were it to find that it had reached its goal; that no accessions
were to be made to its knowledge and goodness; that no
nearer approach could be gained to God and superior orders
of being; that all above it was forbidden ground, an inac-
cessible felicity.
"Such conceptions of heaven are altogether inconsistent
with what we know of the faculties of the human understand-
ing, which seem capable of indefinite progression, and with
what we see of the works of God, which teach us that he
delights in a progressive creation. We ought rather to con-
ceive of heaven as a state which will offer far greater means
of improvement than the present, which will open new fields
for thought, new worlds for research, which will inspire a
more intense desire of moral greatness, and give continually
increasing energy and splendour to all the virtues which en-
noble our nature.
z 2
340
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
"Another error in the description of heaven, which I
think renders it less interesting, is, that the thought of society
is thrown too much out of sight. Now, human nature is
essentially social. It wants objects of affection, companions
to whom it may communicate its thoughts and purposes, and
with whom it may act and enjoy. Pleasure is tasteless with-
out friendly participation, and every view of heaven exclud-
ing this is unfavourable to an impression of its happiness.
We are too apt to think of heaven as a solemn place. It
ought to be viewed by us as a place of cheerful society. The
countenances of its inhabitants should seem to us irradiated
by a benign smile in their intercourse with one another, and
their piety, though reverential, should seem to us a filial and
happy sentiment, which enters into the conversation, and
which they delight to manifest together.
"Another view of heaven which seems to me to weaken
its interest, is this:-Its inhabitants are often described as
forming a world by themselves, as having no connexion
with any other beings. Heaven seems to be considered as a
region separated from the rest of the universe. Now an im-
proved and benevolent mind can hardly escape the desire of
extending its acquaintance with this boundless universe of
which it forms a part; and heaven would seem a place of con-
finement, did it shut up its inhabitants for ever from every
other region. But we ought not to conceive thus of the
future state of good men. We need not doubt the fact, that
angels, whose home is heaven, visit our earth and bear a part
in our transactions; and we have good reason to believe, that,
if we obtain admission into heaven, we shall still have oppor-
tunity, not only to return to earth, but to view the operation
of God in distant spheres, and be his ministers in other
worlds. ...
"It is not impossible, that, in our intercourse with other
worlds, we shall meet with beings who are passing through
the first stage of discipline, like that which is now assigned to
ourselves, beings exposed to pain, temptation, and sorrow,
beings who may need our sympathy and aid, and to whom
we may render the same offices which we have reason to
believe angels now render to the human race. It seems to
me that we do not render heaven a less interesting or less
happy world, when we suppose that its inhabitants retain the
tenderest sensibility, and feel for the sufferings which may be
endured in other regions of the creation. There is a sym-
1814-1822.] ERRONEOUS VIEWS OF HEAVEN.
341
pathy which, though in a measure painful, gives a peculiar
charm to existence, and which a good man would not wish to
resign; and we ought not to believe that this is excluded
from heaven.
"Once more: the descriptions which are given of heaven
are often, I think, rendered less interesting than they should
be, by false ideas which are entertained about the perfection
of its inhabitants. It seems to be thought, that, because good
men are to be perfect hereafter, they will all resemble each
other; and hence that diversity of character, of taste, and
habits, which contributes so much to our happiness, is made
to give place to a monotonous and unvaried excellence. But
all God's works are marked by variety, and to this they owe
much of their interest and beauty.
"Will all this variety be blotted out in heaven? No one,
who reflects that this life is a preparatory state, can doubt
that our future character will be a continuation of the present,
-that, if we enter heaven, we shall carry with us essentially
the same minds which we possess on leaving the world, and
thus all the peculiarities of earth which are consistent with
goodness will be transplanted in the future state. The Scrip-
tures teach us that it will be part of the happiness of heaven
to meet there the good and excellent of former times,-the
patriarchs, and prophets, and apostles, and other benefactors
of mankind. But this happiness would be wholly lost, were
men in heaven to lose their peculiar characters, were all tọ
be cast into one mould, were all, in becoming perfect, to be-
come perfectly alike. No,-heaven will not present this
unvaried and dull uniformity. The strong lines of character
which marked men on earth, we may suppose will distinguish
them hereafter. Paul will retain his ardour, John his kind-
ness, Isaiah his imagination. In heaven we shall witness
every form of intellectual and moral excellence. Some of
its inhabitants will exhibit to us the milder, and others the
sublimer virtues. Some will be distinguished by glow of
feeling, some by profoundness of thought, some by activity
and energy of will.
of will. There will be, too, different degrees of
the same excellence, and different employments corresponding
to the character.
"The true view of heaven, that which the Scriptures give,
that which reason sanctions, and that which we can most
powerfully realize, is, that it will not essentially change, but
rather improve our nature. We shall be the same beings as
342
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
on earth; we shall retain our present faculties, our present
affections, our love of knowledge, love of beauty, love of
action, love of approbation, our sympathy, gratitude, and
pleasure in success. We shall probably, too, have bodies not
very different from what we now have,-the eye to behold
creation and receive its beauties, the ear to hear the voice of
friendship and to receive the pleasures of harmony, and even
sense refined and purified. This we know, that Jesus in a
form like ours ascended into heaven, and when Moses and
Elijah conversed with him on the Mount, they appeared in
the human form, differing from ours only in its splendour; and
from these facts it would seem that our future bodies will bear
a general resemblance to the present."
1817. HEAVEN A PLACE FOR GROWTH AND ACTION.
"In
heaven the understanding will be called into vigorous exer-
cise, and will be continually enlarged and improved by exer-
tion. Some persons seem to conceive that the mind will at
once attain its full and perfect growth in the future world,
that it will ascend immediately from this region of darkness
and error into the brightest light of heaven, that it will ex-
pand at once 'to the full extent of its capacities, that every
thing which is to be known will at once be acquired, and
therefore that new acquisitions will not be proposed, and will
not of course awaken its activity. But this is an imagination
altogether unauthorized by Scripture, and it differs so entirely
from present experience, that nothing but positive declarations
of Scripture can give it a claim to belief. In this life, pro-
gression is the universal law. Nothing is brought into being
in its most perfect state. Everything rises to maturity from
feeble beginnings.
"The all-wise Creator delights in a progressive system,
in gradual improvement, not in immediate perfection. It is
his uniform method to conduct beings through various stages,
not to fix them at once in an unchangeable condition. Now,
such being the method of Providence, and such the nature
and experience of man, is it not natural to expect that in a
future life our nature will be progressive, that the knowledge
with which the Christian will commence his future being
will be a point from which he will start, a foundation on
which he will build, rather than a state in which he will
eternally rest?
"Freed from all the passions and prejudices which now
darken and disorder his mind, loving the truth with in-
1814-1822.]
343
creasing ardour, clothed with a spiritual, vigorous, refined,
immortal body, released from all pain, disease, languor, and
relaxing toil, and, above all, associated with enlightened and
benevolent minds, with angels of light, with apostles, pro-
phets, sages, with Jesus Christ, who is the wisdom of God,
blest with all these aids and guides, with what rapid steps
must the Christian advance in the knowledge of God and of his
works! And when we consider that this progression will be
eternal, will never end, what an astonishing conception is
given us of the future greatness of man! We cannot follow
him on his path of glory. To an ever-progressing being no
limits can be prescribed. There is no rank of created ex-
istence to which he will not ascend. Where seraphs now
worship, there man will one day worship, and the purest
praises which heaven now hears will ascend from once human
lips. Are there orders of beings whose expansive minds
embrace the interests of worlds as easily as we do the con-
cerns of our business and families? The mind of man, con-
tinually improving, will enjoy the same expansion. I am
lost when I attempt to represent to myself human nature
perfected in heaven, and through endless ages approaching
its wise and holy Creator."
1818. FUTURE RETRIBUTION. "It seems to me that a
man of common understanding, reading the Scriptures with-
out any knowledge of the way in which they have been in-
terpreted, would not think it possible that the doctrine should
ever have been drawn from them, that there is to be no future
punishment. Almost any opinion would seem to him to
receive greater countenance from the Bible than this. Yet
this opinion has found strenuous advocates; and, from its
very nature, it has not been advocated without making
converts.
"This error should be resisted with earnestness, because
it directly, palpably, and without disguise diminishes the re-
straints on vice. It is at war with society. It is a blow at
the root of social order. It lets loose those propensities
which are constantly struggling against the principle of duty,
and which this principle, unaided by the fear of future
suffering, is in multitudes poorly able to restrain. The
doctrine I am opposing goes to the very extinction of con-
science. Conscience in man is an echo, if I may so speak,
to the will and moral sentiments of God. Its dictates are
authoritative, because we feel them to be dictates of Him
FUTURE RETRIBUTION.
.
344
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ET. 34-42.
who made us. A sense of God's abhorrence of sin is the
chief nourishment of our abhorrence of it. Let God be
viewed as so unconcerned about character as not to punish
the guiltiest life, as to fall short in his administration of the
plainest requisitions of justice, and a deadly torpor would
spread over the human conscience. Moral sensibility would
be paralyzed.....
The effects of this doctrine, indeed, may not imme-
diately appear, because its very extravagance prevents its
being thoroughly believed, because it cannot eradicate the
principles of our nature, and cannot entirely efface the im-
pressions of education. Guilt and punishment are seen to
have a connexion too natural and intimate to be wholly
separated even in thought. But whilst the influence of the
doctrine may be counteracted by these and other causes, such
as natural good dispositions, freedom from great temptation,
the power of opinion, and the like, yet its proper effects must
be always bad;-its fruits are bitter, its tendency is to sin
and death.
"On this account, I believe that the Scriptures, in great
wisdom, say nothing of happiness reserved for the guilty after
they shall have borne the penalty of their sins. If that
happiness be intended for them, I should say that the present
life is not the proper time for revealing it. Nothing de-
cisively clear seems to me laid down in the Scriptures upon
this subject. A solemn darkness hangs over the prison-
house of the condemned. One thing alone is certain, that
we shall suffer greatly hereafter, if we live here in neglect of
God's known will, his providential aid, his revelation by
Christ. In what way we shall suffer, or to what duration
and extent, the Scriptures, it seems to me, have not precisely
defined, and we need not to know. It is enough to have the
impression that a great woe hangs over guilt, and that we
can gain nothing, but may lose everything, by persevering
transgression. It is true, as many assert, that the word
<
everlasting,' when applied to punishment, does not neces-
sarily mean without end, and that it is often applied to denote
limited duration; but still, that there will be a limit to future
punishment, that it will operate to reform us, or that there
will be bounds to the consequences of unfortunate guilt, the
Scriptures nowhere declare. God's mercy, if it shall be ex
tended to the impenitent, is not yet revealed. The future is
filled with awful gloom to those who are now living without
1814-1822.]
THE FUTURE GLORIES OF THE GOOD.
345
God, and it is but kindness towards them to encourage no
delusive hope. Such a hope forms no part of my message,
for in my view it makes no part of revelation. The Scrip-
tures show us the wicked banished into darkness. In that
exile it leaves them. That darkness hides them from our
sight. If mercy is to be extended, it is mercy to be re-
vealed hereafter. It is not to be taken into our account now,
in estimating the consequences of sin."
1816. THE FUTURE GLORIES OF THE GOOD.
"It is a
very interesting view of death, that, instead of destroying, it
sets a seal on the virtues of good men, the seal of eternity.
It places them beyond danger. It takes them from a region
of moral infection, where they sometimes drooped, where
temptation triumphs over the most experienced in piety,
where the purest excellence can hardly be viewed without
feelings of solicitude.
"When we think of the good and holy who have left us,
we should banish from our thoughts all gloomy images which
death presents.
They should rise before our minds, im-
proved, perfected, clothed with a new lustre of goodness.
We should think of them as ascended to a purer region,
The countenance on which we were accustomed to see the
expression of all kind affections should shine upon us
brightened with a more benignant smile. Their piety should
appear as raised, refined, and kindled into purer ardour by
its near approach to God. We should see them surrounded
with better friends and examples than those they have left,
and in the midst of the purest and happiest society.
"That in this wide creation there are spheres of nobler
action than are enjoyed on earth, that there are wider fields
for the powers of intelligent beings, and more generous and
glorious objects for benevolence, who can doubt? This
world, it is not unlikely, is the abode of the feeblest and
most imperfect members of God's family. It is, perhaps, the
sphere of the humblest labour. Nowhere, perhaps, do in-
telligent beings enjoy, expand, so little. Go where we will
in creation, if we except the abode of the condemned, pro-
bably we shall find more improved intelligence, and wider
spheres of usefulness. Our present experience teaches us
that God delights in an active creation. We see all nature
in motion. We see that he delights in accomplishing his
most important ends by the agency of his rational creatures,
and that thus their concurrence with the creation forms at
•
346
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 34-42.
once their happiness and dignity. Who can doubt that this
same principle regulates the whole universe which God has
made, that everywhere his purposes are committed to the
charge of creatures, that all spaces and ages are one vast
field of exertion? Among the chief wonders and glories
which the future world is to disclose to us will be the en-
larged powers, relations, and influences of virtuous beings.
"Let us not, then, imagine that the usefulness of the good
is finished at death. Then rather does it begin. Let us not
judge of their state by associations drawn from the chillness
and silence of the grave. They have gone to abodes of life,
of warmth, of action. They have gone to fill a larger place
in the system of God. Death has expanded their powers.
The clogs and fetters of the perishable body have fallen off,
that they may act more freely and with more delight in the
grand system of creation. We should represent them to our
minds as ascended to a higher rank of existence, and ad-
mitted to co-operate with far higher communities. This
earth was only their school, their place of education, where
we saw their powers comparatively in an infant state. They
have now reached a maturer age, and are gone to sustain
more important relations. They have been called because
their agency was needed in higher services than those of this
world. Where they are now acting, it is not given to us to
know; but the all-wise Father can never be without a sphere
for the virtues of his children. It would be grateful to be-
lieve that their influence reaches to the present state, and
we certainly are not forbidden to indulge the hope. But
wherever they may be, they are more useful, more honour-
ably occupied, than when on earth; and by following their
steps, we may, however separated from them during life,
hope to obtain admission into the same bright regions where
they are pressing onward to perfection.”
SECTION SECOND.
HUMAN NATURE.
1815. GENEROUS VIEWS OF MAN. "We need to feel
more deeply that we are intrusted with a religion which is
designed to ennoble human nature, which recognises in man
the capacities of all that is good, great, and excellent, and
which offers every encouragement and aid to the pursuit
of perfection. The Christian minister, in preparing his
1814-1822.]
VIEWS OF MAN.
347
discourses, should often recollect, that man, degraded as he
frequently appears, has yet powers and faculties which may
be refined into angelic perfection, that he is invited to pre-
pare for the community of angels, that he is formed for end-
less progress in intellectual and moral excellence and felicity.
He should often recollect, that in Jesus Christ our nature has
been intimately united with the Divine, and that in Jesus
Humanity is already enthroned in heaven. Familiarized to
these generous conceptions, it should often be his object in
preaching to unfold to men their capacities of greatness, to
reveal the splendour of that destiny to which they are called
by Jesus Christ, to awaken aspirations after a nobler cha-
racter and a higher existence, and to inflame them with the
love of all the graces and virtues with which Jesus came to
enrich and adorn human nature. In this way he will prove
that he understands the true and great design of the gospel
and the ministry, which is the perfection of man's cha-
racter.
•
"May I be permitted to say, that perhaps the greatest de-
fect in the ministry, as at present conducted, is, that it is not
sufficiently directed to ennoble and elevate the minds of men.
It does not breathe a sufficiently generous spirit. It does
not appeal sufficiently to the highest and best principles
of the human heart, nor delineate with sufficient frequency
and energy those lofty sentiments and deeds to which some-
thing congenial responds in almost every breast. It appeals
too constantly to the lowest principle of man's nature,-I
mean the principle of fear, which, under judicious excite-
ment, is indeed of undoubted use, but which, as every parent
knows, when habitually awakened, is always found to de-
press and debase the mind, to break the spirit, to give a
tameness to the character, and to chill the best affection.
Perhaps one cause of the limited influence of Christianity is,
that, as Christianity is too often exhibited, it seems adapted
to form an abject, servile character, rather than to raise its
disciples to true greatness and dignity. Perhaps, were
Christianity more habitually regarded as a system whose
chief design is to infuse honourable sentiments, an ingenuous
love of God, a superiority to unworthy pursuits, a virtue
akin to that of heaven, its reception would be more cordial,
and its influence more extensive, more happy, more accordant
with its great end,—the perfection of human nature."
1816. MAN'S CAPACITIES OF GOOdness. "One of the
348
[ÆT. 34–42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
great characteristics of the present day is a lowness, a sor-
didness, a frigidness of thought and feeling. Men think
meanly of their nature, and hence their conduct is selfish
and earthly. We do not, indeed, see men in general given
up to gross vices. We do not meet around us the ferocity
or beastly licentiousness of the savage state.
We find many
marks of improvement, when we compare the present with
earlier ages. But there is little elevation of sentiment. Com-
paratively few seem to be conscious of their high original,
their capacities of excellence, their relation to God, their in-
terest in eternity.
"Blessed be God, in the history of every age and nation-
amidst the ravages of ambition and the mean aims of selfish-
ness-there have broken forth nobler sentiments, and the
evidences of a heavenly virtue. Every age has been illus-
trated by men who bore themselves like men, and vindicated
the cause of human nature,-men who, in circumstances of
great trial, have adhered to moral and religious principle, to
the cause of persecuted truth, to the interests of humanity, to
the hope of immortality,-who have trodden under foot the
fairest gifts of fortune and the world in the pursuit of duty.
It has often pleased God to gather round these men the
clouds of adversity, that their virtues might shine with a
sublimer splendour. This is the greatest value of history,
that it introduces us to persons of this illustrious order; and
its noblest use is by their examples to nourish in us a convic-
tion, that elevated purity of motive and conduct is not a
dream of fancy, but that it is placed within our reach, and is
the very end of being.
"I have spoken of history as refuting the low conceptions
which men form of their nature; but, without looking back
to former ages, may not every individual, amidst the corrup-
tions of present society, discover in his own sphere some
delightful examples and illustrations of human goodness?
Does he not discern some whose names are never to be in-
scribed on the rolls of earthly fame, and who can boast no
distinction of intelligence or station, but whose sincere de-
votedness to God, whose gratitude in adversity, whose patience
under injury, whose cheerful discharge of humble duties,
whose unwearied zeal in doing good, afford a delightful proof
of the connexion between the human and angelic nature?
Let none, then, say that the corruptions of society forbid us
to believe that our nature is susceptible of high advancement.
1814-1822.] CAPACITY OF GOODNESS.
349
The road to perfection is not unexplored. We have fore-
runners in this path. We see the traces of many steps
directed to immortality. Men of like passions with ourselves
have subdued temptation. The good and great were not
miracles in the moral world. We possess the same power,
the same motives, the same heavenly guide, and the same
promise of Divine assistance.
"He who never looks up to an excellence higher than he
has attained, who never regards himself as formed for pure
and generous sentiments, who never admits the thought that
exalted goodness is placed within his reach, will never put
forth his powers in pursuit of virtue. He will never rise.
He dooms himself to his present state. Exertion supposes
that good may be attained, and vigorous exertion supposes
that the mind is kindled by the prospect of great attainments.
What can you expect from him who sees nothing in the
future better than the past? On the other hand, a belief in
the capacities and dignity of humanity, a belief of its future
glory, a belief that higher excellence is the very end for
which we were made, is a spring of generous and unwearied
activity. This faith, when deeply fixed in the mind, is a
pledge and earnest of the improvement to which it aspires.
It awakens new power in the soul. It gives a natural dig-
nity to the thoughts and actions, and produces an almost in-
voluntary abstinence from all that is false and selfish.
"He who accustoms himself to reflect on Jesus Christ, on
his apostles, on martyrs, on the best of men, on the loveliest
and sublimest forms of humanity, who regards these high
beings as his forerunners in the path of glory, and whose chief
prayer is, that he may walk in their steps,-this man has
learned the true secret of greatness. Though on earth, he
has taken his place in a higher world. Blessed be God,
these consoling and encouraging views are not only autho-
rized by the gospel, but Jesus Christ came for this very end,
to fix them in our minds, to make them the rule of our lives.
His great object was to exalt us to true glory. His example
was placed before us, not to create a transient emotion, but
to show us to what height our nature may be raised."
1818. FORCE OF MORAL purpose. "The Christian is
known by the energy with which he wills to do right. It is
his distinction, that his sense of religious duty, his moral
principles, his purposes of virtue, predominate within him.
He does not merely love what is good, but chooses it with
power.
350
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ET. 34-42.
"We hear often of greatness of character.
The only true
greatness consists in unconquerable purpose of obedience to
God. It consists in adhering with energy and courage to
truth, duty, and honour. It consists in taking our rules of
action from our own minds, enlightened by revelation, and
following our deliberate convictions of right in the face of
death and danger. It consists in asking ourselves, first, not
what is expedient or safe, but what is generous, excellent,
and acceptable to God; and in forming purposes of recti-
tude with a force which man and time and suffering cannot
subdue. This holy energy of mind is the only true great-
ness, and it is a greatness not beyond the reach of our
nature.
"The truly interesting portions of history are those which
attest the moral power of man, which show us fellow-beings
sustained by inward principle and confidence in God under
the heaviest pressure of pain, which show us the mind un-
changed in prosperity and adversity, passing unmoved through
honour and disgrace, clinging to excellence when her only
earthly dowry was death. Would we see our nature in its
greatness, we must see it forsaken by all outward aids, com-
passed with obstacles; yet steadfast, gathering power from
difficulty, and opposing a firmer front in proportion to the
violence with which its principles are assailed.
“The true use of the trials and temptations of life, and of
the turbulent passions in our own breasts, is to call forth
spiritual energy and heroic purposes. God might have
placed us in a world where duty and pleasure would have
mingled and formed one current; but where would have
been the discipline of virtue in such a world? Under such
a constitution of things, our nature would have been free
from sin; but whilst every stain would have been prevented,
almost every bright trace of moral glory would have been
dim. The crown would have fallen from the head of good-
ness. We are otherwise circumstanced;—we are placed now
in a region of storms, perils, hardships; now in one of blan-
dishments, seductions, snares. In such a world, would we
be virtuous and make progress in religion, we must put forth
our powers to choose the good and to love it entirely. The
conscience must act with vigour. Excellence must be pur-
sued earnestly. An inert purpose will avail us nothing.
Our whole nature must be awake. Who does not see that
such a world is fitted to form a higher order of minds than a
1814-1822.] FORCE OF MORAL PURPOSE.
351
state removed from temptation? True, we must toil, but the
harvest is rich. We must fight, but the strength we gain by
conflict is an inestimable compensation. Here we have one
explanation of our present state. We are tried as by fire,
that we may come forth purer from the furnace. Our vir-
tues are in peril, that we may hold them with a firmer grasp.
This is the world for the formation of generous and resolute
spirits. Let its purpose be in us fully accomplished.
"This force of principle gives, as it were, new power to
the whole man. With this inward spring how much can we
accomplish, how much endure! Sustained by a conscious-
ness of rectitude, difficulties no longer daunt us, and hin-
drances sink before us. The minds of men are exceedingly
weakened by inconsistent passions, by fear, interest, regard
to opinion. They effect little, because they want unity. He
who is accustomed to ask what is right, and to espouse it
with energy, leaving the consequences with God, derives
new power from his singleness of purpose. It gives him
fearlessness of mind. His faculties, concentrated on his
duties, act freely and strenuously; he perseveres where
others would droop, and succeeds where they would fail.
Right action, by being in itself simple and harmonious,
brings an immediate reward in peace, equanimity, steadi-
ness. Strong moral principle is a spring of honourable
impulse, and gives us the highest use of all our facul-
ties.
•
"Force of moral purpose makes us happy. Happiness
does not consist, as men are too apt to imagine, in passive
enjoyments. It is found in the strenuous use of our best
affections. We enjoy most in putting forth our whole na-
ture, in being fully alive to all scenes and relations, and
especially in preserving our noblest faculties in healthy and
efficient activity. There is a constant satisfaction attending
the vigorous exercise of conscience, while a feeble operation
of the moral principle, which shows us what is right, but
gives no strength to perform it, is a source of constant
misery. There is an exhilaration, a hope, a joy, springing
up within us when we will with power what we see to be
good, when we are conscious of treading under foot the low
principles and interests which would part us from God and
duty, when we sacrifice firmly and unreservedly selfish de-
sires, or the world's favour, to the claims of Christian recti-
tude. Moral energy inspires an unconquerable resolution,
352
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
毛
​and fills us with a rare delight. The mind enlarges itself,
and gains a new feeling of its capacities and destination, in
these seasons of generous excitement, just as the body seems
to gather new height and dimensions when a person is up-
borne by an exalted sentiment. The most exulting moments
of life are those when, after a conflict of strong passion with
the sense of duty, we come off conquerors, and are conscious
that we have risen in spiritual existence. A feeling of this
nature becomes in a degree habitual to the man, whose general
tone of mind is a sincere purpose of adhering to the path of
Christian virtue."
1816. SOURCES OF HAPPINESS. "The fatal error of
multitudes is, that they hope to escape their present discon-
tented, uneasy state of mind by improving their outward
circumstances. They will not see that the spring of misery
is within, that it is not in the power of all earthly objects
combined to give them peace, until their minds are purified,
their passions governed; until they have made their peace
with God, and can look forward with some well-grounded
hope to futurity. But though this error is a very common
one, yet I cannot conceive a more obvious truth than this,
that it is not the circumstances which surround a man, but
the thoughts and feelings which are most familiar to his
mind, on which his satisfaction depends. The true question
as to happiness is not 'Where am I? In what state or rank
do I exist?' but To what end is my mind directed?
What objects have acquired the control of my affec-
tions?'
"Life is designed to form and prove our characters, to
call forth our powers, to bring our virtues into acts, to put to
the test our moral and religious principles, and thus to pre-
pare us for higher states of being. Happiness is God's end;
but it is future, not immediate happiness,-a happiness for
which the foundation is to be laid in present improvement,
which we are to earn by exertion, self-denial, and the volun-
tary exercise and habitual cultivation of the best affections
of which our nature is capable.'
""
1814. TRUE HAPPINESS. "The true happiness of man
has its seat in the mind which God has breathed into
us, in the enlargement of its powers, in the elevation of
its sentiments, in the firmness and purity of its principles,
in its ascent to its native heaven. Compared with the
capacities of this imperishable principle, and with the means
1814-1822.
PERFECT SOCIETY.
353
of unfolding and exalting it, everything outward is worth-
less.
"The best of all the blessings which God gives to man is
a heart alive to what is great and good, which glows at the
sight of excellence, and kindles with desire to become one
with what it admires. The best of all God's blessings is a
heart which is accustomed to aspire to him as its source
and destination, which is alive to his all-pervading presence,
which meets him in his works, converses with him in solitude,
blesses him in affliction, prays to him with the assurance
of being heard, and hopes from him all which infinite good-
ness can bestow. The best of all blessings is a heart which
partakes God's benevolence, which feels its relation to the
universe, which is bound by friendship to the good, by
sympathy to the afflicted, and by an overflowing tenderness
to the narrow circle of domestic life. The best of all bless-
ings is a heart which carries with it a consciousness of its
unbounded destiny, which looks forward to eternity as its
inheritance, which hopes for perfect goodness, which feels
alliance with higher orders of beings, and anticipates a union
with the spirits of the just made perfect, with departed
friends, and with the ascended Saviour. In such a state of
heart is the true happiness of man."
1814. PERFECT SOCIETY. "Perfect social happiness is
reserved for a higher stage of existence. Fill as you ought
your relations here, and you will rise to a better world, and
be welcomed into a happier and purer community. But this
is not all. It is very doubtful whether we should be the
happier, if our social connexions were at present improved
as much as we desire. We desire friends who will regard
us with unremitting tenderness, in whose society we shall
escape from every temptation, who would fly to our aid in
every difficulty, to our rescue in every danger. The thought
of such friends is indeed delightful; but in the present life
we are not worthy of them, and I fear they would injure us
by the very excess of their tenderness. They would pro-
bably keep us all our lives in a state of infantile dependence.
Relying always on their aid, and shielded always by their
care, we should attain no firmness of character, no courage,
no proper self-dependence.'
1821. TRUE BENEVOLENCE IS JUSTICE TO MAN'S WHOLE
NATURE. "Man is not mere spirit, and that benevolence
which should regard him as such, and in its zeal for his
VOL. I.
A A
J
""
354
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
mind neglect entirely his outward comfort, would be even
more injudicious than that which spends itself exclusively in
relieving animal suffering. True charity regards the whole
nature of the being whom it would assist. Man's animal
wants we must never neglect, under pretence of a refined and
spiritual kindness, which can look at no good below the mind.
But, on the other hand, we must not stop at securing
outward good. For it is true that it is the mind which
specially constitutes the man; and although want may be
relieved, yet nothing worthy the name of happiness is com-
municated, unless the mind be benefited. One great reason
why benevolence has not done more good is, that it has
been too superficial, has confined itself too much to outward
benefits, has not regarded man sufficiently as an intellectual
and moral being, nor inquired how the welfare of such a
being is to be advanced. And we can easily explain why
kindness has thus preferred to labour for the outward and
bodily, rather than the inward and spiritual, good of men;
for benefits of the first class are promoted more easily
and suddenly than those of the last, and are more apparent
to the eye. We can see at once the effects of our bounty,
when we put raiment on the naked, or give a shelter to
those who are suffering from the cold. The care spent on
the minds of the ignorant and bad does not yield so ready a
harvest. The process of growth in the mind is not only
unseen, but slow; and yet how permanent are the fruits of
its culture!.
4
"God's best gifts are those which he diffuses silently; and
so it is with man's. The secret influence of a good man's
example, and of a wise man's intelligence, which raises in-
sensibly the hearts and minds of the circle and community in
which they move, is worth more than any efforts of outward
benevolence, though they might escape the notice of all
except profound and judicious observers.
•
"The noblest benevolence is that which operates on the
mind, which seeks the happiness of men by contributing to
their intellectual and moral advancement; and this is a
great work, for the mind is a complex organization, having
various powers, capacities, affections; and the true happiness
of a man consists in the development of all. The mind is a
whole as truly as the body; its health consists in a general
action and progress, and it suffers from a partial culture as
really, though not as sensibly, as the body would suffer, if
1814-1822.1
FULL JUSTICE TO MAN.
355
we were to aim to strengthen a single limb, and leave the
other parts to pine. Man consists of reason, conscience,
affection, will, and active powers, and all must conspire to
form an harmonious, happy existence. The kindness which
seeks to call them all forth is at once the most laborious and
the most divine.
"These glorious capacities of human nature have as yet
been but imperfectly unfolded; nor has the full develop-
ment of them been made very much an object. In vast
numbers of men, I may say in the great majority, the higher
faculties on which happiness chiefly rests are almost locked
up, and those who possess them have no consciousness of
the immense resources, the divine gifts, which they carry in
their hearts. Were we to visit a country where the greatest
number of people were blind, deaf, palsied, we should look
on them with deep compassion; but, to a reflecting man,
a large part of the world now exhibits a scarcely less
afflicting sight. Human nature is everywhere seen blind,
deaf, palsied, as far as its highest and best faculties are con-
cerned.
"The idea of advancing men's happiness by such an ex-
tensive development and improvement of the moral and intel-
lectual powers of human nature, as has now been suggested,
may seem impracticable. But experience has already de-
monstrated, that much more intelligence can be spread through
all classes than was once thought possible; and no man, who
compares the world now with former periods, can doubt that
a vastly larger measure of knowledge, clearer and nobler
ideas of duty, and higher views of religion, than are now met
with, except in persons of the very first order of minds and
the purest character, can gradually be thrown into general
circulation, and infused into men's minds through all classes
of society. Society grows as truly as the individual, and is
becoming ripe for higher instructions than were given in its
childhood. We are too apt to settle down in the present
state of things, as if it were immutable, as if human nature
had reached its ultimate point of progression, when in fact
the springs of human improvement gain strength by use, and
every advance makes future ones more easy. Revelation
encourages the most generous hopes and efforts, for it clearly
points to a higher condition of the human race than has yet
been reached; and that this is to be promoted by man's in-
strumentality, God's past dispensations compel us to believe."
A A 2
356
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 34-42.
1814. HAPPINESS OF PROGRESS. "Progression and hap-
piness are intimately connected. To rise perpetually to virtue
by our own exertions, to look back on the path through
which we have ascended, to raise an eye of hope to brighter
eminences, these constitute a higher felicity than perpetual
uniformity of any mode of bliss. Now, if progression thus
heightens happiness, is there not an advantage in beginning
existence in our present very low condition? Were I to
indulge myself in conjecture, I should imagine that archangels
commenced their course in circumstances as humble as our
own, so great appears to me the joy of progress and contrast,
of passing through successive stages of existence, of gathering
the knowledge which each furnishes, and of experiencing the
providence of God, which all conspire to illustrate. Thus
our present imperfection is no objection to Divine good-
ness.
"We often hear complaints of the feebleness, darkness,
and errors of the human mind. 'Why are we not introduced
at once to all the truth which we are capable of receiving?"
it is asked. Now, that ignorance is in some respects an evil,
is granted. But we should remember, that, were everything
known to us at first, all pleasure of discovery would be at an
end. The charm of novelty would fade and vanish. The
mind could only revolve familiar ideas. Are we sure that
we should be gainers in the end? To our ignorance we owe
the delight of surprise, the ardour of curiosity, the fresh
wonders of early instruction, and the satisfaction of continu-
ally adding, if we please, to our store of knowledge. We are
ignorant; but what a magnificent school is the creation in
which our Father has placed us! How much is there on
every side to learn, and what motives and aids are given us
to the enlargement of our views!
1815. INDICATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. "In the inex-
haustible love of knowledge which animates the human under-
standing we have a bright indication of the reality of a future
existence. God has given to man a spirit which is evidently
designed to expand through the universe, which disdains the
confinement of space, and which, although for ages it has
been making progress in the knowledge of nature, still thirsts
for more extended information. There is a restlessness in
the human mind which no acquisition can allay. Thought
is for ever enlarging its horizon.
"Were man destined to live only in this world, his desires
1814-1822.] INDICATIONS OF IMMORTALITY.
357
and powers would have been fitted wholly for this world,
and his capacities would have been limited to the means of
present enjoyment. But his faculties are now continually
overleaping the bounds of earth; he delights in discoveries
which have no relation to his existence on this planet; he
calls to his aid the arts, not merely to render life comfortable,
but to assist him in the most remote researches; invents
instruments which extend his sight beyond these visible
heavens, and reveal hidden stars and systems; and presses on
and on to fathom the profoundest secrets of the universe.
The human mind has an intense delight in what is vast and
unexplored. Does such a mind carry with it no proof that
it is destined to wider spheres of experience than earth affords,
-that it is designed to improve for ever in the knowledge of
God's wonderful works?
"In man's power of looking forward with hope to distant
and everlasting ages, we have a second clear mark of a being
destined to another existence. Were this world everything
to man, his longings would not stray beyond its brief span.
His anticipations would be proportioned to his being. Of
what use, except to torment him, would be the idea of eternity
to a creature of time? Why kindle in man the sublime sen-
timent of immortality, if the grave is to be his doom?...
"Our capacity of knowing God is another indication that
we are appointed to future modes of being. The human
mind is not limited to objects of sense. It has a relish for
the unseen. It for ever tends to rise from the effect to the
cause—from creation to its Author. This tendency may be
pronounced one of the essential, instinctive principles of our
nature.
"Nor is this desire of acquaintance with God slight and
transient. The human mind, by cultivation of pious senti-
ments, may be, and often has been, raised to an intimate
union with the Divine Being, to a vivid feeling of his pre-
sence, to an habitual discernment of him in his works and
providence. It has attained to sentiments of sacred rapture,
to more than earthly joy, in praising, adoring, thanking him;
and just in proportion as the heart is the abode of these
generous emotions, it desires a nearer approach to the Divinity,
and longs for an improved condition, in which He may be
worshipped with pure and perfect love. When a mind has
thus become alive to God, it clings to existence with increas-
ing earnestness. It cannot endure the thought of being
358
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
blotted out from among God's works,-of being deprived of
the consciousness of his perfections,-of losing for ever his
friendship,―of rendering him no more service. Piety neces-
sarily takes this form of desire for near communion with the
Infinite Being in a future, better, endless existence; and
what do all these aspirations indicate?
"We have another indication of man's future life in the
moral sensibility which God has imparted to the soul.
"The human mind, notwithstanding its degradation, has
something in it congenial with excellence. It delights to
hear and read of angelic worth and greatness of character.
It loves to conceive of more perfect forms of human nature
than real life exhibits. To this propensity, poetry and fiction
are indebted for their origin. Especially when the mind has
been refined by the practice of goodness, does it naturally
represent to itself a beauty of virtue such as has never been
attained on earth. It is dissatisfied with all that it has gained,
and pants for greater purity. Its very improvements prompt
it to desire a better existence, where present stains and im-
perfections will be done away, where it will fill a wider
sphere of usefulness, where it may be united with the excel-
lent whom it loves, and become worthy of their friendship.
This delight in goodness, this thirst for perfection, with which
the human mind is instinct, is full of promise. Were this
life everything to us, would God have formed us thus capable
of conceiving and desiring heights of excellence which in
this life are unattainable? Will he crush the hope of moral
progress, to which our very virtues give intenseness?
"The man of refinement and sensibility finds himself, as it
were, in accordance with universal nature. Every scene,
every season, touches some spring in his heart. The stream,
the mountain, the ocean, the clouds, the distant constellations,
all speak to him in a language that he understands. There
is something in him akin to all this beauty and sublimity,
which gives him a claim to property in the whole creation.
There is especially in the soul a sensibility to the grand,
awful scenes of nature. Whatever bears the impress of
infinite majesty, whatever is too vast to be grasped by the
senses, brings to the heart a mysterious delight. The storm,
the thunder, and raging ocean, fearful as they are, still
awaken a solemn pleasure, for they speak to us of almighty
power, and accord with our love of greatness. Now this
sensibility to whatever is great and fair in universal nature,
1814-1822.]
SUBLIME DESTINY OF MAN.
359
seems to attest the glory of the human soul, and to point out
to it a sublime destiny. Why has God placed man amidst
this boundless theatre, revealed around him this endless
creation, touched his heart with the love of beauty, and
given him this delightful and awful interest in all that meets
his eye, if he is merely a creature of the earth, soon to shut
his eyes on these majestic scenes, and to be buried for ever
in a narrow grave? Does this love of the infinite, this
attachment to the universe, seem suitable to so frail a nature?
Do they not suggest the idea of a being who belongs to the
universe, and who is to fill an ever-widening sphere? .
"I now proceed to another and a more decisive indication
of a future life, which is furnished us by human nature. I
refer to the capacity which man actually possesses of attain-
ing to greatness of character.
"Whilst man falls far below the perfection he desires, he
yet is sometimes seen to ascend to a sublimity of virtue
which does honour to our nature, and proves that it is formed
for heaven. We shall discover in history persons not merely
faithful in their regard to the prescribed duties of life, but
who are filled with a grand disinterestedness of character,
a sublime goodness, which outstrips what is positively de-
manded, which is prodigal of service to God and man, and
overflows with sacrifices and sufferings in the cause of duty.
"These great examples show us what man may become,
and what he is designed to be. These are lineaments of a
noble nature, marks of a sublime capacity, a sublime destiny.
We all have sometimes seen our nature manifested in these
honourable forms, have seen great temptations and calamities
calling forth great virtues, have seen the human countenance
bright with the expression of magnanimous affections, and
have felt how lovely and how glorious may be humanity.
And can we believe that the soul of man, gifted with such
capacities, is created for a day? Can we think that the great
men who have thrown such light on the past were but meteors,
extinguished as soon as kindled,-extinguished in the midst
of their glory? Why were such sublime capacities given to
a being of such an humble destiny? Does the all-wise Creator
thus waste his noblest gifts, and is he so unconcerned for those
on whom these gifts have been conferred? It is a natural
sentiment, entitled to respect, that exalted goodness cannot
perish. It is fitted for a better world than this, and the
Creator would be dishonoured were his noblest work to be
360
[ET: 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
lost. Nature may pass away, but can goodness, sublime
goodness, that image of God, be destroyed? And if human
nature be capable of this goodness, is it not destined to im-
mortality?
·
"Another indication of a future state suggested by our
nature, is to be found in the triumph which man often obtains
over death, in the manner in which he passes through the last
change.
"To the sensible appearances of death, so sad and ap-
palling, we should do well to oppose the energy of soul with
which it is often encountered. Then death itself will furnish
us with a proof of immortality. Sometimes the hour of death
is an hour of peculiar glory for human nature. Instead of
being conquered, man is seen to conquer the last foe; and he
seems to suffer only that the greatness of humanity may be
developed. In instances like these, the last act of the soul
is an assertion of its immortality. Can we believe that this
moment of sublime virtue is the moment of annihilation,—
that the soul is extinguished when its beauty is most re-
splendent? If God intended that death should be an eternal
extinction, would it be adorned, as it often is, with a radiance
of the noblest, loveliest sentiments and affections of our
nature? Would the greatest triumph of man be the har-
binger of his ruin?
"There is another view yet more sublime. I refer to the
death of the martyr to religion, to his country, to the cause
of truth and human improvement. You have read of men
who preferred death to desertion of duty. They encountered
the menaces of power, they endured the gloom of prisons,
and at length, in the fulness of their powers, were led to the
place of execution. Their steps never faltered, their pur-
pose never trembled, their looks were firm, yet mild and
forgiving, and with unshaken trust in God they counted it
an honour to suffer in his cause. And what now shall we
say of death? That it triumphed over these men of un-
subdued virtue, that it quenched these bright spirits? Or
shall we rather say that it was designed to illustrate the
immortal energy of piety and virtue, and to show that the
faithful soul is more than conqueror over the last foe? Can
we think that God impels those who love him by the best
principle in their nature to encounter death in its most
dreadful forms, and then abandons them to final extinction, at
1814-1822.] MAN DESIGNED FOR PERFECTION.
361
the very moment when they must be to him most worthy of
his love?
"We find another indication of immortality in our nature,
when we consider the principal source of human enjoyment.
I ask, then, what is this principal source of human enjoy-
ment?
"A slight observation will teach us that happiness is derived
chiefly from activity, from conscious growth, from the suc-
cessful effort to improve our powers, from rising by our own
energy to an improved condition. It is not what we have
already gained, be it knowledge, property, reputation, or
virtue, which constitutes our happiness, so much as the
exertion of our faculties in further acquisitions. The idea
of advancement is of all others the most congenial with the
human mind. We delight not so much in possession as in
pursuit, not so much in holding the prize as in pressing
forward to seize it with the eye of hope. The feeling of
progress is the great spring of happiness; and it is this which
gives cheerfulness and animation under the severest lot.
"Now what does such a nature indicate? It is true that
man's chief happiness consists in animated pursuit, in con-
sciousness of improvement,-that, when his advancement is
most swift and sure, this principle most prompts him to
press forward?
Is not perfection, then, the end of his
being? Is he not made to advance, to ascend, for ever?
and does not this soaring nature discover a being designed
for a for-ever brightening career? Would this insatiable
thirst for progress have been given to a creature of a day,
whose powers are to perish just when beginning to unfold,
and whose attainments are to be buried with him in eternal
oblivion? ...
"If this world were our home, and our only portion, should
we have sentiments implanted by our Creator which teach us
to live above it, and impel us to feel that it is noble to re-
nounce it? Were this our only sphere of enjoyment, could
we ever deem it beneath us, unworthy our nature?
“But this is not all; we not only honour men when they
rise above the world, its pleasures and gains-we particularly
revere them when they hold life itself with a degree of indif-
ference, when they disdain it in comparison with principle,
and advance to meet seeming destruction by a resolute and
unshaken adherence to principle. On the other hand, we feel
362
[ÆT. 34–42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
.....
a contempt for those who cling to life as the best of blessings.
We cannot endure the coward, while we are lenient even
towards the excess of courage. We view with admiration
the man who is prodigal of life in an honourable cause, and
who prefers death to the least stain of guilt. Now these
feelings surely indicate that the present is not our whole
existence. Were this life everything to us, should we be so
constituted as to consider the voluntary relinquishment of it
as the noblest deed? Should we have feelings which impel
us to cast it away? Were death entire and eternal extinction
of all our power and virtue, would the welcoming of it appear
the height of glory? All these feelings which I have consi-
dered, and which prompt us to sacrifice the world and life to
the purity of the soul, are so many attestations from God to
the dignity of the soul, so many assurances that it is destined
for higher relations than those which it now sustains to the
body and the world."
1814. GREATNESS OF HUMAN NATURE, AS REVEALED BY
JESUS CHRIST. "Consider the discoveries which Jesus Christ
has made of the glory of human nature. His gospel may be
said to be a revelation of man to himself. It calls us home
to our own hearts, and there discloses to us capacities which
should awaken the profoundest gratitude and admiration.
The great unhappiness of men is, that they live abroad,
they lose themselves in the accidents around, they are en-
grossed by outward events, by the changes of the natural
or political world. They do not explore the grander world
within.
"Jesus Christ thought nothing worthy of his notice but
the soul of man; and the whole tone of his gospel is, that the
soul is capable of all that is great and excellent, that it may
become the image of God, that it may ascend to the glory
and purity of angels. It is constantly his doctrine, that man
is appointed to join the society of heaven, and that he will
there shine as the sun, that he will exchange his present
imperfection for spotless purity. As in the child we view
the future man, so in man we are taught by the gospel to
view the germ of the future angel. We are taught that there
is no height of excellence in the universe to which the human
mind in the progress of eternity may not attain. These are
views which have little to interest him who never reflects on
his inward nature, who only feels that he has a body and
organs of sense, and who thinks the highest happiness is to
1814-1822.]
THE END OF CHRISTIANITY.
363
be found in the gratifications of the brute. But there are
those who feel conscious of the heavenly principle within
them; who, at the sight of distinguished virtue, pant to attain
to its resemblance, who kindle at the thought of a boundless
progression, of a never-ending ascent towards God. To
such persons, how delightful is the confirmation which the
gospel gives to the wishes and aspirations of their better
nature! What a splendour is thrown round human nature,
when it is thus viewed as the future associate of all that is
most excellent in heaven, as the bright reflection of the
glorious goodness of the Creator!"
SECTION THIRD.
CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY.
1815. THE END OF CHRISTIANITY. "This idea, that the
great end of Christianity, of the mission of Jesus, is to exalt
the human character, although it runs through the Scriptures,
has been very much overlooked. Christians have been in-
clined to believe that Christ lived and died to influence the
mind of God, rather than the mind of man-to make God
favourable to us, rather than to make us obedient to God.
"I cannot but believe that this is a very erroneous view,
and utterly unauthorized by the Scriptures. The Scriptures,
I think, lead us to believe that holiness, or excellence of
character, is a vastly greater blessing than pardon or for-
giveness. According to the Scriptures, it is a greater privi-
lege to be delivered from the polluting power than from the
consequences of sin. According to the Scriptures, holiness,
goodness, virtue, is the pearl of great price. It is God
himself dwelling in the human heart. It is heaven enjoyed
on earth.
"There is no happiness but in goodness. This is the
felicity of God, and this is the best gift he imparts to his
creatures. The noblest work of God is a holy, pure, vir-
tuous mind; and Jesus Christ can perform no ministry
more noble than the recovering of a sinful mind to a hea-
venly state."
1817. THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST. "Our religion demands of
us, not merely single acts and feelings, but a character or
general frame of mind. We must have Christ's spirit, which
means his temper; or, in other words, we must have an ha-
bitual state of the soul answering to our Lord's.
1
364.
!
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ET. 34-42.
"The great principle, which runs through, and binds toge-
ther all parts of the Christian system is this—that our hap-
piness, our eternal happiness, depends on the character we
form. Men are very apt to forget, that in everything but
religion they estimate one another, not by occasional acts,
but by the general frame of the mind. There is such a
thing, we all know, as character, something very different
from particular actions and occasional feelings, something
prominent in the mind, and which works itself into almost
all the life. Character is not something which we put on at
one moment and put off at another, not something reserved
for great occasions, or which appears only in striking ac-
tions. It influences the common decisions of the judgment.
It gives a peculiar form to the common opinions and pur-
poses of the individual, and, still more, it pervades the whole
mind.
•
"Jesus Christ did not come to work upon the surface of
the human heart, but to pervade it with his religion; he did
not come to inculcate transient feelings and actions, but to
implant permanent principles, to give a new life to the soul.
It is well, it is necessary, that we should know the large de-
mands of his gospel, so as not to lose its blessings by stopping
at low attainments-so as to propose seriously the acquisition
of that devout, benevolent, and heavenly temper, which is
the very essence of his religion. We cannot be too sensible
that to be a Christian is a great work. If we do not rightly
estimate the difficulties of our task, how can we apply to it
with perseverance, resolution, spirit, and success? We have
to incorporate Christian principles into our very souls. We
have an inward conflict to sustain, a glorious change to ac-
complish, by God's assistance, in that mind which is most
properly ourselves.”
1819. CHRIST'S HUMBLE MODE OF LIFE.
"We represent
Jesus Christ to ourselves as the most august being who ever
moved on the earth. He is separated in our thoughts from
all other men. His unparalleled birth, his cross, his resur-
rection, his ascension, and his future glorious appearing to
judge the world, are all blended in our minds; and when we
read a passage in his history, it is this peculiar being, in
whom so many splendours meet, and whose humanity is lost
in his superhuman power and exaltation, who speaks, acts,
and makes himself known to us. In this way we forget how
he really appeared to his contemporaries. It is true, we
1
1814-1822.]
LOVE FOR CHRIST.
speak of his poverty. We hear that moving declaration,-
'Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the
Son of Man hath not where to lay his head;' still, the
imagination is too accustomed to other views to conceive of
the truth clearly and with force.
"I suspect, too, that we are most of us influenced more
or less by the representations which painters have given of
the events of Christ's life. In these, our Master is placed
before us with a glory round his head, in a flowing and often
splendid robe, his countenance singularly fair, as if the rough
winds had not visited it, and his attitude studiously majestic
and commanding. In other words, the artist labours to
represent in Jesus ideal beauty and grandeur. Through the
eye the imagination is more influenced than by reading. Our
conceptions of the Saviour when on earth are taken from
such delineations. But the views of Jesus which are very
plainly given us in the New Testament present an image of
his appearance very different from what our imaginations,
aided by these outward delineations, usually form. Let us
see the facts as they were, by means of a familiar illustration.
Suppose, then, my friends, that there should appear on our
exchange a young man of thirty years of age, in the dress
of a labourer, from an obscure and distant village, accom-
panied by a small number of peasants and fishermen, to
whose houses he was in the habit of repairing for food and
lodging. I would have you bring this illustration home. It
will help you to conceive of the impression made by Jesus,
especially at first sight, on those who personally knew him."
1817. Love FOR JESUS CHRIST. "There is a wonderful
combination of affecting circumstances in the history of
Jesus Christ. His original glory, which he had with the
Father before the world, was, his humiliation in taking on him
human nature, his unbounded attachment to mankind, the
sustained labour of his life, the patience of his sufferings, his
unconquerable love amidst ingratitude and outrage, his blood
shed for us, and his sublime triumphs over death,—these are
elements which combine to form the loveliest and most
exalted character toward which human thought was ever
turned. History and society offer us individuals marked by
high virtues, and the happiness of conversing with and loving
them is among our most exquisite enjoyments. But Jesus
leaves behind him at an immeasurable distance the great and
good of this world, whether we regard the vastness of his
+
365
366
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
purposes, or the disinterestedness and fervour of his bene-
volence. It is a great excellence of the gospel, that it
reveals to us such a character as Jesus. Its blessings are
heightened by flowing to us through a friend and deliverer
so suited to awake our best sensibilities. The Christian
finds in Jesus Christ a source of perpetual delight. No his-
tory interests him like the gospel. His heart often burns as
he reads the labours, and sufferings, and virtues of his Lord.
How often does his mind turn with a mixture of tenderness
and admiration to his cross, and with what delight does he
welcome him risen from the dead! He thinks of heaven
with a new interest, as the place where he shall meet his
friend and express to him his thankfulness. . . .
"The Christian, conversing with an excellence descended
from heaven, which is untainted by the sordidness and im-
perfection of all human virtue, acquires a relish for eminent
purity; instructed as he is, that this lovely model is placed
before him for the very purpose of forming him to perfection,
he cannot be satisfied without a consciousness of approach-
ing it.
"The Christian finds a holy life accompanied by a peculiar
pleasure. It is a life not urged on him by a stranger, or by
an equal, but by the voice of a heavenly friend. The Ser-
mon on the Mount is not merely a collection of admirable
precepts, but the affectionate exhortation of his crucified,
risen, and glorified Redeemer. The difficulties of obedience
are mitigated, self-denial is sweetened, by the consideration
that he is following such a master.
"These remarks show the erroneousness of a sentiment
which has sometimes been expressed, and has lurked in
minds which have not uttered it, that strong affection to-
wards Jesus Christ is not of primary importance,-that our
views and feelings in regard to him, however low, are
sufficiently elevated, that our chief business is to obey his
precepts, and that, if these are obeyed, the great object of his
mission is secured. But how obvious is the sentiment, that
obedience to Christ's precepts is intimately connected with
high conceptions of his character, and with strong affection
towards him! Will not the heart which is most accustomed
to meditate upon the greatness of Christ's goodness feel most
the obligation of his law of love? Will not the mind which
regards him, not only as a prophet, but as a Saviour, by
whose mediation and sufferings God has been pleased to
4..
1814-1822.] CHRIST'S LOVE FOR MAN.
367
redeem the world, which is touched and softened by his
character and near relation to the human race,-will not
such a mind be peculiarly prompted to a cheerful service, to
an animated obedience?"
1819. CHRIST'S LOVE FOR MAN. "It is not possible for
us to conceive fully the love of Christ, because his state be-
fore entering the world is known imperfectly, and of course
the greatness of the sacrifice which he made for us, and
which is the best measure of love, cannot be estimated.
"There are, you well know, several passages of Scripture
which, if literally taken, teach that Christ existed before he
came into the world. And we have this very sufficient
reason for interpreting these passages literally, that his whole
character and the offices which he bears imply a more than
human dignity. In the first place, Jesus Christ spoke and
acted as if he was more than man,-as if he was conscious
of superiority to all around him. There is a dignity, an
authority, about him altogether peculiar, and such, I think,
as would not have been becoming in a mere man, in his in-
tercourse with brethren essentially his equals. The spotless
purity of Jesus is another broad line of distinction between
himself and all other men, something not to be explained by
difference of circumstances or education. To be absolutely
sinless is to be that which human nature never was before,
and never has been since the time of Christ, and which is
not to be expected in a mere human being in the present life.
Finally, consider the offices which Jesus sustained, of Saviour
of the world, the One Mediator between God and man, the
Prince of Life, who is to raise the dead and to judge man-
kind,—do these offices appear to be compatible with simple
humanity? Do they belong to a being who himself needs a
mediator, who himself has sins to be pardoned? For this
must have been true of Christ, if he was a mere man. I
have just glanced at a few considerations which tend to prove
a more than human greatness in Jesus Christ, and which
seem to me to require that we should interpret literally the
passages in which he is said to have come down from heaven,
and to have had a glory with the Father before the world
was.
"Jesus Christ, then, existed before he came into the world,
and in a state of great honour and felicity. He was known,
esteemed, beloved, revered, in the family of heaven. He
was intrusted with the execution of the most sublime pur-
368
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
เ
poses of his Father. He is spoken of as the highest intelli-
gent being next to Him who is the fountain and source of
all, and he was in happiness as in glory the most express
image of God. These views, which seem to me to be war-
ranted by the Scriptures, show us a strength of love beyond
expression in the entrance of Jesus Christ into this world, to
live and to die a man of sorrows. We have here a sacrifice
for the well-being of mankind to which nothing in our expe-
rience furnishes a parallel.
•
"If the dignity of Christ were such as we have supposed,
then the history of the universe contains no manifestation of
pure, devoted love so stupendous as his; and angels, who
knew the Saviour in his brightness and joy, must have re-
ceived from his humiliation and suffering an impression, of
what charity can perform and endure, such as no other trans-
action can have given. I repeat it, the greatness of Christ's
love cannot be adequately known, until we shall know here-
after the height from which he came to our rescue, the glory
of which he divested himself, the riches which he parted
with, to become poor, that we through his poverty might be
made rich. We can, however, understand something, even
here, of this love. The fact, that such a being was attracted
to us by our miseries, that through the power of love he
came to take upon him our griefs, and exchanged heaven for
the cross,—this fact is a revelation of generous affection,
brighter than the sun; and, if believed, it ought to work
in us more powerfully than all other events..
"To feel the strength of Christ's benevolence whilst he
was on earth, we must consider that it received no aid from
any persons around him. It is comparatively easy to cherish
a sentiment which operates in every other breast, to reflect a
light which shines strongly on every side. But the benevo-
lence of Christ received no accession from sympathy. The
fountain of this living water was within himself. He drew
his love from his own will. The age in which he lived had
no thought of a benevolence so purified, extended, and disin-
terested as his. It was a selfish, exclusive, bigoted age.
The characters of the most improved were narrowed and de-
based by prejudice. Jesus Christ is seen to have been a
lonely being, even among his disciples, when the tone and
temper of his mind are considered. No one felt like him, or
could lend fervour to his charity. His love cannot but im-
press us, when we thus consider how solitary, how unbor-
Joy
1814-1822.]
CHRIST'S LOVE FOR MAN.
369
rowed it was, how it resisted every social influence and ex-
ample, in how full a river it flowed through a parched land,
from which it received no tributary stream.
"To feel as we ought the love of Christ, we should con-
sider also its extent. In reading his history, we see it
spreading over the whole face of society, comprehending all
orders of men, and embracing every human relation and in-
terest. His love did not owe its strength, as ours too often
does, to its limitation. The current was not powerful be-
cause hemmed in. It was not a close circle, within which his
affection glowed to intenseness.
He felt that the world was
his home, and there was a prodigal liberality in his affection.
He could not be happy but in expanding his sympathy to
the whole range of man's wants and sorrows. There was no
class of human beings beneath his notice. If he preferred
any in regard, it was the poor and forsaken; precisely be-
cause they needed most a friend and benefactor. The place
of instruction in which he seemed to take particular pleasure
was the open air, where all might hear him. His charity,
like that light to which he often compared himself, fell on all.
It spread from the little child to the ends of the earth. It
blessed individuals who were near him, and at the same time
reached the most remote nations and ages. In the same
breast dwelt the tenderness of a son for an amiable mother,
and the vast charity of the Saviour of the world. His bene-
volence partook at once the character of the stream which
winds through the valley, and of the mighty ocean which
connects all lands.
(6
Again, to perceive the strength of Christ's love during
his ministry on earth, we must remember that he carried
with him a consciousness of his immense superiority to all
around. He was not a man moving among equals. He re-
membered the glory he had left, and to which he was to
return. The wisest and best around him must have appeared
to him like children. There were none in whose society he
could find the refreshment and pleasure which we derive
from equal and congenial minds. Now it is when men are
surrounded by inferiors, that their pride, contempt, impa-
tience, and weariness perpetually break forth. What a
striking proof, then, of the benevolence of Jesus is it, that,
so far from exhibiting indifference or contempt, he was dis-
tinguished by a lowly and gentle sweetness of deportment!
His dignity was so softened by meek and tender feeling, that
-
VOL. I.
B B
4
370
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
his disciples approached him with familiarity, lived with him
as a friend, and felt no pain in his presence. We should
have expected that a being so august, and whose works were
so wonderful, would have struck awe into men's minds; but
the amiableness of Jesus seems to have triumphed over his
greatness, and to have inspired affection even stronger than
reverence. We see this illustrated in every part of his his-
tory; in John's lying on his bosom, in Mary's anointing his
head, and in the deep and tender grief with which his disci-
ples, after his death, came to embalm his remains. When I
consider this conscious superiority of Jesus, I cannot express
my conception of the strength of his benevolence, as displayed
in the affectionate familiarity with which he lived among
men, in the gentleness and condescension of his manner, in
his hiding his majesty behind his compassion. It is far
easier to scatter blessings than to stoop to the low and to
live with them as a friend. The Son of God walking amidst
the band of his disciples as an equal, sitting at their table,
inviting to it the publican, and conversing with all he met on
the highway and in the palace with like sympathy and inte-
rest, displays to my mind a charity stronger than when he
employed his power to raise the dead. In every act and re-
lation of common life, we see that his very life and spirit was
benignity."
1817. CHRIST A MEDIATOR. "The sentiment which I
wish to enforce is this, that Jesus Christ is continually, in
all ages, in all times, employed and interested in behalf of the
human race,—that his kindness to mankind is constantly
operating, that he bears a permanent relation to them,-
that he never ceases to do good.
"It is to be feared that these conceptions are not suffi-
ciently familiar. Many, when they think of Christ, think of
him only, or chiefly, as having lived several ages ago. Their
minds travel back to the time when he dwelt on earth.
They conceive of him very much as a teacher or prophet
who brought an important message from God, and, having
declared it, died in attestation of it, and then left the world
to enter into a state of reward and rest. Jesus Christ is
thus separated from us, and thrown back into a distant anti-
quity. Without being distinctly avowed, this is with many
the most habitual and frequent mode of regarding Christ, and
it is one cause of the faint interest often manifested in his
character.
G
1
1814-1822.1
CHRIST A MEDIATOR.
371
"Such a view of Christ, when no higher views are con-
nected with it, will not take a strong hold on men of im-
proved and cultivated minds. They will not feel that their
obligations to Christ are great, when he is regarded only as
a prophet of early times; and the reason is, that, from their
early familiarity with the leading truths of his gospel, and
from their habit of reasoning about these truths, they come
to think that they might have learned these without his aid.
You well know that, since the time of Jesus, the human mind
has been much employed in seeking for evidences in Nature,
of many interesting doctrines which he taught. The conse-
quence is, that a system of Natural Religion has been con-
structed. We have works of the learned, in which God's
unity and goodness, and a future state of retribution, are sup-
ported, and, we are sometimes told, are demonstrated, by
proof drawn from the creation and providence. Now, the
effect of this mode of appeal to Nature in defence of these
truths is, to lead men to the notion that Nature is a sufficient
witness to these doctrines, and that the authority of Christ
may be spared. Jesus seems to them to have conferred no
signal benefit in teaching doctrines which are written on
every page of God's works. But it is forgotten that it is by
the light which Christ has thrown on Nature that they are
enabled to read it with so much ease. It is forgotten that,
before his time, philosophers hesitated, wavered, doubted,
about these simple truths of religion, as they are now termed.
It is forgotten that philosophy had not taken a step towards
subverting idolatry.
mi
S
"Hence the more cultivated become insensible to their
obligations to Christ, when viewed as a mere teacher of an
early age. Hence it is not uncommon to hear Nature ar-
rayed against Christ, to hear Nature referred to as a higher
authority than Christ, to see his instructions virtually set
aside, when they do not correspond with what is asserted to
be the doctrine of Nature, although before his coming she
had taught so little—although it is his gospel which has given
her a tongue. I have intended by these remarks to show, that
the habit of thinking of Christ merely or chiefly as a teacher,
who lived several ages ago, and left behind him an excellent
system of religious truth, is not suited to excite a strong in-
terest in him-certainly not such an interest, not such a sen-
sibility, as pervades the New Testament.
M
"I would now observe, that this mode of viewing Christ
BB 2
372
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
is wrong, defective, inconsistent with the plain declaration
of the Scriptures. According to these, Jesus Christ is not a
teacher whose agency was chiefly confined to the time when
he was on earth. He ever lives and is ever active for man-
kind. He sustains other offices than those of a teacher; he
is Mediator, Intercessor, Lord, and Saviour. He has a per-
manent and constant connexion with mankind, and a most
intimate union with his church. He is through all time, now
as well as formerly, the active and efficient friend of the
human race.
"When Jesus spoke of his death, he never spoke of it as
if it were to separate him from the concerns of our world,
as if he were to rest from his efforts for mankind. He re-
garded it as an event which was to introduce him to a nobler
and wider sphere of activity, where he was to contribute
more extensively to the conversion and salvation of mankind.
'I go to prepare a place for you.' 'When I am lifted up,'
that is, crucified, 'I will draw all men to me.' After his
resurrection, he did not speak as if his work had been finished
by dying and rising again. He says, 'All power is given to
me in heaven and earth. Lo! I am with you to the end of
the world.'
•
"According to the Scriptures, Christ, the Son of God, as a
reward for his humiliation, labour, and sufferings for mankind,
is now exalted to universal empire. Angels are subjected to
him. Nature is subjected to him. He is present by his
knowledge and power with his church. He never forgets the
race for which he died. He intercedes for them. He assists
them. He watches over the interests of his religion. He
will make it victorious. According to the Scriptures, the
time is coming when his influence, now silent, will be con-
spicuous; when the veil behind which he operates will be
withdrawn. He is to come with hosts of angels. He is
to raise the dead, to judge the world, to fulfil the solemn
threatenings, and to confer the everlasting blessings of his
gospel.
"This connexion of Jesus Christ with the human race
seems to me very clearly unfolded in Scripture, and though
it is astonishing by its vastness, yet it is in no respect in-
credible. That God should choose to save and bless a race
of beings by the agency of an illustrious deliverer, is only an
exemplification of that system which is established in nature,
under which we see God committing the preservation and
1814-1822.]
CHRIST A MEDIATOR.
373
happiness of a large family to a parent, of a large kingdom to
a sovereign. Connexions and dependencies of this nature
are peculiarly adapted to call forth an exalted benevolence,
and the strongest and best affections of the soul. God might
have raised mankind by an immediate act of power from
sin and death. But it is more consistent with his character,
and with his usual modes of operation, to assign this work
to an exalted being capable of accomplishing it, and to
place this being in the most interesting relations to our
world.
"Is it now asked, 'Why are these views important?' I
answer, they give a new complexion to the mind which truly
imbibes them. They are not mere speculative principles.
They are suited to move and actuate the soul to its centre, to
have a powerful operation on the affections and the life, and
therefore they should often be revolved. The heart which is
truly imbued with them, rises to Christ with a grateful and
affectionate veneration which is felt for no earthly friend.
There is something peculiarly affecting in the idea of a love,
a philanthropy, living and operating through ages, and
looking down from heaven with an unbroken tenderness
on a race like ours.
"I close with observing, that a mind conversant with these
views of Christ acquires a vigour of hope, and a fulness of
joy, which can be derived from no other source.
Our hope
of the heavenly world is nourished by no views so effectually
as by these. That world, so pure, so distant, so unseen,
though believed by us to exist, is not easily conceived of as
designed to be our future dwelling. It is by bringing it
home to the heart, that Jesus is there, that Jesus in our na-
ture is there, that he is there as a friend, and forerunner,
and advocate-it is by cherishing these views that heaven is
brought nigh to us, that hope acquires courage and strength
to ascend to that pure and eternal state. It is possible, by
the aid which these views of Christ can give, to obtain a
conviction of the future glory of human nature, altogether
different from that vague and cold belief which the multitude
possess,—a conviction which partakes of the vividness of im-
mediate perception.'
""
1816. THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN. "Christ came to esta-
blish an empire of benevolence, peace, charity, on the ruins
of malice, war, and discord. The work of diffusing goodwill
through a world of free and voluntary agents, must of neces-
374
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
!
sity be gradual, and, like all the great purposes of God, must
advance with a slow and silent progress. But this work has
been in a degree accomplished by Jesus; and what is more,
there is a very remarkable adaptation in his whole character
to this office of spreading peace on earth-such an adapta-
tion as proves him to be the predicted Pacificator of the
World.
"At the thought of this reign of benevolence, the whole
earth seems to me to burst forth into rejoicing. I see the
arts and civilization spreading gladness over deserted regions,
and clothing the wilderness with beauty. Nations united in
a league of philanthropy, advance with constantly accelerating
steps in knowledge and power. I see stupendous plans ac-
complished, oceans united, distant regions connected, and
every climate contributing its productions and treasures to
the improvement and happiness of the race. In private life,
I see every labour lightened by mutual confidence and aid,
Indigence is unknown. Sickness and pain are mitigated,
and almost disarmed, by the disinterestedness of those who
suffer, and by the sympathy which suffering awakens. Every
blessing is heightened and diffused by participation. Every
family, united, peaceful, and knowing no contention but for
pre-eminence in doing good, is a consecrated and happy
retreat, the image of heaven. The necessary evils of life
shrink into nothing. The human countenance puts on a
new and brighter expression. Human nature with its selfish-
ness loses its base deformity, and is clothed with the glory
of God, whose designs it embraces, with whose spirit it is
imbued.
"Let us, then, welcome Jesus, the Prince of Peace, who
came with this spirit from heaven. Let us welcome Jesus,
whose gospel has already obtained so many conquests over
selfishness and malignity, and brought to reign in so many
hearts the principle of charity."
SECTION FOURTH.
SOCIETY.
1814. DANGERS OF FREE INSTITUTIONS. "One of the
great benefits of a republican government is, that it admits
the elevation of the best men to power. In hereditary
governments, the people have no pledge that the crown will
not be worn by the worst and weakest men in society,
1
1814-1822.] DANGERS OF FREE INSTITUTIONS.
375
But
a republic,' we are told, opens wide the door of
honour and office to merit,-no artificial distinctions are
there employed to depress virtue and wisdom, and superior
talent has at once the means of development and reward.
How great, then, is the prospect that, in a republic, the power
of the state will be confided to the wise and good!'
،
"The privilege of electing rulers is indeed invaluable;
but who does not see, in a moment, that this privilege will
be a blessing or a curse, according to the character of the
community? Let a people be corrupt, and who will be
their favourite,-the uncorrupted patriot, the man of inflexible
principle, too upright to flatter bad passions and to promise
subservience to unworthy views, or the subtle, specious,
demagogue, who pants for power, and disdains no art by
which it may be acquired? Bad men, of all others, are
most greedy of political power, for they see in power, not
only the gratification of ambition, but food for their avarice,
and all their passions; and in a corrupt state of the com-
munity, what can preserve the reins of government from
their unholy grasp? Depraved themselves, they understand
the depraved feelings of others, and can bend every popular
passion to their service. To the mercenary they exhibit the
allurements of office; to the envious they promise a triumph
over their superiors; to the discontented and restless, a re-
moval of fancied or exaggerated grievances. A corrupt
state of society is the very element for the artful and
aspiring. Unfettered by principle and inflamed by the pros-
pect of success, they pursue power with an energy which
no labour can exhaust, no disappointment repress, and on
which better men look with astonishment. Better men are
too much inclined to shrink in despair from a conflict with
these unscrupulous spirits. They cannot stoop, they say,
to artifice and falsehood. They cannot purchase office by
the sacrifice of uprightness, by communion with the worst
members and worst feelings of society. What have they,
then, to hope from this desperate struggle with the depraved,
but envenomed and unceasing abuse, and a final defeat,
more fatal the longer it has been deferred? Such reflections
too often paralyze the efforts of the wise and upright,
and the place of honour which is their due is usurped by the
unworthy.
"It is said, that, under free institutions of society, men of
talents, if not of virtue, will rise,-that a republican country
376
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
[ÆT. 34-42.
will at least escape a government contemptible by its folly
and weakness? Yes! men of talent will rise; but they may
be those who have a talent to wield a mob, rather than to
govern a state, to build up a party, rather than to strengthen
the foundations of national greatness; it may be cunning,
not wisdom, the power of managing vulgar passions, which
men of vulgar minds often possess in the highest degree,
that will triumph. In some corrupt states of society, not
even this miserable talent will be requisite to obtain pro-
motion. Let a people yield themselves to their passions,
and especially to envy, the besetting sin of republics, and
they will sometimes advance men of gross and narrow minds,
in preference to men of distinguished ability, for the very
purpose of humbling their superiors. In a republic, eminence
in talent is sometimes a crime, and rude and clamorous
ignorance may be raised above it. From these causes it may
happen again, as it has happened before, that the rulers of a
republic will be more weak and wicked than the spoilt child
of royalty. Of what use, then, is the privilege of electing
rulers to a depraved people?
M
"These remarks naturally lead to the consideration of
another advantage peculiar to republican institutions,―I
mean, the power they confer of removing without violence
rulers who abuse their trust. This is indeed a great privi-
lege; but again I say, that its benefits depend on the character
of the community. Let bad men rise to power by flattering
the passions of a depraved people, and how are they to be
displaced, except by the arts of men more subtle than them-
selves? The influence which their elevation gives is all
directed to perpetuate their sway. They wield the power
of the state for the great and almost exclusive purpose of
strengthening the party to which they owe their greatness.
For this end, patronage and office are employed to reward
past services, and to attract new adherents from the ranks of
their opponents. Venal presses are kept in perpetual action
to increase the perversity of public sentiment, and especially
to feed the spirit of party. There is no passion in our
nature more headstrong, unrelenting, unbending, and un-
willing to be convinced, than party spirit, and on this the
artful and aspiring chiefly rely for the preservation of their
power. Let this be kindled, and a corrupt administration
has little to fear. To the thorough partisan no conduct of
his leaders gives offence. His conscience is in their keeping.
1814-1822.] JUSTICE TO THE POOR.
377
Self-will, pride, malignity, prompt him to uphold their worst
measures. He would rather see the republic perish by their
crimes, than owe its safety to the virtues and elevation of
their opponents. I need not tell you that a corrupt republic
is the very soil for party spirit. Here it grows without
culture, and shoots up into deadly luxuriance, even when
left to its native vigour. Let its growth be aided by human
art, and it overspreads the fairest plants of social life, and
darkens a nation with its poisonous branches. With these
means of support, bad rulers have nothing to fear.
"Especially if the republic be extensive, as well as corrupt,
is the prospect of removing from power those who abuse it
almost sure of disappointment.
The rulers of such a com-
munity, seated as they are in the centre, sending forth their
patronage to the remotest extremities, and guiding to one
end the exertions of their supporters, have every advantage
for perpetuating their power. Their opponents, scattered
over a wide extent of country, having different interests,
wanting bonds of union, offer a divided and feeble resistance.
They complain of the oppression under which the nation
groans; but the credulous and malignant spirit of party is
instructed to lay to their charge the very evils which they
are struggling to avert, and a guilty administration contrives
to direct upon their heads the indignation which its own
crimes and follies have awakened. Thus we see how little
benefit is to be expected in a corrupt republic from the power
of removing unfaithful rulers."
1817. JUSTICE TO THE Poor. "For what end are civil
society, government, and property instituted? Not to build
up a favoured few, but for the general welfare of mankind.
No valid reason, no justification, can be offered for the
present order of things, for the division of the earth into dis-
tinct possessions, for the great inequalities of property which
exist, but this, that the improvement and happiness of men
in general are protected by these establishments. The rich
derive their title to their wealth from this consideration, that
the general welfare is advanced by the institution of pro-
perty. Society was not instituted, as they are too apt to
think, for them alone; but they belong to society. The true
end of the social union demands that they live for the general
as well as individual good, and the fact that they derive the
highest benefits from civil institutions imposes on them a
peculiar obligation to promote the public weal.
378
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
Society is instituted for the good of all ranks of men.
No single rank is made merely for the rest, but all are to
exist for each other. It is a sentiment, abstractly true,
though it can never be applied to practice, that a man forfeits
his right to property just as far as he fails to contribute,
according to his ability, to the common well-being. He
breaks, in so doing, the tacit compact which every man is
supposed to make who becomes or remains a member of
society. According to these principles, there is a moral
obligation on the rich to benefit the other ranks of society.
This they necessarily do, in a measure, by employing the
poor and recompensing them for their labour. Such service
is a very important one. But when we consider their ability,
and consider, too, the immense benefits which they receive
from the labours of the poorer classes, they surely ought not
to restrict their aid to this limit.
(c
"The present state of the world seems to me to demand
of the rich a peculiar regard to the poorer orders of society.
The time has come, when the security of civil institutions
depends in no small degree on the prevalence of a conviction
among the mass of the people, that these institutions are
beneficial, that property with all its inequalities is a useful
establishment, and that the rich are their benefactors and
friends. Human nature is not formed to look patiently
on superiors. A spirit of discontent generally lurks in the
breasts of those to whom the humble offices of life are
assigned. This spirit is at this moment peculiarly excited,
and it is to be counteracted only by the diffusion of good
principles through the great mass of society, and by a deport-
ment in the rich which will engage the confidence of the poor.
"It has long been the tendency of things to increase the
power of the middling and poorer classes of society. We
must not apply to the present state of the world the maxims
which were suited to darker ages and despotic governments.
In such ages, and under such governments, the poor were
spurned, and no revolt followed, because their spirit was
broken, and they were reduced to a brutal ignorance. But
the case is different in this and many other nations. Since
the Reformation and the revival of learning, a new light has
broken on Protestant countries, a light almost as diffusive as
the sunbeams, which enter at once the narrow window of the
poor man and the broad one of his rich neighbour. A de-
gree of knowledge and of mental activity unknown before
1814-1822.]
EDUCATION OF THE POOR.
379
has been communicated to the poorer classes of society. It
is too late, even if it were desirable, to keep them in ignorance.
The spirit of the age is too active and free to suffer the
chains to be fastened on their minds. They already know
many things, and among other lessons they have learned
their own weight in society. ...
"The consequence of the progress of knowledge and of
all improvements, in these later ages, undoubtedly has been
to arouse a restless and revolutionary spirit through society.
This spirit is not to be condemned, as if it were altogether
evil. Whilst it is in part quickened by bad passions, it is in
part the natural and proper movement of the mind in pur-
suit of a better state of things. It is traced up to the fact,
that the human mind has outgrown old institutions. It is an
impulse which we cannot but hope is to result in a more
just and happy social order.
-
"But still this spirit threatens evil, and it needs to be
regulated and checked by the diffusion of sound principles of
religion and morality. We must not imagine that this revo-
lutionary spirit has exhausted itself. Its violence has been
stayed by late events. But events cannot withstand the
principles of human nature, and the powerful causes which
are now exciting the activity of the human mind. The press,
we must remember, is at work, the mightiest engine ever
set in motion by man. A freer intercourse, a more intimate
connexion, a more rapid communication of thoughts and
feelings than was ever known before, subsists between men
of the same class, and between different classes of society.
We must not expect that society, under these influences, is
to return to its former state. It cannot rest as much on pre-
judice as it has done. It must rest more on reflection and
on principle. In this country in particular, where the
majority govern, where all ranks have an equal agency in
the election of rulers, the chief support of social order is to
be found, not in an outward power of government, but in
the internal conviction and moral and religious sentiments of
the community. Never did such strong motives, even of
a worldly nature, exist as among ourselves, for the improve-
ment of the poorer classes of society.
""
1817. ADDRESS BEFORE THE ASSOCIATION FOR THE EDU-
CATION OF INDIGENT BOYS. "The strongest argument for
education is found in the nobleness of the human faculties,
and the poor bring with them into being the same faculties
380
[ÆT. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
with the opulent. Nature knows none of our arbitrary dis-
tinctions. The child in the humblest walks of life is as
richly gifted, as largely endowed, as in the highest. He has
within the same inexhaustible mine of power and affection,
the same resources of heart and intellect. A flame is kindled
in his breast which is never to die. Such a being is not to
be viewed as an inferior animal, or as important only be-
cause he can perform certain labours for the community.
He is valuable when considered as an individual, as well as
when considered in relation to society. He has a nature
which, for its own sake, deserves to developed, and which God
gave for the very end that it should be improved.
"Among the poor are not only all the essential qualities
of mind and capacities of improvement which belong to all
men, but all the varieties of intellect which are found in other
ranks of life. It is, I believe, a fact, that a large proportion
of that heaven-inspired energy which is ordinarily called
genius, and which has done so much to advance the human
mind, to open new regions of thought and action, and to give
a new impulse to society, has been furnished by the inferior
orders of society. There is the same chance, to speak in
human language, that the sublime faculties of a Locke and
Newton are wrapped up in the child of the poor man as in
the titled descendant of nobles. As many great minds have
dawned in hovels as in palaces. And the poor have not
only their proportion of superior intellect, but they carry
within them seeds of the highest and noblest virtues, of
capacities of elevated devotion, of disinterestedness, of
heroism, of those properties which raise our nature from the
dust and mark out its immortal destiny. The possession of
such a nature as this by the poor is certainly an unanswer-
able argument for opening to them, as far possible, all those
advantages which call forth the mind and heart, which give
elevation of character, and render the whole of life a state of
improvement.
"It will probably be replied to these remarks, that it is
impossible to give to the poor great advantages, that their
condition excludes them from the acquisition of various
knowledge, and that Providence has thus forbidden the
attempt to bestow upon them an education proportioned to
their faculties. But this objection, I think, is founded in a
wrong view of the nature and design of education.
The great object of education is, not to store the mind with
•
1814-1822.]
EDUCATION OF THE POOR.
381
knowledge, but to give activity and vigour to its powers, to
assist it in thinking and inventing, in comparing, discrimi-
nating, and combining. The sum of knowledge which schools,
and even universities, communicate is inconsiderable. It
bears a small proportion to what we derive from other sources,
and from sources which are open to every mind. Our prin-
cipal volumes are nature, experience, and society. Education.
is of use chiefly as it helps us to read these volumes, as it
gives us the habits of patient attention, of observation, of
accurate judgment, and of vigorous thought......
"The remarks now made will, I hope, remove the objec-
tion to the instruction of the poor, that their condition forbids
them to be learned. We do not wish them to be learned,
nor is this the great end of education. We wish to train
their faculties; and this may be effected for the poor, as well
as for other orders of society. It will, however, be the effect
of a general education of the poor, to awaken and disclose
minds of a high order, formed for learning, research, and
contemplation, which, without this aid, would have slumbered
in obscurity. This, though not the greatest, is one great
advantage of extending the best opportunities in our power
to the poorer classes of society. In those classes are scattered
those noblest works of God, superior minds, minds which ask
nothing but a field for action, which need only to be relieved
from the oppression of want, which can mount by their own
native energy, which are formed to look on nature with a
fresh eye, to investigate new truth, to explore worlds of
thought now undiscovered, to awaken by eloquence or poetry
a higher life and feeling in the humán breast. Great minds
are the glory of their race, the instruments employed by
Providence in improving mankind, and in kindling and
elevating their less favoured brethren; and society has an
interest in their development wherever they exist. Justice
to such minds is one benefit of a general education of the
poor. Powerful as native genius is, it requires some aid.
The most vigorous seed will perish without light and moisture,
and the instruction of the poor affords to superior minds the
necessary aid.
"Should the history of the world be traced, I believe it
will be found, as I have said before, that society has derived a
considerable proportion of its best materials-I mean superior
minds-from the inferior classes of society, wherever these
classes have enjoyed the advantages which are their due.
382
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
The higher classes of society have a tendency to intellectual
imbecility, and need to be replenished from the lower. The
looser relations of the poor are more favourable to native
vigour, originality, freshness of thought, where real genius
is possessed; and from all this it follows, that the intellectual
progress of a community, its mental activity, its energy of
thought and action, will be promoted by extending to all
classes the means of education, by giving everywhere to
superior minds the opportunity of emerging and of lending
their impulse to society...
"That the development of intellect should have a tendency
to injure the character of the poor, and to render them bad
members of society, seems to be a reflection on the wisdom
and goodness of the Creator, who must have constituted
human nature with a singular want of skill, if its best faculties
cannot safely be unfolded. I am persuaded, too, that this
sentiment is at war with the history of the progress of society,
which teaches us that there is a close connexion between our
intellectual and moral powers, and that knowledge is friendly
to virtue. The idea, that a large part of mankind must be
kept in a state of brutal ignorance and degradation, and be
sacrificed, as far as their higher powers are concerned, to the
welfare of society, shocks our best feelings, and those feelings
will generally be found in alliance with truth.
'It may be admitted that the education of the poor will
give them a desire to better their condition, and that this
desire may sometimes be impatient, and may hurry them into
crime. But what then? Does not this desire in every class
of society often break out into the same excesses? Shall we,
therefore, extinguish it? The desire of rising, of improving
our condition, is a radical principle of our nature, and one of
the chief sources of all social improvements. It is the life of
a community, and without it a people would sink into torpid-
ness, sloth, and the most degrading vices. It is a miserable
philosophy which would suppress the great springs of action
in the human breast, because they sometimes act with a dan-
gerous power.
"That men will labour less because improved in under-
standing, seems to me to be an equally erroneous notion.
The great motives to steady labour lie in a perception of the
future consequences of actions, and require a mind of some
comprehension, foresight, and calculation, to feel their force;
and hence we may expect the steadiest labour from men
1814-1822.]
EDUCATION OF THE POOR.
383
whose faculties have been enlarged by education. That this
is precisely the fact, history and observation prove. Slaves
and savages, who receive no education, are proverbially in-
dolent. The hardest labourers in this country are the hus-
bandmen of New England,—a class of men who have been
formed under institutions peculiarly fitted to expand and
invigorate the understanding.
"Of all our benevolent institutions, those which regard
children seem to me to hold the first rank. Let charity,
indeed, extend itself with a divine activity to all the varieties
of human want; let it multiply its forms of action in propor-
tion to the forms of guilt and suffering; let its channels be
everywhere widened and deepened; let it erect hospitals,
establish dispensaries and provident institutions, watch over
almshouses, open receptacles for the reformation of the
vicious, and administer comfort to the aged and dying. The
aged and dying, however, will soon cease to suffer; their
journey is almost finished; and the poor of middle age have
formed characters which yield slowly and reluctantly to the
influence of any means of improvement. But the child has
just begun to live, with a mind pliant and tender, with habits.
not now rigid and unyielding, with a heart not now tainted
and hardened, yet with propensities which, if unchecked, will
probably issue in guilt and misery. Abandon him to igno-
rance, and his youth, if he struggle through its hardships,
will train him to crimes for which society has reared the
prison and the gallows.
"The children of poor families too often inherit the vices
and miseries of their parents. Brought up in filth, seeing
constantly the worst examples, hearing licentious and profane
conversation, abandoned to ignorance and idleness, or, if em-
ployed, only employed to beg in the streets, to extort money
by falsehoods, to practise a thousand frauds,—from such
children what can you expect but lives of sloth and guilt,
leading to poverty more abject, if possible, than that to which
they were born? This is the most affecting circumstance
attending poverty produced by vice. Who can think without
an aching heart of the child nursed at the breast of an in-
temperate mother, subjected to the tyranny and blows of an
irritable, intoxicated father, and at length cast out upon the
world without one moral or religious principle, or one honest
method of acquiring subsistence? Take him under your pro-
tection, nurture his tender years, and you may hope to form
384
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
him to intelligence and industry and virtue, to a life of
cheerful and useful labour, and to the felicities of a better
world. Do not do not let him perish."
1819. OUR DUTIES TO THE POOR. "Formerly, the task
of a Christian minister in pleading for the poor was com-
paratively easy. He had the plain precepts of his Master
to support him, and he found in men's breasts instinctive
principles and sympathies which responded to these precepts.
Of late, however, we have had abundant discussions and
speculations on the causes and remedies of poverty, which,
however well designed, have tended to shake men's sense
of obligation to relieve their poor brethren, and have given
pretexts to the selfish and avaricious for shutting their hearts
and hands. We have been told that poverty grows by
charity, that the prospect of relief begets improvidence, that
our giving bribes men to forsake labour, that the way to
check beggary is to make it an intolerable condition;—from
all which the inference seems natural, that the less we give
the better. If this doctrine has not been set forth in so
many words, yet I think there has been an approach to it,
so that giving to the poor is by some thought a less binding
duty than formerly.
C
"I mean not to deny that much useful truth has been
brought before the public by the late discussions on the sub-
ject of poverty. I am far from denying that injudicious,
indiscriminate charity has swelled the evil which it hoped
to alleviate. The Christian precept, to give alms,' has
sometimes done injury, and chiefly because it has not been
limited, as it should be, by another precept, namely, ‘He
that will not work, neither shall he eat,' that is, be supported
by charity. In the Dark Ages, alms-giving was thought an
expiation for sin and a passport to heaven. The dying left
legacies to convents, to be doled out to daily mendicants
without regard to their character or state, so that society
lost the labour of many of its strongest and healthiest mem-
bers. And this evil has not been confined to the Catholics.
Protestant sloth has been as injurious as Romish superstition.
Too many among us give from a vague sense of duty, but
forget the obligation of giving vigilantly, carefully, in the
manner most suited to do good. It is easier to give money
than time and personal attention. Hence, charity nourishes
idleness instead of solacing want, and is a bounty on improvi-
dence. Alms-giving, I freely allow, has caused much evil.
!
****/
1814-1822.]
PREVENTION OF POVERTY.
385
I am also prepared to go farther and say, that, let us give
ever so judiciously, we shall occasionally do evil, as well as
good. The objections made to the most cautious charity are
not wholly without foundation. But this is no reason for
ceasing to give. In making these admissions, we are only
saying that charity partakes of the imperfection of all human
things. The truth is, we seldom or never receive or com-
municate an unmixed good. Every virtue produces occa-
sional evil.
"It is sometimes objected to alms-giving, as I have inti-
mated, that to prevent poverty is better than to relieve it;
and that there is but one way of prevention, which is, to take
from men all expectation of relief if they become poor.
They will then, it is thought, have motives which can hardly
fail to keep them from want. But, unluckily for such reason-
ing, there is one way only of cutting off this expectation, and
God forbid that we should ever resort to it. That only way
is, to drive all human feeling from our breasts; for as long as
any kindness exists in a community, so long there will be re-
sources open to the poor, let their poverty come how it may,
and so long relief will be expected by the improvident. I
repeat it, there is but one way of suppressing this hope of re-
lief. We must cast from us all kind feeling. We must turn
our hearts to stone. We must bring ourselves to see unmoved
the beggar die at our doors. We must make up our minds
sternly, inflexibly, to give nothing, let misery assail us with
ever so piercing a cry, with ever so haggard, and worn, and
famished a look; for nothing but this will prevent the im-
proper dependence which is said to generate poverty. Let
any sympathy survive, and it will act and be a hope to the
improvident; and can any man seriously think that the evils
of this hope are so great, that to avoid them we should turn
ourselves into brutes, dry up the fountains of humanity
within us, part with all that is tender and generous in our
nature? I am free to say that the most injudicious alms-
giving is an infinitely less evil to society than this extinction
of sympathy. Better multiply beggars, than make ourselves
monsters. Kind affection is the life of a community, and the
excesses of these affections are to be chosen before a frozen
selfishness.
"I would next observe, that I have no belief in the effi-
cacy of this mode of preventing poverty. Let men know
that want will find no relief, and I doubt whether it will be
VOL. I.
C C
•
386
[ET. 34-42.
SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
essentially diminished; for human nature has a strange power
of shutting its eyes on consequences, especially in youth, and
every day's observation shows us multitudes giving them-
selves up, through the power of the passions, to excesses,
pleasures, which, as they see and know, have reduced others
in their neighbourhood and families to penury, disease, and
even premature death. Present gratification often outweighs
an infinite future misery. Men are not to be kept from
poverty by being taught that poverty is a helpless state, any
more than they are to be kept from crimes by multiplication
of capital punishments. The laws are not found to be most
efficacious when men are gibbeted for every offence, and facts
of a similar nature should caution us against attempts to
'meliorate society by unmixed rigour.
"Another consideration is too important to be passed over.
Let poverty be made a condition in which no relief is to be
hoped, which is to be given up to unmixed and unpitied
misery, and the temptations to escape it by fraud and violence
will be irresistible. No man will be poor who can find his
way to his neighbour's coffers; and if, after all honest exer-
tions for self-support, a man should be reduced to want, I am
not prepared to judge him severely, should he, to save himself
from starving, make a prey of the superfluities of the rich.
"These remarks will not, I hope, be misunderstood. I am
not pleading for injudicious alms-giving. It is a great evil.
But there is an opposite evil which I think greater, and that
is, making use of the bad consequences of charity as argu-
ments for banishing charity from society; and to this point
many late speculations on poverty have seemed to me to tend.
Christ's precept to give to the poor is not a blemish in his
system, but an important and noble part of it. The occasional
abuses of charity are not to discourage us in exercising this
virtue. We must feel, however, that we but half do this duty
when we do it carelessly. We must strive to give so that the
least evil and the greatest good may result from our bene-
ficence...
"Does any one ask, 'Why shall I pity and help the poor
man?' I answer, because he is A MAN; because poverty does
not blot out his humanity; because he has your nature, your
sensibilities, your wants, your fears; because the winter wind
pierces him, and hunger gnaws him, and disease racks and
weakens him, as truly as they do you. Place yourself, my
friend, in his state; make yourself, by a strong effort of
1814-1822.]
CHARITY A TEST OF RELIGION.
387
thought, the inhabitant of his unfurnished and cold abode, and
then ask why you should help him. He is a man, though rags
cover him, though his unshorn hair may cover his human fea-
tures,—a member of your family, a child of the same Father,
and, what is most important, he not only has your wants and
feelings, but shares with you in the highest powers and hopes
of human nature. He is a man in the noblest sense, created
in God's image, with a mind to think, a conscience to guide,
a heart which may grow warm with sentiments as pure and
generous as your own. To some this may seem declamation.
There are some who seldom think of or value man as man.
It is man born in a particular rank, clad by the hand of fashion
and munificence, moving in a certain sphere, whom they re-
spect. Poverty separates a fellow-being from them, and
severs the golden chain of humanity. But this is a gross and
vulgar way of thinking, and religion and reason cry out against
it. The true glory of man is something deeper and more real
than outward condition. A human being, created in God's
image, and, even when impoverished by vice, retaining power
essentially the same with angels, has a mysterious importance,
and his good, where it can be promoted, is worthy the care of
the proudest of his race. .
"Next to the great doctrine of immortal life, we may say
that the most characteristic element of our religion is that of
UNIVERSAL CHARITY. And the doctrine of immortality and
the duty of charity are not so separate as many may think;
for love of benevolence is the spirit of the eternal world, the
temper which is to make us blest beyond the grave, and to
give us hereafter the highest enjoyment of the character and
works of our Creator. There is another view by which it
appears that the Christian doctrine of immortality blends
with and sustains charity;-for, according to this doctrine,
all men are to live for ever, Christ died for all, all are essen-
tially equal, and the distinctions of their lives are trifles.
Thus it is seen that the poor are recommended with an infi-
nite power to the love and aid of their brethren. No man
can read the New Testament honestly, and not learn to
measure his religion chiefly by his benevolence. If the
spirit, and example, and precepts of Jesus Christ have not
taught us to love our fellow-creatures, we have no title what-
ever to the name and the hope of Christians. If we have
not learned this lesson, we have learned nothing from our
Master. About other things Christians may dispute, but
c c 2
388
SPIRITUAL growth.
[ÆT. 34-42.
here there can be no controversy. Charity is a duty placed
before us with a sunlike brightness. It comes to us from the
lips, the life, the cross, of our Master; and if charity be not
in us, then Christ does in no degree live within us, then our
profession of his religion is a mockery, then he will say to
us in the last day, 'I was hungry and ye gave me no
meat, thirsty and ye gave me no drink. I know you not.
Depart.'
999
1820. The GLORY OF A STATE. "It is plain, that, to
promote the good of our country, we must know what that
good is, and as misapprehensions on this subject have done
infinite injury, so just views will show us that every man in
every class may contribute to it. The honour and happiness
of a community consist not so much in the ability and acts
of its public men, as in the character, spirit, and condition of
its citizens; and whatever or whoever advances these builds
up the public welfare.
"If I were to express in a line what constitutes the glory
of a state, I should say, it is the free and full development of
Human Nature. That country is the happiest and noblest,
whose institutions and circumstances give the largest range
of action to the human powers and affections, and call forth
man in all the variety of his faculties and feelings. That is
the happiest country, where there is most intelligence and
freedom of thought, most affection and love, most imagination
and taste, most industry and enterprise, most public spirit,
most domestic virtue, most conscience, most piety. Wealth
is a good only as it is the production and proof of the vigor-
ous exercise of man's powers, and is a means of bringing out
his affections and enlarging his faculties. Man is the only
glory of a country, and it is the advancement and unfolding
of human nature which is the true interest of a state.
"If this be true, we learn what is the great end of govern-
ment, the highest good of civil polity. It is liberty. I am
almost tempted to say that this is the only political blessing,
and the only good gift, which law and order can confer on a
country. By liberty I do not mean what anciently bore the
I mean
name, for anciently they had little but the name.
the protection of every individual in his rights, and an
exemption from all restraints but such as the public good
requires. We do not want government to confer on us posi-
tive blessings, but simply to secure to us the unobstructed
exercise of our powers in working out blessings for ourselves.
1814-1822.]
389
THE GLORY OF A STATE.
The spring of happiness is in man's own breast, not in his
government; and the best office of government is to remove
obstructions to this inexhaustible energy of the living spirit
within us. Liberty, then, is the greatest political blessing,
the distinction of a well-governed country.
It is a good
which cannot be measured. The glory of a country, then,
consists in the free character of its institutions, in the secu-
rity they give to every man's rights...
(:
1
Every man may promote the glory of his country, for
every man, whatever be his sphere, may put forth his powers
in useful pursuits, and express and give some extension to
right principles and virtuous affections. Let none imagine
that they can do no good to the community because they are
in private stations. The error has always been to ascribe to
public men and public institutions an undue share in the
prosperity of a nation. The great powers in the natural
world, on which its motion, life, beauty, happiness, depend,
are subtile, and everywhere diffused; and so the most effec-
tual springs of a nation's felicity are very different from the
cumbrous machinery which works at the seat of government.
They are silent as the principle of life in the animal frame.
They consist in what we call the spirit of a people, in a
general respect for rights, which is the sole foundation of
civil liberty, in industry, temperance, intelligence, humanity,
and piety.
These are the elements of a country's life, and
he who multiplies and invigorates these is a public bene-
factor.
'The sentiment, that a country's happiness consists chiefly
in its virtue, is, I know, a trite one; but, if I mistake not,
its truth is at this moment receiving some new illustrations,
and the time seems to be coming, when it will be felt as it
has never been felt before. Whoever looks at Europe will
see, I think, that a new spirit has gone forth among the
nations; that the human mind is unusually shaken; that
society demands some new organization, and that new powers,
and those of a moral nature, must be set at work to sustain
its institutions. The old methods of keeping men in order-
I mean military force, state religions, and the show and
pomp of courts-have lost much of their efficacy, and lost
them, not merely through temporary causes, but through the
very progress of the human mind. There is an accumulation
of intelligence and energy, a consciousness of power, in the
mass of the people, never possessed before; and such a state
390
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
of society seems to me to demand a stronger influence and
wider diffusion of moral and religious principle than formerly.
The old arts of restraining a people by superstition and igno-
rance will no longer avail. A purer religion and a purer
morality must take their place, or the prospects of the world
are dark indeed. Governments are certainly weakened; they
have lost in an unprecedented degree the confidence of the
governed; the people are more intelligent and combined; and
unless an inward principle of order be substituted for out-
ward restraint, unless governments reform themselves and
aid in reforming society, we may find that we have but
entered upon the horrors of the revolutionary period. These
speculations may be founded on imperfect knowledge of the
state of the world; but of one great principle I have no
doubt, that we are passing through a process which will give
new efficacy to the conviction, that the stability of govern-
ments is their justice, and that the prosperity of states rests
on moral improvements, on a Pure, Rational Religion, on a
Spirit of Humanity, within every nation of Christendom,
and toward all mankind."
CHAP. V.-MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
ET. 31-42. 1814-1822.
We have traced Mr. Channing's course through the irksome
years of the Unitarian controversy, and have watched his
spiritual growth, as manifested in the sermons preached to
his people. And now we would observe him in his social,
pastoral, and home relations during this period of his middle-
age ministry. But before describing this portion of his life,
it may serve yet further to illustrate his character as a con-
troversialist and a theologian, to make a few remarks, which
are naturally suggested by the preceding chapters.
The first point to be noticed, and it is an important one, is,
that it was his sense of duty to the cause of Free Inquiry,
endangered as he thought by a bigoted conservatism, which
led Mr. Channing into controversy. The individualizing
tendency of Protestantism was then, in New England as else-
where, swelling like the waters of a freshet, which threaten
to sweep away dikes and cultivated acres, as well as icy
fetters. But though he saw the risks to which Christendom
was exposed, through the rashness produced by rationalism
1814-1822.7
UNITY IN VARIETY.
391
in the self-willed and superficial, Mr. Channing at once re-
cognised that it was as wrong as it was vain to attempt to
dam up the liberal spirit which, on all sides, was seeking a
larger form of thought and life. He welcomed the spring-
time, and accepted cheerfully the inconveniences of a tran-
sition age. The unity in uniformity, enforced by the decrees
of infallible councils, and by the creeds of Protestant synods,
had passed for ever; and in the future was foreshadowed a
unity in variety, arising spontaneously among the body of
believers bound into one by the consciousness of limitation
and error, the desire of concert and mutual reverence. He
rejoiced to think that the symbol was thus to give place to the
reality, that the constrained catholicity of a dominant clergy
was to make room for the universal communion of Christians,
filled with one spirit of holy love.
Meanwhile, a period was to be passed through of sectarian
division, wherein each party, in its wish to be faithful to its
own convictions, would be tempted to treat rival denomina-
tions with injustice. This era of debate he saw to be in-
evitable. It was folly to fear it. It was mere waste of time
to oppose or to mourn over it. Duty urged him to follow the
providential leading, with confidence to seek clearer views,
with candour to listen to all who uttered their sincere opinions,
never to cover up doubt by make-belief or half-belief, with-
out dogmatism to be decided, and patiently to wait for the
time when glimpses should be enlarged to complete vision.
As faith ascends into knowledge, it becomes ever more
apparent that according to Divine design the multiplicity of
minds is a means of harmony, that the most bitterly opposed
partisans are each other's necessary complements, and that the
Church cannot afford to spare a single sect till the truth which
it embodies has attained its rightful place. The principle by
which Mr. Channing was governed he has thus distinctly ex-
pressed, and the passage throws much light upon his views of
his own position and duties:-
"It is due to myself to say, that the controversial character
of a part of my writings is to be ascribed, not to the love of
disputation, but to the circumstances in which I was called
to write. It was my lot to enter on public life at a time
when this part of the country was visited by what I esteem
one of its sorest scourges; I mean, a revival of the spirit of
intolerance and persecution. I saw the commencement of
those systematic efforts, which have been since developed,
392
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
for fastening on the community a particular creed. Opinions
which I thought true and purifying were not only assailed as
errors, but branded as crimes. Then began what seems to me
one of the gross immoralities of our times, the practice of
aspersing the characters of exemplary men, on the ground of
differences of opinion as to the most mysterious articles of
faith. Then began those assaults on freedom of thought and
speech, which, had they succeeded, would have left us only
the name of religious liberty. Then it grew perilous to search
the Scriptures for ourselves, and to speak freely according to
the convictions of our own minds. I saw that penalties, as
serious in this country as fine and imprisonment, were, if
possible, to be attached to the profession of liberal views of
Christianity, the penalties of general hatred and scorn; and
that a degrading uniformity of opinion was to be imposed by
the severest persecution which the spirit of the age would
allow. At such a period, I dared not be silent. To oppose
what I deemed error was to me a secondary consideration.
My first duty, as I believed, was, to maintain practically and
resolutely the rights of the human mind; to live and to suffer,
if to suffer were necessary, for that intellectual and religious
liberty which I prize incomparably more than my civil rights.
I felt myself called, not merely to plead in general for free-
dom of thought and speech, but, what was more important
and trying, to assert this freedom by action. I should have
felt myself disloyal to truth and freedom, had I confined my-
self to vague commonplaces about our rights, and forborne to
bear my testimony expressly and specially to proscribed and
persecuted opinions. The times required that a voice of
strength and courage should be lifted up, and I rejoice that I
was found among those by whom it was uttered and sent far
and wide. The timid, sensitive, diffident, and doubting
needed this voice; and without it, would have been overborne
by the clamour of intolerance. If in any respect I have ren-
dered a service to humanity and religion, which may deserve
to be remembered when I shall be taken away, it is in this.
I believe, that, had not the spirit of religious tyranny been
met, as it was, by unyielding opposition in this region, it
would have fastened an iron yoke on the necks of this people.
The cause of religious freedom owes its present strength to
nothing so much as to the constancy and resolution of its
friends in this quarter. Here its chief battle has been fought,
and not fought in vain. The spirit of intolerance is not, in-
1814-1822.]
TREATMENT OF OPPONENTS.
393
deed, crushed; but its tones are subdued, and its menaces
impotent, compared with what they would have been, had it
prospered in its efforts here.”*
But though thus ready to defend freedom of conscience
against every form of oppression, however plausible, Mr.
Channing entertained no personal ill-will towards those
whose course he was called upon to resist. He had genuine
dignity, indeed, and a high sense of honour, and was capable
of feeling deep indignation; but he had been for years too
chastened in spirit to indulge anger or to cherish unkindness.
And as he was considered by some of his Orthodox adver-
saries to have been quite too stern in his mode of conducting
controversy, it is but right to mention one or two facts, and
to give some extracts from his correspondence, which may
serve to set forth his character in its true colours.
In relation to his letters to Dr. Worcester, one of his
brothers thus writes:-__ 66 I was living in his house at this
period, and when he had finished the letter, he read it to the
Rev. Mr. and myself. We both at once made com-
plaints at its mildness, and insisted that it had the tone of
a timid man begging for mercy, rather than of a brave one
who was supporting a righteous cause. By our importunity
he was persuaded to modify it. He expressed the kindest
feelings, but, on the other hand, was unwilling to seem luke-
warm in what he regarded as a very serious matter. Many
parts were altered accordingly; and when the letter was
finally sent to the press, its original gentleness was merged
in the more emphatic passages which he had inserted in con-
sideration of our urgent requests. Years afterwards, I be-
lieve in 1832, I was reading a tract of his, while sitting with
him in his study. Its vehemence pained me so much, that I
could not but remonstrate against its spirit. He listened
patiently, hesitated for a moment, and then, looking up with
the sweetest smile, said,— The sins of earlier days arise
(
* Preface to Reviews, Discourses, and Miscellanies, 1830.-The state-
ments and arguments presented on the Orthodox side may be found in “A
Letter on Religious Liberty, by Moses Stuart, Professor of Sacred Litera-
ture in the Theological Seminary, Andover." Boston, 1830. Professor
Stuart therein avers that the accusations of Dr. Channing are “NOT TRUE,"
page 37. This letter was replied to in "Two Letters on Religious Liberty,
by Bernard Whitman." Boston, 1830. The reply called out a rejoinder
in the Spirit of the Pilgrims, which Mr. Whitman answered in a "Third
Letter."
394
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
against me. I followed the judgment of friends in printing
that. I deeply regret that there is a word there which strikes
you as being bitter. Surely I never felt an unkind emotion
towards any person for a difference of opinion.' As he spoke,
the whole history of the tract flashed upon me. It was the
very letter to Dr. Worcester to which I had been instru-
mental in giving its present form. This was by no means
the first or last occasion when he heard his own mildness.
reproved, and when he was induced, by fear of betraying the
cause in which he was engaged, to use a warmth of expres-
sion that was really in discord with his own temper.
"In all differences of opinion with others, I never heard
him utter a harsh word, and there were always marked ex-
pressions of disapproval, whenever he saw acrimony or un-
fairness manifested, however obnoxious the person might be
against whom they were directed. When Dr. Griffin, who
was the head of the Orthodox party, and bitterly opposed to
Liberalism, was officiating at Park Street Church, a slan-
derous report was raised against him, as malevolent as it was
false. I was walking with my brother one day in the Mall,
when Dr. Griffin having passed us, he was led to speak of
this base history. He declared how deeply he was shocked
to see a smile of triumph on the countenances of the Doctor's
opponents,—many of them being of course his own supporters.
His language on this occasion was the strongest which I
ever heard fall from his lips. As he spoke of the spirit
manifested by these men, made mad by theological hostility,
he characterised it as exhibiting the basest elements in
human nature, and as truly diabolical.
'I will give one more example to illustrate his habitual
generosity toward opponents. A clergyman from a distant
part of the State preached some sermons in Boston, in 1817,
in which he severely criticized, and indeed actually vilified,
the character of the Liberal clergy in the most wholesale
manner. I, in company with several acquaintances, was
present. In the evening the discourse became naturally the
topic of conversation among us. Much indignation was ex-
pressed. But my brother directed all his remarks to soften-
ing the feelings of those who were aggrieved by the abuse of
honoured friends. 'I cannot blame this stranger so severely,'
said he; these harsh judgments never originated from him-
self; he was led by others into false impressions. How sad
is controversy, that it should thus tempt our opponents to
C
1814-1822.]
TREATMENT OF OPPONENTS.
395
misrepresent men whom they might and should know better!'
Thus did he endeavour to find extenuating circumstances
whereby to explain, if not excuse, the conduct of his adver-
saries. These slight recollections are of worth only as
proving the essential disposition and uniform behaviour of
the man.
He was thoroughly magnanimous and just."
The view thus given of Mr. Channing's character, by one
who was an eyewitness of his course, will be confirmed
by the following extracts from his letters.
1819. "I have to thank you very sincerely for calling my
attention again to this subject. My inquiries have ended in
a stronger conviction, if possible, of the truth and importance
of the views which I have published. . . . . I believe that you
have made as good a defence of Trinitarianism, or rather of
Christ's supreme divinity, as can be expected, and am assured,
that, the abler the advocate, the stronger and more general
will be the conviction that the view cannot be supported.
"I wish you every blessing, and great and increasing use-
fulness in your important and responsible station. That
God may deliver us both from selfishness, ambition, and
prejudice, and that he may show us our errors, whatever
they may be, and give us honesty and boldness to acknow-
ledge and openly renounce them, is my prayer."
1820. "I have read enough of Dr. Carpenter's work to
learn its object, and I lament that the state of things among
you has laid on him the duty of exposing so much at length
the misrepresentations of Bishop Magee....... I am too far
from you to judge what is best, and since this work has been
thought necessary, I cannot but rejoice that it has been un-
dertaken by a man so imbued with the Christian spirit as
Dr. Carpenter. The time has been, when it would have
been thought good policy to oppose to the Bishop a contro-
versial bully, able to meet him on his own ground and to
fight him with his own weapons, and as little scrupulous
about the means of humbling an adversary. But I trust the
times of this ignorance are past, and that we have learned the
wisdom as well as virtue of defending truth with moderation
and benevolence. That party, especially, which makes its
appeal to reason, and looks for success to the extension of
deliberate and impartial inquiry, has an interest in banishing
passion and violence from controversy, and giving the example
of forbearance and candour."
1821.
"The death of Dr. Worcester affected me not a
"
396
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
little, for you remember that he was one of my opponents in
the Unitarian controversy, and certainly not the most for-
bearing. I trust that I learned from that experience a new
lesson of tenderness and charity towards those who differ from
me, and who may seem to be injurious. When I see how
fast my theological adversaries and myself are passing away,
and how soon our motives are to be laid open at a higher
tribunal, I cannot but hope, as I look back to the time of our
controversy, that I have cherished towards them no unchris-
tian feelings.
"I have understood that Dr. Worcester fell a victim to
his zeal in the cause of missions, and for this Christian
will honour his memory."
every
We have seen Mr. Channing's earnest desire to do justice
to the rights of individual minds; but now let it be observed,
that, on the other hand, he did not slight the claims of the
collective reason of man as declared in tradition. To many
free inquirers, indeed, he must have seemed, and did seem
timid and tenacious of old prejudices. He was no destruc-
tive, and had no taste for criticism and negation; neither was
he so insensible to the grandeur of spiritual problems, as
hastily to construct an eclectic system out of the ruins of
past opinions, or to build a private temple from the unquarried
rock which modern investigation had laid bare. Conscience
compelled him to reject many dogmas in relation to God,
human nature and destiny, which the Puritans had trans-
mitted to their children, and he gratefully received the
cheering views which the more childlike piety and warmer
charity of the age, under the guidance of clearer science, were
inspiring. Though thus liberal, however, he was very far
from casting aside all established convictions of the Church
as superstitions.
be
Of the three grand classes into which Christians may
grouped, the TRINITARIANS, the NATURALISTS, and the ME-
DIATORIALISTS, Mr. Channing undoubtedly belonged at this
period to the last. He did not look upon man as utterly
corrupt in sin, and see in Christ the incarnate God, descended
upon earth to bear the burden of our guilt and woe, and by
self-inflicted penalty to provide the means of our justification
and pardon. But neither did he regard man as in a normal
state, advancing by natural progress, and see in Jesus only a
person of religious genius, who, under the impulse of a fine
temperament, and the stimulant of enthusiasm in his nation,
1814-1822.]
THEOLOGICAL OPINIONS.
397
had attained to a union with God which was equally accessible
to every human being. Undoubtedly he recognised a portion
of truth in each of these systems, although dissenting from
both. But he agreed rather with those, scattered among all
sects, and forming, probably, in all ages, the majority of
believers, who consider mankind neither totally depraved,
nor yet merely undeveloped, but actually degenerate, through
an abuse of free will. And in Jesus Christ he reverently
acknowledged a sublime being, who, by his coming upon
earth, had brought about a crisis in the condition of humanity,
had touched with healing power the vital springs of goodness.
in our race, and had opened the heavens through which ever-
more flow in full influxes of spiritual life. With no impa-
tience to invent satisfactory answers to mysteries which he
saw to be unsolved, and especially anxious not to divert
men's regards from the goodness of God's beloved Son by
speculations upon his rank in the scale of being, he yet for
himself was inclined to believe in Christ's pre-existence, and
his continued mediatorial power over human affairs. In a
word, he was then an Arian. And any one who has read
the extracts already given from his sermons will have per-
ceived that passages in his published writings, which have
often been interpreted as merely eloquent rhetoric, were
really the calm suggestion of thoughts, which, though he
forced them upon none, he yet inwardly cherished as of pro-
foundest interest.
Hereafter, perhaps, more than at present, it will be re-
cognised as Mr. Channing's distinguishing peculiarity, that
he blended so harmoniously in his theology views of Chris-
tianity which are usually held as irreconcilable. Then, pos-
sibly, the deliberateness with which he kept before his mind,
as open questions, doctrines which those around him on all
sides dogmatically settled, may be considered a higher title to
honour than the decision with which he stepped forward to
uphold the right of free thought and speech. However this
may prove to be, the fact undeniably was, that while he
formed the most free and generous estimate of human nature,
he held opinions in regard to the Divine government, spi-
ritual influences, a mediator, and the kingdom of heaven,
which by most Liberal Christians would be considered rather
mystical than rational. Has it been observed how closely he
connected his confidence in the essential dignity of man, his
aspirations after perfect union of the human will with the
398
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
Divine, his hope for the future greatness of mankind, with
the fact of the life of Jesus Christ? In this complex theo-
logy of Mr. Channing shall we find a proof that he was a
man of imagination and sentiment more than a philosopher,
or shall we rather admire the wisdom which, while it made
him bold and frank where he was convinced, kept him
humbly guarded before the unveiled wonders of the eternal
world?
(6
not a
It certainly was not owing to unwillingness to abandon
wonted habits of thought, to sluggish indifference, or to any
form of selfish fear, that Mr. Channing chose to occupy the
middle ground in theology; for nothing characterized him
more than the youthful eagerness with which he greeted the
advent of every newly discovered truth. He was
watcher by the tomb, but a man of resurrection." He lived
in the mountain-air of hope. And at this period of his life
he was breathing in the freshness with which the whole in-
tellect of Christendom seemed inspired, as it pressed onward
across the wide prairie which the science, philosophy, poetry,
and revolutionary tendencies of the age had opened. It was
with intense delight that he made acquaintance with the
master minds of Germany, through the medium, first, of
Madame de Staël, and afterward of Coleridge. He recognised
in them his leaders. In Kant's doctrine of the Reason he
found confirmation of the views which, in early years received
from Price, had quickened him to ever deeper reverence of
the essential powers of man. To Schelling's sublime intima-
tions of the Divine Life everywhere manifested through
nature and humanity, his heart, devoutly conscious of the
universal agency of God, gladly responded. But above all
did the heroic stoicism of Fichte charm him by its full asser-
tion of the grandeur of the human will. Without adopting
the systems of either of these philosophers, and, fortunately
perhaps for him, without being fully acquainted with these
systems, he yet received from their example the most ani-
mating incentives to follow out the paths of speculation into
which his own mind had entered. In the extracts given from
his sermons, there is nothing more striking than his increas-
ing spirituality, his high ideal of human nature, his lofty
enthusiasm, and glowing hope. In thought, act, speech, he
was a poet, though his chosen position was the pulpit, and
the sermon his chief medium of expression.
But it was to an English writer that he was indebted for
·
1814-1822.] SYMPATHY WITH WORDSWORTH.
399
yet higher pleasure, and perhaps as efficient aid. This was
Wordsworth, of whom he always spoke with the most re-
spectful affection, as of a benefactor by whom he felt that
his heart and mind had been equally enriched. Shortly after
the "Excursion" appeared, he obtained a copy of it, which
was sent over by a London house to a publisher who knew
little of its worth. It had been heralded by the ridicule of
the "Edinburgh Review," which then was a dictator to the
literary world of America yet more than of Great Britain.
But to Mr. Channing it came like a revelation. He kept it
constantly by him; and, as he once said, had "never read
anything but Shakspeare more.” He saw a beauty even in
its prosaic passages, admired the rare felicity of its language,
and was inclined to consider it the most elaborate and finished
production of the age. But it was the spirit of the man,
rather than the skill of the author, that attracted him.
Wordsworth's mingled reverence and freedom, loyalty and
independence, manly simplicity and heroism-his piety, trust,
humility, profound conscience, and earnest aspiration-his
respectful, tender, appreciative love of man, recognising
greatness under lowliest disguises, and spreading sweet
sanctions around every charity of social life-his intense
love of beauty, all-vivifying imagination, and mystical adora-
tion of the Universe as the shadow of the Infinite Being—
his subjective habits of thought, metaphysically refined mode
of observation, power of looking beneath all surfaces to the
life, and beneath all forms to the spirit-his high idealism,
humanity, and hearty naturalness, in a word, combined to
form a character with which Mr. Channing's was in full
harmony.
The following extract from a letter to Mrs. Cappe, illus-
trates at once the influence of Wordsworth over his mind, and
indicates the direction which his thoughts were taking.
+
1820. "I occasionally see the Monthly Repository,' and
among the rational, sensible, and matter-of-fact communica-
tions which fill that work, I have met now and then with
pieces from a writer who seems to have made the discovery
that Unitarianism, and imagination, and poetry are not irre-
concilable foes. The author is one of Wordsworth's school.
When I tell you that I incline to the heresy of this writer,
and that I wish to see among Unitarians a development of
imagination and poetical enthusiasm, as well as of the rational
and critical power, you will not wonder at my curiosity in
6
•
*
400
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ET. 34-42.
wishing to learn who this writer is. I have before told you
how much I think Unitarianism has suffered from union with
a heart-withering philosophy. I will now add, that it has
suffered also from a too exclusive application of its advocates to
biblical criticism and theological controversy, in other words,
from a too partial culture of the mind. I fear that we must
look to other schools for the thoughts which thrill us, which
touch the most inward springs, and disclose to us the depths
of our own souls. Pardon me for finding so much fault. It
is not owing, I hope, to censoriousness. I only wish that
truth may be so presented as to be friendly to our whole na-
ture; that it may devolop, not chill, those powers which have
always exercised the mightiest sway among men, and which
seem most akin to inspiration."
The mood in which Wordsworth looked upon nature, man,
and the course of Divine Providence, was for the most part
quite congenial to Mr. Channing. But, from temperament
and position, he was inclined to take a far more active part
in the stirring scenes of the time than the poet seemed to
encourage. To a great extent, indeed, their views of the
French Revolution, and of Napoleon's career, were the same.
Together they had stood upon the mountain peaks of reli-
gious faith, while the tornado. of atheism, charged with the
red lightnings of military power, and the destructive hail of
radicalism, had swept across the civilized world; together they
had seen the storm subside beneath the mild airs of humanity,
and had looked down over valleys and lowlands serenely
smiling in the sunshine of Divine love. But the lesson
which Mr. Channing had learned from this tremendous ex-
perience, was a conviction of the need and opportunity of
peaceful reform. His gaze was bent upon the future, not the
past. In full justice practically rendered to the nature of
man-in opportunities for culture, refinement, social position,
wealth, and free intercourse opened to all classes equally-
in a spirit of brotherhood embodied in honourable and hu-
mane relations, he foresaw the means, the only means, of re-
establishing reverence, loyalty, courtesy, and contentment.
Thus are we brought to consider the position which he held
in political and philanthropic movements. And we shall find
that the earnest humanity of his youth and early manhood
had not wasted itself, but rather gained depth and volume in
its onward course.
The extracts already given from his sermons have suffi-
1814-1822.]
THE SOLEMN FESTIVAL.
401
ciently indicated Mr. Channing's feelings in regard to the
military despotism of France under the stern sway of
Bonaparte.* We are now to witness the unbounded exulta-
tion with which he greeted the news of the overthrow of the
man whom he then, and through life, regarded as an atrocious
tyrant. On the 8th of June, 1814, a number of the citizens
of Boston and Massachusetts assembled at the house of the
Hon. William Phillips, the Lieutenant-Governor of the State,
"To consult upon the propriety of noticing the event of the
entire subversion of the military despotism which had so long
desolated the Christian and civilized world, in a manner
suited to its character and importance, and to the sentiments
which it was calculated to inspire. Deeply impressed with
the magnitude and the beneficial and lasting influences of
this revolution upon the best and dearest interests of society,
they had no hesitation in recommending to their fellow-
citizens the observance of a solemn religious festival, in com-
memoration of the goodness of God in humbling unprincipled
ambition, in crushing wicked and unjust power, in delivering
the world from cruel and disgraceful bondage, in restoring to
mankind the enjoyment of their just rights under the protec-
tion of legitimate government, and in giving to nations the
cheering prospect of permanent tranquillity. For that pur-
pose a large and respectable committee was chosen to make
the necessary arrangements, composed of the following
gentlemen:-
HON. C. GORE,
-
George Cabot,
JOHN WARREN,
B. PICKMAN, JUN.,
GEORGE BLISS,
JOHN PHILLIps,
H. G. OTIS,
T. H. PERKINS,
E. H. MILLS,
JOHN LOWELL,
SAMUEL PUTNAM,
WM. SULLIVAN,
REV. WM. E. CHANNING,
JOSHUA HUNTINGTON.Ӡ
There are yet stronger passages than those which have been quoted in
the earlier pages of this volume. And, except for the purpose of biogra-
phical illustration, the editor would not have felt himself at liberty to pre-
serve expressions of opinion which are so plainly coloured by the prejudices
of the past. But it is well to keep a record of the state of feeling with
which the great crisis of Modern Europe was regarded by the men of that
day. Let the future judge of all the actors in those trying scenes.
+ Appendix to a Discourse delivered in Boston at the Solemn Festival
in Commemoration of the Goodness of God in delivering the Christian
World from Military Despotism, June 15th, 1814.
VOL. I.
D D
402
[ET. 34-12.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
Mr. Channing was elected to deliver the sermon. On the
15th of June, the day appointed, a large assembly, composed
of the most intelligent and influential persons in the com-
munity, filled the Stone Chapel. Never since the time of
the adoption of the Constitution had there been in that city
a meeting of a political character animated with a deeper
joy; and no speaker could have been better fitted to give
voice to the latent enthusiasm of the crowd. On no public
occasion of his life was he so carried away by sympathy with
the profound and passionate emotions which swelled in the
popular mind. He gave full vent to his feelings, with free
and bold strokes painted the past degradation of Europe,-
poured out the vial of indignant censure upon the ambitious
despot who had made Christendom his prey,―re-awakened
the memory of the awful apprehensions with which men had
watched his destructive career, and when the audience were
swept along in prospect to the verge of ruin, then he drew
aside the dark cloud-curtain, and showed the benignant pro-
mises of peace spread out in mercy before the exhausted
nations. As he uttered the words, "The oppressor is fallen
and the world is free," the pent-up feelings of the assembly
burst forth in acclamation. It is said that the preacher
paused, and calmly reminded his hearers that they were in
the presence of God, to whose providential aid their humble
gratitude was due.
This sermon was rather an extemporaneous overflow, than
a studied address; but it may be desirable to extract a few
sentences. They prove that Mr. Channing drew encourage-
ment from scenes which had turned many a fervent reformer
into a timid conservative, and that he looked forward with
confiding hope to better times.
"From the events which we this day celebrate, we are espe-
cially to learn that most important lesson, to hold fast our con-
fidence in, and never to despair of the cause of human nature,
however gloomy and threatening may be the prospects which
spread before us. How many of us have yielded to criminal
despondency!.... But now we are taught, as men, perhaps,
never were taught before, to place an unwavering trust in
Providence, to hope well for the world, to hold fast our
principles, to cling to the cause of justice, truth, humanity,
and to frown on guilt and oppression, however dark are the
scenes around us, and however dangerous and deserted may
seem the path of duty. . . .
1814-1822.]
THE NEW ERA.
403
“A most solemn experiment has been making on society.
The nations of Europe, which had all in a measure been cor-
rupted by infidel principles, have been called to witness the
effect of those principles on the character and happiness of
nations and individuals. The experiment is now completed,
and Europe and the world are satisfied. Never, I believe,
was there a deeper conviction than at the present moment,
that Christianity is most friendly to the peace, order, liberty,
and prosperity of mankind, and that its subversion would be
the ruin of whatever secures, adorns, and blesses social life.
Europe, mangled, desolated Europe, now exclaims with one
voice against the rule of atheism and infidelity, and flies
for shelter and peace to the pure and mild principles of
Christianity. Already the marks of an improved state of
public sentiment may be discerned. We are at length per-
mitted to anticipate the long lost and long desired blessing of
general and permanent peace. A new era seems opening on
the world. It is our hope that the storm which has shaken
so many thrones will teach wisdom to rulers, will correct the
arrogance of power, will awaken the great from selfish and
sensual indolence, and give stability to governments by
giving elevation of sentiment to those who administer them.
It is our hope, that calamities so awful, deliverances so
stupendous, will direct the minds of men to an almighty and
righteous Providence, and inspire seriousness and gratitude,
and a deeper attachment to the religion of Christ, that only
refuge in calamity, that only sure pledge of unchanging
felicity. Am I told that these anticipations are too ardent?
Perhaps I have indulged the hopes of philanthropy, where
experienced wisdom would have dictated melancholy pre-
dictions. I am not forgetful of the solemn uncertainty of
futurity. But amidst all uncertainties which surround us,
one truth we know, that God governs, and that his most
holy and benevolent purposes will be accomplished."*
The joy of this festival was sobered, however, by the re-
flection, that, though peace had settled upon Europe, the
United States and Great Britain were still at war. New
England was at this period utterly prostrated, her commerce
paralyzed, her people bowed down with taxation, and to
such an extent had dissatisfaction with the measures of the
general government spread, that in December, 1814, delegates.
selected from her most eminent citizens assembled in con-
* Discourse at the Solemn Festival, &c., pp. 11–15.
BD 2
404
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
vention at Hartford, Connecticut, with the view of securing
their endangered rights, and consulting_upon measures suit-
able to the exigencies of the time. Doubtless there were
some who, in their disgust at the war, were inclined to urge
a separation of the New England States from the Union, but
it is now well understood that the object of that Convention
was to open a vent to the popular excitement, to allay passion,
to give a safe direction to the indignation of the community,
and thus to avert the threatening danger of secession. Mr.
Channing was among those who thought that everything
should be sacrificed, except essential principles, for the pre-
servation of the Nation. Then, as through life, he was
devotedly attached to the Union, and though, as we have
seen, opposed to the war with his whole soul, as utterly un-
justifiable and inexpedient, he yet never allowed himself to
despair. He would not abandon the hope, that the promise
given to the world in this republic should be fulfilled. His
views are well shown by a few extracts from a sermon,
preached to his people immediately after the news of the
Treaty of Ghent arrived, and repeated on the day of thanks-
giving for the peace.
"I have said, that the single consideration that war is at
an end is enough to fill our hearts with gratitude. But how
should this gratitude be heightened, when we consider the
state from which peace has rescued our country! The con-
tinuance of the war must, I fear, have destroyed us as a
people. We had poured out our resources with a profusion
which had emptied the treasury of the nation, and destroyed
the credit of the government. Increasing taxes, imposed on
an impoverished people, would have fomented discontent and
insurrection. In this broken state of society, our best insti-
tutions would have been shaken to the foundation and sub-
verted. The obligation of contracts would have been violated.
General bankruptcy would have spread general distress, and
destroyed the moral principles of the community. A spirit
of insubordination, inflamed by hopeless suffering, would
have annihilated the authority of law. The bonds of society
would have been dissolved. These, at least, were the solemn
forebodings of our most reflecting men.
Peace has saved us
from these convulsions. .
"Peace is snatching us, too, from the brink of civil dis-
sensions. We seemed to be approaching a solemn crisis. To
the evils of a foreign might soon have been added the sorer
1814-1822.]
THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE.
405
evils of internal war. Thank God! the union of these States
will at least be prolonged. The day which is to witness the
dissolution of our political fabric is at least deferred. May
we not trust that its great ends will in a measure be accom-
plished? Peace has placed the present rulers of this nation
on a new ground. Without endangering their power, they
may now consult the good of the whole country. Every
motive incites them to encourage industry, enterprise, the
development of resources, in every division of our wide land.
Let every aid be given them in the establishment of a generous
policy. It is very unimportant in whose hands is the power
of the state, if it be but honourably and wisely employed.
Most ardently do I hope that the men who have plunged this
country into ruin may expiate their error by embracing, at
this auspicious moment, a magnanimous course, and that their
success may find its reward in the support of all parties into
which we are unhappily divided. Prosperity such as our
nation never yet experienced is brought within our reach.
Nothing now is wanted but an impartial administration of
the government, and a spirit of mutual forbearance among
our citizens, to fulfil the bright anticipations which patriots
of better days cherished for this favoured people.
66
May we not hope that the lessons of experience will not
be lost, that a better spirit will pervade our communities, that
we shall learn the value of a broad scheme of action, em-
bracing at once the interests of all sections of this extended
republic? May we not hope that the spirit of enterprise and
improvement will now be unchecked, that new cities and
towns will everywhere arise on our shores and in the wil-
derness, that arts and science will be widely diffused, that
institutions sacred to humanity and virtue will meliorate the
tone of social relations, that civil and religious liberty will
be guarded and cherished as our best possession and most
honourable distinction? Let us rejoice that we are once
more to be bound in amity and profitable intercourse to every
nation under heaven. God grant us perpetual peace! God
grant us the honour of contributing by our commerce, by the
light of our intelligence, by the example of a free, virtuous,
and contented people, to the happiness and advancement of
the human race!"
Thus liberal and magnanimous were Mr. Channing's po-
litical sentiments at the close of the troubled years through
which the humanity of Europe and America had been called
406
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
to pass. But the sermon whence the above extracts have
been made is interesting also as manifesting his views in
relation to Peace. The horrible cruelties by which Christen-
dom had been blasted, as by lava-floods and ashes from the
open crater of hell, had taught him, in common with thousands
in all lands, to look upon war as the most awful and wasteful
erime of which nations and men can be guilty. And he
takes this occasion to deepen in his people's minds a convic-
tion of the honourableness and blessedness of peace.
"I rejoice with you that the groans of the wounded and
dying are no more to be heard on our shores, that the ocean
is no longer to be stained with our own or hostile blood, that
the skies are not again to grow red with the portentous glare
of flaming towns, that we are no more to swell the crowd of
widows and orphans, whose hopes have perished on the field
of battle. I rejoice with you that the soldier is to return to
his home from the depraving influences of a camp, and to
earn subsistence by better means than slaughter and plunder.
I rejoice with you that the resources of our country are no
longer to be exhausted in carrying fire and death to neigh-
bouring provinces, that we are no longer to cast away our own
blessings by attempting to destroy the blessings which God
bestows on our brethren, no longer to ruin ourselves by
seeking the ruin of another civilized and Christian nation. I
know that to many war is a matter of course, that it seems
to them a trifling affair to shed man's blood, to desolate
fruitful regions, to scatter terror, want, and misery over once
happy lands. But, thank God! I speak to some not thus
hardened by savage customs and the calculations of inhuman
policy, and who regard an unjust and unnecessary war as
concentrating the guilt of multiplied murders. For one, I
do rejoice that this war is to be terminated without the
erection of a single monument of triumph upon the soil of
this Commonwealth. What compensation could have been
found in the most splendid victory for the loss of distin-
guished citizens, of men made noble by character and intellect,
for the anguish of parents, widows, children, mourning the
slain, for the wretchedness of bereaved, dispersed, impove-
rished families? It is not Christianity, certainly, that would
teach us to forget the loss of friends in brutal exultation over
the slaughter of enemies,-enemies who yet are men of the
same nature with ourselves, children of the same Heavenly
GRE
1814-1822.] THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE.
407
Father, commended by the same Redeemer to our good-
will.
"What a change! We can now look forward to the
opening year without the anticipation of battles, in which
even success would have covered us with mourning. Instead
of watching with solicitude the movements of hostile fleets,
we shall see our harbours enlivened with friendly sails. The
ocean, instead of bearing freights of death, will waft onward
the exchanges of mutually beneficial products. Our homes.
are filled with happy families, no longer distracted with
agonizing fear. Whose prospects has not this joyful event
brightened? From whose heart has it not chased most me-
lancholy apprehensions? How had war palsied the arm of
industry, closed the shop of the artisan, bound our ships to
our wharves, clogged all channels of intercourse, drained off
our means! Rich and poor alike have felt its power. From
many once prosperous families it has swept away the sure
support of life. From many an honest labourer it has
snatched the daily bread of his household, and many a gene-
rous spirit has it forced to lean on bounty, which once, in
self-respect, it would have spurned. Have we not all had
reason to fear, that by its continuance the earnings of better
times would have been crumbled down, and that those de-
pendent on us would have sunk into want? But now this
blighting scourge is stayed. The hope of honourable sub-
sistence is revived in manly hearts. Anxiety is driven from
the brows of parents. Cheerfulness spreads light through
the comfortless dwellings of the poor. The young need no
longer waste their best years in dangerous and disheartening
idleness. Fields open on all sides for the expanding powers
of enterprise.
"With what joy may we look on our venerable metropolis,
-joy heightened by the solicitude with which we have
watched the decline of her prosperity! Had the war been
but for a few years protracted, its ancient honours must have
been humbled; its inhabitants would have been dispersed, its
schools shut up, its churches deserted, its institutions of piety
and benevolence struck with decay. But now the fetters
which have bound our energies are broken. Our silent
streets are once more sounding with the roll and hum of
business. Our grass-grown wharves once more are to swarm
with loaded drays, and to be filled with heaps of merchandise.
408
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
1
Our dismantled ships once again are to spread their wings,
and bind us by ties of harmonious intercourse with every
region of the earth. Once more our beloved metropolis is to
become the home of honourable usefulness, the nursery of
public spirit, knowledge, charity, and every institution which
embellishes and exalts human nature. Wealth is again to
flow in upon us through all the circulations of industry, not
to feed luxurious indolence, but to give employment to the
poor, to quicken ingenuity, to awaken the spirit of beneficence,
to encourage science and the elegant arts, to nurture genius,
to endow seats of learning, and, above all, to diffuse the
knowledge and power of Christianity. My friends, I rejoice
with you in these cheering prospects. Enter again on the
labours which make the true glory of nations. God send you
success!"
Thus earnestly bent was Mr. Channing to discourage the
infernal custom of war, and especially to allay "the proud,
vaunting, irritable, contentious, aspiring temper, more dis-
posed to honour courage than humanity, more restless the
more it is successful, more devoted to party than to public
weal, more open to the influence of parasites and intriguers
than of wise and impartial men," which he pronounces to be
the bane of republics. But while thus longing for the era
when the lion and the lamb should be led in a leash by the
little child Charity, which he believed Christ had come to
introduce, and which he was assured would in the fulness of
time knit our long-sundered race into one, he was not then
prepared to take the ground of condemning defensive war.
Whether it is to be traced to natural temperament, to early
training, to historical studies, to the habits of thought of the
age, or to principle, it is certain that he had the spirit which,
though frail in physical structure, and devoted to his pastoral.
office, would have prompted him to fight in defence of his
country in an extreme emergency. Incapable of personal
fear, chivalric in the tone of his character, and predisposed to
that love of heroic deeds which, in rude ages of the past, has
so often tempted noble beings to forget, amid the excitements
of daring devotedness, the destructive outrages of war, and
which, in the more human future, shall surely find a worthy
field of action in magnificent works of creative industry, he
was nowise disposed to abandon the freedom of his native
land to the mercies of an invading foe without a struggle.
Throughout this period, in private and from the pulpit, he
1814-1822.]
DEFENSIVE WAR.
409
maintained that it is the duty of the citizen to die, if need be,
in protecting the religious and civil institutions of his nation
and the inviolability of home. In this very discourse on
Peace we find him saying,-
"We feared that the approaching spring would invite hos-
tility to our very doors, that our families would be dispersed,
and that the stillness of suspended business would be broken
by the tumult of battle. Had this lot befallen us, I trust that
we should have done our duty. We should have fought for
the city of our fathers, for our altars and our firesides, with
the spirit of freemen and of Christians, relying on the justice
of the right of self-defence. But how should we bless God,
that we have been saved from this sad necessity!"*
Fervent Christian though he was, brave, subdued in will,
humane, and confiding in God, it thus appears that at this
period of his life Mr. Channing had not attained to see the
omnipotence of love in its undimmed brightness. There are
very few even now, indeed, who have a vital conviction that
the only power which can subdue violence and wrong is active
kindness. Even now they are thought visionaries, who are
ready to disband armies and militia, change frigates into
merchantmen, dismantle forts, and make of prisons colleges
for moral and manual culture. And how can universal peace
prevail, until the rule of force in every form, and even the
negative principle of non-resistance, give place to the living
law of co-operation in all industrial, commercial, social rela-
tions of communities and states? In unreserved adherence
to the cause of peace, Mr. Channing was surpassed by his
honoured friend, the Rev. Noah Worcester, who was at this
time residing in the neighbourhood of Boston, and editing the
Christian Disciple.
This noble-hearted philanthropist had imbibed in fullest
measure Christ's spirit of perfect love. Born and bred among
the hard-working farmers of New England, self-instructed,
and as simply independent as he was unpretending, deliberate,
but direct, in his habits of thought; patient to follow out an
admitted principle in all its ramified applications, calm from
discipline yet more than from natural temper, this wise and
gentle man adopted in its length and breadth the rule of over
coming evil with good. He lived in a period when Christen-
#
* See also "Duties of the Citizen in Times of Trial and Danger,"
Works, Vol. V., pp. 411-422.
410
[ÆT. 34–42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
-
dom was rent by almost universal war, his own nation was
shaken by fierce political struggles, and, prompted by irre-
sistible love of truth, he gave utterance to opinions which
plunged him at once into the midst of angry sectarian con-
troversies; but still he drew sweetness from every bitter ex-
perience, and, candidly as frankly declaring the convictions
to which conscientious study brought him, walked ever
attended by a guardian angel of tranquillity. Poor, enfeebled
by a painful disease, and dwelling in obscure retirement, he
was even in extremest age a mindful observer of every humane
movement; kind while just to individuals and parties, and
opening his heart with hospitable sympathy to every reform
which promised to reconcile men to their brethren and to
God. To the very end of his long course his presence was
majestic in its mildness, and he wore upon his serene features
and meek forehead, with its parted silver hair, an aspect of
benignity which marked him for the Friend of Peace."
*
Noah Worcester may justly be called the father of the
Peace movement in this country, by his articles in the
Christian Disciple, and his " Solemn Review of the Custom
of War." From the first, however, Mr. Channing gave him
the support of respectful sympathy and active co-operation.
In the spring of 1816, he preached a discourse on War be-
fore the Convention of the Congregational Ministers of Mas-
sachusetts,† which was immediately printed and widely cir-
culated, deepening in many minds the convictions already
taught by the terrible history of the times. This discourse
prepared the way for the formation of the Peace Society of
Massachusetts, the first meeting of which was held in his
study in the parsonage-house of the parish. From this society
sprang all the kindred ones in our country, and its influence
was felt abroad. Mr. Worcester was its corresponding
secretary, and the editor of its periodical; but he relied in
all his measures upon the advice of Mr. Channing, who was
one of the society's counsellors, and, according to the authority
of the Rev. Dr. Pierce, "its life and soul." For years he
devoted himself to the work of extending its influence with
unwavering zeal, as many of his papers of that period attest;
and from among these we select two, as bearing upon im-
*See Dr. Channing's cordial tribute to this philanthropist, Works,
Vol. IV., pp. 394–407.
+ Works, Vol. III., pp. 29–58.
1814-1822.]
PEACE MEMORIAL.
portant public questions. The first is the following memorial,
which was prepared by him.
411
"To the Honourable the Senate and House of Representa-
tives of the United States in Congress assembled. The
memorial of the members of the Peace Society of Massa-
chusetts respectfully represents,—
"That the society which now solicits the attention of our
national rulers was instituted for the single purpose of dif-
fusing pacific and benevolent sentiments through this country,
and through the world. Impressed with a deep and sorrow-
ful conviction that the spirit of Christianity, which is a spirit
of mercy, peace, and kind affection, is imperfectly understood;
afflicted by the accumulated miseries and extensive desola-
tions which war has lately spread over the fairest, most
fruitful, and most enlightened regions of the earth; and at
the same time encouraged by many decisive proofs of the re-
vival of purer and more benevolent principles among Chris-
tian nations; your memorialists have formed this association
with the solemn and deliberate purpose of coöperating with
the philanthropists of every country in promoting the cause
of peace and charity, in stripping war of its false glory, and
in uniting different communities in the bonds of amity and
mutual good-will. We are sensible, that, from the nature of
our object, it is chiefly to be accomplished by a silent and
gradual influence on the minds of men, and accordingly we
have limited our operations to the circulation of useful
treatises, in which the pacific spirit of our religion has been
exhibited with clearness, and we hope with success.
We
believe, however, that the present moment demands a depar-
ture from our usual course, and we cherish the hope, that by
an application to the government under which we live, im-
portant service may be rendered to the cause of humanity, in
which we are engaged.
"The present memorial is founded on two occurrences,
which we hail as auspicious to the pacification of the world.
The first occurrence to which we refer is the well-known
and unprecedented union of several of the most illus-
trious powers of Europe, in declaring before the universe
their unwavering determination to adopt for the only rule of
their conduct, both in the administration of their respective
states, and in their political relations with every other govern-
،
}
412
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
ment, the precepts of Christianity, the precepts of justice, of
charity, and of peace.'
-
"The second occurrence to which we refer is the decided
expression of pacific sentiments and anticipations in the con-
clusion of the late message of the President of the United
States, in which his parting wishes for his country are ex-
pressed with tenderness and power. In this remarkable pas-
sage, worthy the chief magistrate of a Christian community,
he expresses his conviction, that the 'destined career of his
country will exhibit a government which, whilst it refines its
domestic code from every ingredient not congenial with the
precepts of an enlightened age, and the sentiments of a vir-
tuous people, will seek by appeals to reason, and by its liberal
examples, to infuse into the law which governs the civilized
world, a spirit which may diminish the frequency, or circum-
scribe the calamities of war, and meliorate the social and
benevolent relations of peace; a government, in a word,
which may bespeak the noblest of all ambitions, that of pro-
moting peace on earth and good will to man.'
"On the occurrences now stated your memorialists re-
spectfully beg leave to found the following suggestions and
solicitations.
"First. We respectfully solicit, if it be consistent with the
principles of the constitution, that the solemn profession of
pacific principles, lately made by several distinguished sove-
reigns of Europe, may be met by corresponding professions
on the part of our own government. Whilst we are sensible
that a melancholy discordance has often existed between the
language and the conduct of rulers, we still believe that the
solemn assertion of great and important principles, by men of
distinguished rank and influence, has a beneficial operation on
society, by giving to these principles an increased authority
over the consciences of those by whom they are professed;
by reviving and diffusing a reverence for them in the com-
munity; and by thus exalting the standard of public opinion,
that invisible sovereign, to whose power the most absolute
prince is often compelled to bow, and to which the measures
of a free government are entirely subjected. When we con-
sider the support which is now derived to war from the per-
version of public sentiment, we are desirous that our govern-
ment should unite with the governments of Europe in a dis-
tinct and religious acknowledgment of those principles of
peace and charity on which the prosperity of states and
1814-1822.]
PEACE MEMORIAL.
413
the happiness of families and individuals are alike sus-
pended.
Secondly. We respectfully solicit that Congress will in-
stitute a deliberate inquiry, for the purpose of ascertaining
the methods by which this government may exert on human
affairs that happy influence which is anticipated by the Pre-
sident of the United States, the methods by which it may
infuse into the law which governs the civilized world a
pacific spirit,' 'may diminish the frequency or circumscribe
the calamities of war,' and may express the 'most noble of
all ambitions, that of promoting peace on earth and good-will
to man.' We are persuaded that a government sincerely
disposed to sustain the august and sublime character which
is here described, of the pacificator of the world, will not
want means of promoting its ends. We trust, that, under
the persevering and well directed efforts of such a govern-
ment, milder principles would be introduced into the conduct
of national hostilities; that the reference of national contro-
versies to an impartial umpire would gradually be established
as the law of the Christian world; and that national com-
pacts would be formed, for the express purpose of reducing
the enormous and ruinous extent of military establishments,
and of abolishing that outward splendour which has so long
been thrown around war, and which has contributed so
largely to corrupt the moral sentiments of mankind.
"When we represent to ourselves a Christian government
sustaining this beneficent relation to the world, mediating
between contending states, recommending peaceful methods.
of deciding the jarring claims of nations, labouring to strip
war of its pernicious glare, and to diminish the number of
those who are interested in its support, diffusing new and
generous sentiments in regard to the mutual duties and obli-
gations of different communities, and inculcating by its own
example a frank and benevolent policy, and a sincere regard
to the interests of the world—when we represent to ourselves
such a government, we want language to express our con-
ceptions of the happy and magnificent results of its opera-
tions. It would form a new and illustrious era in human
affairs, whilst, by the blessings which it would spread, and
by the honour and confidence which it would enjoy, it would
obtain a moral empire more enviable than the widest domi-
nion ever founded on violence and crime.
66
Loving our country with tenderness and zeal, accustomed
414
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
to regard her as destined to an exalted rank and to great
purposes, and desirous to behold in her institutions and policy
increasing claims to our reverence and affection, we are
solicitous that she should enter first on the career of glory
which has now been described, and that all her connexions
with foreign states should be employed to diffuse the spirit
of philanthropy, and to diminish the occasions and miseries
of war. Of such a country we shall exult to be the children,
and we pledge to it an attachment, veneration, and support
which can be accorded only to a virtuous community.
"It is our happiness that we live in an age when many
noble schemes of benevolence have been accomplished,
when the idea of a great amelioration of human affairs is
no longer rejected as a dream of fancy,-when statesmen
are beginning to learn that all nations have a common in-
terest,-when philanthropy is extending its views to distant
countries, and is executing purposes which would once have
been regarded as the offspring of a blind and extravagant
zeal. In this age of enlarged views, of generous excitement,
of unparalleled activity for the good of mankind, it is hoped
that the idea of a nation espousing the cause of peace and
humanity will not be dismissed as visionary and imprac-
ticable. Enlightened and benevolent statesmen will discern
that we do not live in ordinary times, but that a new and
powerful impulse has been given to the human mind, which,
under judicious influence, may issue in great and permanent
improvements of the social state.
We
"In presenting this memorial, we solemnly declare, in the
presence of God, that we have no private or narrow views.
On this subject we belong to no sect, no party. As lovers
of our country, as friends of mankind, as disciples of Jesus
Christ, with the spirit of peace in our breasts, and with a
deep impression of the miseries of war, we are only solicitous
to prevent the effusion of human blood by human hands, and
to recal men to the conviction that they are brethren.
trust that the warmth with which we have spoken will not
be construed into a want of deference towards our rulers.
On such a subject, coldness would be a crime.
Our con-
victions are deep, and no language but that of zeal and
earnestness would do them justice.
"We hope that we are addressing rulers who are sensible
to the responsibility imposed by the possession of power, who
regard the influence which is granted them on human affairs
1814-1822.]
415
as a solemn trust, who consider themselves as belonging to
their country and to mankind, and who desire to treasure up
for themselves consolations in that hour when human ap-
plause will be an unavailing sound, and when no recollection
will be so dear as that of having aided with a disinterested
zeal the cause of peace and humanity."
PRIVATEERING.
The second paper is a letter to Mr. Worcester, in which
he refers to the war against the Seminoles,-a war that,
undertaken, as it was, by a strong and professedly Christian
and civilized nation against a scattered remnant of Indians,
because they offered a retreat to slaves who had escaped from
our oppression, and with an ulterior desire of robbing them of
their lands, was certainly a concentration of all mean cruelties.
"The Seminole business has been disposed of by Congress,
and I have no wish that our society should enter the lists
with government. But may not the subject be treated use-
fully in this way? Let us allow, for the sake of the argu-
ment, that the majority are right in construing the laws of
war. Let us then state distinctly, and without any ex-
aggeration, the acts of General Jackson, which they say are
justified by these laws. May we not then bring home to
men's minds the question, whether the time has not come
for repealing such horrible laws? If war demands such
regulations or outrages to accomplish its ends, can war too
soon be abolished? We may say, that Congress have autho-
rized all future commanders to exercise the same dreadful
discretion in war. If so, is it not time to exert ourselves to
prevent the recurrence of this infernal state of things? It
seems to me, you may turn to good account the decision
in Congress, without combating it. I wish this occasion to
be made use of. The recital of the transactions of this
'justifiable war,' and comments upon it, may furnish matter
for the number, and I believe the public have not these
facts before them in a connected series."
We have already seen the strong detestation with which
Mr. Channing regarded one of the basest outrages of war,
-if, indeed, any degree of more or less can be found in the
guilt of its inhuman practices,-namely, privateering. But
so much had he at heart the extinction of this barbarous
custom, that it is but just to him, by yet further quotations,
to make his sentiments known. In the sermon on the peace,
from which extracts have been given, he thus speaks:-
416
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ET. 34-42.
<<
May we not hope that mercantile transactions will no
longer fly the day, and that the lip of perjury will be closed?
Let us especially bless God that peace will sweep the
legalized plunderer from the ocean, that privateering will no
longer violate all the better feelings of our nature, that the
ocean will be the pathway of upright and honourable enter-
prise instead of depraving warfare, and that we shall bear
our part in dispensing over the earth the bounties of Pro-
vidence."
The following letter to Mr. Worcester shows the mode by
which he proposed to awaken the national conscience to the
enormity of this system of authorized piracy.
"Boston, February 22, 1819.
communicated to me your memorial relating to
privateering. We agreed in the belief that no good would
result, but that some evil might, from presenting it to our
legislature. I will talk to you fully on this point when we
meet,—and will only say now, that, such is the relation of
this Commonwealth to the general government, that our
best friends in the legislature might doubt the expediency
of such an application to Congress as you propose, and might
seem, by declining to act with us, to favour privateering.
May I suggest another mode of reaching our end? May not
a memorial to Congress on the subject be circulated through
the whole country, so that at the next session the voice of
the friends of peace and humanity may be heard from every
State, entreating the adoption of measures which may hasten
the abolition of this abominable custom through the Christian
world? May not peace societies be used for spreading this
memorial, as well as the meetings of the Friends' religious
associations?"
(C
The caution blended with humane enthusiasm, so apparent
in this last letter, is yet more clearly manifested in another
on a kindred topic, the abolishing of the savage usage of
punishing the rash and hidden crime of private murder by
public murder coolly committed, and sanctioned by judicial,
executive, and religious proprieties. It is addressed also to
Mr. Worcester, who, in consistency with his ruling principle,
was seeking the destruction of the gallows.
"We must not alarm men by the appearance of adopting
plans for the amelioration of mankind without deliberation.
1814-1822.]
CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.
417
We must not bring forward too many schemes, even if judi-
cious, at the same moment. This is the way to raise a host
of prejudices. We must proceed gradually. Your labours
for peace will, I hope, be blessed, and a life devoted to this
object and to the diffusion of a more candid spirit among
Christians will be worthily and nobly spent. The time may
come for the discussion which you wish to bring before the
public; but just at this moment, when there seems to be a
fear that philanthropy is going too far, I am inclined to defer
it. If you will trust me to write a piece on the subject of
capital punishment, showing the difficulties which attend it,
and the great principles by which all punishments should be
regulated, I will do it. I have thought a little about it; and
I am persuaded that the immediate object should be not so
much to abolish capital punishments, as to strike at the root
of the evil, at that corruption of society which renders severe
punishments necessary, and to enforce on the community the
obligation of introducing modes of punishment most suited to
reform offenders. I fear that the cause of humanity might
suffer by abolishing capital punishments, unless there should
be a simultaneous introduction of modes of punishment more
efficacious than would be left on our present system."
In addition to the promotion of peace and a reform in
penitentiary discipline and punishments, other philanthropic
movements also engaged Mr. Channing's sympathy and aid.
As early as 1816, he preached a discourse upon Temperance,
which his society urgently requested him to print as a tract
for general circulation. In the missionary enterprise, too,
he was much interested, and brought the demands of this
cause impressively before his people. Indeed, so much did
he feel the importance of this sublime effort to link the race
of man into one whole, of which Christendom should be the
heart,-by streams of piety, intelligence, and love sent out to
circulate through the body of material intercourse which
commerce was forming,-that, according to a declaration
once made to a friend, he was on the point of breaking all
his social ties and devoting himself to the work. Infirm
health, however, and the pressure of the immediate duties in
which he was engaged forbade. But through life he che-
rished a strong conviction of the high claims of missionary
labours, while at the same time he was ever becoming more
earnest to cleanse the fountain, by making the whole life of
VOL. I.
EE
418
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 34-42.
Christendom, national, commercial, domestic, individual,
more truly Christian.
This desire of evangelizing mankind was closely connected
with another movement, just rising into notice, which we
now proceed to mention. The era of peace then dawning on
the world interested Mr. Channing, by the opportunity which
it afforded for uniting Christians more closely in common
labours of beneficence. He saw everywhere, as he thought,
the signs of a revival of a life of holiness and love. In his
sermon at the "Solemn Festival" he had said,-
"This reaction in favour of religion and virtue will, we
trust, continue and increase. Amidst the sufferings and
privations of war, a generous spirit for the diffusion of the
Scriptures has broken forth; and at this moment that sacred
volume, which infidelity hoped to bury in forgetfulness with
the mouldering records of ancient superstition, is more widely
opened than in any former age to the nations of the earth.”
Thus are we brought to consider his connexion with the
world-wide movement for the distribution of the Bible. In
1811 he had delivered the first anniversary address before
the Bible Society of Massachusetts, and from 1812 to 1820
he filled the most important office in the society, that of
Chairman of the Executive Committee. The annual reports
prepared by him were ample. They were regularly printed,
and became an important auxiliary in promoting the objects
of the society. A few extracts from these reports will show
the position which this movement occupied in his regards.
1813. "No sincere Christian can need arguments to con-
vince him that he is bound to contribute to the diffusion of
Christianity through the world. This is a religion designed
for all nations. Jesus Christ commanded his disciples to
preach it to every creature under heaven, and shall we do
nothing in aid of this great design? Is the gospel the ap-
pointed instrument of God for restoring the world to purity
and peace? Has the Son of God died to impart this invalu-
able blessing to our race? Have holy men of all ages toiled
and suffered to spread it through the earth, and to perpetuate
it to unborn generations; and shall we do nothing to extend
the knowledge and power of the word of eternal life? .
"In the present convulsed and disordered state of the
world, it is most consoling and cheering to see so many
Christians, of different countries and different denominations,
1814-1822.]
BIBLE SOCIETY.
419
forgetting their divisions, and uniting in one great effort for
making known the Scriptures to every nation under heaven.
Like the rainbow in a dark and stormy sky, this is a promise
of a brighter and happier day. It is suited to carry forward
our thoughts to that predicted period, when the knowledge of
God shall fill the earth, and all nations be joined in love to
their common Father and Redeemer, and to one another.
We should rejoice that it is the design of Providence to
effect this revolution by the instrumentality of Christians,
and we should esteem it our privilege and happiness that we
may bear a part in this inexpressibly sublime and merciful
work of God."
1815. "We are now brought to a subject which has
awakened peculiar interest. In our last report we informed
you that the sum of £157 2s. 9d. sterling had been raised,
chiefly in this metropolis, and transmitted to the British and
Foreign Bible Society for the purpose of repairing the injury
done to that society and to the cause of Christian charity by
the unworthy conduct of the owners or agents of an American
privateer, who had captured and sold, and thus scattered
through our country, a number of Bibles shipped from
England for charitable distribution in the neighbouring
British provinces. A letter from Lord Teignmouth, the
President of the British and Foreign Bible Society, addressed
to your Corresponding Secretary, and expressing the grati-
tude of that society, has been received; and we are happy to
insert it in this report; not because we consider this trans-
action as entitled to the commendation which his Lordship
has bestowed; not because we have the least desire to obtain
the praise of generosity for what we deemed an act of justice,
and a faint acknowledgment of respect to that munificent
society, which has made the whole Christian world its debtor;
but because we delight to record so striking an example of
the spirit of Christianity counteracting and triumphing over
the spirit of war.
We have ever esteemed it one of the
happiest effects of Bible Societies, that they tend to unite
Christians of all nations, and it is our hope that they will
awaken in Christians universally so strong a sense of the
near relation which they sustain to each other, and of their
obligations to mutual love and kindness, that wars between
communities which profess the religion of Christ will be
more and more abhorred, as most unnatural, and altogether
irreconcilable with the holy and pacific name which they bear.
t
EE 2
420
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
"The great sentiment, that Christians of all nations are
brethren and friends, united by ties which war cannot dis-
solve, and bound to labour together for the promotion of
peace and holiness, must be carried with power to every
heart by the perusal of this letter. May the time soon arrive
when Christians of every nation will speak on this subject
in a language which every government will be forced to hear
and obey.
"It is also with great pleasure that we are able to state
that your society has received, since the last aniversary, a
large and valuable accession of members ;* and we confi-
dently anticipate, that, among the other fruits of peace and
returning prosperity, an increasing patronage will be ex-
tended to an institution which proposes to Christians of every
name an object which all must acknowledge most worthy of
their bounty.
"Another cause of congratulation remains to be mentioned,
We refer to the encouraging intelligence from so many
parts of this country and of Europe, of the multiplication,
activity, and success of institutions for the distribution of the
Scriptures. The spirit of Christian charity seems to gather
strength from exertion. Never, perhaps, since the first age
of Christianity, has a holier zeal existed than at the present
moment for the moral and religious improvement of man-
kind. The British and Foreign Bible Society, that full and
living fountain, is still sending forth its streams of truth and
consolation; and distant nations, whom once no bond but
interest connected, are now uniting in prayers and labours
for the communication of the gospel to every creature under
heaven.
"At such a period the excitements to Christian exertion
are peculiarly strong. A voice seems to reach us from every
part of Christendom, calling us to strengthen the hands and
to share the honour of our brethren in extending that truth
which has been the object of affection and hope to the pious
and benevolent of past ages, and which we are assured is.
appointed to have free course and to be glorified, until it
shall fill the earth, and all flesh shall see the salvation of
God."
►
1816. "Never before was so generous an impulse com-
municated to so many hearts. Never, since the first pro-
mulgation of Christianity, has so sublime a spectacle been
"The whole number of members is 432."
1814-1822.]
THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL.
421
!
exhibited as that which we now witness of Christians in both
hemispheres, separated by language, climate, manners, and
oceans, forgetting their distinctions, and conspiring as
brethren in the work of illuminating the world. Perhaps
human history affords no example of such extensive co-
operation for the good of mankind.
"From such institutions, founded by the most illustrious
men, patronized by sovereigns, endowed by opulence, and
inspired and sanctified by ardent love of God and mankind,
are we not authorized to hope a melioration of the moral
and religious condition of society? May we not anticipate
a more wide and glorious manifestation of the power of
Christianity on the hearts of men? May we not especially
hope, that Christian nations, being thus united under the
peaceful standard of the cross, and labouring and triumph-
ing together in the cause of their common Lord, will drink
more largely into his spirit, will exchange their animosities
for love, and will shrink with horror from the thought of
devoting each other to slaughter and desolation?”

Mr. Channing was interested, not only in extending the
circulation of the Bible, but in promoting a rational and con-
sistent interpretation of it. During this and the later portion
of his life he gave much time and thought to the elevation of
theological learning. This will appear more fully hereafter;
but a few hints come here in place, which may indicate his
progressive career of thought, and show his ready faithfulness
to every call upon his energies. Immediately after the death
of Buckminster, who for his age was undoubtedly the best
read and most accomplished theological scholar in the country,
and who had been chosen the first lecturer on the Dexter
Foundation in the Divinity School at Cambridge, Mr. Chan-
ning was selected to fill that office. This was in 1812. He
accepted the appointment, bought a portion of the very valu-
able library which his lamented friend had with great care and
expense collected, sent abroad for various books from Ger-
many and England, and began to make preparations for these
new and difficult duties. He was pleased with the prospect
of usefulness thus opened, though diffident of his fitness for
the work. But he soon found that his health was entirely
inadequate for the efforts to which he saw that a conscientious
professor was summoned, who in the unsettled state of theo-
logical science undertook to be a guide, and in 1813 he re-
signed his trust. He retained a close relation, however, to
422
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [ET. 34-42.
the Divinity School, and became thenceforward one of its
most active guardians, as is conclusively shown in many letters
and manuscripts. The careful meditation which he habi-
tually turned upon an institution so important in every view
to the well-being of the churches will appear by a few extracts
from his private papers.
*
"It is essential to a good institution that one spirit should
pervade it, and that all its parts should harmonize. The
balance between the intellect and the affections, or rather
their joint action, should be most sedulously provided for.
The Christian character, the spirit of Christ, as the ultimate
in religion, should be presented in all its brightness. What-
ever draws the mind from this is injurious. Zeal, self-denial,
devotion to God and Humanity is the essential. The general
course of instruction should tend to produce these. Specu-
lations awakening scepticism, or undue exercise of intellect,
should be avoided. Great principles, on which religious
sentiment and practice rest, should be strongly, frequently
offered to attention. The mind needs progress. Difficulty
is its stimulus. But should it not be active chiefly in analyzing
the true, in working on what is substantial, in building on a
foundation, in developing the causes and connexions of what
is known to be real? To determine what proportion of time
should be given to points which have mocked the efforts of
the wisest men in all ages, and which are yet agitated and
under debate, requires great judgment."
(C
Young men who are merely students, self-indulgent,
stimulated by the desire of literary distinction, accustomed
to regard the profession as a road to eminence, and feeding
selfish thoughts, are not the fit materials for a good ministry.
Manners, knowledge of the world, taste, wide range of thought,
must be reconciled with and pervaded by spirituality, self-
renunciation, independence, strong action of practical piety,
warm and patient interest in the neglected, outcast, poor,
sinful."
"The end of the ministry should be set before them with
great plainness, the vastness of the change which it is intended
to work in society and individuals. They should be affected
deeply with the condition of society, with the conviction that
its state is exceedingly remote from that which Christianity
is designed to bring in, Their minds should be quickened
* See also the Tract "On Increasing the Means of Theological Educa-
tion," &c., 1816, Works, Vol. V., pp. 363–371.
1814-1822.]
423
by the faith that a great change is practicable. Tameness
grows from the thought of going on for ever in the steps of
the past. The attention of theological students should be
turned more on the state of the world, less on abstract sub-
jects; a lively interest in its progress should be aroused.
They should feel as men set apart to produce a reform in the
moral condition of mankind. The miseries of the mass of
men, their toils, ignorance, sufferings, temptations, should
touch them. Study should be seen to be a means only. How
can a theological institution be made to give to its students
the advantage, which students in law and medicine have, of
seeing the actual application of principles, the profession
illustrated in practice? Study conducted under the influence
of sympathy with men would be vastly more efficient."
"The present course of training is too technical. It does
not communicate a living spirit. A tone of feeling should
pervade the institution, so that new students may at once im-
bibe it. Fervour should be a primary object. The intellect
would gain force and largeness from such spiritual excite-
ment. The first lesson to the students should be, that, in
order to communicate, they must receive and be filled with
the spirit of Christianity. Living Christianity should be the
end. It is true that this spirit cannot be poured into them.
They must be excited to seek it for themselves. But this
must be presented as their most indispensable acquisition.
The understanding of religion is exceedingly important; but
moral and religious truth is best understood by the moral
and religious culture of the soul. The true spirit of study
is needed, an earnest desire to look into the deep things of
religion from accordance of heart with its sublime realities."
THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL.
"Fixed meditation must be encouraged, a deep per-
vading sense of the presence and perfection of God,-a
wakeful spirit of prayer,—a strong conviction of the reality
of the future life,—a devotion to the cause of Christ, identi-
fication of all their plans, purposes, and hopes with it, and a
sense of the infinite importance of Christianity,—a reverence
for the human soul, its greatness, worth, perils, prospects,-
a vivid perception of the high spiritual purpose of our re-
ligion,—a distinct conception of the celestial virtue which it
is designed to cherish,-a love deep and disinterested for ele-
vation of soul and the zeal which personal experience of the
power of religion gives, courage, hardihood, and a martyr's
patience, a correspondence to the most earnest spirit of the
424
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE' MINISTRY.
age; these habits of mind and heart will form men of the
sacred character which we need, and fit them to be sources of
spiritual life to society."
"Can indifference be preserved in a teacher? Is it not in
human nature to state our own opinions with greater clear-
ness than those of others? A teacher should affect no secrecy;
it is best that his views should be fully understood. The
pupil left alone is not more likely to discover truth than when
guided. It is not the statement of his own opinions which
renders a teacher dangerous, but an unwillingness on his part
to allow students impartially to examine them. He should
state fairly the arguments in favour of his own views, but he
should exert no authority or influence to prevent his pupils
from weighing them with perfect freedom. He should direct
them to the sources of inquiry, and present them with the
means of forming a right judgment, rather than attempt to
mould their opinions. Let him make known the opposing
views, and refer them to authors who defend them. And
while urging his own convictions, let him caution students
against receiving them because they are his. We do not
wish a theological instructor to form young men after the
pattern of his system. The promotion of Christian truth is
the end. No teacher is infallible. He should never pretend
to be so."
"Our institution is distinguished by this. It does not
aim to teach the peculiarities of any sect, but to encourage
serious, free, honest, well-directed inquiry. This is our end,
-to inspire the students with a resolute, impartial temper
in the pursuit of truth. Our fundamental principle is, that
men may preach with equal faithfulness who differ on dis-
puted points; that character-the living spirit-is the great
thing. We do not wish to form a sect. In theological in-
stitutions there is danger that monotony of mind will be
communicated, that all will learn to think alike, that there
will be want of liberality, impartiality. Let a habit of fair
investigation be encouraged, let all minds be taught to exa-
mine questions deliberately, to pause before coming to a
decision. Our pledge against the abuse of liberty is to be
found in a devout, humble, reverential spirit."
But it was not alone by his desire to give a pure, large,
and practical tone to theological studies, that Mr. Channing
was brought into active coöperation with the educational
movements of the day. In 1813, he had been chosen a
1814-1822.]
HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
425
member of the Corporation of Harvard University, the
duties of which office he continued to discharge for thirteen
years. During this period he took an efficient part in all
plans for the improvement of the course of instruction and
discipline in the College. Voluminous notes remain to prove
with what comprehensive and minute attention he made
himself acquainted with the condition, wants, dangers, oppor-
tunities of the students, and with what discriminating sym-
pathy he lent his aid to every proposed reform. One or two
extracts from these papers may be of interest, as showing his
general views.
"Cannot religious and moral means of influence be made
to enter more largely into the college system, and give it cha-
racter? Religion should be professedly and conspicuously a
main end of education. Piety should be held forth as an
essential element of high character in every young man.
We
Literary emulation cannot supply sufficient motive.
corrupt the young, and weaken their best principles, by ex-
clusive use of so low a principle. Knowledge should always
be presented as valuable only when inspired with and con-
trolled by high principle. The mind should be turned to
God as the fountain of intelligence, and all growth in wisdom
should be seen to be an approach toward him, and a pre-
paration for the fulfilment of his designs of good. Religion
must be exhibited as the glory of our nature. An ingenuous,
magnanimous, heroic form of piety must be inculcated, such
as is fitted to win the generous hearts of youth. Religion
It
still has a monkish, gloomy, formal, superstitious air.
is made a master, not a friend, in the eyes of the young.
It is presented to them in the aspect of debasing terror, not
of elevating and enlarging hope. They should be made to
feel that it is the source of all lofty, honourable, manly senti-
ment. Its connexion should be shown with harmonious and
balanced character, with noble aspiration, self-devotedness,
grand endeavour, courage, independence. There should be
a religious teacher, who can present broad and generous
views of religion in accordance with our whole nature, who
can converse freely with the young men, visit them, attract
them to him, and meet the deep wants which spring up in
some minds at this season of life.
•
"Religious character, profound moral feelings, a strong
spirit of Christian piety and love, are all-important qualifi-
cations in the governors and instructors of college, so that
426
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
they may be pervaded by an earnest conviction of the
supreme importance of cultivating religion and virtue in
their pupils, and may constantly show that religion is not a
mechanical thing with them,-not a means of discipline, but a
grand and living reality. Without this, intellect will be too
exclusively the object, and the great end of intellectual power
and wealth will not be sufficiently brought into view. Virtue
should be seen by the students to be the paramount object.
No amount of talent or acquisition should be allowed to be a
substitute for want of morality. Character should be re-
garded as the primary interest. There should be a kind but
inflexible demand for purity and goodness. A student should
be made to feel that every moral taint is disgraceful, base,
abhorrent."
METHODS OF INSTRUCTION. "In forming a system of
education for the University, whilst the highest respect should
be paid to experience, important aid may be derived from
the general principles of education. One of these principles,
which deserves peculiarly to be called fundamental, we pro-
pose to consider, and to show some of its applications.
"The principle referred to is this, that in education the
great object is not so much to communicate knowledge, as to
train the mind, to exercise its various faculties, to give it the
free and vigorous use of its powers, to inspire it with a love
of truth, and to form it to patient, quick, and keen investi-
gation. This doctrine seems universally admitted, and, ac-
cording to this, the principal aim of a good teacher is not to
fix in the memory knowledge which others have discovered,
but to make the student as active as possible in discovering
it himself, or in proving and establishing it, and in following
it into its results. The more the student advances without
aid, the better; he must be helped to dispense with help; and
learn to go alone and draw from his own resources.
"This method of teaching will, in the end, communicate a
far greater amount of knowledge than others, in which the
mind is more passive; because the student learns in propor-
tion to the interest which he takes in a subject, and a vastly
stronger interest is generated by active inquiry than by a
passive reception of others' ideas. Activity of mind on a
subject gives a true and enduring property in what we learn
about it, and the memory grasps firmly what the higher facul-
ties have laboured to acquire.
"The present mode of teaching is chiefly by recitation, or
1814-1822.]
HARVARD UNIVERSITY:
427
by making the student give the ideas of the text-book; and
although this is less fitted than any other mode to call forth
mental action, it still confirms the principle we are illustrat-
ing; for the chief use of recitation is to excite the student to
solitary labour, and he gains in this way incomparably more
than from the communications of his instructors. The assur-
ance that strict scrutiny will be made into his acquaintance
with the prescribed portion of the text-book stimulates him
to study it; and if he have tolerable capacity, he generally
possesses himself so completely of his author's ideas, as to
need little or no explication from the teacher.
"The chief use of the instructor is to make the student
his own instructor, and the fruits of his unaided application
in his closet are incomparably more valuable than all the
assistance or knowledge which he gets from the lips of a
master.
"Recitation, however, though to a certain extent useful,
is not, as we have said, the mode of teaching most fitted to
call forth the mind, and the advancement of the University
depends on nothing so much as on introducing or extending
methods more adapted to this end.
"It should be a leading aim of the teacher to raise out of
his branch topics for inquiry or discussion,-subjects on
which the student's power of analysis, comparison, discrimi-
nation, generalization, or invention, may be employed. It
should not satisfy him, that the ideas of the text-book have
been received; their truth should be inquired into; objections
to them should be stated or invited; the habit of weighing
proofs should be cultivated; and, in general, the student's
mind should be made to look as much as possible on the sub-
ject of study.
"Some brief examples may illustrate the modes of teach-
ing which are thought most important.-In mathematics, the
student should be assisted and encouraged to furnish his own
demonstrations of propositions, and, among different methods
of demonstration, he should give reasons for preferring one
to another. The discovery of a new series of proofs should
be rewarded with particular distinction. The uses and ap-
plications of this branch of knowledge, its history, &c., may
furnish topics suited to increase the interest in it. In expe-
rimental philosophy, the students should be invited to suggest
or invent experiments by which any natural law may be
established. In studying nature generally, nature should be
428
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
as much as possible the text-book, and the student led to
read it for himself. Questions should be continually raised
as to the causes of the common changes and appearances of
nature. To make the mind active on natural phenomena, to
accustom it to reduce all which it sees to general laws, to give
it an interest in discovering the great ends and connexions of
this glorious creation,-these should be the aims of the teacher.
In teaching astronomy, the student should be more conversant
with the heavens. Many students learn from books the
situations, distances, and other relations of the planets, with-
out being able to distinguish one planet from another. They
hardly know one constellation, and, what is still worse, the
vastness, splendour, and sublime movements of the universe
are obscured, if not virtually hidden from the mind, through
the habit of studying it almost exclusively in an apparatus
which is infinitely mean and disproportioned, and has no
power of exciting the soul.
"Logic teaches the application of the faculties to the dis-
The
covery of truth. It should be taught practically.
students should be made to find or invent examples of every
species of evidence and sophism, to analyze processes of reason-
ing, to point out false reasoning, and show how the mind was
betrayed into it, to point out the different modes of investi-
gation belonging to different subjects, and to inquire into the
history of the processes by which the most important dis-
coveries have been made. Intellectual philosophy is a still
closer case. The subject here being a man's own mind,
and the highest evidence being consciousness, the student
should be turned to his own breast, and taught to consult
this as his chief text-book. In the classics, endless topics
offer to lead the student to investigations of the principles of
language and criticism, and to the exercise of taste; and,
what is equally important, he may be led into an intimacy
with the spirit and institutions of antiquity, with the influ-
ences under which men then wrote and acted, and by which
character was determined. In history, the chief aim should
be to teach how history should be read, to point out the
sources of historical knowledge, and the marks of historical
truth and falsehood, to accustom the mind to weigh historical
evidence, to teach the application of history to the sciences
of human nature and politics, and to exercise the moral sense
on characters and actions. Once more, in rhetoric, the stu-
dent should select from authors examples of every kind of
1814-1822.]
figure and composition, &c. &c.-Perhaps these illustrations
are too extended, and yet they are only imperfect hints of
the methods which may be used in every branch to awaken
and call forth mind.
METHODS OF EDUCATION.
►
429
"It may be said that this is a kind of teaching for which
the mass of the students are not ripe, and this is not without
foundation. There are many of whom nothing more can be
expected than a knowledge of the text-book, and let these
be thoroughly and patiently drilled. But there are some
fitted for the higher kind of instruction here recommended,
and perhaps a considerable number to whom it may be ap-
plied in one or a few branches. A leading aim with the
instructors should be, to make this instruction an object of
desire, interest, and competition, and such it would naturally
become. It would form the broadest of all distinctions
among the students, and, when understood in the community,
would be referred to in preparing youth for college.
"This system of course requires classification according
to capacity; and without such classification, it is conceived
that no important change can be effected in the University.
As long as the present system is maintained, of giving the
same amount of study to all the students, and of adapting it
to the average of talents, so long the standard of requisitions.
and attainments will be low, or it will rise slowly, and we
shall be surpassed by wiser institutions. The constant aim
of the friends of the University should be to make it worthy
of that name, to perfect the system of education, to obtain
justly the reputation of training youth more generously than
any other establishment in the country; and for this end,
instruction must be given adapted to the highest minds.
One effect of this will be to raise the average of capacity.
We shall attract those who are fitted to receive a higher and
more extensive education than can be gained elsewhere, and
a standard of intellectual effort and acquisitions will be
formed in the College, to which the great body of students
will labour to attain. A single section, educated on new and
better principles, would exert an influence on the whole
mass.
"Great good is to be anticipated from such a method of
instruction, if we consider the influence it would have on
the teachers. The character of the teachers determines that
of an institution. They must not only be men of talent, but
must have that talent awakened, called forth, made manifest.
430
[AT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
"
They must bring a strong interest to their work, and of
course their work must be of a nature suited to excite inte-
rest. Now the employment of hearing a class recite, for the
purpose of ascertaining the acquaintance of the students
with a text-book, is certainly a dull one. It is a schoolmaster's
employment, which is among the most irksome. To go the
same dull round with a succession of classes, to hear the
same thoughts repeated year after year from a most familiar
book, this certainly should not form the exclusive or prin-
cipal occupation of a man of talent. We cannot wonder that
torpor should creep into such an employment; and if the
teacher be torpid, whence is the scholar to gather life and
energy? We have seen that the great end of the teacher is
to awaken the mind of the student to vigorous exertion.
His own, then, must act with vigour. A wearisome, mecha-
nical listening to a recitation is not the way to kindle
curiosity, to inspire a thirst for truth, to give a keen interest
in the objects of study. The proposed mode of instruction,
in which the student's powers of investigation and judgment
will be tasked to the utmost, in which discussion will mingle
with recitation, in which the expression of doubts and diffi-
culties will be encouraged, and in which the teacher will be
called to act on suggestions, examples, proofs, objections
from the pupil would furnish to a man of talent a field not
unworthy of his power, would keep his mind alive, would
cause it to be seen, felt, and respected by the students, and
would give it a new and quickening agency on theirs. This
influence on the teachers, and an increase of animation and
spirit in the whole institution, may also be expected from
the new and multiplied text-books of the highest character,
in every department of literature, which would successively
be introduced in consequence of a higher kind of instruction,
of the system of classification, and of the option which would
be given to young men of talent who shall have finished the
prescribed studies.
"As another motive for the mode of teaching here recom-
mended, it may be observed, that it involves one of the most
important motives to intellectual effort. It will give to the
student the pleasure of successful application of the intellect,
the pleasure of attaining truth by his own activity,—a motive
more steady and enduring, and more friendly to intellectual
excellence, than emulation.
"In these remarks we have not intended to speak dis-
1814-1822.]
BENEVOLENCE.
431
paragingly of recitation. In the beginning of college life
they ought to be frequent, and cannot be too searching, and
there will always be students of an advanced standing who
can learn only from a text-book. But there are many students
capable of a higher mode of teaching, and to these the recita-
tions necessary for the former are waste of time and a heavy
burden. The principles here laid down admit of extensive
application. They may aid us in judging of the utility of
public lectures, and of the best means of profiting by them.
They may show the importance of frequent compositions on
the subjects taught at college, and of cultivating more than
we do a ready command of thought and expression.
""*
The sympathy thus for ever radiating to the interests of
society at large did not exhaust Mr. Channing's love, which
shone only brighter and warmer, the nearer the sphere of its
action to its central source. He was still a practical philan-
thropist. Physical debility had gradually warned him, it is
true, to confine his personal activity within narrower limits
than he had marked out in his earlier ministry, and the whole
tendency of events had been to teach him, that his more
peculiar and appropriate function was to be a discoverer and
announcer of spiritual principles. But proof enough remains,
that the benevolence which we have noticed in his spring-
time had become the confirmed and unconscious habit of his
summer. Indeed, where disinterestedness survives the frosts
by which the bleak airs of a world, made selfish through
isolation and competition, nip the buds of kindness in so many
a young enthusiast, it cannot but bear full fruits in manhood.
He became constantly more guarded in his charities, and
there is no need to lift the veil which, with true delicacy of
feeling, he wore, like a brother of the Misericordia, as he went
about on his errands of mercy. But as a fact tells more of a
man's temper than any number of general assertions, we feel
at liberty to give, in passing, one illustration of his modes of
action. Thus writes a recipient of his bounty.
"I ought to see the good hand of God continually stretched
out, but some such special providences strike my mind with
peculiar power. Were I to tell you my situation, your con-
viction would brighten, that the hearts of all men are in the
hand of the Lord. For a number of days previous to receiv-
* These remarks were probably written after the author's return from
Europe; but as they sum up the results of his observation and experience
at this period, it is thought better to insert them here.
:
:
1
L
វ
432
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
}
ing your letter, our barrel of meal and cruse were reduced to
nothing, and I had called on a number for help, but could not
obtain it. I borrowed a horse, and set out with a determina-
tion to procure some necessaries for my family, even if by
increasing my debts. On looking into my desk, I found only
three cents, which I took with me. In passing through the
town, I stopped at the post-office to put in a letter, when the
postmaster informed me that there was a letter there for me.
I thought within myself, 'How shall I pay for it with three
cents?' when, lo! a letter is handed me post-paid. • Generous
friend!' said I. I opened it, and was at first surprised by the
bill. But after reflection, I said to my companion, See
what the Lord can do!' Though the money gave us joy,
when thinking of the unknown benefactor, whom God had
enabled and disposed thus to contribute to unworthy strangers,
yet the matter of the letter, distilled from the heart of the
writer, gave us much higher joy. When paying my debts,
which I was thus enabled to do, and procuring some neces-
saries, we could not refrain from mentioning this kind provi-
dence. I hope there was nothing wrong in this, as we read
that what a certain woman did for Christ was to be told as a
memorial of her."
6
To every form of public charity Mr. Channing lent his
ready counsel and encouragement; but it was chiefly within
his own congregation that he was earnest to secure efficient
union for purposes of mutual culture and co-operative use-
fulness. With this view, he, in 1817, addressed the follow-
ing letter to the Committee of the Society in Federal-street.
"GENTLEMEN :-It has pleased a kind Providence to smile
on the religious society with which we are connected. The
present ought to be gratefully acknowledged by us as a period
of prosperity, and it seems to me a peculiarly proper one for
accomplishing some valuable objects, by which both we and
our children may be improved.
"I have for some time thought that a vestry-hall, or small
building belonging to the Society, and placed as near the
church as may be, would be a great accommodation and
benefit. The uses of it are as follows:
"1. It would be a convenient place for catechizing and
instructing the children of the Society,-a service for which
the church furnishes very poor accommodations, especially in
winter.
"2. It would give us a place for a singing-school, which
1814-1822.]
433
is very much needed. Though our singing is very much
improved, we all of us feel that it might be rendered a more
interesting part of public worship. If we had a vestry
attached to the church, I think that several persons might
meet in it to receive instruction, who would not attend a
public school. Besides, there might be weekly or monthly
meetings of those of the Society who are acquainted with
singing, for purposes of improvement and gratification.
"3. It is known to the Committee, I presume, that a
charity school has been supported by contributions from our
Society and the New South Church, an admirable institution,
and conducted in part by young ladies of our church. I am
very desirous of giving perpetuity to this truly Christian
establishment, and I conceive that this will be effected, if we
provide a building in which the school may be kept.
"4. There is also a Sunday-school, just commenced, for
which a vestry would be highly desirable.
"5. If this plan is adopted, a place will be provided for
meetings of the church, or of other parts of the Society, for
which the common place of worship is too large. The young
ladies of the Society have been accustomed to meet for the
purpose of being instructed by their pastor. I should wish,
if a suitable place were provided, to meet the young men also
for the same purpose.
BERRY-STREET VESTRY.
"6. I have a strong impression that a collection of the most
approved books on moral and religious subjects would be a
great and lasting benefit to our Society. Such books, it is
well known, have an important influence on the character,
especially of the young, and yet they are far from being com-
mon among us. Perhaps the extent of the deficiency would
surprise you. There are some families of our number, in
which individuals may be found with a strong taste for read-
ing, but who cannot afford to purchase any but the most
necessary books. In the families of the opulent, too, there
are often but few books suited to illustrate the Scriptures,
and to furnish religious instruction, and these few are often
far from being the best. This deficiency is not to be sup-
plied by circulating libraries, for they contain hardly any-
thing but works of an amusing nature. Even where a dis-
position exists to purchase useful publications on moral and
religious subjects, the wish is sometimes frustrated, either by
mistakes as to the merits of books, or by the inability of ob-
taining the best in this country. Some of the most valuable
VOL. I.
F F
434
[ÆT. 34–42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
works must be sent for to Europe, because the demand is not
sufficient to justify booksellers in importing or reprinting
them. These considerations persuade me that we cannot
easily render greater service to the Society than by laying the
foundation of a library to which all classes shall have access.
I believe that reading on religious subjects will be very much
increased by it; that the attention of the young, which is now
too often wasted on unprofitable books, will be drawn to the
best authors; that a spirit of inquiry will be excited; that the
Scriptures will be much better understood; that the minds of
many will be enlarged; that Sunday will be spent with greater
pleasure and profit; and that the instructions of the pulpit,
aided by books which the preacher will recommend, will be
more efficacious.
"These are important benefits, but these are not all. I
would recommend, as a part of the plan, that the minister
should be the librarian. The consequence of this would be,
that his intercourse with all classes and ages of the Society
will be increased, and his knowledge of the books which they
are reading will furnish useful topics of conversation and
advice. This effect, a closer union between the minister
and people, seems to me very valuable. I believe, too, that
a valuable collection of books, to which all the members of
the Society may repair, as to a common fountain of instruc-
tion, will increase their interest in the Society and be a bond
of union to each other. May I add, that to the present, and
especially to future ministers, this collection will be of great
Our salaries do not permit us to furnish ourselves, but
very imperfectly, with books; and the liberty of using freely
such a library as I propose will enable us to unfold many
subjects more fully than at present to our hearers.
use.
"Your friend and pastor."
In this project he had the cordial support of his wise and
warm-hearted friend, the Hon. Judge Davis, who for so
many years was the deacon of his Society and his invaluable
counsellor, and the Society liberally contributed to fulfil the
plan. The building was finished and opened in the autumn
of 1818, on which occasion he made an address, from which
a few sentences may be selected.
"It is pleasant to see a work of our hands completed, and
especially a work which is the fruit and expression of friendly
feelings, and which is a testimony of attachment to a good
cause. Such is this building, founded in brotherly kindness
1814-1822.]
BERRY-STREET VESTRY.
435
and a reverence for Christianity. It was reared by united
efforts, and we have now met to set it apart by an act of
devotion to purposes which our hearts approve.
“This building has already done good by the exercise
which it has given to your liberality and to many pure
sentiments. It is now doing good; for it is bringing us to-
gether as brethren, as members of the same Christian com-
munity. Yet more is it, we trust, to do good; for we have
reared it for the advancement of Christianity, a religion
which meets all our wants, sorrows, guilt, and fear,—which
opens its arms to infancy, and directs the ardent mind of
youth to its Creator, which furnishes to our riper years mo-
tives to uprightness, which goes with us to the grave, and
strengthens the sight to discern a brighter world beyond.
"One leading object of this building was, to provide for
the religious instruction of children. I need not observe to
you, that in our public services our children hear much
which they cannot understand, and that they need more
simple and direct instruction. If strength shall be given
me, I shall engage in this work, I hope, with more earnest-
ness than I have been able to do, though not without diffi-
dence. The task is not as easy a one as many suppose.
It is easier to convey knowledge to minds as ripe as our own,
than to adapt ourselves to an age of which we preserve only
indistinct recollections. There is, indeed, no labour in
teaching children to repeat words; but to proportion our
communications to their capacities, to bring the invisible
God near to them, to excite them to thought, to touch their
hearts, these are objects which have not sufficiently been
proposed in education, and we must advance towards them
by a path of our own discovery. In this part of my duty, I
hope that some of you will have the leisure and disposition
to assist. I could wish that we might consider the religious
education of the children of the Society a common end, to be
talked of when we meet, and to be advanced by each other's
observations and experiments. I dare not pledge myself for
great exertion, but, if health permit, I should delight in
making the trial, how far parochial may aid domestic in-
struction, in saving children from temptations, imbuing them
with Christian principle, and, while they are yet tender and
unfettered by habit, confirming their choice of a pious and
virtuous life.
"It is also my hope to meet here the ladies of the Society
•
J
+
FF 2
436
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
whom I have been accustomed to assemble for the study of
the Scriptures; and nothing would gratify me more than to
meet occasionally the young men for free conversation, or
more regular instruction, on the subject of religion."
The meetings of ladies which are here referred to had
been held by Mr. Channing for many years. One who was
at this period his parishioner, and thenceforward to the end
of his life an intimate and valued friend, Mrs. George Lee,*
thus records her recollections of them.
"These meetings were usually held at the house of Mrs.
Codman. They were intended for religious instruction and
for awakening a just comprehension of religious duty. Mr.
Channing opened the services by reading portions of the
New Testament, which he commented upon in his lucid
manner, throwing light upon obscure passages, and rousing
his hearers' minds to their highest capacity of reflection.
His observations were eminently fitted to inspire a devo-
tional feeling, and shed abroad a spirit of prayer. The
subjects selected were those which the whole tenor of his
life and preaching inculcated, unreserved love of our
Heavenly Father, uncompromising obedience to his will,
the surrender of the whole soul to his service, the unspeak-
able benefits received through the mission of his Son, the
wisdom as well as beauty of holiness. It was by his fervent
and exalted manner, that he prepared his auditors for the
closing prayer; and when he arose,-for he addressed us
seated, and said with his solemn and impressive voice,
Let us pray,' I am sure there was not a wandering heart
amongst us.
·
"The meeting might be called one for social worship,
a gathering round a domestic altar. The effect could not
but be salutary. A few hours were redeemed from the cares
and anxieties, the frivolities and conventional forms of life,
and the mind called home and directed to its highest destina-
tion. The number of worshippers varied; but I should
think there was usually fifty or more present. The meeting
was designed for the females of his own Society, though
others often requested the privilege of attending. I am
happy to recal those pleasant days, and cannot be grateful
enough that to the last I enjoyed the conversation of our
* Author of "Three Experiments of Living," "The Huguenots in France
and America," &c.
1814-1822.]
GROWING CELEBRITY.
437
beloved friend, and felt the influence of his life. Can I ever
forget his calm, impressive tone?”
Thus it appears that Mr. Channing was still an active
pastor. But it was chiefly through his sermons that he
exerted influence. His power in the pulpit had from the
first been constantly increasing, and his full congregation
was now often crowded by strangers, who gathered from
various motives to hear one who was everywhere recognised
as the most eloquent and effective preacher in Boston. His
discourses occasioned by the great political crisis through
which the country had been called to pass, from 1812 on-
wards, the bold, original, and discriminating address on
war in 1816,—his able publications in the Unitarian con-
troversy, and especially his Baltimore sermon, delivered in
1819, of which several editions were at once printed, and
which was circulated through the length and breadth of the
land,—and, finally, the masterly Dudleian Lecture in 1821,
in which so succinctly and glowingly he presented the evi-
dences of Revealed Religion, had gradually established his
position in the very first rank of the thinkers and scholars
of the country; and at this time he was experiencing all
the incentives and temptations of celebrity. That he was
painfully conscious of the ensnaring power of the ambition
which a position of such eminence naturally engenders ap-
pears from the care with which in his journals he guards
himself against its charms and strives to maintain the purest
singleness of purpose. His private papers of this whole
period are most affecting from their moral beauty; but the
reader turns his eye away from secrets which a mortal
scarcely whispers to his own heart, and a feeling comes over
him of the awful sanctity of that temple of the soul whereinto
God's guardian angels only have befitting innocence to enter.
It is enough to say, that conscience sat ever vigilant at the
portal of his heart, like a father confessor listening to hear
the faintest breathings of remorse, to prescribe the needed
penance, to give the blessed sign and word of absolution.
Yet from the piles of these documents, in which the
writer's inmost experience is laid bare, as if he stood trans-
parent in the very light of the all-penetrating eye, it seems
but right to select a few of the less personal expressions of
feeling and thought; for there is no other way of showing
the essential character of the man. The most striking intel-
lectual peculiarity of these papers is their minute exhaustive
438
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
¡
analysis, their spirit is devoutness. The writer takes up
some disposition of which he is conscious, some branch of
duty, some relation in life, some grand principle, some reality,
and, holding it tenaciously before him, not only for a day or
week, but, as dates clearly prove, for months and years,
slowly elaborates a consistent and complete view. It is very
interesting to compare the hints scattered in these loose
sheets with the compact, finished form in which many of the
thoughts finally appeared in the author's published works.
One gains thereby some insight of the mode, whereby in the
moral as in the natural world gems are formed, and precious
metals deposited in the rocks. The profound conscientious-
ness, patience, earnest solemnity, concentrated strength,
unity of this good man, thus become apparent; it is seen how
weighty to his own mind was the meaning of his words, how
sedulously he simplified the statement of his opinions, how
through much struggle he attained to calm, even, equable
utterance, how carefully he reserved what was most fresh,
brilliant, novel, until assured of its substantial truth,-from
what depth of experience he drew. From beginning to end,
they mark the process by which an earth-born creature is
through willing faith transfigured into an image, faint though
it be, of divine disinterestedness. In the fragments which
we select, suggestions as to the ministerial profession, the
special calls of the times, his relations to his people, and his
own peculiar duties, are so intermingled, that it would be
useless to attempt to cast them anew into any formal mould.
Evidently, to his own mind, his outward life and his inward
thoughts were one.
"I should desire that knowledge which will conduce most
to the salvation of my people. This sentiment is most
favourable to enlarged views, and free and vigorous action of
mind. A general loftiness of sentiment, independence on
men, consciousness of good intentions, self-oblivion in great
objects, clear views of futurity, thoughts of the blessed com-
panionship with saints and angels, trust in God, as the friend
of truth and virtue,-these are the states of mind in which
I should live.”
"Let me be very definite in the ends which I propose,
when I converse, write, or preach, and let me keep them in
view, and press forward to them. Let me appeal to God
for the truth and importance of every sentiment, and for my
own sincere conviction, and my desire to impress it. Let
1814-1822.]
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.
439
me write with prayer, as on my knees, sensible of my de-
pendence on the Divine Spirit for every good exercise,
every right aim, every disinterested affection. Let me be
satisfied with plain, serious, important truth, expressed per-
spicuously."
"Let me purpose, before I begin to write, some definite,
serious impression which I wish to make, and pray for
direction and sincerity. Let me lead a whole life of religion,
humility, faith, devotion; for unless there be this general
frame of character, no particular acts will be religious in
spirit. The heart is always active, and builds up unawares
the discourse of the speaker, turns his thoughts, fashions his
expression. Let me in writing and reviewing hold inter-
course with God, refer every word to his approbation, and
consider whether I bear his message."
"Let me cultivate love, be continually setting before my
mind views which will lead to disinterestedness, be con-
tinually engaged in some definite benevolent object. Let me
labour through the week to keep alive a devotional sentiment,
which may thus show itself unforced, and communicate itself
to others on the Sabbath.'
"Is my preaching attended with encouraging results?
Do my people come to hear me to be pleased, or to be
made better? Are they not rather attached to the man,
than to the cause? Let me be more plain, urgent, impor-
tunate, tender. I am more and more sensible to the im-
portance of an earnest, unaffected manner. I should lead
my hearers home to their own hearts and lives, and preach
searching sermons. I am not plain and forcible enough.
I appeal too much to the ingenuous feelings. Men need
also solemn, stern warnings. Religion must be presented
to them as the end of life, the grand reality. Let me begin
to write early enough in the week, so that I may throw my
whole soul into the close of my sermons. My work should
be all in all. I should visit my people more freely, become
a member of their families, know them, be known by them,
win their confidence. The sight of every parishioner, and
indeed of every human being, should be accompanied with
the thought of the grandeur of a human soul, of the beauty,
excellence, happiness to which every soul may attain, and
the degradation and misery into which it may fall."
"A minister should feel that he is dispensing the truths
of a religion introduced by a long line of prophets, sealed by
:
440 -
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY. [ÆT. 34-42.
the blood of Jesus Christ, designed to conduct men to all
glory and excellence, to introduce a stupendous change in
human affairs, to fill earth with the happiness of heaven.
The idea of this grand change should be ever present to him.
Nothing low should content him. To inspire elevated, dis-
interested piety should be his aim. He should fill his mind
with the thought that man is destined to become the glorious
image of God. He should live in a region of hope, he is to
be distinguished by grandeur of aim, he should rise above
human opinion and every influence which now bows down
the faculties with solicitude, despondency, agitation, fear.
Zeal to advance the great felicity to which Christ came to
raise all men should animate him for ever. He should never
think of rest, till this sublime end is accomplished. His
whole intercourse should tend to exalt and animate men's
conceptions and desires. All his influence should terminate
in this central point,-that Christ came to call us to a true
regeneration, to a celestial virtue; that much, very much, is
to be sought, is to be gained. A diffusive philanthropy
should be his habitual temper. He should view his people
as a part of mankind specially intrusted to him, whom he is
to arouse to co-operation in the great common work of pro-
moting holiness and happiness throughout the earth. He
must be warm, bold, efficient. The ends before him are
infinite."

"Good preaching never enraptures an audience by
beauties of style, elocution, or gesture. An easy, unbalanced,
unlaboured style should be the common mode of expression.
This will give relief and prominence to more important
parts, and ensure variety. Composition should resemble
nature. Dazzling objects soon fatigue the eye. Simple
truth, in plain, perspicuous words, should form the body of
the discourse, and all appeals of peculiarly solemnizing,
melting, invigorating character should be introduced in the
way of transition. By simple truth, staleness and tameness
are not meant, for there should always be richness of thought.
A sermon should never be a barren sand-level of common-
places, but a fresh, fertile field, verdant and well watered.
In style, as in music, there should be a key, which should
change with the topic. Let clearness, dignity, unstrained
vigour, elevation without turgidness, purity without prim-
ness, pathos without whining, characterize my style. Let
me study to be filled with the spirit of the truth I am to
1814-1822.]
PULPIT ELOQUENCE.
441
utter, and I shall speak as I ought. A slow, distinct, and
rather low enunciation should form the ground of delivery.
It is better to require exertion on the part of the hearer,
than to stun him with clamour."
"That is the best preaching, which leads the audience to
lose sight of the speaker in the sublimity of his themes,
when the words and tones are forgotten, and the minds of
all are awakened to the contemplation of grand realities. I
wish to bring the kingdom of heaven near to men, to per-
suade them to lead devoted, pure, loving lives. How shall
I thus persuade them? Not by violence, irritation, self-
exaltation, enthusiasm, excess, not by prejudicing my
hearers against me as a fanatic, and exciting their opposition,
-but by manifesting a calm, kind, humble, sincere, dis-
passionate state of heart, with clear views and direct pur-
poses. Let me preach the whole truth plainly, earnestly,
tenderly, but with self-possession. We should labour to un-
deceive men, who are deluded by self-love and by fashion,
satisfied by a hollow outside, decency of manners, ensnared
by subtle temptations, and make them feel to the quick the
need of a radical change, of integrity, purity, heavenly-
mindedness. To do this, we must have the power to search
the heart. We must be at once full of feeling, argumen-
tative, comprehensive, particular. I ought to make every
sermon practical by applying it to my own state in a con-
tinuous process of self-examination. Permanent impression
is the test of good preaching. Hence individuality, united
with large principles, is an essential requisite in a good
sermon. Every hearer should feel that he is immediately
interested in the truths which are taught, that then and there
they apply directly to him."
"That which is often called pulpit eloquence is a mode of
address calculated chiefly to warm the imagination and
agitate the passions. But in preaching, the true end is not
so much to produce some sudden effect, as to make impres-
sions which will abide through life, to plant seeds which
shall grow and ripen for ever. An impulse communicated
to a popular assembly is short-lived. No change of character
is produced by it. A preacher who habitually adopts this
so-called eloquent manner may be a boast to his people and
a wonder to strangers, but his real influence will be constantly
lessening. He will be heard, admired, criticized, as an actor
is, for the excitement he causes. And as he has not the
?
ས* "༔
►
1
442
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ET. 34-42.
advantage of a political declaimer, who can find ready
stimulants for his audience in the national and local topic of
the day, he will be forced to seek his charm in brilliant
ornament and striking delivery, and will finally fall into
verboseness, affectation, puerility, mysticism, extravagance.
On the other hand, a preacher who wishes to interest his
people for life must attract and fasten their regards upon the
sacred subjects which he brings before them, and not upon
his manner. He must awaken in them a love of truth, of
religious instruction, of spiritual improvement, of holiness.
Then will their attention be unwearied and ever deepening.
A minister who is listened to, at the very time when he has
conspicuous defects in style and elocution, has a much fairer
prospect of usefulness than many a brilliant orator, whom a
congregation first hear with rapture, and then grow cold to.
Attention, deep attention, is what is wanted in an audience;
and the mode to excite it and keep it alive is to present great
truths which fill their minds, and motives which inwardly
prompt them to vigorous and constant action. A minister
must himself, then, be engaged, alive, absorbed in great
interests, profoundly convinced of the infinite importance of
receiving Divine truth, and manifesting it in his whole life."
"I must urge that repentance which consists in realizing
the entire obligation of the law of right, in feeling bound to
render perfect obedience, in regarding all sin as inexcusable,
in longing for a total deliverance from evil. Men must be
made to abhor their sins, to be prostrated before the long-
suffering benignity of God, to be humbled, melted, filled with
shame at the thought of disobeying such an infinitely wise as
well as merciful Being. It is important to set forth the law
of God in all its sanctity, largeness, strictness, beauty, glory.
It must be shown that the only satisfaction, peace, joy, is in
being conformed by Divine love to the image of God. This
must be urged until men see and feel that all selfishness is a
miserable, hopeless exile, till they love spiritual life as it is
in God and angels, as the highest good, to be joyfully chosen
above all things."
"When I propose a subject for a discourse, the question
should be, How can I bring my mind into the state most
favourable to clear understanding, deep impression, strong
representation of it? But I should not labour while I write,
nor work myself up into a fever inconsistent with calm,
humble dependence upon the Divine Spirit, and thoughtful,
1814-1822.]
TRUE ELOQUENCE.
443
affectionate regard for those whom I am to address. There
should be nothing strained or excessive, while seeking to
place a subject in a light which will bring out new con-
nexions, and array it in attractive beauty. My whole mode of
life should be a preparation for treating interesting themes
in a fresh and animating way. In choosing a topic, I should
first view it in its connexions, relations, position, as com-
pared with other truths. I should then let it expand fully
in my mind into all its branches and applications. From
among these I should select the views most suited to the
special end I have before me. Next, I should consider care-
fully the best method of arrangement; and in treating every
head, my mind should be active to unfold the general
thoughts involved in it in their relations to the main subject
of the discourse. Every passage should be tested by its
tendency to advance the end proposed. During the whole
composition, I should be elevated by the greatness of truth,
an ardent love of excellence, an active desire for the purity
and salvation of man, a glowing piety, a conscious communion
with God."
"In the regular course of the ministry, we have most to
fear from mechanical sluggishness. Monotonous tameness is
the sand-bar on which so many are stranded. The safety is
in keeping the heart ever alive. The preacher must draw
from his own full experience; he must never write as if
writing was his business. The wish to be correct and elegant
should never enter his thoughts. He has to penetrate men
with great convictions. The Greeks wrote well, because the
whole world of thought lay fresh and untouched before them.
This should teach us not to form ourselves on models, not to
use materials furnished by others, but to be enterprising in
the exercise of our own minds, and in exploring the great
sources of truth,-nature, man, revelation. There is a free,
bold, vigorous tone of thought, the easy action of a generous
spirit, which is most desirable for every one to attain. All
timidity of character, excessive accuracy, anxious observance
of rules, desire to finish minute parts, love of glitter and
polish, fondness of conceits, is fatal to this freedom. It is
the natural movement of a sincere, ardent, independent mind.
The preacher should never give his hearers leisure to admire;
he should never permit them to doze. He should write with
the ardour of strong conviction, trust himself to the flow of
thoughts, and be unconstrained and unreserved."
444
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
"True eloquence springs from living perception of the
truth, and from intimate communion with the hearts of men.
We must not lean on opinion, must not fear the judgment of
hearers. Dependence upon an audience is a charmed circle,
which represses all generous thought. Love of truth sets
the writer free. The vigorous character of composition
depends on the decision with which the mind grasps a truth.
Eloquence is to be attained by the full culture, the general
enriching, of the heart and mind. An enlarged spirit, which
has reached grand convictions, will utter itself with a com-
manding style. There is never true eloquence, except when
great principles and sentiments have entered into the sub-
stance of the soul, and become incorporated with the whole
being. The way to be eloquent is to be possessed with truth.
Good writing, good speaking, is that which grows directly
from the heart, when expression becomes necessary from the
fulness of the soul, when religion is a living principle within
us, and the discourse is the spontaneous putting forth of this
germinating seed. What is wanted is genuine feeling, inward
life."
"One truth is the seed of other truths. It is sown in us
to bear fruit, not to lie torpid. The power of mind, by
which truth becomes prolific, is freedom. Our great duty is
to encourage vigorous action of mind. The greater number
of free and vigorous minds brought to bear upon a subject,
the more truth is promoted. The wisest gain but glimpses.
Nothing is seen precisely as it is, in all its extent, by any
one mind.
Truth even, held without inquiry, fosters a
temper of passive acquiescence, and makes the spirit effemi-
nate. How many illuminations of celestial origin come to
all in sincere hours! Are these inspirations to be subjected
to the authority of any tribunal? All expression of will by
bodies and individuals, that others should think as they do, is
tyranny. Numbers have no more right than a single person
to enforce doctrine. They are each and all fallible, and are
bound to special caution, lest they should exert an influence
over each other unfriendly to impartiality. A community
so bound to an opinion as to abandon a man, and to be unjust
to his character who questions it, is a persecutor, as much
as if it used legal penalties. A community should cherish
liberality as it does industry, for truth is the food of the soul."
"We should multiply our connexions with other minds, in
order that we may receive and communicate more largely.
1814-1822.]
445
The liberal mind distinguishes the essential from the acci-
dental, the spirit from the form, rises to general truths and
detaches them from particulars, discerns unchangeable good-
ness amidst all its transient manifestations, separates between
the end of human nature and the means of its development,
between the temporary arrangement of Providence and its
everlasting objects, and judges character, nations, events,
opinions, measures, according to these broad views. This is
the noblest exercise of thought. Narrow minds take things
in mass, confound the local with the universal, the accidental
with the essential, and spend their strength in contending
for what is secondary, while they alienate themselves from
their brethren, with whom they fundamentally agree, on the
ground of circumstantial differences. There is a generous
way of looking at all subjects,-totally opposed to the
technical, the professional, the sectional, the sectarian,—a
magnanimous style of thought and feeling, by which we cast
aside the party connexions which warp and straiten us,
the bribes and lures of applause and public sentiment, and
view all things in their relations to mankind at large, and the
movement of God's grand designs."
(C
My object should be, to contribute to that great work
which God is promoting in the world. Every faithful effort
has its influence. Let me never despair. Local, temporary
objects should be comparatively unimportant. An expanded
interest in humanity should govern me. I am connected
with the Church Universal, with all future ages; and let no
devotion to a party lead me for an instant to overlook its
defects, or to forget the high claims of truth and right. The
religion which is to open heaven in the human heart is as far
away from heated bigotry, as from the lowness of a worldly
temper. To breathe warmth into the cold, generous piety
into the abject and servile, honourable views of God and man
into the dejected, timid, and superstitious, should be my end.
Let me live to exhibit the paternal character of God, the
quickening influence of his spirit, his willingness to raise us
to perfection, the glorious capacities and destination of man,
the filial nature of religion, the beauty of benevolence, of
şelf-denial and suffering in a generous cause, the union
formed by a spirit of humanity between God and the soul,
the joy of high moral sentiment, the possibility of attaining
to sublime greatness of character and habitual largeness of
sentiment and action. Men are to be regenerated, not so
**
LIBERALITY,
446
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
much by a sense of the blessedness of goodness in the abstract,
as by coming to understand that disinterestedness, that union
with God and his whole spiritual family, in which goodness
consists. The glory and nobleness of a soul self-surrendered
to God, joined to him in purposes of beneficence, swallowed
up in a pure, overflowing love, must be made manifest."
"It is essential in a minister, that his mind should be
habitually under religious influences, so that his whole cha-
racter and life shall diffuse an animating spiritual power.
All should feel that his soul is in communion with God, that
he lives under the guidance of His will, and by His spiritual
influences. He should unite with devotional fervour an har-
monious, full development of human nature. His end is to
flash upon the dormant minds of men a consciousness of the
Divine life, to touch the spring of spiritual affection. He
should enable them to see how religion works within his own
soul, he should make his own mind visible, and show religious
truth, not abstractly, but warm and living, clothed with the
light and glow of his own conscious experience. Let the
perfection of the Christian life, its high, holy, humane spirit,
its communion with God, its elevation, disinterestedness,
hope, joy, be my habitual state, so that in all my thoughts,
actions, studies, I may be a guide to my people."
Unity of impression should be an object to a minister.
He should not undo one day the work of another. All his
instructions should have a common bearing, and this implies
enlarged views of religion. He must not waste the zeal of
men on points of secondary importance. His efforts should
be systematic, not desultory, and be governed, not by sudden.
impressions, but by extensive plans. His whole life and
influence should have one tendency. Nothing demands such
lucidness, breadth, depth, completeness, harmony of exposi-
tion, as the religious life. Foundations must be planted
firmly. Seeds of great, enduring, ever-growing principles
must be sown. People are injured and made dull and dis-
proportioned by laying excessive stress upon every point.
Preaching should call into action the whole spiritual being of
hearers. It should not address one faculty only, but manifest
religion to the reason, conscience, imagination, heart. A
minister should strive to unfold harmoniously the souls of his
people, just as he sees Providence unfold the body in a plant
or animal. His whole inward life should be brought into
activity. His preaching and intercourse with men should be
·
with a
1814-1822.]
THE END OF THE MINISTRY.
447
the result of a joint and vigorous co-operation of all his
spiritual powers, quickened by a Divine influence. To excite
to universal growth should be his end.”
"In proportion to the difficulty of the times should be my
desire to exhibit solemn and ennobling views. The long
religious torpor which has rested on the world has prepared
men for an opposite excess. Religious sensibility is an
essential element in man, and, however smothered for a time,
it must and will break forth again with power. Is it not the
error of those who oppose the prevalent systems of Orthodoxy,
that they do not substitute interesting views for those which
they would remove? They insist that Christ came to restore
human nature, that moral good is his end. But do they
present this end in its dignity and grandeur? Must we not
strongly conceive and represent the glorious change which he
came to bring in men and nations? A divine life, a heavenly
life, this is the end for which he came. In exhibiting reli-
gion as this universal regeneration of all human interests, the
present degradation of society must be exposed. Here is the
need of earnest remonstrance. Great explicitness, fearless-
ness, is demanded. Jesus Christ must be taken as the stan-
dard and rule; the highest, purest principles of his religion
must be plainly proposed as the guide to individual and
social practice. The world waits for a new exhibition of
Christianity in all its sublime encouragements, its solemn
warnings, its glorious assurances. With what entire devoted-
ness should I consecrate myself to this great end!”
"Let it be my object to conceive and express the gospel
worthily, in life and word to exhibit the religion of Christ in
its purity, its sublimity, its divine beauty. Let it be my
desire to raise men's thoughts to the great end of the being
and mission of Christ, to show the exalted, perfected, heavenly
state of man which he came to introduce, to exhibit the
glorious relations into which he desires to bring us. Let it
be my aim to raise to this lofty height the moral sensibility,
the ambition, the aspirations, the generosity of men, to ani-
mate them to see brightly and vividly this grand destiny
which opens before them, to carry their thoughts forward to
the future greatness of virtuous humanity, to shed the light
of heaven on their nature and present state. The end to be
set before them is a thirst for nearness to God, love of him,
bright views of him, sympathy with him, desire of his
friendship, disinterested self-surrender to his designs, heavenly
448
[ÆT. 34–42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

goodness, heavenly joy, conformity to the spirit of his beloved
Son, a perfect oneness, in a word, with the Heavenly
Father. May not this exhibition of Christianity, as an all-
ennobling system of Divine influences, be the one great end
to which my life and labours may tend?"
"I have often been inclined to think that my own science,
that of ethics and theology, comprehended all others. Some-
thing specious, certainly, might be said to show that it is the
only true medical science, and that they who operate most
successfully on the mind are best entitled to the name of
physicians."
"I know not who is now filling my place in my pulpit.
How should I rejoice to learn that some one was making
deeper impressions there than I have ever made! I am far
from looking back with much satisfaction on my labours. I
can say with the old Roman, 'Of honour I have had enough;'
but how cheerfully would I give up all the pleasures of
distinction for the joy of witnessing more of that piety among
my people, which gives praise, not to the poor instrument,
but to Him of whom are all things!""
"Let us not linger at the threshold of Christianity; con-
duct us into its inmost depths of life. Help us to break
through the obstacles, the doubts, despondency, lethargy,
weakness, which hinder us. Open in us an unquenchable
aspiration for truth and virtue. Give us a spirit of rational,
filial, strong, unreserved, triumphant, glad obedience. Give
us perfect confidence in Thee, whose laws are the dictates of
fatherly wisdom and love, and who dost delight in the purity
and glory of thy children. Dispose us to see thy goodness
everywhere, not only when descending upon us, but when
diffused abroad, so that we may discern the love which per-
vades the universe and quickens all spirits.
"Make us sensible of our inward wants, indigence, destitu-
tion, weakness. Lay open to us our corrupt motives. Expose
to us our hidden vices in all their deformity. Teach us to
look steadily into ourselves, till we shall see with something
of thine own abhorrence every evil affection. Lead us away
from false resources to a sure dependence on thy perfect will,
and may this reign supreme within us. Help us to look
through the disguises of self-love, to judge ourselves truly, to
anticipate the revelations of the last day; and let not this
knowledge of our deficiencies and deformities fill us with
dejection, but rather endear to us thy mercy, and lead us to
1814-1822.]
DEVOUTNESS.
449
thy grace, while rousing us to vigilance and to firm and
faithful conflict with every irregular desire.
"C
Dispose us to a sincere sympathy with all men, not only
to see extraordinary excellence with joy, but to take pleasure
in the humblest improvements of our fellow-creatures, in the
beginning of everlasting life within them. Incline us to
respect the feelings of others, so that we may never wound,
nor tempt, nor depress a human being. May we understand
the sublime heights of benevolence to which we are called by
the gospel, and aim at perfection in all social relations.
Assist us to express with power and unaffected simplicity the
beauty of virtue, so that we may attract all around us to the
heavenly life. Inspire us with an active, diffusive beneficence,
and may we have the witnesses of our goodwill in the im-
proved virtues and happiness of our friends, associates, and
all within the sphere of our influence. Affect our hearts with
the loveliness, beauty, and joy of that mild, condescending,
affectionate spirit which our Master breathed, and may we
imbibe it till our lives overflow with usefulness and bounty.
Assist us in enlarging our benevolence, in diffusing our
affections, so that we may embrace in kind regards all beings
capable of happiness; and give us wisdom to design and
vigour to execute noble and extensive schemes of public and
private good. May we learn to lose ourselves in disinterested
services from generous ardour, and to delight in imitating
thee, and in promoting the great ends of thy providence and
the blessedness of creation.
"We pray for the fulness of thy spirit. We beseech thee
to animate with new life our languid affections. Give us the
fervour of devotion, the glow of philanthropy. Awaken us
to a holy zeal, a joy in thy service, a promptness to do and to
suffer whatever thou dost appoint. May the labours of life
become acts of religion and offerings to thee, by the con-
scientiousness, purity of motive, and devotedness to thy will
of perfect good, from which they are performed. May our
sense of thy presence be ever more clear, our conceptions of
thy character more bright, our gratitude more tender, our love
of exalted virtue more generous, our goodwill more overflow-
ing. May a Divine life be ever growing within us.”
-
This series of autobiographical papers cannot be more
satisfactorily closed than by the following extracts from a
discourse, in which he thus sums up the results of his minis-
terial experience.
VOL. I.
GG
;
*
450
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
t
留
​May 26, 1822. "In reviewing the past, I cannot reproach
myself with much indolence. The spirit of the times has
compelled me to think anxiously and laboriously on the sub-
ject of religion. Holding sentiments which are often decried
as perilous, I have felt myself bound to examine them with
care. In this respect a conscientious minister's lot is more
difficult than formerly. There have been times when one
generation received implicitly the faith of the preceding. The
ministry then imposed a light task on the intellect. But times
are changed, nor can we for a moment complain that heavier
work is now exacted; for a chain on the mind is the worst
slavery, and the searching for ourselves, and on our own re-
sponsibility, into God's truth, however exhausting, is among
our most improving labours. And here I am not conscious
of remissness. On the contrary, my exertions—though to
men of firmer constitution they would have been moderate
and light—have to me been often excessive, and have par-
ticularly unfitted me for a branch of duty, which, however
important, I have thought myself bound to postpone to the
former, but which, if strengthened, I hope yet to fulfil. I
mean pastoral visiting...
"I have had a growing conviction, that the ministry is
needed in countries where Christianity is established, not so
much to communicate new truths, as to quicken the truths
which lie dead in the multitude; and that the qualification
of a minister on which usefulness chiefly depends is, that he
should speak of religion from deep conviction, with life and
power, with affectionate interest, with a soul possessed and
kindled by the truth,—that he should inculcate religion, not
as a tradition lodged passively in the intellect, but as a reality
of which he has the same living persuasion as of the most
affecting interests of the present state. When I consider the
earnestness and devotion demanded by such a cause as
Christianity, I feel most thoroughly my imperfections, and
pray God that I may live to preach with a fresh experience
of its power.
•
"In reviewing my preaching, I cannot hope that I have
taught you truth unmixed with error, but I have a calm and
cheerful conviction that I have taught the great and essential
principles of our religion. I have particularly laboured to
set before you a just view of God's all-benignant character,
as the spring and motive of filial love and affectionate obedi-
ence. În regard to Jesus Christ, I have continually laboured
1
++
1814-1822.]
REVIEW OF HIS MINISTRY.
451
to impress you with the proofs of his Divine mission, the
venerableness and loveliness of his spirit, the excellence of
his religion, the benevolent purposes of his life and death,
and your personal need of the aids which his gospel of grace
and mercy gives.
"In regard to the person or rank of Christ, you well
know that a controversy has prevailed during my ministry,
in which every minister has been compelled to take a part.
My views on this subject have varied but little since my
first connexion with you, and have been made known to you
with entire frankness. The great fundamental principle of
Christian belief is, that Jesus Christ was anointed, sent,
commissioned by God, that he derived all his authority and
offices and power from God, so that God who sent him is
always to be adored as the first cause, the original, of what-
ever Christ communicates, and is to be our ultimate hope and
confidence. I know nothing which appears to be more
plainly a departure from this fundamental principle of Christian
belief than the doctrine that Christ is God himself, equally
entitled with the Father who sent him to the glory of origi-
nating our redemption, equally saving us by his own unde-
rived, infinite power. To teach this is to resist the current
of Scripture language and Scripture precepts, to withstand
Christ's great purpose, which was to glorify his Father,—and
to shake the fundamental principle of natural as well as re-
vealed religion, the Unity of God.
66
My ministry on this point I look back upon with unmixed
pleasure; nor have I any consciousness of having thus de-
graded Jesus Christ. His glory consists in the love with
which God regarded him, in the offices with which God has
invested him, in the likeness which he bears to God's purity
and goodness, not in being God himself; and they are the
last to consult Christ's glory, who, instead of making him the
brightest representative and the most exalted minister of his
Father, throw a mist and doubtfulness over his whole nature,
by making him the same being with his Father. I make
these remarks with no disposition to bring reproach on any
class of Christians; for I would not breathe a single word
which might even seem to be unkind. But the circumstances
of my ministry compel me, in reviewing it, to refer to the
controversy which has shaken this church, and in which I
have been charged with conducting my people into ruinous
error. Thát I have not erred I ought not to affirm with the
K
G G 2
452
[ET. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
decision and confidence too common in controversy, and there-
fore I would only say that I have inquired earnestly, and that
inquiry has given me a calm, stable conviction of the great
principle, that Jesus Christ is a distinct being from God, a
derived, dependent being, not the self-existent and infinite
Creator.
66
Still, I have not been accustomed to preach Christ as a
mere man. I have spoken of him as a peculiar being. He
existed in a state of glory before his birth. Nor was his
agency for our salvation confined to his teaching, and example,
and suffering, and resurrection, while on the earth; but he is
now a glorified, powerful agent in human affairs, our friend,
benefactor, intercessor, and strengthener, and hereafter he
will be our judge. These views I have urged, not because
the mere belief of them is to save, but because they have
seemed to me fitted to create a more earnest, affectionate,
reverent, and obedient regard to Jesus Christ,-such a regard
as will lead us to form ourselves upon the model of his pre-
cepts and example. This, this is the essential point, and he
who is faithful here has a saving faith, be his views of Jesus
whatever they may. The greatest and most dangerous error
of the age is the substitution of opinion, speculation, contro-
versy, of noise and bustle about religion, for the practice of
Christ's precepts, especially of those precepts which peculiarly
characterize his religion,-filial love towards God, and self-
denying, all-forgiving, disinterested, mild, humble, patient
charity towards men. This love, this charity,-which is the
end of the Christian commandment, which is greater than
faith and hope, which is the very spirit of Christ, which is
God dwelling in us,-I have made supreme in my ministry;
and I trust that I have not laboured wholly in vain.
"What I deplore in the state of this society and of the
community is a languid, depressed tone of religious feeling,
and the want of decision, energy, strong purpose,
in apply-
ing Christianity to conduct. Religion slumbers under the
It is my
embers, when it should be a quickening flame.
consolation, that on this topic I have preached plainly, faith-
fully, and not without earnestness, admonishing you of the
perils of a state of society like ours, where a partial Chris-
tianity is enjoined by public sentiment and habit, and of
course is easily adopted, whilst the spirit of Christianity is
sadly wanting."
It will be readily understood that in the private papers,
1814-1822.]
INVITATION TO NEW YORK.
453
from which the foregoing extracts have been made, are many
passages of deeper interest than any which we have felt at
liberty to publish; and it is chiefly the number, variety,
minuteness, long continuance, of his observations upon his
duty and his own character, which reveal Mr. Channing's
conscientiousness. But probably even these specimens will
serve to show with what wakeful hospitality he greeted each
new suggestion, that came like a stranger to his tent-door,
and how he made them his familiar guests, conversed with
them, listened humbly to their message, and found by glad
experience that he had thus entertained angels unawares.
More and more the sublime opportunities of the age were
opening upon him, and he gave himself with ever fresher
zeal to the work of advancing what he saw to be a new era
of humanity.
His usefulness among his own people, and in his immediate
community, as well as his wide celebrity, suggested at this
time to a small company of Unitarians in New York the
thought of inviting Mr. Channing to remove to that city.
On his return from Baltimore, in 1819, he had preached to
them, and communicated an impulse which had continued to
grow, and now, having formed themselves into the "First
Congregational Society of the City of New York," they wrote
to him in 1820, saying,-"We are convinced that your aid is
indispensably necessary to the rapid and permanent success.
of the cause of uncorrupted Christianity in this quarter of the
Union," and urging him, if possible, to enter upon this new
field of labour. "The church which you have so essentially
contributed to found," they conclude, "would be immediately
built up, and we confidently anticipate that other societies
would be formed, united in the same faith and hope." In a
letter to a friend who had consulted him in relation to this
project, he uses this language: "Were I a young man, and
unfettered by any engagements, I should prefer the situation
you propose to any other within my hopes." But to the
mittee he made the following reply:-
com-
"I cannot for a moment hesitate as to the answer which I
should give to your application. I regard the situation to
which you invite me as honourable and important.
But
Providence has appointed me another lot. Public, domestic,
and private considerations,-which I need not enlarge upon,
leave me no liberty of forsaking the post which I now occupy.
Its duties and responsibilities are, indeed, above my strength,
4
454
[ÆT. 34-42.
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
and I believe that no selfish regards attach me to it. But I
think that I distinctly read in a variety of circumstances the
will of God that I should continue here; and unless these
change in a very unexpected manner, I shall remain whilst
I have strength to labour."
Most fortunate was it for himself and for others, that he
felt himself thus bound by duty to the city which had adopted
him among her most honoured sons. For no sphere in the
country could for a moment compare with Boston in its fitness
to call out all the best powers of head and heart in a man so
constituted. Its unity of character, high moral and intel-
lectual activity, benevolent earnestness, social compactness, as
well as its religious, literary, and philanthropic institutions,
formed an atmosphere sufficiently stimulating, without dissi-
pating his attention and wasting his energy, while he was too
free and self-relying to be fettered by its subservience to
leaders and cliques, its sudden fevers and chills of popularity,
its fondness for conventional proprieties. The public con-
siderations to which he refers in the foregoing letter, as for-
bidding him to leave his post, are sufficiently obvious. One
of the “private” ones undoubtedly was, that he knew his own
peculiarities thoroughly, and was more fully aware than any
one else could be of his unfitness, at once from native dis-
positions and from confirmed habits, to be a polemic or a
proselyter. A situation like that to which he was invited in
New York would have demanded continual efforts of mind
in a controversial direction, and required a zeal for Unita-
rianism quite foreign to his unsectarian feelings. But his
"domestic" ties also detained him in Boston, and to a notice
of these we now pass.
When we last saw Mr. Channing in his home, the bright
ring of brothers and sisters, clasped by a mother's love, was
unbroken; and we purposely left untouched that image of the
happy family, of which his own pure, gentle, heavenly affec-
tion was the guardian angel. But long before the period at
which our narrative has now arrived, link after link had been
removed by the various chances and changes of life,—by
marriage, death, and inevitable dispersion. The eldest son,
Francis, had early married, as we have already seen; and the
eldest daughter, whose gentle heart was from girlhood inter-
linked in destinies with Washington Allston, had been united
to him on his return to America after his studies in Italy, and
had gone to England to share the uncertain fortunes of an
1814-1822.]
DEATH OF HIS BROTHER.
455
artist and a man of genius; the third sister had also removed
with her husband to New York. Of the four younger
brothers, two had entered into the learned professions, two
into mercantile pursuits; and thus the once large household
had dwindled away. In relation to his sister Ann's marriage,
he had thus written to his grandfather Ellery:
"A few hours ago, Washington and Ann, after their long
and patient courtship, were united in marriage. We consider
this a happy event; but Ann is too important a member of
our family to be resigned without something like sorrow.
The ceremony made us rather solemn. I do not wonder at
this effect. The obligations of the marriage covenant are so
extensive, and the consequences of the union so vast and
uncertain, that I should pronounce a person thoughtless in
the extreme, who should exhibit no seriousness on such an
occasion.
"Your granddaughter has found, I believe, an excellent
husband, one who, from principle and affection, will make her
happiness his constant object. I hope that she will settle at
no great distance from us; but we have not yet sufficient
taste for the arts to give Mr. Allston the encouragement he
deserves. We have, indeed, money enough to spend on
cumbrous furniture, which another generation will throw
into the garret as antiquated and absurd, but we cannot afford
to adorn our walls with the productions of genius, which
delineate the unchanging beauties of nature or the grandeur
of man, and to which the lapse of time will impart only new
value."
But sadder separations followed. In the summer of 1810,
Francis, from the effects of fatigue while engaged in the
laborious discharge of his duties as a lawyer, was seized
with violent hæmorrhage, and sank rapidly into a decline.
He retired to Newport, where he lingered for a time amid
the beautiful scenery of his native island, receiving every
kindness which the assiduous care of anxious friends could
lavish, and in the autumn sailed with his wife and a favourite
cousin for Rio Janeiro, with the hope of finding benefit in a
change of climate. But his strength had been too much ex-
hausted, and on the nineteenth day of the voyage he died.
Months passed over, and the spring had opened before the
intelligence reached Boston. It was on a Sunday, between
the morning and the afternoon services, that a friend called
to bear the tidings to those, in whose hearts hope and anxiety
•
1
*
1
*
ܘ ܡܓ ܕܘܒܐ ܐ
456
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 34-42.
}
1
لیے
had so long alternated. Mr. Channing was alone as he en-
tered, and instantly read in his countenance a confirmation
of their worst forebodings. He silently pressed his hand,
requested him to mention it to no one else, and then retired
to his study, to gain in prayer the calmness which he felt he
needed, before he could tell his mother that her first-born
had first entered into the spiritual world.
But when at last
he summoned the family, his own face was as serene as if he
had been a messenger of joy. The next week was one of
profoundest mourning, not merely because death had for the
first time, after so long a period, entered their circle, nor
merely because he who was taken had been a second father,
but because they had parted from one who had made life rich
by sweetness, affection, cheerful wisdom, incorruptible honour,
high hope, and confiding piety. To William, this bereave-
ment caused a grief as deep and poignant as a disciplined
spirit, devoted to ends of universal good, could feel, for
Francis was his bosom friend. But on the Sunday following
he preached two appropriate discourses, in which, while not
attempting to hide the sense of his own loss, he showed his
people that an ascended angel had opened to him bright
glimpses of heaven. A few broken sentences, given as they
stand in his journals, will best show his state of feeling.
"A brother,—a friend,—a nurse in sickness,—a coun-
sellor. One who so often and so tenderly thought of me,
-of us all,-who was a guardian of our happiness. One
who grew up with me. One who has engaged so many of
my thoughts and feelings. The first-born,—the stay of his
family.
"The first of our number taken from a circle which before
was complete,-how grateful should we be that so many of
us have been so long spared to each other, so large a family
and so few breaches!-taken from the midst of us, never
again to be seen and embraced on earth.
"God has made a melancholy breach in our number.
May we feel that this is only the beginning of bereavement.
Let us love each other more, and live prepared to resign
each other. Let this separation be to survivors a bond of
tender union.
"Taken at a distance from us, beyond the reach of our
kind offices. His remains committed to the deep, never to
be collected by us.....
"Taken in the midst of life,-a son,-a husband,-a
¿
»
1814-1822.]
DEATH OF HIS BROTHER.
457
father. In the full vigour of his powers, when most able to
bless and to do good. ..
"Let me prize more highly the character of my friends,
be sensible to their excellences, be grateful to them, and
labour to improve them. Let me with frankness and mild-
ness reprove their faults and errors. Let me consider the
excellence for which they were made, and be animated
from God's love to seek their welfare. Have I done them
justice? The duties of my dear brother have now devolved
wholly upon me. Let this awaken me to all my social rela-
tions.
"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart.'
Do I understand this? Let affliction lead me to this divine
intercourse, to this fixed thought upon God. He has taken
away one object of hope and love, and thus taught us our
dependence. Let us look to Him, live upon Him, live for
Him. He is our Father, and loves us.
It is to refine us,
to bring us together again in happier circumstances, that he
thus afflicts us. Let every feeling like selfishness be extin-
guished. This separates me from God. . . .
"God has wide connexions in this affliction. He made
our friend not for us only, but for the creation,—for himself.
His infinite purposes deserve our disinterested reverence.
Let us submit. We are not overlooked. God loves us.
We must not imagine that God thinks only of us or our
family. We must view him in his relations to the infinity
of beings. There are infinite beings, dearer and purer, who
deserve far more of his regards. He seeks the universal
interests of all his creatures. Abba! Father! how slowly,
how faintly, do we realize this relation! How happy should
we be that His will is done! It is our privilege to ac-
quiesce.
"This dear sister, these dear children, are left to us as a
legacy,—and our kindness and care for them must never be
remitted. How do they call for all our attachment! These
children require from me more than affection,-much watch-
fulness, forethought, study of their characters and propen-
sities;-I must help to form them. What a new motive
for self-improvement, disinterestedness, clearness of mind,
temperance!"
The last of these extracts indicates the generous feelings
of their writer, but only they who experienced the faithfulness
with which, through every after year, he fulfilled the trust
+
❖ ---ན
458
MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ET. 34-42.
£
EU
which he thus acknowledged, can appreciate the depth and
delicacy of his affection. Thenceforth he was a father to his
brother's orphans, an ever-wise and ready counsellor to their
widowed mother. Immediately after his sister's return from
South America, he took her and her children home to live
with his mother at the parsonage, and a few lines, written by
her at that time to a friend, will show, more brightly than
any second-hand picture could, how he then appeared in his
family.
"While I am cheered and consoled by William's presence
and conversation, I can bear everything cheerfully. It would
be impossible to give you a full impression of the happy in-
fluence which he exerts. At his approach, all trials and
perplexities disappear, every feeling but that of kindness-
vanishes, nothing is seen but smiles, nothing heard but con-
ciliating and loving words. We not only seem, but feel, as
human beings should; and I verily believe that, if I was
always in his presence, I should never say or do or think
anything inconsistent with the purest principles of Chris-
tianity. He is constantly occupied; but his few leisure
moments are devoted to us, and you would be pleased to
see how the children love him. They are fond of all their
uncles, but William is the decided favourite. They run to
him the moment he opens the door, and he can seldom get
away except by stealth. Their highest reward for good
conduct is a visit to his study, and their greatest punishment
the denial of a game of romps or of a story from Uncle
William.
+
It was in relation to these children that the following letter
was written to their mother:-
$6
My observation of children has not led me to adopt that
severe theology which ranks them among demons, but I am
as little disposed to join with writers of fiction, and exalt them
to the rank of angels. These little cherubs do not always
show us in their beaming countenances the serenity of heaven,
and some of their sounds would hardly accord with the
music of that harmonious region. They have capacities of
improvement, but capacities which are not to be filled in a
moment. The soil is productive, but it bears weeds as
well as useful plants, and needs patient and skilful cultiva-
tion. I look on a blooming, smiling child as I do on the
earth in spring, when covered with verdure and flowers. I
am delighted, and almost forget the uncertainties of the
1
1814-1822.]
HIS SISTER'S death.
459
future in the beauty and joy of the present moment. But I
soon recollect that the blossom is not the fruit, that there is
nothing permanent in this gay scenery, that the harvest is at
a distance, that the valuable qualities of the mind and heart
ripen slowly, almost insensibly, that they are exposed to a
thousand adverse influences, that they must be guarded and
cherished with a tender care, and that, after all, we may reap
but sparingly where we have sown with a liberal hand. I
do not mean that I consider education as ineffectual; but I
believe it to be the part of wisdom not to form large ex-
pectations, especially not to anticipate or desire very sudden
improvement. Rapid growth does not characterize the most
valuable productions of the natural or intellectual world.”
K
But another of the family was now to be summoned to
join Francis in the "Father's house." Under date of May
6th, 1815, are entered in Mr. Channing's journal the follow-
ing brief fragments, which record his high sense of his
sister's character, and his warm affection for one, who until
her marriage had been his confidante.
Yesterday brought us the sad tidings of Ann's death.
She is gone, that beloved and excellent sister,—removed
after so long an absence. We were not permitted to minister
to her last sufferings. The hands of strangers closed her
eyes, a foreign land holds her remains."-[She had died in
London, Feb. 2, 1815.]
"How tender she was!-how unwearied her kindness!
As a child, how faithful! As a wife, how constant! In
friendship how unalterable!
"Can I ever forget the offices of a nurse which she prof-
fered with so much affection in my last sickness? Can I
ever forget her, the last by my bed-side at night, the first in
the morning, giving me her strength, watching over me as a
parent?.
"She lived to be useful. At home she toiled without
weariness, and sacrificed herself without a complaint. . . .
"How silent, unostentatious, were her virtues!
As a
Christian, her principles were strong, her sense of duty deep,
her heart humble, her professions sincere. She seemed to
have acquired in early life the consideration of mature years.
Cheerful and animated, she was still governed by the most
delicate sense of propriety. How beloved she was by all who
knew her!—she could not have had an enemy. Home was
her sphere, her happiness. Bound to it by strong affection,
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she sighed for no pleasures beyond it. She was a stranger
to the world.
"Her character particularly inspired confidence. Her
heart spoke in her actions.
"Her singular disinterestedness! In her sufferings abroad,
what cheerfulness did her letters express! She was too kind
to draw on our sympathy. God gave her many blessings;
and now he has taken her to himself.
"How she comes to me in her affectionateness! How
kind she was to all around her! How silent were her careful
assiduities! Under her calm exterior what deep, strong
love! How did she bless us, even when least happy her-
self! ..
•
"God multiplies bereavements. Our family is falling to
pieces. Is there no bond of union? Are we to be lost to
each other? Let not dear Ann depart, without bearing me
with her into futurity. Let us think only of following our
friends. Let them lead us to heaven. Let the dead be in
our hearts. Let us think and talk more as immortals.
"She is gone, not lost. Let me rejoice in her joy. Is
she not mindful of us? Did God form such ties that they
might be broken? She may be near me. Let her witness
in me only sincere affection and piety.
I am
"My mother is more than ever to be my care.
now her oldest child; she leans on me.
•
•
"Let her humility and disinterestedness be my pattern.
Let me live to be more useful to my family, friends, people.
Let my heart be the seat of every humane and devout affec-
tion. Let me be always employed in doing good to others,
in denying myself, in rendering offices of kindness, especially
of spiritual kindness."
The following extract from a letter to a friend will serve
yet further to show how deep and tender was his affection
for this most gentle and loving woman.
Boston, May 9, 1815. You can easily conceive the
feelings which this intelligence has awakened. Ann was no
common friend. Her heart, which was, perhaps, the most
constant in its affections that I have ever known, clung to
her family with peculiar tenderness. The circumstances of
her early life, particularly her attachment to Mr. Allston,
separated her from the world, and seemed to extinguish all
relish for its ordinary pleasures; and her whole life was
given to her family. In her domestic relations I have hardly
1814-1822.]
HIS MARRIAGE.
461
known one so faithful; and the impression she has left on
our hearts is one which time will never obliterate. One of
her last acts, before leaving this country, was to unite her-
self to our church, an act which nothing but the diffidence
and humility of her character had led her to defer so long.
Since leaving us, we have not been able to observe her
course, but the singular consistency and uniformity of her
character is a pledge that she was found walking humbly in
the path of her duty, and that her end was peace.
"I find that events of this kind disturb my mind much
less than formerly. My increasing conviction of the perfect
goodness of God, of his paternal character, of his minute
and tender care, and of the riches of his mercy in Jesus
Christ, the last truth in religion which men truly believe
and feel, enables me more cheerfully to resign all things to
his disposal. The thought, that God has made our souls im-
mortal, with capacities of angelic purity and glory, and for
the very end that we should ascend to heaven, to the society
of angels, to moral perfection, to the most intimate union
with Himself and his Son,-this thought, when it is felt by us,
gives a new aspect to nature, to society, to all our present
relations and connexions. I have found myself of late in-
clined to regard the future state of the blessed in a more
affecting, and I think attractive, light than formerly, as a
state of mutual dependence, of useful services, of the ten-
derest affections. Our friends, in leaving the body, do not
put off humanity, they do not lose their affection for those
they leave behind; and I would ask, Do they lose their con-
cern, their pity? Are those sympathies which are so virtu-
ous in our friends on earth, which Jesus felt, unworthy of
heaven? An unfeeling heaven, a heaven where the good
forget their friends, or are forbidden to feel deeply for them,
is certainly not very interesting. Have you never felt, in
listening to some descriptions of heaven, that they wanted
sensibility? Can we bear that this bond of union between
us sufferers on earth and the good in heaven should be dis-
solved?"
But this faithful son and brother was now himself to leave
the roof which his own generous devotedness had made his
mother's. In the summer of 1814, he had married his cousin,
Ruth Gibbs, and after passing the winter in the parsonage,
he was, by the earnest request of Mrs. Gibbs, to become for
a time a member of her family. Here opened upon him a
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MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
[ÆT. 34-42.
life most rich in gentle happiness and beautiful affection.
His mother-in-law, who was the sister of his father, had
much of the character of her brother, and nothing could
have been more benignant than her whole aspect and manner.
Diffidence, blended with dignity, surrounded her with an
atmosphere of sweet refinement, and, self-forgetful as a child,
she found her joy in making all about her bright and content.
The ample means which her husband had left enabled her
also to gratify every hospitable impulse and elegant taste.
In relation to his marriage, one of Mr. Channing's sisters
thus writes:—
1
"You need not that I should tell you of the respect and
tenderness which he always felt for woman; but you, perhaps,
are not aware, that, with all his admiration of the gentler
sex, he lived to the age of thirty-four or five, ignorant of the
warmest affection of the heart. He had a great respect for
woman's rights; and one of my last conversations with him
was on the necessity of a law to secure to a married woman
her property, the interest of which he thought should be
always paid to her, without her husband's having any claim
to control her in its expenditure.”
It may be said, in a word, that the principle here ex-
pressed was the one by which Mr. Channing governed him-
self, with the most scrupulous delicacy and fastidious honour,
throughout his married life.
We must leave the reader to infer, from the ever-widening
cheerfulness of his later years, the fitness of this union. In-
wardly and outwardly his lot henceforth was singularly
serene. From about this time commenced, too, his summer
visits to Rhode Island, where Mrs. Gibbs, who resided in
Boston during the winter, retained a country-seat; and how
much the few months annually passed amid the quiet charms
of “Oakland” attuned and harmonized his spirit will here-
after abundantly appear.
In this connexion it may be agreeable to those who desire
to form a full acquaintance with Mr. Channing, to learn his
views of the marriage relation. They are thus presented in
a sermon to his people in 1816.
1
"In this country, perhaps, the state of woman, the modes
of life, and the moral sentiments which pervade the commu-
nity, are more favourable to conjugal and domestic happiness
than in any other part of the world. The culture which is
bestowed on the female mind, and which distinguishes modern
•
1814-1822.]
VIEWS OF MARRIAGE.
463
times from the most refined periods of antiquity,-the respect
which is accorded to woman, and which Christianity has
done so much to inspire,-the reverence which prevails for
the marriage vow, and the indignation which falls on con-
jugal infidelity, the habit by which we are marked, of
looking to our homes for the greatest part of our happiness,
and the mixture of freedom and delicacy with which our
general intercourse is conducted,—all contribute to elevate
among us the female character, to render woman the asso-
ciate of man's most refined pleasures and pursuits, and to
confer on the conjugal connexion a tenderness and dignity
which have rarely distinguished it.
W
"Women! in proportion as you contemplate the condition
of your sex in other countries and other ages, whether in
the rude scenes of savage life, or in the confinements of
eastern voluptuousness, whether in the ages of Grecian and
Roman splendour, when female culture extended but little
beyond the distaff or the loom, or even in the highest ranks
of life on the other side of the Atlantic,-I am persuaded
that you will find reason to bless that Providence which has
appointed you this goodly heritage; and I would call upon
you to express your gratitude to God, and to vindicate the
female character.
"The indissolubleness of marriage should be distinctly
and seriously weighed by those who have to form this con-
nexion. Let not the most solemn engagement of life be an
act of rashness and unreflecting passion. Let the heart take
counsel of the understanding. Let the future as well as the
present be brought into the account. Let not the eye or the
imagination be trusted. Let the young man or the young
woman inquire, Is this a friend with whom I would wish to
spend, not only my youth, but my age, not only my health,
but my sickness, on whom I can lean in my griefs, to whom
I can confide my trials, to whom I am willing to resign my
character,—who, if reverses should befal me, would help me
to sustain hardship and distress, who will reciprocate my best
feelings, who will walk with me to heaven?.
"The different qualities by which man and woman are
distinguished and contrasted prepare them for a peculiarly
tender and beneficial union,-prepare them to supply each
other's deficiencies, to perfect each other's character, and to
bear distinct, yet equally necessary, parts in that most im-
portant work of the present state, the support and rearing
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of a family. Marriage, then, ought to be regarded as insti-
tuted for a very noble end,-to awaken the heart, to exercise
and strengthen its sensibilities and charities, to train it to the
perfection of social virtue, to confer the highest enjoyments
of friendship, to secure to each party the benefit of the
other's strength, intelligence, and virtues, and to unite both
in forming useful and virtuous members for the community.
"Were our views of the connexion thus elevated, did we
always regard it as the great refiner of the heart, with what
new cheerfulness would its duties be performed, its sacrifices
be endured! Marriage is not viewed as it should be; the
dignity of its end is overlooked. Too many rush into it
without understanding its proper happiness and design, and
of course without weighing its obligations. Can we wonder
that its duties are so often neglected? ..
"There should be an habitual flow of minute and kind
attentions. There are a thousand nameless, indescribable
offices by which the heart expresses its interest, and which
serve as a continual nourishment to the affections. There
is danger that the familiarity of constant intercourse may
produce a negligence of manners, a want of mutual respect,
a carelessness as to pleasing. It is not, I fear, uncommon to
see the fervour of youthful affection cooling into indifference.
There may be no positive unkindness; there may be enough
of decorum; but there is nothing of that love which over-
flows in minute and ceaseless kindness. Every day brings
with it opportunities of mutual services, which to a stranger
may seem unimportant, but which have their value when
prompted by the heart. Accustom yourselves to multiply
expressions of affection; aim to give pleasure; abstain from
what will give pain; make little sacrifices. The atmosphere
which feeds the flame is an invisible and silent agent, and in
this respect it is an emblem of the minute and gentle offices
by which conjugal affection is sustained.
"Another duty belonging to husbands and wives, included
in what I have just stated, is this,-they should cultivate
each other's society. They should avoid long and unneces-
sary separations, for these generate unconcern and produce
an independence on each other which marks a declining
attachment. As far as is consistent with their duties, they
should include each other in all their plans. They should,
in [particular, share the same pleasures. There should be
few solitary joys. The more of common objects, of common
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1814-1822.]
VIEWS OF MARRIAGE.
465
tastes, of common resources they possess, the tender and
more beneficial will be their union. They should often read
together the same books, view together the same scenes of
nature, enjoy the same society. It is a bad symptom, when
these nearest friends seem weary of each other's society,
when their plans of life seem to have few points of contact,
when their happiness is derived from different springs.
"Let me mention one more duty belonging to husbands
and wives. They should labour to improve each other's cha-
racters. This is the noblest purpose and use of the con-
nexion. They who sustain this near relation, and have
consequently great power over each other's minds, should
regard one another in the light which the gospel throws on
our nature as immortal beings, capable of great improvement,
and whose highest interests are in a future state. Whilst
mindful of each other's present happiness, their great soli-
citude should be that eternity should be secured. Let them
watch over each other's hearts and minds with affectionate
concern, mutually inviting honest and friendly admonition,
and aiding and strengthening religious and benevolent senti-
ments.
"This is the noblest use of the conjugal relation; and
when marriage is thus employed, when it becomes a refiner
of our nature, uniting the mind with God, and elevating it
to heaven,—when they who sustain it prove to each other
sources and cherishers of virtuous sentiment, and see in their
present union a preparation for indissoluble friendship after
death,—when marriage assumes this high and holy character,
it is a felicity almost too pure for earth, it is a foretaste of
the attachments of a better world."
In Mr. Channing's journals, under date of October, 1816,
is found the following affecting passage, in relation to his
first-born child. Its simple story needs no word of expla-
nation.
"I remembered the love of Jesus to little children. I
remembered the kindness of Him who has called himself our
Father, and whose love must be infinitely purer than mine.
Still my heart clung to her; and when I saw the last struggle
on Wednesday afternoon, about twenty-four hours after her
birth, I wept over her as if I had been deprived of a long-
possessed blessing. After death her countenance became
composed, and to me seemed the most beautiful, soft, gentle,
and expressive, which I had ever seen at so early an age.
VOL. I.
H H
466
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MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
Thursday afternoon I carried her to the tomb, in the full
and certain hope of a blessed resurrection. I feel as if my
prayers for this little one, and my baptismal and funeral
services, had formed a connexion between us.
I feel as if I
had a child in a happier world, who will know her past
history, who will know how earnest were my wishes to bless
her, to guide her to all virtue and felicity; and I hope yet to
meet her, and to know that my prayers were not in vain, and
to see that my child is more excellent, more happy, than I
could have rendered her."
But in 1818 he had the privilege of writing to his sister in
a happier strain, on the occasion of the birth of a daughter.
"Had I not learned so many lessons of this world's mu-
tableness, I might be in danger of dreaming of a perfect joy
on earth. But I do not forget where I am. I hope to re-
member why I am placed here, and to consider my new
relation chiefly as an enlargement of my means of usefulness,
and as giving me an object for the heart and for Christian
care and exertion. I have not, as you may readily suppose,
thought much about education as yet! I have a general
persuasion, however, that children are educated chiefly by
example, by a continual, insensible influence of those around
them, and that the surest way to improve our children is to
improve ourselves. I do not mean that this motive is as
powerful as it should be. I hope, however, that we shall in
some degree be governed by it, and shall labour to express
no feeling or principle before our little girl which we should
not wish her to adopt."
A few extracts from his papers will show the feelings
with which he welcomed the young being intrusted to his
care.
"What dignity Christianity sheds round the event of
birth! How unimportant are the rise and fall of empires, in
comparison with the entrance of an immortal soul into exist-
ence! Here is a new agent introduced into the universe,—a
being now so frail, yet to grow to vast, to inconceivable
influence,―a being now so dependent, yet to sustain immense,
all-important relations. This child is to survive the changes
of nature! We think only of the present. God has formed
it for high and unknown purposes.
((
•
May this child never have cause to reproach us for evil
example, neglect, ruinous indulgence.
Through its whole
1814-1822.]
467
everlasting being, may it remember us, as, under God, its
earliest, best friends, by whose kind care it learned to form
itself upon the principles which are the foundation of eternal
peace. Here is a mind to labour for, which is to live for
ever. Our influence on it is to be perpetual. What a claim
this little being brings with it! What latent capacities!-
yet not one developed. Here is a being whom I may taint
or raise to immortal glory. Is this child given to us to
become ours? What a possession, to keep the heart alive,
not for a day or year, but for life, for ages upon ages!”
VIEWS OF CHILDREN.
And to his people, on the Sunday following, he said:
"We have heard of a barbarous nation where the child
was received with weeping. But this is not nature. There
is instinctive, irresistible joy, when we look on the little being
brought into a new world, with a form so perfect, a structure
so delicate, a countenance so winning,-who comes a stranger
to all our solicitudes, who sinks so securely into slumber, as
if it were lodged in paradise, who has no resource in its own
power for all the wants to which it is exposed, but finds supply
beyond its needs in the affection that welcomes it.
"We were made to love. This is the end of God in all
social relations. It is his purpose that no man should live
for himself. He has made life to be a succession of labours
and sacrifices for the happiness of others. It is for this that
children are made so helpless. They are born weak, that
they should rest upon our strength. Their limbs cannot
sustain their weight, that they may be folded in our arms
and warmed upon our breasts. It is for this that God gives
them such sweetness, innocence, beauty. His purpose is
to enlarge our hearts by generous toils and self-denials. The
hardest heart melts at the sight of infancy. In every home,
however rude, however splendid, one being is embraced with
sincere love, and that is the new-born child. The young
woman of fashion, whose affections have been dissipated by
false pleasures, becomes another person as she clasps her
infant in her arms. New tenderness fills her bosom, new
solicitudes and hopes spring up. She learns to live in the
happiness of this little dependent creature. And in the
house of the poor labourer, what overflowing tenderness is
poured out to welcome, what toils are cheerfully borne to
rear, the child whose birth imposes a perpetual burden!
Children call forth a tenderness which softens the whole cha-
racter in all relations. We enter a warmer region, when
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we approach a home gladdened by their artlessness, simplicity,
confiding affection, playful gladness. The heart awakes to
healthier action, and becomes more susceptible to all good
impressions. Home is the nursery of the heart; children are
really our teachers, and the lessons which they communicate
are love, self-forgetfulness, interest in the welfare of others.
I am persuaded that just in proportion as the domestic affec-
tions have opportunity to expand in any community, is
general kindness, sympathy, philanthropy diffused...
"A Christian parent, on the birth of a child, has senti-
ments like these brought with power to his mind:-' Here
is a being committed to me worth more than the world. I
am now honoured with an infinite trust. This cradle con-
tains a life, the issues of which are shrouded in the solemn
uncertainties of the everlasting future. Here is not only a
helpless being to be loved, but a growing being to be trained.
It is to be influenced in its growth by every one around it.
It is to learn the language which falls upon its ear, to catch
the manners which pass before its eye, to receive impressions
so easily made and so indelible that they will seem like nature.
It is to reflect not only the countenances, but the characters,
of those who have given it existence. It is a creature of
sympathy and imitation, which will receive traces never to
be erased. What a trust! God's noblest work is put into
my hands. I may do much to inscribe God's image on this
immortal mind. I may do much to form a friend for society,
a source of good for mankind. I may do much to give a new
inhabitant to heaven, a new member to the companies of the
blessed. Thanks to thee, O God, for the relation I sustain!
By thy grace I will fulfil its duties.'.
"It is, indeed, a most merciful appointment of God, that
children, by needing so much care, impose such responsibility.
Many, many parents would have wasted life, neglected and
destroyed themselves, had not the parental relation awakened
them to reflection. The solemn thought, that the immortal
mind intrusted to them might perish through their neglect,
has called multitudes home to their own hearts and to God.
They have been brought to feel the importance of their own
future interests, in thinking of those of their children. The
consideration that their own characters would be commu-
nicated to those whom they loved more than themselves,
that their children would receive from them principles, habits,
and feelings, has induced a watchfulness, a regularity of
1814-1822.]
VIEWS OF BAPTISM.
469
speech and conduct, and an application to duty, by which
their own souls have been purified. Perhaps we little suspect
how much of the virtue of a community is to be traced to the
strong feeling of responsibility which is awakened in the
mind by the parental relation. I repeat it, children are in-
estimable blessings, by calling forth the consciences of their
parents. The instructions we impart come back upon our-
selves.
•
"Let me add one more thought, most familiar, yet most
affecting. In a child we gain a being who can return as well
as receive kindness. The love of a good child,—does earth
hold as rich a blessing? Its smiles and cheerful obedience
repay our toils during its youth; and who can express the
value of its affectionate attentions as we advance into age?
Who can smooth the pillow of sickness like the hand of the
daughter whose sensibility we nurtured in her tender years?
Who can sustain our infirm steps like the son whose manly
virtues we helped to form? Who would not have his eyes
closed, his remains committed to the dust, by filial affection?
A good child iş a blessing through life, and a blessing after
death. I cannot think that in another world we shall forget
the kindness which guided and watched over us in this. If
any earthly sentiment survive beyond the grave, surely it
will be the gratitude of the child and the joy of the parent,
when they meet in heaven."
On the occasion of the baptism of one of his children, Mr.
Channing thus expressed his views of that rite, which some
of the readers of this biography may be glad to know.
"The question is asked, 'Why apply a religious institution
to a child before he can comprehend or desire its benefits?'
Such a question overlooks the great fact of man's existence,
that we are born into various human relations, that by birth
we enter into a society, into a religious community, as well
as into a family. It is in vain to say that children should
be left to choose a form of religion for themselves. They
cannot escape the influence of family, of country. If Christian
principles do not restrain and elevate them, other principles
will usurp control over their susceptible years. Such is
man's nature and condition. From these considerations it
follows, that Christianity must stoop to the cradle, and take
the infant into its arms from the hour of birth. It must
make the first claim to children, and set its seal upon them
from their earliest breath. It is wise and fit that by some
470
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MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
I
visible sign our religion should lay its hand of benediction
upon the young beings who are to be trained by its discipline.
The child is, indeed, unconscious of the meaning of our act
in baptism; but at that moment it is an intelligent and im-
mortal being, having within itself the seeds of affections and
capacities which are to unfold for ever. It soon is to become
conscious of that filial feeling which is the simplest element
of piety. And how expressive is the rite by which it is
given up to Jesus Christ to receive the influences of his
religion!.
"These remarks help us to answer the question most
satisfactorily as to the use of baptism to a child. To answer
this question, some Christians have thought it necessary to
say that baptism communicates to the infant Divine grace,
that it is a regenerating ordinance, that when the water
touches the body, God's spirit touches the mind, and that a
new nature is thereby implanted. This doctrine will hardly
maintain its ground in the school of sound theology. Our
whole experience opposes it. This institution is useful to
children by exhibiting their claims to Christ's religion, and
the design of this religion to operate on their minds. By
baptism the light and privileges of the gospel are pledged to
them by their parents. By it they are introduced into the
Christian community. The water of baptism is a mark of
the finger of God upon their foreheads, for ever showing
forth the great ends for which a human life is given.
"This institution is designed to bring strongly to the
hearts of parents a consciousness of their influence over
their children, and to bind them solemnly to a just use of
this influence. Parents are swayed by the ideas which they
habitually associate with their children. It is important,
therefore, that they should take high and generous views of
their destiny. But the very helplessness and ignorance of
children tempt us to forget the greatness of their nature; and
their animal wants while young, and their worldly interests
as they advance, continually incline us to consider their
earthly good as of primary concern. Now the Christian
religion teaches us to treat the infant with reverence, to
welcome it as the heir of unknown worlds, to see in its early
intelligence the dawning of a light which is never to be
quenched, but to brighten for ever. To beget in us this
noble way of thinking and feeling, is it not right that by
some positive, definite act, by a public religious form, parents
1814-1822.]
471
should solemnly consecrate their children to God and Christ,
should recognise them as spiritual beings, should set them
apart in the eyes of all men for a holy training and an im-
mortal destiny?"
HIS SICKNESS.
Two sons were in a few years also born to Mr. Channing;
and, settled in a delightful home in the vicinity of his mother
and of his wife's family, surrounded by a society which
listened to his every word with interest and lent a ready aid
to all his plans, esteemed and loved by the whole community
in which he lived, and every year becoming more widely in-
fluential, he felt, as he said to a friend, that "his condition
was as prosperous as he could well bear; and that, were it not
for almost daily debility and suffering, he should fail of the
discipline of pain which every being needs to purify away
his self-love." In reference to his constant and increasing
infirmity, he writes thus in his journals:-
"Let me gratefully accept the affliction of sickness, and
chiefly desire that God's ends shall be answered. Let not
one sinking, repining thought come over me.
""
"Sickness has temptations. Let me not pamper self, but
with distinct purpose employ all means to health, as fitting
me for usefulness and for the service of God and man.”
So enfeebled had he become in the winter and spring of
1822, that it was determined, at length, that he should try
the effect of a voyage and a year's journey abroad.
In con-
sequence of this necessity, the Society in Federal-street, with
the alacrity which they had always shown to promote his com-
fort, passed, at a full meeting, the following votes:—
"1. That the Standing Committee be authorized to engage
some person, with the concurrence of the Rev. Dr. Channing,
to supply his pulpit for one year.
"2. That the Rev. Dr. Channing be released from all
services for his parish for one year, and that Deacon Davis
be requested to express to him the earnest wish of this meet-
ing to do all in their power to conduce to the restoration of
his health.
"3. That the Standing Committee be authorized to raise
by subscription the sum of one thousand dollars to defray the
additional expense of the year.
"D. D. ROGERS, Chairman.
"BENJ. GUILD, Clerk."
472
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MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
On May 26, the Sunday before he sailed, he thus commu-
nicated to his people his reasons for going abroad :—
"The circumstances which have led me to resolve on a
voyage are known to all; and I am greatly encouraged by the
unanimity with which my purpose has been seconded by my
society. I have formed it reluctantly, after many solicitations
and admonitions from judicious friends, and after a faithful
trial of the means of health at home. From the moment of
my decision, I have, indeed, laboured to set before my mind
the pleasures and benefits of visiting the Old World, of tra-
versing countries which have kindled my imagination almost
from infancy, whose literature has been the food of my mind,
and where nature and society present aspects hardly to be
conceived amidst the freshness of our own institutions. But
these considerations, while they fortify my purpose, had no
influence in originating it. I do not mean to imply that such
motives are criminal; yet to one sustaining the relations
which I do, home is the field of duty, and to me it has been
so happy, that my mind until lately shrunk from the thought
of quitting it.
"The circumstance which has decided me to leave you
is the apprehension, which experience has almost made a
certainty, that, if I remain, I shall linger through life in a
condition unfavourable to my own improvement and to public
usefulness, in that middle state between sickness and health,
that alternation of animation and languor, that liability to
sink under any considerable exertion, which I have ex-
perienced to a great degree ever since my connexion with
you, and which my late indisposition has sensibly increased.
More than a year has now elapsed since the interruption of
my professional labours, and when I look back on this period,
my spirit droops at the thought of continuing to drag on ex-
istence inactively and unprofitably, nursing a frail body, seek-
ing relaxation as a task, now gaining and now relapsing, and
not only put to silence on Sundays, but compelled through
the week to forego the books and means of improvement which
from early years have been to me as daily bread. The re-
flections, which, in these circumstances, are apt to fasten on
a minister's mind, are such as others cannot easily understand.
Conscious of past deficiencies, he is solicitous to repair them,
whilst, for aught he knows, the Lord of the vineyard may
have already dismissed him as an unprofitable labourer. I
mean not to speak of the past year as of one of great suffer-
1822-1823.]
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
473
ing, but in the inactivity to which I have been reduced, an
effort has been often needed to sustain my spirits, and my
feelings, as well as my sense of duty, strongly urge me to
make a decided effort for health. If I fail, I shall at least
have the satisfaction of knowing that I have declined no
labour for recovering the capacity of serving God and my
fellow-men."
CHAP. VI.-EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
ÆT. 42-43. 1822-1823.
BEFORE following Mr. Channing in his travels abroad, it
may be well, for the end of showing the delight with which
he looked on nature and his capacity for enjoying beauty, to
present some sketches of scenery from letters written during
a journey through New Hampshire and Vermont, in the sum-
mer of 1821.
“ Centre Harbour, New Hampshire, July 31, 1821. Very
soon an ascent opened to us a prospect which made us forget
past inconveniences. On our right, we discovered a noble
range of mountains, their declivities towards us thrown into
shade, and their waving outline, gentle and beautiful, form-
ing an affecting contrast with their grandeur and solemnity.
I have just learned that among them was the Ossipee, of
which you have often heard. Below them was a sheet of
water of considerable extent, called the 'Little Bay,' the
more distant part of it darkened by the eminences beyond, and
the part which was nearest to us brightened by the sun's light,
which fell on it through a soft mist. The mist was dense
enough to be impressed with the shadows of the trees on the
neighbouring heights, so as to give a singular mixture of light
and shade in its thin and ethereal substance, yet not so dense
as to prevent a dim, visionary reflection of the trees in the
tranquil surface of the water. Have I helped you to look
through my eyes?"
(6
Wednesday morning. Centre Harbour. From the east
windows, at which I now sit, and out of which my eye often
steals, I look down immediately on the lake, but not on such
a sheet of water as your imagination probably represents to
you. I learned, before I reached it, that the Winnipiseogee
was studded with islands of considerable extent, and in great
number, so that you can take in but a small part of it from
t
背心​服务
​CT.
474
[ÆT. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
the shores. But whilst this detracts from its unity and
grandeur, you find beauties of another kind. The channels
which divide the islands, the numerous points and projections,
the shores fringed with trees, by multiplying the lights and
casting shadows on the water, give great interest to the scene.
The shore opposite to me is covered with pines, stretching to
some distance, and beyond them rises the noble Ossipee, which,
covered with the light mist that now floats over it, I have,
more than once, when accidentally glancing up, taken for a
vast mass of clouds. My eye rests upon it with increasing
pleasure, and I feel, that, were I neighbour to a mountain, I
should establish a friendship with it, perhaps more intimate
than I have formed with any part of nature. My mind seems
to enlarge, to swell with these majestic forms, which claim
kindred with the skies."
Sharon, White River, Vermont, Aug. 1. I wish I could
communicate to you my sensations. The river was just be-
low us to the west. The country on the other side, of which
our view had been limited by hills rising from the stream,
opened, both to the north and south, into two wide, far-reach-
ing, and gently ascending valleys,-if, indeed, they were
hollowed enough to be so called. These valleys, or rather
expanses, did not swell gradually through their whole extent,
as they receded to the horizon, but were intersected in a free
and bold style with elevations rising one behind another, each
giving to the eye a line of shrubbery and foliage, on the tops
of which the sun shed a rich, mellow light, whilst the sides
towards us were thrown into shade. Not that there was much
regularity in this; for the passing clouds distributed unequally
the splendours of the sunshine. The prospect was mag-
nificent, to a wonderful degree, and you would have called it
grand, had not beauty-a soft, touching beauty-so melted its
parts into one another, and so spread harmony and gentleness
over the whole, as to assert its claim above sublimity in the
scene. We began with expressing our admiration; but silence
soon showed that the heart was too much softened for talking.
When I tell you that tears flowed, you will understand that
they were not mine, for the fountain lies very deep in me;
but I give you no fiction. In one sentiment we all afterwards
agreed, that we could endure the grandeur through which we
had lately passed, much better than this loveliness and tender-
ness of beauty. The last exhausted us; the first gave an ex-
k
1822-1823.]
WHITE RIVER.
475
ulting, triumphant feeling. I relate merely our sensations.
I have been too busy to analyze or to try to explain them."
"White River, Aug. 6. As I ascended towards its source,
its animating characteristics grew more and more striking,
and I felt its power. It is, indeed, a peculiar stream, and
forms a remarkable contrast with the Connecticut, into which
it empties. The moment you leave the point where they
meet,-I may say, the very first step you take on White
River, you feel that you are forming a new acquaintance,
that you have found a river of different features and habits,
not contented to wind slowly and silently through fertile and
smooth banks, but full of spirit and youthful sportiveness;
loving solitudes, not for meditation, but that it may leap and
dance without restraint, and listen to its own brisk murmurs,
multiplying its quick turns, as if eager for change,―rushing
against the stones and rocks, like youth engaging in mock
contests.
"The whole stream has an exhilarating character from its
beginning; but it was not until the afternoon, under a glorious
sky, that I felt its power.
In a short time, the banks began
to rise more precipitously and to a greater height, and the
turns of the river were more sudden, and the bank on which
we rode steeper, so that we found ourselves in the midst of
the wildest scenery which I remember. Before, behind, all
around us, were heights thrown together in a confused manner,
sometimes quite hemming us in, sometimes opening into views
of wide extent, and receiving from the sun a most various,
shifting light. Indeed, such confusion of lights and shades,
of effulgence and fainter illumination, you cannot easily con-
ceive. I found the effect on my own mind quite different
from that of former scenery. It was not as exalting as the
mountain grandeur of New Hampshire, but it exhilarated
me more, and gave me the very excitement which an invalid
needs.
"This very striking scenery continues but a few miles.
Then the banks recede more gradually, the hills slope more
gently; the stream seems willing to refresh itself, amidst its
brisk movements, with spots of quiet beauty. Still it keeps
up its consistency. It slumbers nowhere; and when its sur-
face is smoothest, you will here and there see a rock or stone
breaking its uniformity, and making its motion visible by a
little eddy or a line of depression on the water."
476
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
[ÆT. 42-43.
Sandy Hill, New York, Aug. 7. After passing through
much the same scenery as we had seen towards the end of
the preceding day's journey, we addressed ourselves to a
labour which we had anticipated with no little interest; I
mean the ascent of the Green Mountains. Here we left our
pleasant companion, the White River, and began to follow
one of its branches, a narrower, but still noisier and more
precipitous stream. Very soon we were conscious of having
entered a nobler and more solemn region than we had yet
explored. I had expected to scale mountains which were to
open to me an immense extent of prospect; but I found my-
self plunged into one of nature's deepest recesses. I ascended
through a cleft, on both sides of which rose steeps, sometimes
of a vast height, clothed with woods to their very tops. So
profound a solitude I have never known. I seemed to feel
as if I were cast into a world of immeasurable forests. So
entire and absorbing is the impression which you receive
from the heights and depths around you, any one of which
has power to fill the eyes and the mind by its masses and
sweeps of noble trees, that the scenes you have left are blotted
out; you live for the time only in the grand, glorious scene
that swells around you. The openings which are here and
there made into the forests, by large rocks or the rushing
stream, only seem to conduct your eye into interminable
depths of foliage and shade. Above you, after you have been
ascending perhaps a mile, tower mountain-tops, which seem
to sink you into a valley, though you are conscious of having
left the lowland world far beneath. This passage through
the mountains gives no particular scenes to be described. Its
power lies in the general, deep, overpowering impression
which it makes.
((
"On Tuesday morning, we began to follow again the
Onion River, which wound among hills less bold than those
we had seen the day before; but, viewed through the misty
light of the morning, they gave us continual pleasure, until
we reached a spot which had power to efface for a time all
other impressions. Nobody had whispered to us that we
were to meet anything extraordinary. You will judge, then,
of our astonishment and delight, when, after hearing for a
few minutes an unusual tumult, we found ourselves on a
bridge, which discovered to us, on both sides, a deep, rocky,
perpendicular ravine, through which the river, contracted to
a few yards, was rushing, raging, foaming, as if it had re-
1822-1823.]
GREEN MOUNTAINS.
477
served all its might and passion for this single spot. The
ravine or cleft seemed to me a quarter or sixth of a mile in
length, and so straight, that from two or three points the eye
could command nearly its whole extent.
The cliffs rose
perpendicularly to the height, I should think, of forty to sixty
feet, in parallel lines of solid rock. That so remarkable a
rapid should not even have been named to us was matter of
wonder, and proved how little impression is made by the
mighty works of God. We clambered to the highest point
of the banks, and looked down the giddy steep with an
emotion which had hardly been surpassed at Glen's Falls. . . .
"We soon found ourselves entering a region which drew
from us exclamations of increasing delight and admiration.
We had heard that the pass through which our road lay was
called 'The Gulf,' and that we were to pass the range which
is eminently called the Green Mountains, not by scaling
them, as before, but by threading a valley at their feet.
Still, so little was said, that we expected little. How can I
express our feelings when the true glory of this spot was re-
vealed to us? Instead of ascending, as on our former route,
a long and steep cleft, hemmed in on each side by precipices.
of forests, we now followed a road of easy ascents and de-
On one side the bank rose suddenly, so that its
height could not easily be seen; but on the other rushed the
branch of the White River, removing to a sufficient distance
the mountains from which it separated us, so as to enable us
to see distinctly their declivities, and outlines, and forests.
In our former passage, we left our carriage from necessity,
-here, from choice,—and we walked perhaps a mile through
this deep valley, lifting our astonished eyes to the towering
and beautiful summits, which seemed worthy of the region
they inhabited.
scents.
"Represent to yourself a succession of mountains through
more than a mile's extent, rising almost perpendicularly from
their bases, sometimes stretching before us in a line, some-
times forming a majestic sweep, opening as we advanced, so
as to discover their outlines and distinct masses, and clothed
to the very top with the freshest, richest, most luxuriant
foliage. I was astonished to see such perpendicular heights,
in which it seemed scarcely possible that trees should take
root, so closely wooded that the eye could not discover a
speck of dark earth amidst their boundless verdure. To say
that the woods were green would give you no idea of them.
:
478
[ET. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
They had the brightness and tenderness of spring, with the
fulness of summer; and, instead of presenting a confused
mass of verdure, their tops were so distinct, that the grace
and majesty of particular trees might easily be traced. The
light and temperature favoured us, and we lingered, most un-
willing to take the last look."
In a letter, written soon after his return, and which is of
additional interest, as showing how solemn were his associa-
tions with the scenery of Newport, he thus refers to the
influence of natural beauty.
Portsmouth, Rhode Island, Sept. 6, 1821. That journey
was a specimen of the life I have led for many years. One
day undoes the work of many weeks. When I seem to have
gained strength, a cold, caught I know not how, or some
derangement of the system, perhaps produced by some slight
irregularity, takes from me my power of body and mind, and
then I slowly work my way upwards, to fall as low again.
"My journey, I have said, was not lost; and this I should
say, even had I returned without one additional particle of
strength; for it left impressions and recollections which will
make me richer and happier for life. This magnificent
creation has been to me, even from my boyhood, a principal
source of happiness; but I never entered into its spirit, felt
its power and glories, as on this journey. I should hardly
dare to travel over the same ground again, lest the bright
images which are treasured up in memory should be dimmed
by a second sight.
1
"But nature was not my chief enjoyment. I owed much
to my companions, who gave more than they received.
Perhaps, if I were to name the circumstance in which I con-
sider myself most enviably distinguished, I should say, it is
the intimacy which I have enjoyed, and still enjoy, with so
many of the first and best of your sex. I could not have
ended my journey with as unrepining a spirit as I did, had I
not had a home to receive me, which I am weak enough to
think the best home on earth, and which had gone with me
and secretly mixed with all my joys among the mountains,
lakes, and rivers, which seemed to divide me from it.
•
"I was powerfully reminded of the early years of my life,
when these shores were my favourite and almost constant
haunts. Then, before I knew you, I had not 'found rest to
my soul,' for I was very much a stranger to true religion.
My spirit, consumed with passionate fires, thirsted for some
t
1822-1823.]
PARTING WORDS.
479-
-
unknown good, and my body pined away to a shadow under
the workings of a troubled mind. Then I spent almost whole
days on the sea-shore, where the majesty and power of nature,
absorbing, exalting me, and transporting me beyond myself,
ministered most happily to the diseased soul. Strange as it
may seem, I can recollect that I became buoyant and ex-
hilarated in proportion to the wildness and sublimity around
me, and I leaped for joy when a wave, which seemed to
menace ruin, broke on the rock where I stood, and mounted
in clouds to the skies. Thanks to God, those days of tumult
are past, and an existence, the beginning of which is still a
mystery to me, and which was wrapt in many clouds, has
opened into blessings which I should not have dared to an-
ticipate."
✓
It was at the close of the month of May, 1822, that Mr.
Channing bade farewell to his three blooming children, to his
parent, family, friends, society, and, in company with his
wife, sailed for England. On the eve of departure, he thus
wrote to his mother:-
M
"May 27th, 1822.
"MY DEAR MOTHER:-I cannot go without leaving you
a line. At this moment, when I think of my approaching
separation from you, I recal, with more than usual tender-
ness, your affection and your claims, and I pray God to
reward and crown you with his best blessings.
"It is one of my greatest griefs, that I do not leave you in
better health, and I beg you to neglect no means of building
it up.
I inclose a hundred dollars, which I wish you to
spend very much for this object.
"I cannot but believe that you would be happier, if you
would relinquish housekeeping; and you will see, in my
letter from Lucy, how entirely she agrees with me.
Ruth
joins with me in assuring you, that, if you could be happy at
our house on our return, we should rejoice to receive you.
"I hope you will not be anxious about us. We sail under
every advantage, and I have a cheering hope that I shall
return to be more to my family and people than I have been.
You will often hear from us, either immediately or through
other friends; and should anything prevent free communica-
tion, you will remember that we are always under the care
of Him who alone makes home a place of safety, and who
can make every place equally secure. My spirits are won-
480
[ÆT. 42–43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
derfully sustained. I go with a cheerful, confiding mind, and
hope that, whilst I am remembered with affection, I shall not
be with sorrow.
"My dear mother, may many years be added to your life,
and may they be brightened by the increasing affection,
usefulness, and virtues of your children. You will be the
object of my daily prayers, and I know I shall not be for-
gotten in yours.
"Your grateful and affectionate son."
With the aid of extracts selected from his journals and
correspondence, let us now rapidly follow Mr. Channing
during a year which, with all its rich experiences, was to
him one of exile, rather than of enjoyment. And first, from
the notes of his voyage, we will take a few passages which
manifest the buoyant, fresh joy with which he watched the
changes of ocean.
“June 25. On this day I was exhilarated by a truly magni-
ficent scene. The wind was strong and fair, and had called the
ocean, after its long repose, into new life. The sky, obscured
with clouds, gave to the waves that dark, polished hue, for
which I can find no name, and which is one of their most
beautiful colours. Exceedingly minute ripples hurried,
swept, flew over the surface, and marked the fleetness of the
wind as distinctly as if that subtile element had become the
object of sight. Every sail was expanded and swelled into a
graceful form, as if eager to enjoy the favouring breeze. The
ship seemed to have caught the life and spirit of the elements,
rushing forward, as for a prize, cleaving the dark waves, and
dashing them from her sides in an azure sparkling brine and
a foam of snowy whiteness, as if to brighten and deck her
triumphant flight. In such moments, the soul seems to add
to its own energies the power which is vivifying nature and
exults in the consciousness of a more intense existence.
•
"The sight of the sea-bird struck me with its loneliness.
I thought of its spending the night on the ocean. But I
remembered that it had no home to forget, and considered
what a bed it must find on the waves. The sea-bird is
rocked in nature's cradle, and enjoys a sleep which few find
on shore. How many, torn with passion or remorse, might
envy it! There is a striking contrast in the rough, mighty
ocean being thus the chosen dwelling of repose.
"The soul and nature are attuned together. Something
within answers to all we witness without. When I look on
*
1822-1823.]
GALE AT SEA.
481
the ocean in its might and tumult, my spirit is stirred, swelled.
When it spreads out in peaceful blue waves, under a bright
sky, it is dilated, yet composed. I enter into the spirit of
the earth, and this is always good. Nature breathes nothing
unkind. It expands, or calms, or softens us.
Let us open
our souls to its influences.
"The ocean is said to rage, but never so to me. I see life,
joy, in its wild billows, rather than rage. It is full of spirit,
eagerness. In a storm, we are not free to look at the ocean
as an object of sentiment. Danger then locks up the soul to
its true influence. At a distance from it, we might contem-
plate it as a solemn minister of Divine justice, and witness of
God's power to a thoughtless world; but we could associate
with it only moral ideas,—not a blind rage. At least, I have
seen nothing which gives nature an unkind expression.
•
"We talk of old ocean, hoary ocean; I cannot associate
age with it. It is too buoyant, animated, living. Its crest
of foam is not hoariness, but the breaking forth of life.
Ocean is perpetual youth. .
"In a gale, you are struck with the tumultuous restless-
ness of the ocean. Instead of lengthened waves, it mounts
and swells irregularly, as if too full of life, too impatient, to
submit to any rule. The waves chase one another eagerly,
and with an intractable vehemence, and break and whiten
through excess of spirit. They do not seem to rise by a
foreign impulse, but spontaneously, exultingly.. You are
reminded of the agency of the wind, not by the large, pre-
cipitous masses of water which are tossed so confusedly
around you, for these seem instinct with their own life; you
see the wind in their torn, and ruffled, and swept surfaces,
and in the spray which flashes and is whirled and scattered
from their tops. It is truly an animating scene. You feel
yourself in the midst of life and power, and hear air and
ocean joining their voices of might to inspire a kindred
energy. There is awe,-not a depressing, but triumphant
awe. Our spirits mix with the elements, and partake the
fulness of their power.
"There is constant variety in such a scene. The 'trough,'
as the sailor calls it, is, in fact, a valley in the ocean, and,
on each side, waves higher than the ship bound your view.
In a moment, you ride on these mountains, and a wide horizon
opens on you, the distinct line of which is broken by heaps
of ocean, sometimes rising into peaks, which break as soon as
VOL. I.
II
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482
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
[ÆT. 42-43.
formed, and give place to new creations. Vast structures
thus grow and vanish almost in an instant, and the eye finds
no resting-place in the perpetual revolutions. The waves,
swelling above, and approaching, as if to overwhelm you,
though they do not alarm, show a power so akin to destruc-
tion, as to give a momentary sensation of danger, and the
spirit feels something of the pleasure of escape, when the
ship is seen to triumph over its invaders.
"There is, too, a feeling of elevation, when, in such a
scene, where nature is in uproar, and putting forth around
us her mightiest energies, we are conscious of inward sere-
nity, feel ourselves unshaken in the tumult and alive to
adoration and joy. The soul has a consciousness of great-
ness, in possessing itself, and in converting into the nourish-
ment of its noblest emotions, the might and majesty of the
universe.
"There is great beauty joined with this majesty, as through
all nature. We seldom see more power. The awful moun
tain top delights to bathe its grandeur in the richest, softest
beams of the rising or setting sun; sweet flowers wave and
smile in the chasms of the precipice: and so the mountain
billow often breaks into sparkling spray, and the transparent
arch beneath shines with an emerald brightness, which has
hardly a rival in the richest hues of the vegetable creation.
"After witnessing a gale, I was shut up for several days
in the cabin, and did not return to the deck until a remark-
able change had taken place. A calm had succeeded. It
was hard to connect what I now saw with my last view of
the ocean,—to feel that I was looking on the same element.
The irregular, broken, wildly-tossing, tumultuous billows had
vanished, and lengthened, continuous, slowly-advancing swells
followed one another, not as in pursuit, but as if finding
pleasure in gentle motion.
"Instead of bursting into foam, or being tossed into infinite
inequalities by the sweeping, hurrying winds, their polished,
molten surface, whilst varied by soft flowing lines, was un-
ruffled by a single breath. They seemed, as they rolled in
regular intervals towards us, like the gentle heaving of a
sleeping infant's breast. I did not feel as if the ocean was
exhausted by its late efforts, but as if, having accomplished
its manifestations of awe-inspiring might, it was now executing
a more benignant ministry, speaking of the mercy and the
blissful rest of God. Perhaps no image of repose is so
1822-1823.]
HABITS OF OBSERVATION.
483
perfect as the tranquillity of an element so powerful, and so
easily wrought into tumult. I looked, and was at peace."
The following hints may serve to illustrate the observant
and inquiring habits of the writer. He was apparently
reading, at the time, Playfair, and Brande's "History of
Chemistry," the progress of which science he watched through
life with eager expectation and admiring awe.
"The light and heat of the sun on the ocean may seem
unprofitable. Not so. The heat is absorbed in vapour, and,
when given out by condensation of vapour into rain, it is im-
parted to the atmosphere. Hence good done by raining, at
sea as well as on land. Air is softened.
"Heat greater at sea than on shore, because so much heat
is evolved by evaporation and condensation, less absorbed
than on shore. Hence islands warmer, especially if fogs
predominate.
"The wind not useless on ocean. Evaporation greatly
produced by succession of strata of air, and by forms given
to waves, the curve. Does not motion, too, separating the
spray, favour evaporation?.
"Evaporation and condensation,-may they not purify
atmosphere? Rain water not pure. May not this action in
the atmosphere do good? How far may electricity be evolved
in these processes? We speak of air as close, stifling, &c.,
and its fitness for respiration depends on what we cannot
discover. Electricity a cause. There is constant solution
and crystallization of salt in ocean, by evaporation and rain.
Is no electricity generated here?.
"The heat given, by formation of vapour, to upper regions
of atmosphere may be very useful; for, were they not thus
heated, the contrast between them and those lower might be
so great, as to render the exchange which takes place between
them injurious. Heated air ascends, and is replaced, one
would think, from above. . .
•
"The ocean preserved from heat by evaporation. Hence,
winds, passing over it, refresh warm countries. This heat,
withdrawn from the surface, is given out by condensation in
upper regions which need it. What a beautiful order!.....
"What a beautiful appointment, that the sun, which heats
and dries the earth, should raise the cloud to shelter it, and
the rain to moisten it; and that heat, which seems at first
at war with moisture, should conjoin with it in rearing the
plant!.....
{
2
1
I
"
7
II 2
484
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
[ÆT. 42–43.
I
1
1
**
+
"Nature subsists by counteracting powers; and in this we
see wisdom, arrangement, beauty.
"Moisture the universal nutriment, and what a noble
fountain of it!
66
•
•
Strong winds at sea are essential to the fulfilment of its
functions, to evaporation and transportation of vapour, as
well as to navigation. The ocean useless without wind, and
how it is swept by it!.
"A beautiful appointment, that the sun gives impulse to
the winds, by which his beams are mitigated on shore, by
which the vapour of ocean is multiplied and transported, and,
of course, by which the earth is preserved from being
parched.
"How beneficial is motion in air and sea! Elements
capable of being quickened by heat keep the balance of the
universe.
"Great powers in the universe, balancing one another by
mighty energy, make creation more interesting. Would not
less intensity of heat, creating and requiring less motion of
winds, vapours, sea, be attended with less activity of animal
and vegetable nature? These great powers in nature call
forth great energy and skill in man, give impulse and life to
the soul, reveal the sublimity and beauty of creation.
"What immense distributions of moisture and equaliza-
tions of temperature are needed! Are the agents too
mighty ?"
•
On landing at Liverpool, Mr. Channing met with the
warmest welcome from many liberal-minded friends, whose
hearts had been already prepared, by his writings and repu-
tation to receive him. But he found himself utterly unfitted,
by weakness and depression, to bear the pleasing excitement
of forming acquaintances; and, hastily bidding farewell to the
intelligent, humane, refined, and munificent circle which
opened to him their hospitable homes, he departed upon his
journey to the Lakes. A few extracts from his journals will
show what refreshment he found amidst the exquisite scenery
of Westmoreland and Cumberland.
“Lancaster, July 11. The castle at Lancaster is, to a
stranger, singularly interesting. It was the first noble monu-
ment I had seen of times which, however fierce and lawless,
must still be regarded as rich to overflowing in generous
feeling, and as containing, in a rude state, the principles of
the great social changes which have since been developed.
+
I
1822-1823.]
THE LAKES.
485
It is now a heterogeneous mass, the modern additions
seeming to be in fine taste, when viewed in detached parts,
but having no unity, and wholly failing in correspondence
with the remains of the ancient fabric. The chief of these
is a gateway, protected by two towers, the battlements over-
hanging the base, and bearing record to the violence of an
age, when lordly power felt the want of a security that is now
enjoyed equally by the high and low.
"This castle, of which Edward the Third was the founder,
once the seat of strength and magnificence of the dukes of
Lancaster, is now crowded with felons, debtors, lunatics, and
has become a workshop for convicts, an asylum for madness,
a court-house, with its jury-rooms, crown and county halls,
and the labyrinth of offices in which justice so often loses
her way. What a monument this singular building is of the
spirit and condition of past and present times! The hammer
once sounded here, riveting arms,-the culprit now wields it
in forging the most vulgar utensils for the cook or plough-
boy. Once it set at defiance the authority of the state, and
the owner measured all rights by the sword,-now the judge,
with no signs of power but an enormous wig and robe,
administers, we hope impartially, equal laws, to which the
lives and property of all orders are subject. Once it re-
sounded with shouts, the neigh of steeds, the clang of armour,
the joyful tumult of a boundless hospitality,-now the task-
master metes out cheerless labours to the guilty or unfor-
tunate prisoners, and the high orders of society enter it only
to break its silence with the jargon of law or the sentence of
death. That was an age of wild, unrestrained action of our
nature, when society was now shaken by the whirlwinds of
passion, now brightened by flashes of heroic, generous
feeling,-when man was a terror or a glory in his sphere,―
when stronger dependencies and more relentless passions,
more devoted attachments and more desolating feuds, gave
society at once a more delightful and yet a more fearful in-
terest than at present. How various is our nature! How
shall we unite into one social state the virtues, principles,
joys, which have marked its different stages?"
July 13th to 18th. "I am now at Pooley's Bridge, Ulles
Water, and have to look back on days of activity, enjoyment,
and various perceptions and sensations which can hardly be
recalled. Scenes of grandeur, and wildness, and beauty have
passed before my eyes and through my mind so rapidly, that
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[ÆT. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
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I shrink from the task of separating them. My pleasure has
been greatly impaired by the state of my health, fettering me
amidst most alluring objects, checking my ascent of hills,
forbidding me to penetrate depths and moist places, to expose
myself to the damp winds of the lakes, &c. Still I have
enjoyed much.
66
Saturday I spent on Windermere, a lake of great beauty,
the most cheerful of this glorious company, spreading into
wider expanses, seeming less desirous of privacy and solitude,
and encircled with banks less high and precipitous, as if it
wished greater communion with nature. It has more beauty
than any I have seen. It is twelve miles long, and perhaps
three miles in its greatest breadth; but its width generally is
less, so that the opposite banks may be comprehended in one
view, and their projections made to combine with the islands
to give almost an infinite variety to its mild surface. Its
distinguishing charm lies in its finely-marked and varied
outline. Here the land gently swells into the lake, and
there the water seeks a more deep repose in bays or
coves which it has formed by a kindly soliciting influence
from the shore. There are occasionally points of some
boldness, enough to prevent tameness. But the land and
water seem never to have contended for empire. Where
the former advances, it is gradually, not by sharp, angular
projections, but graceful curves, and it clothes itself with
a richer, fresher verdure, as if to shed new glory over
the lake; and when the water encroaches, you might easily
imagine that it was only that it might spread a calm surface
beneath the hills, to reflect more vividly their forms and
hues.
"The islands are numerous, varying in size, and, to one
who sails on the lake, their combinations with one another,
and with the shore, open an almost endless number of chan-
nels, and form mazes of beauty which allure the eye and
stimulate the imagination by partially disclosed scenery and
a mysterious intricacy. These islands and the shores in
general, through culture and the kindness of this moist
climate, are clothed in a robe of rich verdure, and some of
the former are finely wooded, so that the lovely hues of the
reflected heavens and the vernal earth are blended together.
In some parts the shore is almost level with the water, so
that in a calm the line which severs them is lost, and the
spirit of peace which breathes here seems to blend these
1822-1823.]
WINDERMERE.
487
opposite elements into one. At other times it swells gently,
and then more boldly, though I do not recollect a single front-
ing crag. At the northern termination, however, mountains
of a wild grandeur, somewhat softened by distance, rear their
heads, as if by contrast to increase the impression of the
generally peaceful character of the lake. I cannot say, how-
ever, that in the elevations or hills which skirt most of the
lake I saw much beauty, except as they were generally ver-
dant. Their outlines have no peculiar grace. The lake,
too, sometimes resembles a river too much.
“I did not find that the positions which commanded the
widest views, and which are therefore selected as favourite
spots by tourists, were always the best. Wide views seldom
have that harmony on which unity of impression depends,
and the mind suffers from a variety, which gives it a shock
by discords of hues and forms, or at least it dissipates it too
much to allow of the feeling of concentrated joy.
"The day was peculiarly favourable, and, though I sailed
at noon, the prospect was not injured by a glaring or mono-
tonous light. The clouds veiled the sky, but occasionally
parted to throw gleams of lustre on island, shore, or lake;
whilst a gentle intermitting breeze now drew transient,
slowly-moving ripples on the surface of the water, and now
left the element unbroken, as if to fulfil its office of respond-
ing in perfect harmony to the heavens.
•
"The effect of stations depends very much on the light,
and the condition of the atmosphere. The same prospect is
an entirely different thing at sunrise or sunset-under a
warm or a cold sky. I feel that I have done little justice to
the lakes, and the scenery round them, in my hasty view.
To see a fine prospect under one light, is like looking at a
countenance in a single attitude and with one expression.
No wonder that many are disappointed, and that descrip-
tions are given of this country which seem to travellers, who
see it at different seasons, wholly fictitious. Beauty depends
on connexion and harmony. A feature of a prospect, which,
when thrown into shade or softened by mist, gives to its
whole a great charm, may become a deformity, when seen
through a clear atmosphere under a bright sun. I know, as
yet, little of this country's powers and resources in relation to
the imagination, although I have seen enough to delight me,
and make me wish to spend a season here....
"Next we visited Grassmere Water, a sacred spot, a
+
4.
от разни акти
*
£
*
488
[ÆT. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
*
m
seclusion from all that is turbulent and unholy in life. It
was near sunset as we approached this water. We found
ourselves descending a mount called Loughrigg into a valley,
in which reposed this sweet lake, unruffled, smooth, hemmed
in by sheltering mountains. The solemn heights towards the
setting sun showed to us their dark sides reflected with won-
derful distinctness in the still bosom of the lake, within whose
waters they seemed to find even a quieter abode than in the
tranquil heavens into which their tops ascended. This repe-
tition of the dark sides of the mountains threw a solemn
shade over the part of the lake to which the reflection was
confined, whilst beyond this line a mild light, answering to
that of the heavens, and of other mountains, gleamed from
the water, investing it at one moment with various, but not
inharmonious, forms of beauty.
"The effect of this lake on the spirit was immediate, deep,
penetrating the inmost soul, and awakening a feeling of
something profound in one's own nature. Windermere was
tranquil, but it had a cheerful tranquillity. Its genius was
peace, but peace with a smiling aspect, wooing society and
sympathy. Grassmere seemed to be spread out in the moun-
tain recesses as an abode for lonely, silent, pensive meditation,
-for the inspired imagination, which, in still abstraction
from vulgar realities, would give itself up to ideal beauty,—
for the spirit of love, which, wearied with man's strifes and
passions, would meet and commune with a kindred spirit in
nature, for piety to approach God without distraction, to
see him in the harmony, to hear him in the silence of his
creation. The character of this place is that of seclusion,
but not of stern or sorrowful seclusion, congenial with the
mind which injury or disappointment has made impatient or
sick of the world. It invites rather the mild enthusiast, who,
amidst the deformities of life, still sees what is lovely in
human nature, and at a distance from the tumults of society
would resign himself to visions of moral beauty, of perfect
loveliness, and of sublime virtue, unknown on earth,—
who is conscious of the capacities of human nature for
what is good and great, and desires, under the kindliest in-
fluences of the universe, to call forth into new life these
high principles in his own soul.
"On descending to this sweet lake, I felt my spirit stilled,
as if I were throwing off the robe of this world's cares and
passions, and escaping into a region of more than human
1822-1823.]
GRASSMERE.
489
purity and peace, without, however, losing my human sym-
pathies.
"The lake has not left, perhaps, very definite traces of
figure, &c., on my mind, for in such a scene the mind is not
stimulated to analyze. The heart and imagination are too
absorbed for curious observation. It is rather circular, and
wants the multiplied diversities of outline, the points, bays,
recesses of Windermere, and this, perhaps, aids its effect, for
the eye is not excited to wander in search of beauties half
hid in mazy openings. The soul is free to receive an un-
mixed impression from the simple, harmonious scene. When
it is said that the surrounding mountains are bold, some
precipitous, and one of them a rugged steep, seamed with
storms and strewed with rocky fragments, it may seem
strange that the lake can have the character of mild repose
which has been ascribed to it; but, spreading as it does in a
circle, it so parts the surrounding mountains, that they
cannot be grouped as if they bordered a narrower stream,
and thus they become subordinate accompaniments to, in-
stead of being the chief features of, the prospect. Then the
immediate shore of the lake is level and verdant, and blends
singularly with the peaceful water. This is particularly
true with respect to the vale, properly so called, which
spreads between the head of Grassmere and Helm's Crag,
whose surface is almost as unbroken as the lake, and which,
clothed as it is with the freshest verdure, varied by hedge-
rows, and combining with its natural beauty the most affect-
ing tokens of humanity, by its simple cottages and Gothic
churches, communicates an inexpressible character of peace
and benignity, and of gentle and holy sweetness, to the whole
scene. The mountains thus severed from one another, and
rising from so peaceful. a foundation, seem exalted only to
guard the sacred seclusion of the lake from the profanation
of worldly passions, that it may hold pure intercourse with.
the mild and pure sky, which it reflects so tranquilly, with
the glorious sun, and the genial breezes. In such spots we
can hardly help believing in a better existence than this, for
we seem to have entered its confines. A faith springs up,
not the less sincere or unreal because the growth of senti-
ment, a faith in the high purposes of our being, and our
capacity of purer joys than we experience in our ordinary
modes of life.
"There is a melancholy in visiting such scenes as I have
**
****
2
3
490
[ET. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
***
now described; but is this their direct and natural effect,
or does it spring from a silent consciousness of the difference
between our perturbed state and the intense quiet of soul
breathed into us by such a spot? We feel Grassmere to be
a shelter; but a shelter includes the idea of the storms of
passion. Thus a sad sense of our actual being mingles with
aspirations for a higher existence; but this sadness is so
tempered and subdued by the power of the beautiful scene,
that it becomes a tender, grateful, melancholy feeling.
A more delicious state of heart and mind than comes
from those blended emotions is, perhaps, unknown to human
nature.
K
"This country owes its interest chiefly to its mountains,
for without these its lakes would be of little note. These
are the grand features of every scene; they not only cause
the valleys and masses of water, but give them their peculiar
beauty, their tranquil sweetness, or their secluded solemnity.
These mountains surpass all others which I have seen in ex-
pression and spirit. They are, indeed, sometimes fantastic,
but seldom or never tame or heavy. Their outline is, for
the most part, sweeping and graceful, though frequently
broken by craggy precipices and abrupt steeps. They are
not arranged in long lines, but are thrown together in a
bold, irregular style, so that they combine with one another
in endless variety, half concealing each other, giving imagina-
tion scope, and opening labyrinths of sweet valleys. Their
sides present a diversified surface, now fine swells, and then
chasms of furrows, worn by torrents and roughened by pro-
jecting rocks. All these combine to give them an air of
wild grandeur; and the quiet valleys and lakes give an in-
expressible charm, when seen reposing amidst and beneath
these stern and rugged guardians. The calm, still water re-
flecting the mountains, especially when thrown into solemn
shade, has singular power over the mind. Communicating
as it does its own tranquil spirit to the romantic forms which
it receives into its bosom, it seems to manifest a peace-breath-
ing influence which nothing can resist.....
I was not so deeply impressed by any mountain as by
Skiddaw, which is the more remarkable, as having nothing
of the wild character that I have noticed in the other moun-
tains. Its distinction is tranquil majesty. It rises gradually
and with extensive sweeps from the valley, and its outline
is more flowing than that of any of its numberless associates.
1822-1823.1
SKIDDAW.
491
Yet, so bold are the swells on its surface; its valleys, if we
may so call them, open such broad expanses to the eye; its
summits stretch along the horizon with such generous
freedom; and it towers with an expression of such spon-
taneous energy, that, whilst we rest on its mildness with
delight, the mind is dilated with a feeling of its grandeur.
No sublimity is so real as that which makes itself deeply felt.
in union with beauty; just as the highest moral greatness is
that which, whilst it awes by unshaken constancy of principle,
at the same time attracts us by the gentleness of love. Wild
scenes, where power is manifested in desolation, act at first
with great force on the mind, especially on the least refined;.
but power and goodness are congenial, and the highest mani-
festations of power are benignant. The power which re-
veals itself solemnly amidst beauty, by this very circumstance
shows its grandeur, and acquires a more enduring sway over
the soul. I found myself never wearied with Skiddaw. It
lifted my spirit. Scenes of ruin are apt to subdue us; but
the highest forms of sublimity exalt us, by inspiring a con-
sciousness of kindred might. And such was the influence
of this mountain. It made the lake and all surrounding
objects its ministers. The mists were rolling tranquilly over
its summits, partial lights were wandering across its face,
and it seemed in full harmony with the noblest agents and
elements of nature.
•
"There is one most happy effect, which should be par-
ticularly noticed. Distance, the atmosphere, fogs, and various
lights, give to the tops of mountains a visionary, sometimes a
mysterious, character, better felt than described, which forms
a most interesting contrast with the general massiveness of
their foundations. These awful forms seem to be spiritual-
ized as they ascend, till they blend with the pure heavens,.
and sometimes through the thin mist almost melt in air.
This union of the firmness of earth with the ethereal bright-
ness of the skies gives a peculiar charm to mountains. In
fact, they unite remarkably opposite expressions. By their
foundations they seem to sink into the earth, and our
thoughts are carried to its gloomiest depths, whilst their
tops aspire to heaven, and dwell in a region of peace and
splendour. Whilst we are impressed by the huge bulk and
weight of their inert forms, their visionary tops give them:
the appearance of belonging to the pure element in which
they live, of possessing a congenial spirit with the free and
•
5
2
492
[ÆT. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
buoyant air, and of having risen through their own life and
energy to hold communion with the sun.
""
We have already seen the reverent affection with which
Mr. Channing regarded Wordsworth, and it will be readily
understood, therefore, that he joyfully availed himself of this
opportunity to seek an interview with the poet. In a letter
to a sister he thus describes his visit:-
"I could not but think of the amusement I should have
afforded you, could you have taken a peep at me. I had
spent Sunday morning at Grassmere,-one of the sweetest
and most peace-breathing spots under the skies, and in the
afternoon, being unable to attend church, I resolved to visit
Mr. Wordsworth, who resides two miles and a half from the
inn. Unluckily, Grassmere, whilst it supplied the wants of
the imagination and heart most abundantly, could not supply
me with any vehicle for the body more easy or dignified than
a cart, dragged by a horse who had caught nothing of the
grace of the surrounding scene.
"After an interview of great pleasure and interest, I set
out to return, and, unwilling to lose Mr. Wordsworth's society,
I accepted his proposition that we should walk together until
I was fatigued. At the end of half a mile my strength began
to fail, and finding my companion still earnest in conversation,
I invited him to take a seat with me, which he did; and in
this state we re-entered the delightful valley. Happily the
air was mild, and I began to think that Providence, in dis-
tributing lots, had not been so severe as one might at first
be inclined to feel, in limiting multitudes to such a mode of
conveyance; for I enjoyed the fine prospects of Rydal and
Grassmere as I could not have done in a covered carriage.
"You, perhaps, might have promised me the honour of
being introduced with the cart and horse into a ‘lyrical
ballad.' But to me, who, as you know, profess to be greatly
in debt to Mr. Wordsworth's genius, and whose respect and
affection were heightened by personal intercourse, there
seemed a peculiar felicity in riding through this scene of sur-
passing tenderness with a man of genius and sensibility, who
had caught inspiration from the lakes and mountains, in whose
beauty I too had been rejoicing.
"Mr. Wordsworth's conversation was free, various, ani-
mated. We talked so eagerly as often to interrupt one
.another. And as I descended into Grassmere near sunset,
with the placid lake before me, and Wordsworth talking and
1822-1823.]
COLERIDge.
493-
reciting poetry with a poet's spirit by my side, I felt that the
combination of circumstances was such as my highest hopes
could never have anticipated."
Twenty years after this sunset ride, an American traveller
was visiting Wordsworth, when the poet incidentally men-
tioned this interview, and said that one remark then made by
Dr. Channing had remained fixed in his memory, and all the
more deeply from the impressive tone of sincere feeling with
which it was uttered. It was to this effect," that one great
evidence of the Divine origin of Christianity was, that it con-
tained nothing which rendered it unadapted to a progressive
state of society, that it put no checks upon the activity of the
human mind, and did not compel it to tread always blindly
in a beaten path."
From Wordsworth our thoughts are led by an association,
which time and change can never break, to his great compeer,
Coleridge, whom Mr. Channing saw while in London during
the following summer. And as there is nothing in the few
notes of his rapid journey through England of especial interest,
we will pass at once to a brief notice of this visit. Most for-
tunately, we are enabled to enrich our pages with Coleridge's
own record of it, as given in the following letter to Wash-
ington Allston.
"Highgate, 13th June, 1823.
"MY FRIEND:-It was more than a gratification, it was a
great comfort, to all of us, to see, sit, walk, and converse with
two such dear and dearly respected friends of yours as Mr.
and Mrs. Channing.
"Mr. Channing I could not be said not to have known in
part before. It is enough to add, that the reality differed
from my previous conception of it only by being more
amiable, more discriminating, and more free from prejudices,
than my experience had permitted me to anticipate. His
affection for the good as the good, and his earnestness for the
true as the true,-with that harmonious subordination of the
latter to the former, without encroachment on the absolute
worth of either,-present in him a character which, in my
heart's heart, I believe to be the very rarest in earth. If
you will excuse a play on words in speaking of such a man,
I will say that Mr. Channing is a philosopher in both the
possible renderings of the word. He has the love of wisdom
and the wisdom of love.
M
4
494
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
[ET. 42-43.
L
"I was unfortunately absent the first evening. Had they
been prevented from repeating their visit, I should have been
vexed indeed, and yet not as much vexed as I now know I
should have had reason to be. I feel convinced that the few
differences in opinion between Mr. Channing and myself not
only are, but would by him be found to be, apparent, not
real,—the same truth seen in different relations. Perhaps I
have been more absorbed in the depth of the mystery of the
spiritual life, he more engrossed by the loveliness of its mani-
festations."
Mr. Channing had long been an admiring reader of what
Coleridge had printed, and no words are needed to describe
the pleasure with which, in common with all auditors, he
listened to the fascinating monologue of the poet-philosopher,
who had then entered upon certainly the most serene, and
probably the most brilliant, period of his life. It seems, how-
ever, from the foregoing letter, that he conversed enough to
leave a distinct image of himself. Out of this interview arose,
at a later time, a foolish report, to which he once saw fit thus
to refer. The whole matter is, indeed, quite unimportant,
yet some may feel an interest to know the facts.
"I find that certain newspapers have lately circulated a
letter from England, in which the writer gives some details
of an interview with Mr. Coleridge, and which contains the
following passage:—
"I was not a little surprised at his [Mr. Coleridge's]
remarks concerning Dr. Channing of Boston; first, that Dr.
Channing's short character of Bonaparte had its birth-place
and received its shape in his [Mr. Coleridge's] study.'
"I may as well say, in relation to the statement here as-
cribed to Mr. Coleridge, that I can explain it only by sup-
posing the writer of the letter to have misapprehended that
gentleman. I have quite a distinct recollection of my only
interview with Mr. Coleridge, and cannot remember that
Bonaparte was even once named. I am confident that no
remarks on his character, sufficiently interesting to be brought
away, were made to me; for in that case some trace of them
must have remained in my mind. I am the more confident
on this point, because my recollections are confirmed by a
friend who was present."
From England Mr. Channing went to Paris, where he
passed but a few weeks, and then, journeying leisurely through
France, entered Switzerland by the Jura. He was too un-
1
1822-1823.]
SWITZERLAND.
495
well to avail himself freely of the rich opportunities for enjoy-
ment so amply afforded by that most picturesque and romantic
country; but a few extracts from his letters will show that
bodily weakness could not deaden his spiritual energy.
Geneva, Sept. 28, 1822. "I find that I hardly knew the
power of mountain scenery until I came hither, although I
have not seen the noblest of the Alps, for I have not yet
visited Mont Blanc, but only caught glimpses of his snowy
top at a distance, half wrapt in clouds. You probably know
that the mountains of Switzerland are not distinguished by
beauty of form, when taken separately. The storms have
dealt with them too fiercely and too long, to leave them the
fine outline which I have seen in our own country and in
England. Their summits generally are rugged, naked, shat-
tered crags; and you sometimes see the perpendicular, sharp
rocks towering into the skies, above the everlasting snows
which rest on the projecting surfaces beneath. It is not their
harmonious proportion, then, but the air of awful power im-
pressed upon them,-the perilous precipices by which they
are bounded, the boldness with which they send up to heaven
their wild tops, the prodigality and confusion with which
they are scattered around, and the immense glaciers shining,
without apparent change or dissolution, under the summer's
snow,—which subdue the traveller creeping at their foot.
These constitute the deep, solemn, mysterious charm that
attracts the eye to gaze upon these giant forms.
"Do you not envy me the beautiful, magnificent scenery
which is now stretching around me? I shall never forget
the day I spent at Berne. It was Sunday, and in the after-
noon, under a most brilliant sky, I walked on the ramparts,
and hailed with joy, as old friends, the mountains in the
horizon which I had visited a few days before. All that
nature can do to lift us above the sordid and selfish is done
in Switzerland; and who can doubt that where there is a
deep purpose in the soul to elevate itself, much aid may be
derived from the sublimity of the external world? But
without this purpose and inward effort, it can do little for us.
Switzerland has benefited my health more than any other
country. The air has been exhilarating, and I have looked
on the mountains with a delight which almost gave me
strength to climb them.
"It is worth no little suffering to cross the Wingern Alp,
and scale the Grimsel. I had strength for neither. With
•
སི ཏོ ༤ཊྛ ན པ –
+
$
496
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
[ÆT. 42-43.
what desire did I look to the Jungfrau! If I revisit Switzer-
land, one of my great pleasures will be to approach its base.
This country has inspired me. I grew better almost as soon
as I entered it."
The winter months were passed by Mr. and Mrs. Channing
at Florence, Rome, and Naples. But as his letters and
journals-written in haste, debility, and, as we shall presently
see, in affliction-contain no descriptions of scenery or places.
which are particularly note-worthy, we will proceed at once
to extract from his papers some general reflections upon
society, which he seems to have preserved as hints for future
thought. It is scarcely necessary to suggest, that, to one of
his humane spirit, men and manners, the condition of the
masses of the people, the tendency of governments, the in-
fluence of institutions, presented objects of interest far sur-
passing all that beauty in nature and art could offer.
"Has not every state of society a spirit, a unity? Do not
its parts cohere? Can we judge of one habit, one trait of
manners, one institution alone? Must not the system be un-
derstood, the central principles, the great ends to which the
community is working? Are not a nation's whole tone of
manners and cast of institutions the workings and manifesta-
tions of some law of life, combining the whole? Must there
not be a secret accordance between the different parts of a
nation's character and modes of living? Is there as much of
an arbitrary character in these as we are apt to imagine?
Is not the interior life the great thing to be inspected, the
form of human nature which is presented in the given
case? ....
"The art of travelling is, to unite minute observation with
large comparison, with penetrating insight into the spirit of
which visible modes of life are the body. The traveller
should have the power of recognising the common bond,
principle, spring, aim, of the infinitely multifarious agencies
composing what we call a Nation..
•
"We must not depend on a people to show us what is
most worthy of our attention; for they are actually uncon-
scious of what is most important, their own spirit, and the
influences by and from which it has been formed and is kept
alive...
"A great object in travelling is to discover by comparison
what is primary and universal in our nature, to separate the
adventitious, secondary, temporary, to learn the deep prin-
****
1822-1823.]
REFLECTIONS ON SOCIETY.
497
ciples on which all permanent improvements are to rest, to
behold and to love what is human, to shake off our prejudices
in favour of the unessential modifications of our nature, and
to recognise the essential through these modifications.
"To go abroad that we may see the unessential,—new
modes of dressing, eating, bowing, the exterior of man and
life,—is a mere wasting of time. We should go to enlarge
our views of human nature, to learn what it can do and
suffer, to what it is equal, under what influences its powers
are most developed, by what most crushed. The noblest use
of travelling is, to discern more of the godlike in the human;
and are there not marks, in the most degraded condition of
society, of man's true glory? We may see at least some evil
influences withstood, resisted, which shows an inward power
not subdued, nor capable of subjection, by the most adverse
circumstances. This power of seeing vital good is the true
eye for a traveller. To visit distant countries only to collect
mementoes of the deformities of human nature, to fill our
memory with images of the misshapen exterior under which
humanity lies almost hidden, is worse than useless. We
should strive to perceive, beneath the distortions of our
nature, its real shape, its primitive tendencies towards good.
He who travels without learning to love his race more would
do far better to stay at home. It is a poor business to rake
into the corruptions of human nature, unless one believes in
its capacity for restoration, and approaches its defilements
only to cleanse them. A good man should turn from irre-
mediable evils. To love, is our work. . . .
"The intellectual education of the poor is talked of.
Can
the poor, as they are now situated, be taught much? What
ideas does the poor child get in a common school? The true
school of human nature is the sphere opened to its faculties
and affections in our conditions in daily life. A state of
society furnishing to all its members a field of action for the
mind and heart, gives the only true education; and is this to
be looked for anywhere in outward institutions? Is it not
to be found chiefly in the spirit of Christianity spread through
a community, leading its members to a love and reverence of
human nature, and to a regard to human excellence, in their
arrangements for property, &c.? A spirit of self-sacrifice
for common good must be made powerful in the most intelli-
gent and influential. To improve men must be a chief con-
sideration in employing them, and the good of the labourer
VOL. I.
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[ÆT. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
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P
must be regarded, as well as the profit to be drawn from his
toil. So long as this is thought romantic, society can have
no bright prospect of permanent progress..
"We are educating the poor that they may get a living,
forgetting that they have a nature like our own, which can-
not be confined to this end, and which, unless raised to
high and generous ends, will work their own and others"
misery.
“The idea that respectability and a certain rank cohere
and are inseparable, is ruinous now. The true dignity of
human nature is to be learned, and the consistency of this
with very moderate circumstances.
•
"Civil society abounds in restraints on our nature, where
development should be the great aim. How little is now
done to remove barriers to human powers and affections!
The order of society has been thought to demand subordina-
tion, subjection, force, artificial manners, badges of different
castes,-all cramping the soul.
"Fashion is a chain on the soul. It is a yoke laid by
superiors on inferiors, through opinion. It disposes of our
time, attention, powers. It puts the stamp of worth, dignity,
happiness, on actions and conditions, and prevents us from
judging for ourselves. Originating with those who are raised
above natural wants, and in whom the spirit of self-sacrifice
is lost in self-indulgence, it gives currency to factitious,
selfish pursuits and enjoyments. Thus the mind is perverted,
contracted, filled with false views, and grows mechanical,
torpid, lifeless. A society is improved in proportion as indi-
viduals judge for themselves, and from their own experience
and feeling, and not according to general opinion. A man
should look to his own soul to learn what makes him happiest,
and to decide when he is conscious of acting most in harmony
with his whole nature. But how few do so!.
"Genius is a liberating power. It accords with nature,
detects natural feeling in the artificial arrangements of society,
and discerns and enjoys the beautiful and lovely in our
natural affections and moral sentiments. Thus a literature
of genius withstands corruption, brings back higher minds to
nature, counteracts fashion.
"A society is advanced in proportion as human nature is
respected. It is the misery of the present state, that man, as
man, is counted of so little worth. It is man clothed in
purple, dressed in a little brief authority, high-born, rich, &c.,
1822-1823.]
REFLECTIONS ON SOCIETY.
499
who is now considered as deserving power. A just estimate
of human nature, of its purposes, powers, destiny, leading to
general courtesy, respect, and effort for the advancement of
this nature, in each and all,—this is the measure of the pro-
gress of society. When manners, and especially the inter-
course between different classes, express this, society is truly
flourishing.
"The existence of a large class, cut off from the rest of
the community, trained up to ignorance and vice, gross in
manners, in no degree acted upon by other classes, and re-
pressed only by brute force, is a sad feature of civilized
society, and a reproach on more favoured orders. The true
organization of society is that in which all improvements of
the higher are communicated to the lower classes, and in
which intellect and virtue descend and are diffused. And
will anything but Christianity, moulding anew the whole
spirit of the higher classes, bring about this end? ....
"The influence of government is of great importance in
judging of the state of society. A good government is that
which, by manifesting a common, wide, universal care, dif-
fuses a generous, impartial, disinterested spirit. A society is
well organized, whose government recognises the claims and
rights of all, has no favourites, respects humanity in all its
forms, and aims to direct the pursuits of each to the general
good. Such a government implies the existence of a disin-
terested spirit in the community, and greatly strengthens it.
This reaction is the most interesting view in public affairs.
A society makes progress just as far as a disinterested spirit,
influencing the members, is embodied and manifested in
institutions, laws, tribunals, and through these flows back
with new energy to individuals. This is the highest end of
government, its sublime, moral end.
"Liberty is the great social good,-exemption from unjust
restraints, freedom to act, to exert powers of usefulness.
Does a government advance this simply by establishing
equal laws? The very protection of property may crush a
large mass of the community, may give the rich a monopoly
in land, may take from the poor all means of action. Liberty
is a blessing only by setting man's powers at large, exciting,
quickening them. A poor man, in the present state of
society, may be a slave, by his entire dependence. Is it not
the true end of government, to aim at securing for all the
widest field of useful action? This is to establish liberty.
KK 2
500
[ET. 42-43.
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{
How far more important is this than to protect any single
class!..
"The poor, weak, helpless, suffering, are the first objects
for the care of government. Society improves in proportion
as they are protected in the exercise of their rights. These
high views of government, as a sacred institution for elevating
all classes of men, are essential to an exalted community.
Where government is considered as a prize for selfish ambi-
tion, society becomes degraded. . .
"The best condition of society is that in which all ranks,
classes, orders, are intimately connected and associated. The
deformity of present society is the separation of ranks, the
immense disparity, the inhuman distance of different orders.
All men cannot be equal in all respects; but the high should
feel their elevation to be a motive and obligation to labour
for inferiors.
"There must be a body of enlightened, studious men. Let
not these form a party, a faction, but consider their light as
a good given to be diffused, and as a means to maintain an
improving intercourse among all orders. So there will be
rich men; but the rich, instead of herding together, and
linking themselves to one another by common pleasures,
privileges, refinements, ought to regard property as a trust
for the good of those who are in want.
Let there be no
literary class, no class of rich. The learned, when forming
a distinct class, become jealous, exacting, domineering, and
seek to maintain their sway, even at the expense of truth.
Scholars already begin to find the benefit of quitting their
pedantic cells and mingling with general society; but still
they associate too much with rich and refined, still they
seek honour and power. Their high office, of being lights to
society, is overlooked. How the rich injure themselves by a
clannish spirit, corrupting one another by rivalry in show
and expense! Christianity breaks down all these walls of
division between man and man.
""
But the scenery, works of art, institutions, and social
tendencies of the Old World could not wean Mr. Channing's
affections from his home; and the following extracts from his
letters manifest the tender solicitude with which he sought,
while far away, to exert a good influence over his children:—
“London, Aug. 8, 1822. In the first place, I wish my
children to be simple, natural, without affectation. Children
are often injured for life by the notice taken of their move-
1822-1823.] CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN.
501
ments, tones, sayings, which leads them to repeat what draws
attention, and to act from love of observation, instead of
following the impulses of nature.
A child should never be
tempted to put on pretty airs, or to think of itself and its
looks. I have wished my children always to act in a free,
natural, unstudied way, without the idea or desire of being
observed, and, on this account, have been very willing to
keep them out of society, where they might have been taught,
by injudicious notice, to turn their thoughts upon themselves,
and to assume the manners which they would have seen to
attract attention. The charm of infancy is its perfect artless-
ness, and the immediate communication between its feelings
and actions. I would prefer that my children should have
any degree of awkwardness, rather than form an artificial
style of conduct; for the first evil may be outgrown, but
affectation is seldom or never cured.
"The next particular to be mentioned is closely connected
with this. I wish my children to be honest, sincere, and
undisguised, to tell the truth at all perils and under all
circumstances. I have always kept this in sight, endeavouring,
in my whole intercourse with them, to avoid the slightest
appearance of art or disguise. Children must never be de-
ceived. For example, in order to induce them to take medi-
cine, they must never be told that it is less bitter than it is;
nor, to keep them from crying, should things which they want
be slily concealed from them. It is better to let them cry
than to give them a lesson in manoeuvring. I am persuaded
that the artifices of children, which we charge on nature, are
very often imitations of the cunning practices of those about
them. I would have an intercourse of entire frankness esta-
blished with children. They should never have reason to
suspect that there is the least disagreement between our
feelings and outward signs. If we are unwilling to disclose
anything, we should say so, and not use indirect means to
hide it; and we should encourage them to the same explicit-
ness. We should never invite them to express more affection
than they really feel, or to lavish marks of fondness, when
they wish to employ themselves about something else. It is
better that they should seem cold than be insincere. Nor
should they be taught, as a part of politeness, to use lightly
the language of affection. Whenever they give their opinion,
they should be encouraged to do it fully, freely, and not be
tempted to soften or colour it because it may happen to differ
}
502
[ÆT. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
from our own or that of others. They should talk always
from their own minds, and not from other people's. This
transparency in children is undoubtedly sometimes unpleasant.
Yet when connected, as it always should be, with the culture
of the kind affections, it gradually ripens into an ingenuous,
considerate frankness, which expresses the real convictions
of the mind, without inflicting unnecessary pain, and becomes
one of the chief beauties of our social nature.
"Children are taught insincerity in various ways; some-
times by example, sometimes by close questioning, and again
by severity, by capriciousness in their superiors, by finding
that their honest confessions are punished, or, at least, expose
them to wearisome advice," &c.
Florence, Nov. 12, 1822. I told you how earnestly I
desire that my children should be simple and unaffected in
character and manners, and sincere, frank, and undisguised
in language and conduct. I would now add, what it is hardly
necessary to say to you, that I wish my children to be placed
under circumstances and influences most favourable for form-
ing that kind, affectionate, benevolent, disinterested character,
which our religion enjoins so continually and earnestly.
Children should learn to love before they can understand the
meaning of the word. They are put into our hands depen-
dent, helpless, ignorant,-for this very end, that they may
call forth love in our hearts, and that our love may awaken a
corresponding sentiment in them. To nourish in them attach-
ment and affectionate feelings should, in fact, be a leading
object with us in supplying their wants, upholding their
weakness, and relieving their pains.
"For this end, it is of great importance that our treatment
of children should be marked by uniform kindness, unbroken
by inequalities of temper. We have laboured that our children
should never see in us the looks, or hear from us the sounds,
of passion. I am sure that the bad feelings of infancy, which
we charge upon nature, are very often to be traced to the
impatience, and want of self-government, and abuse of power,
in older people; and I have a strong conviction that an
amiable, generous temper, uniformly expressed by those
around them, will prove equally contagious.
"There is, however, a danger of a different kind to be
guarded against. It is possible, by injudicious fondness, to
nourish selfishness instead of love in our children. They
may be so treated, as to imagine that all around them are
*
1822-1823.]
CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN.
503
living chiefly for their gratification, and to expect all to be
subservient to them,-a mode of treatment, perhaps, worse
even than severity. To prevent this, they must see that,
whilst they are loved tenderly, they are not loved blindly
and without judgment; and they must see, too, that others
are loved as well as themselves, and that they are expected,
as they have ability, to serve and benefit those around them.
They should never imagine for a moment that their own
happiness is more important than that of older persons, or
their rights, interests, and feelings more sacred; but they
should early learn the essential equality of human beings,
and the respect due to human nature in every condition.
They must not acquire an idea of their own singular impor-
tance, by seeing that all arrangements refer to them, by great
attention in company, or by being allowed to command others
for services which they can render themselves; nor must self-
will and an imperious temper be encouraged, by granting to
their obstinate, importunate, loud demands, what a wise affec-
tion would not yield to their first requests. Disinterested-
ness, forgetfulness of self, living for others,-this is a primary
end in education.
"Yet too much is not to be expected at first. Children
at first are selfish,-if so hard a word may be used,-by
necessity, and innocently; for their own pleasures and pains
are the only ones of which they have any notion. They
very slowly learn that others feel as keenly as themselves.
They must, therefore, gradually have their minds turned to
others' feelings, and be taught to place themselves in others'
situations. Their own sufferings, instead of calling forth in
their attendants an excessive tenderness, which would only
make them cowardly and effeminate, should be used to pro-
duce sympathy with others in the same circumstances. In
like manner, their attention should be gradually turned to
disinterested actions and generous sentiments in others, which
they are capable of comprehending; and they should always
hear these spoken of with unaffected delight. Until, by such
methods, a spirit of self-sacrifice is in some measure excited,
children should not be urged to express it in action; nor
should profession of it ever be required, lest their kindness
become tainted with insincerity. I conclude, as I began,
with saying, that the best way of teaching children love is
by example. Let them see that it is common for people to
live for others rather than themselves, and then they will not
think that disinterestedness is a superhuman effort.
The
4
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вак во друг проти за нов дом порно худо
݂ܵܕܪ
}
1
1
C
504
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
[ÆT. 42–43.
4
*******
"There is another subject, closely connected with this, on
which I wish to add a few lines; I mean self-government.
The hardest task for children, as for ourselves, is to govern
the appetites, to restrain wishes, to give up what is pleasant;
and this task is to be lightened by preserving them, as far as
we can, from immoderate desires. Self-restraint, which is
hard at first, becomes impossible when the appetites are in-
flamed by studied indulgence, by a thousand delicacies and
stimulants, &c. Those children are happiest, and best pre-
pared for generous efforts, whose natural, simple wants are
gratified by simple means, who are accustomed to plain food,
and are left to find pleasure in the exercise of their own limbs
and powers, instead of having their wishes anticipated and
multiplied by misplaced kindness. Children are continually
corrupted and enslaved to their appetites by bad example, by
seeing older people giving great importance to pleasures of
sense, and living to gratify factitious wants. In this way,
they come to think a thousand superfluities essential; their
wants become insatiable, and, instead of living for others, they
are perpetually pursuing, with a feverish, irritable eagerness,
unsubstantial pleasures for themselves.'
""
Such was the watchful care with which he endeavoured to
surround his little girl and boys with gentle and purifying
influences. But one of them was never to learn on earth the
riches of a parent's love. Almost while he was writing the
last lines, his youngest son had died. He received the in-
telligence of this calamity on his arrival at Rome, and nothing
could have been more beautiful than his acquiescence in this
irreparable loss. The same letters which conveyed the sad
tidings, announced also that a beloved sister-in-law had been
taken away; and, in his reply, he thus touchingly speaks of
the twofold bereavement :-
Rome, Dec. 18, 1822. I reached this place yesterday,
and found here the package of letters containing the melan-
choly accounts of W.'s loss and of my own. I am afflicted
indeed. God has visited me with the heaviest loss I can ex-
perience, save one. My sweet, lovely boy! Is he indeed
gone? and am I no more to see that smile which to me and
to his mother was like a beam from heaven? He was a
most gentle creature. I can remember his occasional cries
of distress, but never one of passion. My health did not
allow me to carry and play with him, as I had been in the
habit of doing with my other infants; but when I was
66
Sl
1822-1823.]
DEATH OF HIS SON.
505
amusing myself with Mary and William, he would creep to
me and climb up into my lap, and win from me, by his be-
nignant smile, the notice which I was giving to them. The
accounts we had received of him before this last sad news
were most encouraging, and we were anticipating the happy
moment when we should take him to our arms and press him
to our hearts with a delight he had never given us before.
And he is gone! and when we return, if that blessing is
in store for us, we shall look for him in vain! O, the void
in a parent's heart, when a child is taken, you do not know!
and may you never know it! You are a mother; and, to a
mother, the pang is what a father seldom feels. I think
much more of my wife than of myself, her feelings on the
subject of our children have been so keen..
(
'Do not think, my dear, from what I have written, that I
am in danger of dejection. I suffer; but I have never for-
gotten that my child belonged to another and better parent,
and was made for a higher state than this. I am sure that
he was equally the care of God in death as in life. I cannot
believe that the necessary means of educating an immortal
spirit are confined to this world. I remember that comfort-
ing scripture, 'Of such is the kingdom of Heaven;' and my
hope is, that my child has gone to live under a more intimate
connexion than we can now conceive with Him who took
little children into his arms and blessed them. Nor do I be-
lieve that the relation of parent and child is dissolved by
death. In the whole progress of our future being, we must
always, I think, look back with peculiar interest on the mo-
ment when we began to be, and must, I think, distinguish
with some peculiar emotion those who, under Providence,
brought us into life, and who welcomed and loved and che-
rished us in our first helplessness with intense and unwearied
affection. Death is not that wide gulf between us and the
departed which we are apt to imagine. Francis, Ann,
my child, and our beloved Barbara, are gone from us; but
are not lost to us.
"At the mention of Barbara's name, I feel as if I had
been unjust in dwelling so long on my more immediate afflic-
tion. I know no greater bereavement than W.'s. I would
speak of my own loss in Barbara's death, but that his so
much surpasses it. She was one of the loveliest of women.
and best of wives. All the graces and virtues were joined
in her so harmoniously, her excellence was so singularly un-
¿
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}
·
.506
[ÆT. 42-43.
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{
alloyed, so far from the mixtures and defects which we have
to lament in most of our friends, that I dwell on her with a
peculiar complacency. Seldom does a gentler, purer, more
benignant, more disinterested spirit, take its flight from earth
to heaven. Her countenance, conversation, life, sent forth a
sweet and blessed influence. And she, too, is gone, and I am
to see this lovely and beloved sister no more on earth!”
And again to his mother he thus writes, under date of
January 2d, 1823:-
"Of our dear boy we had heard nothing but good, and
his loss was a blow as unexpected as it was heavy. He was
a treasure worth more to us than the world. His sweet,
gentle temper not only made him a present blessing, but
encouraged us to hope that he would need only the mildest
influences to sway him to goodness, and that he would make
us the happiest returns of love for our parental care. To
part with this lovely, smiling, innocent boy, to whom we
hoped to do so much good, and whose attachment and pro-
gress we imagined were to brighten our future lives, this is
indeed to be bereaved.
66
•
expressed a fear that I should suffer in health by
the sad news from home. No! even had I not the supports
of Christian principle, I should find motives enough in my
situation and affections for watching over my health. I feel
my distance from home more deeply than ever, and have
hardly a thought or a wish, as regards this world, but of re-
turning to it; and knowing, as I do, that this depends on
recovering my strength, I am almost too solicitous in using
the means to this end. . . . . It is true that all the symptoms
of my old maladies have not disappeared, nor will they, I
apprehend, for a long time, if ever. But I trust that a life
of moderate effort in my profession, together with regular
exercise, will not only preserve, but gradually augment, my
strength; and this hope gives me a cheerfulness and grati-
tude very necessary in my present circumstances.
•
"You and my mother Gibbs have suffered much by our
late domestic trials. Our absence seems to us a great evil,
by depriving us of the opportunities of rendering those offices
of filial love, of which we never knew the full value until we
were parents ourselves. It is our constant prayer, that God
would preserve you both, and would increase our power of
contributing to your happiness. Absence has endeared all
our friends to us, but none more than our parents. I some-
Va
I
•
1822-1823.]
507
times wonder, now, that we were capable of tearing ourselves
from you all. In a world so transient and uncertain, a year
seems too much time to be spent at a distance from one's
home. Do give the assurances of my love to all our dear
circle. I cannot begin to name the friends to whom I wish
to send affectionate remembrance. I am too rich in these
blessings to be able to count them, and distance only makes
them more precious.
DEATH OF HIS SON.
"Your affectionate son."
And, finally, in his journals, he thus communes with his
own spirit and with God:-
“Rome, Jan. 1823. How unavailing is foresight in the
most important transactions of life! We would lengthen
life for our children, and they are taken before us.
We lay
deep plans of future usefulness, and, whilst gathering the
means, we lose the beings on and for whom we would
expend them. We waste the present for a future which
never comes. We go to foreign countries for health, and
there perhaps lay our bones, or hear of the death of those
with whom we were to enjoy the health we seek. Let us
not be too wise and provident, but use the means of happi-
ness and usefulness God gives, instead of throwing them
away in the pursuit of more. Exile from home, from the
sphere of action marked out for us by God, is one of
the greatest evils of life, and should not be encountered
lightly.
In the moment of affliction, the thought sometimes comes
to us with an almost overwhelming vividness of our entire
dependence. The hour which has taken one blessing can
take more.
All our possessions begin to tremble, when one
very dear is taken. The loss of one child makes prominent
the frailty of all. The bloom of health fades as we look upon
it. O, how desolate we may be made in a moment! and how
wretched would be our condition, if the Power which disposes
of us were not benevolent!
"When I think of my child, of its beauty and sweetness,
of the tenderness he awakened, of the spirit which God had
breathed into him, and which had begun to develop itself,
I cannot doubt that he was the care of God in death, as in
life. He was made for God; had he lived, my chief duty
would have been to direct him to that Infinite Good,-and
has he not now gone to Him from whom he came? Is it
not a most interesting view of death, that it removes in a
*
¿
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508
[ET. 42-43.
EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
great degree the intermediate provisions, the external means
by which God communicates benefits, and thus places us in
a more immediate and visible connexion with him? Is it
not the happiness of heaven, that spirits see God, not only as
reflected in his works, but face to face? God used our arms
to sustain our child; has he not taken him to a world where
he will lean more immediately on his own?
"When I consider how interesting a moment the begin-
ning of existence is to a reasonable being, how infinite the
abyss between non-existence and existence, I feel that we
must always look back to the moment and circumstances of
our birth with peculiar emotions, and that the beings to
whom, under God, we owed our life, who were the instru-
ments of Providence in giving us bodily existence and
watching over the feeble spark, who were the first to welcome
and to love us, must always seem to be among our chief
benefactors. Will not the parental relation thus be a bond
of union, a source of happiness, for ever? The foundling
sighs to know his parents with eager and burning desire.
Is not this filial affection an instinct of the rational and moral
nature which will act through all the future?
“Our child is lost to our sight, but not to our faith and
hope,—perhaps not to our beneficent influence. Is there no
means of gratifying our desire of promoting his happiness?
The living and dead make one communion. 'Why born
only to die?' Birth establishes a connexion with the human
His birth made our boy one of a great spiritual family,
and intimately united him with a few. Will not his eternal
being be influenced by this connexion?
race.
"We were not permitted to render the last kindnesses!
There is, too, a pleasure, if it may be so called, in seeing
the gradual decay and extinction of life; for we seem more
easily to follow the spirit into another state, by thus bearing
it company to the verge of this. There is not that sense of
darkness in the gradual fading of the light as in its imme-
diate extinction."
“Is it true, that the suggestions of affliction, the views
which seem to open on the distressed spirit, are fallacious,
the offspring of a diseased mind? When is the mind most
diseased? In the intoxication of prosperity, or the solemn
hour of adversity? When does the soul enter most deeply
into itself?-when understand its true end and happiness?
-when send forth the purest, highest desires? The false
1822-1823.]
509
splendours of this world hide the glories of a better. The
light from above is seen first, perhaps, when that below
grows dim..
BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS.
"The loss of a child is, indeed, one of the greatest which
a mortal can experience,—the loss of an object of such
tender love, of a being possessing the noblest powers, which
we had hoped to see unfolding beneath our care, to whom
we had longed to do more good than to any other being,
and from whom we had anticipated receiving the most con-
soling and rejoicing returns of love. Surely the affections
excited by the parental relation bear a resemblance to those
by which God is united to his creatures."
How much the vivid sense of his own loss, and the depth
of love thus opened in his heart towards his children, added
warmth to the reverent gratitude by which he was bound to
his mother, appears by the following letter.
“ Florence, April 7, 1823. When you look at the date of
my letter, you will see that I am writing you on my birth-
day; and, on this day, to whom could I write with so much
reason as to you?-for to you, as well as to me, it is a
memorable period. When I think of the beginning of my
existence, how natural is it that my thoughts should turn to
one whose kindness towards me then commenced, and who
has given me through my whole life proofs of increasing
love! I can hardly suppress my tears, as I feel the tender
relation which my birth established between us; and now
that I am so far from you, while I remember your declining
years, it is consoling to me to reflect, that, amidst many
deficiencies, I have not proved wholly insensible to the claims
of your affection.
"On this day, I feel that I have cause to give God thanks
for the blessing of existence. My life, though no exception
to the common lot, though chequered with good and evil,
has, on the whole, been singularly favoured. Without any
care or forethought of my own, my outward condition has
been almost too favourable, and the comforts of life have
been multiplied upon me, not only beyond my hopes, but
beyond my wishes. As to those best blessings of this world,
friends worthy of love, I know not who has been richer than
I; and as to the chief crowning good, not only of this, but of
the life to come, I mean religion, I seem to myself to have
been placed in circumstances highly favourable, at least, to
the understanding of the Christian faith in its greatest
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purity. How far I have practised it, with what feelings I
review my conduct, and the progress of my character,-
these are topics on which silence is wisdom. To another
Being I have to render my account; and our poor, weak,
sinful nature can hardly look back on a life as long as my
own without emotions which can be fitly uttered to Him
alone."
The wanderer's face was now turned again to his native
land. He had faithfully sought renewed health by rest, and
travel amidst interesting scenes; he had enjoyed and learned
as much of good as, in his bodily and mental condition, he
was capable of receiving; and now he was free to return;
and he thus alludes to the deep satisfaction with which he
looked forward to a reunion with his friends:-
"Need I say with what pleasure I write to you from this
place? Florence is on my way home, and though I am
still very, very far from you, the thought of making some
progress towards you is an inexpressible consolation.
Return seems almost too great a happiness to be antici-
pated.
"I have said nothing of the feelings with which I turn
towards home. My heart swells within me as I approach
this subject. And why should I speak of it? Need I say
where my affections cling?-how my heart yearns for the
native land I have left?-how you are remembered in my
prayers by night and by day?-O, no! My dear mother,
once more, farewell!
May your life and health be spared!
May we meet again!"
On the last day of his voyage to America, he made these
entries in his journal:-
"I have just seen land. Blessed be God! In a few
hours I hope to meet my friends. What thanks are due!
Let me now, on approaching shore, humbly purpose in God's
strength, that I will strive to do his will more perseveringly,
to be more useful, watchful, temperate, kind, devout, than
ever before."
(C
"I am returned to my friends; let me be more to them
than I have yet been, more attentive, thoughtful, social, seek-
ing their cheerfulness, interesting myself in their concerns.
Especially let me be more to my mother."
The following letter to a sister will best show his feelings
after his return:-
*
1822-1823.]
RETURN HOME.
511
"MY DEAR L.:-How happy I am to write to you again
from my beloved home! Join with me in gratitude to our
merciful Father, who has guarded me and our dear R-
by sea and land, and brought us back to you all. We did,
indeed, see and feel, on our return, that we had been visited
by an irreparable calamity, and for a moment our loss almost
made us forget the blessings which are spared to us. But I
am now awake as I never was before to their number and
value. My happiness has been almost overpowering, too
great to endure in a world made up of changes, and too great,
I know, for the purposes of Providence towards me. My
health is very much improved; and the voyage, from which I
anticipated the prostration of my whole system, proved very
beneficial. Among my many blessings was the good account
I received of
you and yours:"
And on the Sunday after his arrival, he thus poured out
the fulness of his heart.
"Those of you, my hearers, who have travelled abroad,
and left far behind, and for a long time, home, friends,
familiar haunts, spheres of usefulness, and employments con-
genial to your tastes,-you can understand the fervent grati-
tude which glows in my heart to-day. True, the moment of
return to one's native land does not bring unmixed happiness;
for too often we re-enter our long-forsaken dwellings only to
miss cherished objects of affection, to see the hand of time
pressing heavily on our earliest, oldest friends, to receive sad
answers respecting acquaintances, to revive griefs in those
who have been called to mourn in our absence, and thus to
have the solemn lesson of life's changes brought with new
power to our minds. Still, the moment of return after a long
and distant separation is, though not without tears, most
blessed. To set foot once again on our native shore, where
we grew up, and where our best affections have taken root,-
to re-enter the abodes where the tenderest ties were formed,
and have gathered strength,-to feel ourselves once more at
home, that spot over which the heart throws a light such as
shines nowhere else upon earth,—to see again the counte-
nances of friends whose forms have gone with us in memory
through distant regions,-to feel the embrace of those arms
on which we have leaned in our past hours of sorrow and
pleasure, to read in the eyes of those around us a love, which
no kindness of strangers can ever express,-to exchange the
constraints, reserves, suspicions, which can hardly be shaken
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off in foreign lands, for the sweet confidence, the free and
full communion, the opening of the heart, which belong to
domestic life,-to know that the lives for which we have
trembled, the beings in whose existence our chief earthly
happiness is centred, are safe,-O, this is joy! joy such as
blooms rarely in this imperfect state. To this hour of return
my mind has pressed forward ever since I left you. Amid
the new and glorious scenes through which God has led me,
amid matchless beauties of nature and wonders of art, my
own dear country has risen before me with undiminished in-
terest and brightness. And invisible ties have reached across
the ocean, growing stronger by distance, and welcoming me
back to the loves, the friendships, the joys, the duties, the
opportunities of home."
END OF VOL. I.
Savill & Edwards, Printers, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden.

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