BAC CALAU1REATE
SERMONS,
AND
OCCASIONAL DISCOURSES,
BY
MARKE HOPKIINS, D. D.
PRESIDENT OF WILLIAIS COLLEGE.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1862.








C O N TEN T S.
BACCALAUREATE SERMONS:
1850. Faith, Philosophy, and Reason.
1851. Strength and Beauty.
1852. Receiving and Giving.
1855. Perfect Love.
1856. Self-Denial.
1857. Higher and Lower Good.
1858. Eagles' Wings.
1859. The Manifoldness of Man.
1860. Nothing to be Lost.
1862. The Living House, or God's Method of Social Unity.
ADDRESS before the Society for Promoting Collegiate Education at
the West.
DISCOURSE commemorative of Amos Lawrence.
DIscouRsE before the Congregational Library Association.-God's
Provisions and Man's Perversions.
MISSIONARY SERMON.-The Promise to Abraham.
SERMON at the Dedication of the New Chapel, connected with
Williams College. —Religious Teaching and Worship.








FAITtH, PHIILOSOPHY, AND REASON.
A
BACCALAIIUREATE SERMON,
DELIVEItED AT
-WILLIAMSTOWN   l MSo
AUGUST 18, 1850.
BY  MARK  HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
SECON]) EDITrON.
B OST O N:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRTESS S'L'EET.
1859.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850,
BY T. R. MAItVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




S ERMON.
HEBREWS xI. 33, 34.
WHO THROUGH FAITH SUBDUED KINGDOMS, WROUGHT RIGHTEOUSNESS,
OBTAINED PROMISES, STOPPED THE MOUTHS OF LIONS, QUENCHED THE
TIOLENCE OF FIRE, ESCAPED THE EDGE OF TIHE SWORD, OUT OF WEAKNESS WERE MADE STRONG, WAXED VALIANT IN FIGHT, TURNED TO
FLIGHT THE ARMIES OF THE ALIENS.
THE word'hero,' does not occur in the Bible.  Nothing
can be more opposite to its spirit than that self-sufficiency,
and recklessness of human rights and sufferings, which are
commonly associated with this term.  Still, there are no
higher examples of a true heroism than the Bible presents.
In the text, and the chapter fiom which it is taken, we have
an account of great and heroic exploits, performed indeed in
ancient times, but such as we should be glad to see emulated,
such as ought to be emulated in the midst of the light and
advantages of our day. We have a right to expect, as the
stream of time rolls on and pours its accumulated wealth at
the feet of new generations, that there shall not only be an
increase in the knowledge of nature, but that there shall be,
at least, no failure in the breadth and compass of a comprehensive wisdom, or in the might of a true manhood that is
ready to do and to suffer in the cause of humanity and of
God.
But not only may we expect this; it is also intimated by
the Apostle that it is expected and watched for by those who




have gone before us. He represents, in the opening of the
succeeding chapter, those worthies and veterans who had
finished their own course, as gathered into a vast assembly,
forming " a cloud of witnesses," and watching with intense
interest the bearing of those who follow them. ("Seeing
then," says he, " that we are compassed about with so great
a cloud of witnesses, let us run with patience the race that is
set before us."
This race, my friends of the Graduating Class, I would
now invite you to run.  You are especially called upon to
emulate the example of the great and good,-to do deeds
that shall not only cause joy on earth, but shall send a new
thrill through the vast assembly of those who have gone
before you.
But if you are to do the deeds of these ancient heroes,
you must be girded with the same armor, be controlled by
the same principle, must have the same prize in your eye,
and be sustained by the same power. Fruitful as the nineteenth century has been in inventions, it yet furnishes none
for making great and good men. The great tree must grow
now from the same earth, and under the same sun, and by
the same processes and ministrations of dew and rain and
storms, as the great tree of old; and so, now, as of old, must
the life and might of true greatness be drawn from the same
fountains, and work themselves out by essentially the same
processes.  Were these deeds performed of old only by
faith? then only by faith will they be performed now.
What then is Faith? Avowed by Christianity as its peculiar principle of action, ridiculed by the philosophers, is it
indeed some new, or peculiar, or blind, or fanatical principle? Or is it one of those grand and universal principles
which underlie human action, which are necessary to true
heroism, to a right philosophy, to individual and social perfection, and which must, in the progress of light, come more




and more into distinct recognition and general acknowledgment?
Whatever faith may be, it must be conceded that the
accounts given of it by its advocates have been neither uniform  nor consistent.  It has been said to be simple belief,
founded on evidence, and not differing from any other belief;
to be belief in testimony; to be belief for reasons not derived
from intrinsic evidence; to be a belief on the ground of probable, as distinguished from demonstrative evidence; to be a
belief in things invisible and supernatural; to be a trust;
and more recently, and transcendentally, it has been said to
be an organ of the soul by which it becomes cognizant of the
invisible and the supernatural.
To some, this diversity of statement may seem to indicate
that there can be nothing in faith very definite or important.
To me it indicates the reverse; for while men do certainly
differ about things which are indefinite and obscure, yet it is
also found that they come latest, if at all, to the investigation
of those principles which are the most intimate and essential,
and that they are nowhere less likely to come to a uniform
and satisfactory result.  As in mathematics the truths that
are most nearly intuitive are the last and the most difficult to
be demonstrated, so here the principles and processes which
are so essential that they seem inwoven into our being, are
the last to be investigated and the most difficult to be satisfactorily explained. Men are no better agreed what reason
is, or what personal identity consists in, than they are what
faith is; and yet, as those who think wrongly on these subjects may, and do, exercise their reason, and continue the
same persons precisely as they would if they thought rightly,
so those who make different statements in regard to faith, all
exercise faith, and receive the benefits of faith, in precisely
the same way.
That the term faith may not be used loosely and popularly,




to designate the ideas just mentioned, and also others, I would
not say; but the inquiry now is, What, generically, and specifically, is that Faith upon which the Bible insists as essential to salvation, and by which the great deeds it records were
performed? Can this faith be so defined that our idea of it
shall be distinct, that it shall harmonize with philosophy and
with reason, and that it shall be adequate to the great offices
assigned to it in the Bible?
I propose in the following Discourse, first, to answer these
inquiries; and secondly, to speak of the offices of faithmore particularly, as adapted to this occasion, of its office as
a principle of action to be adopted by every young man.
The generic definition of faith which I would propose, is,
that it is confidence in a personal being. Faith lives and
moves and has its being only in the region of personality.
Whatever we may believe respecting things visible or invisible, on any other ground than our confidence in a personal
being, does not seem to me to be faith. It implies the
recognition of a moral nature, and a conviction of the trustworthiness of the being possessed of such a nature.
This definition of faith implies a division of this universe
into two departments, that of persons, and that of things;
and, in connection with this division, will give us a clear
distinction between philosophy and faith. The sphere of
faith is the region of personality, that of philosophy is the
region of things. Each of these spheres addresses our sensibilities and calls for investigation, but in accordance with
its own nature and laws.
By things, are called forth in the region of sensibility, the
emotions of beauty, of sublimity, and of admiration; by
persons, in addition to these, confidence, affection, passion.
In her investigations in the department of things, philosophy is concerned, not with all knowledge, but chiefly with




resemblances in those things that exist together, and with
uniformities in those that exist in succession.  These are the
basis of all classification, of all inductive reasoning-and it
is through these that we get all our ideas of physical order
and law.
Philosophy presupposes a knowledge of things as they
exist separately. This being given, she neglects all individual
peculiarities, and proceeds to group them according to their
resemblances, and to give them collective names. In doing
this she acquires for man power, and practical guidance,
because a resemblance in external signs denotes a resemblance
in essential properties.  This gives value to the signs of
nature, and shows that in the department of resemblances
she is constituted on the basis of truth.
But not only does philosophy notice resemblances in beings
and phenomena that exist together, she also notices uniformity of succession; and is thus enabled to foretell the future,
and to act wisely with reference to it. She believes in a uniformity of succession according to the order that is established.
She investigates the laws in accordance with which this
succession moves on. As among things that exist together,
she knows nothing of individual peculiarities, so in phenomena that exist in succession, she knows nothing of exceptions,
and admits with great reluctance, or not at all, that such
exceptions really exist.
Such, except as she may be said to investigate causes, is
philosophy. She stands in the centre of things that co-exist,
and passes onward and outward to the farthest star, stepping
more or less firmly as the resemblances, by which alone she
proceeds, are more or less perfect; she stands at the present
point in things that succeed each other, and binds the future
to the past by what she conceives to be an inexorable law.
But it may be inquired whether philosophy does not
extend to the domain of mind.  Yes, so far as mind is a




8
thing, and hence under the law of an absolute uniformity,
but no farther.  The moment a personal being is placed
under that law of nature by which that which follows is
necessarily the product of that which precedes, personality
ceases, and you have mere nature-a thing. The very idea
of that necessary uniformity upon which philosophy is based,
precludes that of personality.  It also precludes the idea
of faith; for whatever we may believe without the range
of personality, and on whatever grounds, there is always
wanting that element which enters into faith by which a
person may be said not only to have confidence, but to be
confiding.
The sphere of faith, as opposed to that of philosophy, is,
as I have said, the region of personality. Here we find
affections, and a moral nature, and a free-will. In the sphere
of things we deal with similarities, and uniformities of succession, and laws, and do not necessarily know anything
back of these. We may indeed refer them all to a personal
agent, but for the grounds of our belief we are not necessitated to go beyond the uniformities and laws themselves.
We have in these nothing of the great element of character.
But in our dealings with personal beings, whatever ground
we may have for belief, either of what they say, or of what
they will do, must be found, not in any law, not in any
unvarying uniformity conceived of as necessary, but in the
character of the personal being. This is an element entirely
different from any found in the sphere of philosophy, and it
is upon this that faith fixes. This is the grand peculiarity of
faith; it is confidence in a personal being. Like belief, it
admits of degrees. As the highest form of belief is certainty, so the highest form of faith is such a confidence in
the character of any being as will lead us to believe whatever he may say because he says it, and to commit implicitly
into his hands every interest of our being.




And as that without us which calls forth faith, is so different fr'om that which is the basis of philosophy, so, it may be
remarked, is that within us which is brought into action also
different.  Doubtless the nature of man is preconformed to
the state into which he is to come, and as he naturally conforms himself to the uniformities of nature, so does he,
though by a diff-rent principle, naturally confide in those to
whom  his being is intrusted.  It is not to be supposed that
that feeling of confidence with which the infant looks up
into the eye of its mother, with which the new formed angel
must look up to his God, is the same as that by which he is
adapted to the blind and unvarying movements of nature.
It is not to be supposed, as these two great spheres of persons and of things are so distinct, that our nature should not
be equally preconformed to each.
If the spheres of faith and of philosophy be thus distinct,
it will be obvious that they can come into conflict only at a
single point. A personal being may make assertions about
facts that lie within the domain of philosophy, and these
assertions may seem  to conflict, and may conflict, with evidence respecting those same facts derived from philosophy.
But in such a case man is not left to the alternative of a
blind faith or a presumptuous philosophy. His reason is to
decide.  By this he is to ascertain, on the one side, that a
personal being has spoken, what he has said, what means he
had of knowing the truth, and what confidence is to be
placed in his character. On the other side, he is to inquire
whether he knows all the facts and their relations, and is
sure of his inferences.  If, after this, there shall seem to be
a conflict, or a contradiction, reason must strike the balance,
and say whether, under the circumstances, it is more rational
to put confidence in a personal being, or to believe in facts
and deductions for which we have another species of evidence. Reason recognizes both these grounds of belief; and'
2




10
she, and she only, can decide in cases of apparent conflict
between them.
Having thus considered the relations of faith and philosophy, let us now look at those of faith and reason.
It is strange with what pertinacity the opponents of Christianity have insisted that there is, and must be, a conflict
between these; and how readily many advocates of Christianity have assented to this view. So far has this been carried, that a recent and much-lauded article in the Edinburgh
Review  is entitled, "Reason and Faith; their claims and
conflicts." But such conflict is by no means to be admitted.
There is just as much opposition between reason and faith,
as there is between reason and philosophy, and no more.
If we regard reason as giving us only intuitive and necessary truths, then it will act equally in the domain of philosophy and of faith, and there can be no opposition between
either of them; unless, indeed, a personal being should
assert an absurdity. But if, as is more common, we regard
reason as comprising what is rational in man,-those high
attributes by which he is distinguished from the brutes, and
which must enter into, and preside over, every legitimate
act and process of the mind,-then, the sphere of faith and
philosophy being different, there can be no conflict between
reason as employed in the sphere of philosophy, and as
employed in the sphere of faith.  Reason presides over
both spheres, and can therefore be in conflict with neither.
The only possible question is, whether we may, in any
case, just as rationally reach conclusions and grounds of
action by that process which we call faith, as we can by that
which we call philosophy. But on this point there can be
no question. We act as necessarily and as legitimately with
reference to personal beings by faith, as we do in reference
to things by a belief in the uniformity of nature. It is just




as rational for a man to have confidence in the character and
consequently in the word of a personal being, as it is for him
to believe in the facts of observation or experience or in those
forms and systems of knowledge deduced from these which
are called philosophy. It may, perhaps, be found to be quite
as reasonable to believe a fact because it is asserted by God,
as to believe one because it is inferred by ourselves, or even
as to believe a fact made known to us by those senses which
God has given us.
Is there not then such a thing as faith that is not in
accordance with reason? Certainly, just as there are inferences and philosophies that are not in accordance with reason, and perhaps it would be difficult to say whether there
has been more folly and absurdity under the name of faith
or of philosophy.  My reason tells me that I may confide
in the facts given me by my senses, that I may classify these,
and build up a system of knowledge which we call philosophy. Under this impression, men have built up systems of
philosophy which we can now see were exceedingly irrational and foolish, but this does not show that there is any
conflict between reason and philosophy; but only that reason
is not infallible in this department. My reason also, all that
is rational within me, tells me that I may, and ought, sometimes to confide in personal beings, and that such confidence
is a rational and sufficient ground of knowledge and of
action. We may, indeed, here repose confidence where we
ought not, and receive irrational dogmas, and submit to
useless or ridiculous rites; but this would only show that
reason is not infallible in this department.
So far then from separating faith from reason and bringing
them into possible and actual conflict, we would say that the
sphere of faith is one of the two great spheres over which
reason presides, and that faith itself is one of the great and
indispensable methods in which reason is manifested. It is




12
a libel upon religion to say that it requires a blind faith, or
any other than a rational faith, or that it requires us to
believe any thing which it is not more rational to believe
than it would be to disbelieve it.  There is no tendency in
faith to a blind belief. It does not say, and has no tendency to say,'I believe because it is impossible.'  That is
mere Quixotism and folly. Faith may, indeed, take hold of
the hand of a father, and be willing to step where it does not
see; but then she is willing thus to step, only because she
has a rational ground for believing that her father will lead
her right.  Christianity discards and repudiates altogether,
any faith that can come into conflict with reason.
This view of faith gives it a definite sphere, it shows distinctly its relations both to philosophy and to reason, and
removes fiom  it all that mysterious or mystical appearance
which has sometimes been thrown around religious faith.
As an exercise of the mind it is, generically, no way different
from that to which we are constantly accustomed.  When a
child follows implicitly the directions of its father, when a
client puts his case into the hands of an advocate, there is
an element in the act: that is different from simple belief; it
is an element that puts honor upon the father and the advo,
cate. This is faith. Faith, then, generically, is confidence
in a personal being. Specifically, religious faith is confidence
in God, in every aspect and office in which he reveals himself.  As that love:of which God is the object, is religious
love, so that confidence in Him  as a Father, a Moral Governor, a Redeemer, a Sanctifier, in all the modes of his manifestation, by which we believe whatever he says because he
says it, and commit ourselves and all our interests cheerfully
and entirely into his hands, is religious faith. Surely there
is in this, nothing irrational, or hard to be understood.
The distinctive element of faith, then, is not belief, but it
is confidence from that perception and appreciation of moral




character upon which the belief is based. Involved in this
there must always be a belief of the trustworthiness of the
object of our faith.  Hence, if faith were perfect, it would
involve, not merely a belief in testimony, but an obedience
like that of Abraham.  In his case there was simply a command, and strictly no testimony; yet the faith was perfect.
It is this complex nature of faith that has caused the confusion respecting it. It does imply a movement of both the
rational and the emotive nature.  In this, somnetimes the one,
and sometimes the other may predominate, but it is never
clue either to the intellect simply, or to the feelings simply.
When outward appearances, as in the case of Abraham, are
opposed to the dictates of faith, it will be an affectionate
confidence.  When there is no such opposition, it will be a
confiding affection in which the confidence may seem to be
entirely absorbed and transfigured  into love.  The belief
involved in faith, is based on those very qualities which
necessarily call forth emotion or affection; and hence, in this
act, the two are fused and inseparably blended.  Hence too
the moral element in faith, which is not necessarily in mere
belief, and hence its power as a principle of action. Nor is
there any thing strange or anomalous in this.  Pity is a complex act, consisting of sympathy for distress and a desire to
relieve it.  These may exist in different proportions, but if
either be wanting there is no pity; and yet no one finds any
difficulty in understanding what pity is.
Having thus considered the nature of faith, we now proceed to its offices.
Of faith in general, the great office is to underlie all the
social intercourse of personal beings.  It is to this higher
and distinct sphere of personal intercourse, what a belief in
the uniformity of nature is in our intercourse with nature.
Without confidence society is impossible. It is the great




14
element and condition of social prosperity and happiness.
Universally it will be found that all the ends of society are
reached, in proportion as there is mutual confidence between
husbands and wives, parents and children, rulers and subjects, buyers and sellers, friends and neighbors.  Remove but
the single element of distrust, and who does not see that the
great cause of human wretchedness would be taken away.
Let but the one element of a general and perfect confidence
be poured into the now heaving mass of human society, and
its agitations would subside, and it would be at once aggregated and crystalized into its most perfect forms. In connection with this, every form of human attachment would strike
deep root, every mutual affinity would have free play, and
every capacity of man for happiness from  intercourse with
his fellow-men would be filled.
Of the more specific offices of religious faith we will first
consider that, so much insisted on in the Scriptures, by which
it accepts a gratuitous salvation. From the nature of faith as
now stated, it is easy to see that its relation to such a salvation is a necessary and not an arbitrary one. To be accepted,
a gift must first be appreciated, and desired as a gift.  This,
in the case of salvation from sin, involves repentance. And
then there must be full confidence in the sincerity of him
who offers the gift. This is faith, and, the gift being desired,
there can be a completion of the confidence only in its acceptance.  In this view of it, faith is not that in consequence of
which we receive the salvation, as if the faith existed first
and accepted the salvation afterwards, but faith is the very
act of confidence by which the salvation is accepted. It is
a confidence which can become complete only as it accepts
the offer, because it is only as He makes the offer that the
Saviour can become the object of our confidence.  Faith
then, in its relation to salvation, is that confidence by which
we accept it as a free gift from the Saviour, and is the only




15
possible way in which this gift of God could be appropriated.
How  simple! how rational! how strange it should fail to
be understood!
A second office of religious faith, as stated in the Scriptures, is to unite man to God, and in so doing, to give him
power with God.  To this, faith, as now explained, is perfectly adapted. As our relations to God are so numerous
and intimate, and as confidence in him can be based only on
a perception of those perfect attributes which would call out
the highest affection, it must be an affectionate confidence.
But it is only by an affectionate confidence that such a being
as man can be united to God, or, indeed, that any one moral
being can be united to another. Let this exist, and every
thing in the relations of the two beings must be pleasant, the
relation itself will be the ground of the highest satisfaction
which our nature can know, and will lie at the foundation of
a higher and nobler idea of being and of order than any
other. What is the idea of myriads of orbs circling in harmony together, compared with that of myriads of intelligent
and moral beings united to God and to each other in a mutual
and affectionate confidence?  Here we find the true end of
this universe-an order of which all other order is but the
symbol.
And while faith thus unites us to God, it is natural and
rational to suppose that it should have the great power
ascribed to it in the Scriptures.  It is one of the strongest
impulses and principles of a rightly constituted nature never
to disappoint any confidence that is justly reposed in it.
This seems to be even the instinct of a generous nature
without reference to principle. Who is there that would not
protect a dove that should come and nestle in his bosom?
An appeal by innocence, by helplessness, by distress, in
which the individual abandons himself with entire confidence
to us, is one of the strongest that can be made to our nature,




16
and will often be met by the greatest sacrifices, not only by
individuals, but by whole nations.  Let K:ossuth escape and
come to this country, and confide himself to our protection,
and let him be pursued by the combined power of Russia
and of Austria, yea by the power of the world, and the
nation would rise as one man, would form a living wall
around him, and he would be taken only as his pursuers
should pass over the dead bodies of those who. would stand
in his defence. Shall men do thus, and shall not God defend
those who come to put their trust under the shadow of his
wings? Shall any innocent creature of God that is in distress come to him and: confide in him, and shall not the
resources of Omnipotence be held ready for his deliverance?
Shall any guilty creature of God, however debased and
wretched, yea though he were dyed and steeped in sin, come
to him with a confidence authorized by the death of Christ,
and cast himself upon him for pardon and adoption, and
shall he not be received even as the prodigal son? Shall
any servant of God, in this world of conflict, be hardly beset,
and, feeling that his own strength is weakness, look up to
God with an eye of filial confidence, and shall he not send
him succor? Shall his servants say, iln the very face of the
flames, " Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from
the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us, 0 king,"
and shall he not deliver them?- What are the laws of nature
in a case like this? They are but as a technicality compared
with a mighty principle. One glance of a confiding eye is
mightier than all the laws of nature.  Heaven and earth may
pass away, but not a hair of him who puts confidence in God
shall "fall to the earth."  Sooner, far sooner, would God
sweep this material framework, with all its laws, into utter
annihilation, than he would disappoint the authorized confidence of the most inconsiderable of his creatures.  How
different is this universe when thus viewed by the light of




17
faith in its relation to a controlling personal being, a Father,
and a Friend; and when viewed in the light of philosophy,
as mere nature-as an unvarying, undiscriminating, crushing
unifobrmity!
The third office of religious faith is to be a principle of
action, And if there be any one thing which a young man
about to enter upon life ought to consider thoroughly, it is
his principles of action. Upon these his own character, and
that of his enterprises, will depend. As you, my friends,
adopt, from  this time, right principles of action, so, and so
only, will you promote your true usefulness, and permanent
good.
But certain it is, referring to the distinction already made,
that the highest principles of action cannot be found in the
sphere of things. The study of these may train the intellect, and make men mere philosophers; they may awaken
the desire to possess them as property and make men misers;
they may call forth the emotions of beauty and sublimity;
and that is all.  There is here no confidence, no affection, no
sympathy.  But bring man, now, into intercourse with free,
personal and moral beings, and every high faculty of his
nature will come into play. The intellect, and the heart,
and the moral nature will act together and strengthen each
other.  And as the basis of all such intercourse must be
faith, so the basis of all intercourse with God must be religious faith.
As a principle of action, religious faith is contrasted with
those adopted by the heroes of this world, because it tends
to form a complete character. Recognizing an omnipresent
and omniscient God, it acts equally at all times, and bears as
well upon the minute, as upon the greater actions of life.
Minute actions and details must make up the whole life of
most men, and the greater part of the life of all men; and
what we need above all things, is a principle of action that
3




18
shall embrace all acts equally, as the law of gravitation
embraces the atom and the planet, and that may dignify the
smallest act by the principle from which it proceeds. Such
a principle is religious faith; and nothing but this can carry
the life-blood of principle into those minuter portions of
human conduct on which our happiness here chiefly depends.
This would attune the chords of domestic life and make
them discourse sweet music; it would substitute the freshness of sincerity, and the flush of benevolence, for the paint
and frigidity of a false and conventional politeness. Carrying out such a principle, an individual may be truly great,
however humble his sphere; and this greatness will bear the
test, and grow as it is examined; while that which takes
human opinion as its standard and reward, dwindles and
becomes contemptible the more it is known. This latter
cultivates the art of concealment; it is great, and generous,
and kind, in public; and mean, and selfish, and unamiable,
at home. Long enough has the world been filled with pretences, and shows, and fair seemings, and whited sepulchres;
but the remedy for these is to be found, not in any ridicule
or denunciation of hypocrisy, nor in any splenetic or contemptuous decrial of' shams,' but only in the cultivation of
a true religious faith.
This will be the more obvious if we notice a second, and
grand peculiarity of religious faith, which is, that it can
work only in harmony with the moral nature. No man can
expect to be aided or sustained by God, when he is doing
any thing which he is conscious is not well pleasing to him.
Confidence in God must imply a constant endeavor to know
his will, and must, hence, quicken the conscience, and, as
the Scriptures express it, purify the heart. I have already
spoken of the essential connection between faith and love,
and it is by its intimate alliance with conscience on the one
hand, and love on the other, that religious faith is capable of




19
becoming a principle of action so ennobling and so mighty.
It is rational and intelligent as recognizing, sometimes the
plans of God, and always the grounds of trust in Him; it
quickens the conscience as necessarily adopting the law of
God for its rule of action; and it gives full play to the
affections, by drawing its very life from the holy and infinitely
amiable character of God. Thus, he who is actuated by
this principle must have the strength that comes from the
consciousness of acting rationally; from peace with God;
and peace of conscience. Thus has it every element that
can be needed to sustain great and heroic action. Let a man
feel that he is in sympathy with God in the object of his
pursuit, that God approves the means he adopts, and let him
have a filial confidence in him, and what deed of a true
heroism is there, whether of action or of suffering, which he
may not perform?  Thus moved and sustained, is it any
wonder that they of old " subdued kingdoms, wrought
rightousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions,
quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the
sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in
fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens "? And what
this principle was of old, it is now. The same God is above
us, and his response to any confidence reposed in Him will
not be less full. This only can support the martyr, the
moral hero, the hero of meekness, and righteousness, and
love unconquerable. This only can lead men to originate
and sustain those great moral enterprises, on the success of
which the welfare and progress of the world must ultimately
turn. It cannot be that man should set himself fully
against the wickedness of his own heart, and the wickedness
of the world around him, and resist the allurements of
temptation, and defy the powers of nature wielded by persecution, and endure to the end, and overcome, except as
"seeing him  who is invisible."  " This is the victory that




20
overcometh the world, even our faith."   Only this can
enable the true missionary to forsake country and friends,
and devote his life, in a heathen land, to the good of those
whom he knows but as redeemed by the blood of Christ;
only this can sustain him in attacking forms of sin that seem
as ancient and firm as the hills; this alone can enable him to
labor on till death, and die in hope, while yet the darkness
of midnight lies upon the mountains. Such a faith has
nothing to do with nature.  She comes down from above
into the sphere of nature, she contemplates objects of which
nature knows nothing, and when she acts rationally with
reference to these objects-to a kingdom  and laws that are
above nature-nature says she is mad.  She is not mad;the might of the universe is with her; God is with her;
eternity shall vindicate her. This, not money, not machinery,
or confidence in them, but this it is that the church needs.
Let her come directly to God in the strength of a perfect
weakness, in the power of a felt helplessness and a child-like
confidence, and then, either she has no strength, and has no
right to be, or she has a strength that is infinite. Then,
and thus, will she stretch out the rod over the seas of
difficulty that lie before her, and the waters shall divide, and
she shall pass through, and sing the song of deliverance.
From  the view of faith now taken, it is easy to see that
every system of negations, and distrust, and skepticism, must
tend to lower the tone of human action and enjoyment, and
must be uncongenial to our nature. Such systems may be
useful in pulling down error, but have no constructive power.
Their effect must be like that of withdrawing the vital
element from the air; and not more certainly will languor
and feebleness creep over the physical system in one case,
than over the spiritual in the other. There can be no robust
and healthy life, either social or spiritual, without a strong
faith.




21
Let me then first counsel you, my firiends, to place a generous confidence in your fellow-men.  Not that you should
be weak, or credulous, but, if you must err at all, let it be on
the side of confidence.  For your own sakes repress the first
risings of a suspicious and distrustful temper.  It will unstring the nerves of your energy, and corrode your very
heart.  Far fiom  you be that form of conceit which attributes to itself shrewdness and wisdom  by always suspecting
evil.  Far sooner would I make it a part of mly philosophy
and plan, to be imposed upon and cheated, up to a certain
point.  Let not even intercourse with the world, and the
caution of age, congeal the spring of your confidence and
sympathy.  So doing, you may find much that you would
wish otherwise, some you may find that will be as a briar,
and sharper than a thorn-hedge, brethren that will supplant,
and neighbors that will walk in slanders; but you will also
find answering confidence, repose for the soul, green spots,
and fountains in the desert.
Let me also warn you especially against all those pantheistic views, virtually atheistic, which are setting in upon us
in these days in connection with certain forms of a transcendental philosophy.  The great result, if not the object of all
such schemes, is to obscure and exclude the idea of personality in God; and hence, of accountability in man.  It is
around this banner, more than any other, that the migratory
hordes of infidelity are gathering, and uniting against the
religion of the Bible.  These schemes assume the garb of a
high philosophy; they put on the sheep's clothing of a religious phraseology. In their outward aspect, they are contemplative, reverent, and especially philanthropic.  Their advocates believe in God-but then all things are God, and in
the working of all things hitherto, nothing higher than man
has been produced.  They believe in inspiration-but then
all good books are inspired. They believe in Jesus Christ



22
and so they do in Confucius, and Socrates, and Mohammed,
and Luther, and in all earnest and heroic men. They believe
in progress-but in a progress which neither springs from,
nor leads to moral order. They make the ideas of guilt and
retribution a bugbear, redemption an absurdity, repentance
unnecessary, and faith impossible. Making such pretensions
to philosophy, and giving such license to passion, these
schemes have great attractions, and form the chief speculative
quicksands which the currents of this age have drifted up,
and on which the young are in danger of being wrecked.
They merge personality into laws, the operations of a wise
agent into necessary uniformities. They make the order and
stability of God's works testify, not to his wisdom and immutability, but to his non-existence. They change the truth
which the creatures thus tell, into a lie, and say, " No God."
Thus are the heavens disrobed of their glory, and infinite
space becomes a blank, and faith finds no object, and the
tendrils of affection find no oak, and human life is without a
providence, and conscience is a lie, and death is an eternal
sleep. To all such schemes, and their abettors, how appropropriate and overwhelming are the reproof and the argument framed expressly for them long ago: " Understand, ye
brutish among the people; and ye fools, when will ye be
wise? He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? He that
formed the eye, shall he not see? He that chastiseth the
heathen, shall not he correct? He that teacheth man knowledge, shall not he know?"
And now, my beloved Friends, in bringing to a close my
relations to you as an Instructor, what can I wish better for
you personally, or for the world in your relations to it, than
that you should take for your actuating and sustaining principle, Faith in God. Without this, you will lack the highest
element of happiness, and the only adequate ground of sup



23
port; life will be without dignity, and death without hope.
Only by faith can you run that race which is set before you,
as before those of old. In this world your courses may be
different; you will choose different professions, and diverge
widely in your lines of life. To some of you, the race here
may be brief. One whom I addressed the last year, as I do
you to-day, now sleeps in death. But whatever this may be,
and whether longer or shorter, before you all there is set the
same race under the moral government of God; to you all is
held out the same prize. Why should you not run this race?
Never was there a time, in the history of the world, when
moral heroes were more needed. The world waits for such.
The providence of God has commanded science to labor and
prepare the way for such. For them she is laying her iron
tracks, and stretching her wires, and bridging the oceans.
But where are they? Who shall breathe into our civil and
political relations the breath of a higher life? Who shall
couch the eyes of a paganized science, and of a pantheistic
philosophy, that they may see God? Who shall consecrate,
to the glory of God, the triumphs of science?  Who shall
bear the life-boat to the stranded and perishing nations?
Who should do these things, if not you-not in your relations to time only, but to eternity, and to the universe of
God?
And as seen in the light of faith, what a race! what an
arena! what a prize!
Faith places us under the inspection and care of the
eternal and omnipresent God, and accepts of him as a Father,
a Redeemer, a Sanctifier, and Portion. She enthrones Him
above all laws, and to that utterance which she hears coming
as the voice of many waters from around the throne, saying,
The Lord God omnipotent reigneth, she says, Amen. She
introduces us to a spiritual family of our own race, and of
superior orders of beings, before whose numbers and capaci



24
ties the imagination falters.  She accepts the suggestions of
analogy, that the moral and spiritual universe is commensurate
with that physical universe which night reveals, the outskirts
of which no telescope can reach; and for the unfolding and
sweep of a government embracing such an extent, she has an
eternity. Such is the scene in the midst of which this race
is to be run. SWVhat is the prize? It is likeness to Godsonship-the inheritance of all things to be enjoyed forever.
That such a prize might be offered, Christ died; that it may
be striven for, as the one thing needful, the Holy Spirit
pleads.  Gird yourselves, then, for this race; run it with
patience, "Clooking unto Jesus."  The world may not notice,
or know you; for it knew Him not. It may persecute you,
for it persecuted Him; but in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.  He will be with you; He will sustain you;the great cloud of witnesses will encompass you; they will
wait to hail you with acclamation as you shall reach the goal,
and receive the prize.  That goal may you all reach,-that
prize may you all receive.




STRENGTH  AND  BEAUTY.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWN, MS.
AUGUST 17, 1851.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
rrezibtent of   ifiantz  o IIege,
PU.BLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE CLASS.
BO S T ON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
18 51.








SER MON.
PSALM xcvi. 6.
STRENGTH AND BEAUTY ARE IN HIS SANCTUARY.
THERE are some things, both in nature and in
character, that are incompatible with each other.
Such are light and darkness, moral good and moral
evil, hope and despair. One can exist only as the
other is excluded. There are also some things, as
drought and sterility, integrity and firmness, stealing and lying, which are naturally associated,' and
which we expect to find together.  Again; there
are qualities which, though not incompatible, have
yet a tendency to exclude each other, and which are
seldom found combined in any high degree. Such
are flexibility and firmness, weight and velocity,
energy and good temper, imagination and judgment,
judgment and feeling, versatility and concentration,
patience and the power of rapid combination and
execution.
That the highest excellence, either mental or
moral, can be reached only by blending, in their
most perfect proportions, qualities which have thus
a tendency to exclude each other, may be easily
seen.  An acute intellect is justly reckoned a per



fection, but there is in it a tendency to exclude
broad and comprehensive views. The power, on
the other hand, of taking the most broad and comprehensive views, not only tends to exclude, but
often leads us to despise that acuteness and subtlety
of analysis without which no investigation is perfect.
But these are not incompatible, and a perfect mind
would be able to act equally well in either direction.
As a perfect eye would possess both a telescopic
and a microscopic power,-now ranging through the
universe, and now adjusting itself to the minutest
object,-so will mind be perfect only as it can
embrace at once the most expanded generalizations
and the minutest details.  In a perfect mind, great
logical power would be united with an affluent imagination; but these tend to exclude each other, and
the combination is so rare that he in whom it occurs
is always a distinguished man. In moral character,
economy is a virtue; but there is in it a tendency to
the exclusion of generosity, which is equally a virtue.
Boldness is not easily combined with caution, nor
sternness with a melting pity, nor zeal with toleration. How seldom is a B~oanerges at the same time
a Barnabas!
Among the qualities which may thus exclude each
other, but which are yet often combined both in
nature and in character, are strength and beauty.
In nature,'how beautiful is the lily, the tulip, the
rose, the honey-suckle! How beautiful is the humming-bird, that poises itself upon its almost viewless
wings, and draws from that same honey-suckle its
sweet food!  How  beautiful is the oriole, that
weaves its hanging nest in the tree above! These




are beautiful, but have not strength. On the other
hand, how strong is the ox, and the elephant, and
the rhinoceros, and the whale! These have strength,
but not beauty. The hugeness of these contributes
to their strength, but would seem to exclude beauty;
while the lightness and fragility and exquisite structure of the others constitute their beauty, but would
seem  to exclude  strength.  This separation of
strength and beauty is perhaps more striking when
they are contrasted.  Of this we find instances in
man and woman, in the vine and the oak, in the
violet sheltered in the cleft of the rock, in the rainbow overhanging the cataract.
But these qualities, so often separated and contrasted in nature, are also often combined. They
are so in the tree. In the oak strength predominates. Its sturdy and gnarled trunk is the emblem
of strength; and yet an oak, with its full coronal of
glossy leaves, is not without beauty.  In the elm,
beauty predominates. With its light form compared
with its height, with its symmetrical top and pendent branches, it stands like a veiled bride in her
beauty; and yet the elm impresses us with the idea
of great strength. The green valley is beautiful,
the mountain is strong.  The mountain covered
with verdure, is strength clothed with beauty.  In
a horse, to pass to the animal kingdom, these
qualities are sometimes strikingly blended. A fine
horse is among the most powerful of animals; but
when he is left as nature made him, with his flowing
mane and tail, and moves with the apparent consciousness of the admiration he excites, he is among
the most beautiful. But it is in the human form




6
that these qualities are capable of their highest and
most perfect combination. This is the central idea
in that conception of the Apollo by the Greeks,
which must always remain the model of the physical man.  In that, nothing that would contribute
to beauty is conceded to strength, and every thing
"that contributes to strength is beautiful.  Let the
body of man combine these qualities as it may, and
it is evidently a fit dwelling for that immortal spirit
which is made in the image of God. Such a body,.
filled with life, the features radiant with intelligence
and love, would realize the highest conception that.man can form of the power of the material, both to
veil, and to reveal the spiritual.
But while we thus find this combination in each
separate department of the works of God, it is perhaps most striking in the general impression which
those works make upon man. To the whole structure and movement of nature the Greeks gave the
name,'kosmos,s signifying beauty; but looking as
they did upon the earth as fixed, what could give a
stronger impression of strength in the form of stability? But if we look upon the earth and planetary
system as now understood, this impression is greatly
heightened. While we have the same round of the
seasons, the same'pomp of day' and glories of the
night, the same green hills and sparkling waters,
and the same bow in the heavens, with them, nothing can be more beautiful than the conception which
our astronomy gives us of'the uniform, circular, harmonious movements of the shining orbs above us,
and nothing can give us a higher conception of force,
or strength exerted, than their amazing velocity.




7
With such a combination of these elements in the
works ~of God, we might expect that they would be
combined in any physical structure which he should
direct men to build.  Accordingly we find that
strength and beauty were in his sanctuary.  Probably these were more perfectly combined in the temple of Solomon, than in any other building ever
erected. This, however, was not for its own sake;
but, under a typical dispensation, it was doubtless
intended to symbolize that spiritual strength and,
beauty which were to belong to the spiritual, and
only true temple of God.
Let us then look at strength and beauty as they
may exist and be combined in the character of man.
The idea. of strength is simple, admitting of no
analysis; but strength itself may be manifested in
either of two ways. It.may either make an impression, as when the " sun shineth in his strength;" it
may overcome obstacles, break down barriers, and
march forward to the attainment of a proposed end.;
or it may stand -firm as the hills, when it is said that
"' the strength of the hills is his also;" it may bear
burdens, it may resist impressions that are attempted
to be made upon.it.
The whole strength which any man will be able
to texert in either of these modes will depend in part
on the faculties he may possess, and in part on the
energy of the will.
The ifaculties will vary in their power according
to their original constitution, and their training.
Nothing that I see would lead me;to suppose that
the powers of all men areoriginally alike. In this
respect, as well as in others, God gives to one five




talents, and to another one. But certain original
powers being given, their subsequent strength will
depend on their training. Here the great and only
law is, that the legitimate use of any power given
by God strengthens that power. This is true of
the body and of the mind; and here we see the difference between the worlis of God and those of man.
The works of man are impaired by use; those of
God are improved. For his original faculties man
is not responsible, but only for their improvement.
But while there is nothing praiseworthy in the
possession of great original powers, we yet contemplate them with admiration and delight, as we do a
great tree, a great mountain, a great river, as we do
the ocean. We watch with delight the march of
the mind of Butler, we wonder at the apparent
intuitions of Newton, and at the spontaneous creations of the genius of Milton. It is vain to complain of the admiration of men for talent and genius
as such. That admiration is legitimate. It may
be overwhelmed and merged in sorrow, or in horror
from their perversion; but interest will concentrate
where great power is manifested, whether it be
physical or mental, whether for good or for evil. A
tornado, prostrating trees' and unroofing houses, a
volcano pouring forth its destructive lava, a burning
city even, regarded simply as a display of energy,
are witnessed with pleasure. But this strength of
the faculties, this energy with which they are capable of working, however impelled, is entirely different from strength of character.  This it is for which
we are responsible, and with which we are chiefly
concerned.




9
But man can have strength of character only as
he is capable of controlling his faculties; of choosing a rational end; and, in its pursuit, of holding
fast to his integrity against all the might of external
nature.
Without self-control there can be no strength of
character.  Its first condition is the subjection of the
impulses and appetites and passions of all the faculties, to the control of the personal power-of the
man himself.  " He that hath no rule over his own
spirit is like a city that is broken down and without
walls."' He has no strength to do, or to resist.
This power of self-control being supposed, strength
of character may be manifested by a continued and
concentrated energy put forth for the attainment of
a given end.  This strength, however, can be manifested fully only as obstacles are met, and external
influences are resisted, and the power, not only of
active effort, but of patient endurance, is tested to
the utmost.
Of such strength of character, both in active effort
and in patient endurance, Washington is a good example.  During the long years of the revolution his
activity was incessant, and that too in the midst of
every form of discouragement; yet he never faltered.
Still, strength of character was not as severely tested in him as it might have been. There were many
who understood his object, and sympathized with
him.  The eyes of a nation were upon him.  It
never came to be a question whether he should
relinquish his purpose or his life. But if we suppose
one of exquisite sensibility, the most keenly alive to
suffering and to every form of reproach, whose
2




10
object is great and worthy but not understood, who
has no sympathy from any human being, who is
either opposed or deserted by all mankind, and that
the question with him is whether he shall abandon
his purpose or go to a death of torture and of ignominy, we shall then have the highest conceivable test
of strength of character.  Of this there has been but
one perfect example in our nature; but of this, man is
capable.  He was once in harmony with nature
and with all external agencies. In a perfect state he
would be. But through moral, and consequent physical derangement, all expressed sympathy, and all
external agencies may be against him, and they may
press him to the last extremity; but still he may have
such a sense of duty, and such faith in God, as to
enable him to stand firm, and to meet a certain
death.  The spiritual may triumph over the sensual
and the material the immortal over the mortal.  If
man is not the master of nature, as here he is not,
he is yet not her slave.  Against his own will, no
power on earth or in hell can make him so. As
spiritual and free, he is not properly of nature, but
stands over against her.  He is no part of a
linked and necessary series of cause and effect, but
may find in himself grounds of activity that will
enable him to resist every impulse and motive that
can be brought from without. When pushed fully
up to that line where degradation and slavery commence, he has only to stand firm, and God himself,
by the hand of death, will open a gate by which he
may pass out unstained and unhumbled into perfect
freedom. Here is his true dignity, here is strength.




So have the martyrs stood.  What is the strength
of the hills compared with this?
Strength thus shown in resistance to impressions,
and in standing firm, is in some respects less striking, and at the time is less admired, than that which
shows itself in active effort, producing directly great
results; but it may be doubted whether, -in a world
like this, it is not more heroic,. and ultimately more
fruitful of good and more honored. To illustrate this,
and express for it the admiration of mankind, the
simile of all ages is that of a rock standing immovable in the midst of the tumultuous waters.  And
certainly when we think of the sea of human passion, and of the fury into which it may be lashed,
and of the strong desire for approbation, and of the
fear of death, and of the natural distrust of nien in
their own opinions when they stand alone, it is one
of the sublimest of all spectacles to see a man stand
firm against all possible allurements and threatenings, and, reckless of consequences, hold fast to
truth and to duty.
Perhaps it should be mentioned here, that energy
in active effort, and the power of patient waiting
and endurance, may be blended in different proportions, and that they have some tendency to exclude
each other.
Such are the nature and sphere of strength ofcharacter. What are those of beauty?
As the idea of strength is simple, so is that of
beauty. The emotion can be known only by being
felt, and only experience can teach us what it is that
causes the emotion to arise. Doubtless there is something of inherent beauty in all the forms of moral




12
goodness, but in some more than in others.  If it is
said, as it may be, that there is beauty in justice, yet
other elements preponderate, and it has far less of
beauty than benevolence. On such a subject, the
imperceptible shading of one thing into another will
not permit us to draw sharp lines; but it may be said,
in general, that while strength of character depends
on the will, beauty depends on the affections. The
affections are beautiful, because they are spontaneous, and the general truth here is that strength is to
be found in the voluntary action of the mind, and
beauty in its spontaneous action.
We are all conscious of these two modes in which
our faculties work. A student may pursue a science
from fear, or from the love of praise or of gain.  In
this case the faculties will be impelled as by a force
from  behind, and the moment that is withdrawn
they will cease to act-perhaps will react with
strong aversion towards the science itself.  Here
the will must labor-it must row against the current.  Much of the activity in this world is of this
kind, and this it is that makes it labor and drudgery.
But again, a student may pursue a science from
a love of the science itself.  In this case there is an
affinity —an attraction.  There is a current of the
soul setting in that direction, which the will may
indeed resist, may perhaps wholly arrest; but it will
require an effort to do so. The will must indeed
now give its assent, but it need not row the boat.
The movement of the mind is spontaneous, and
without apparent effort. It is as when
"The river windeth at its own sweet will."




13
Such activity and effort are not esteemed a labor.
There will be in it a deep joy. With the movement
of the faculties as. they perform it, there will be a,
music like that of the spheres.  It is from  the
attempt of the will to resist these currents, that some
of the profoundest struggles of which our nature is
capable arise.
Now all such spontaneous movements, if legitimate, are beautiful. They are beautiful as spontaneous.  Such are all the emotions of taste which
respond to the beauties and sublimities of nature
and of art.  Such are all the natural affections, and
such pre-eminently are all those high moral affections which find a complacency in their object from
its own intrinsic character. Thus it is that benevolence is beautiful, and pity, and tenderness, and a
regard for the feelings of others in the minutest particulars; thus sympathy is beautiful, and love, and a
clinging trust. Let these be genuine, spontaneous,
like the free gushing up of a fountain, and there is
a beauty in them such as there is in no verdure or
sparkling waters.  They are to those sterner qualities which give strength, what the leaves and blossoms are to the tree, making it beautiful in the eyes
of men, and sending up a fragrance to heaven.
But spontaneousness is not the only element of
beauty.  If the beauty be a moral one, as it must,
to be strictly a beauty of character, then the affections must be conformed to the law of conscience,
and will have an intrinsic beauty as moral. The
beauty of holiness is the highest of which the mind
is capable, and this implies the conformity of the
affections to a perfect law.




14
What has now been said applies to particular
affections; but beauty of character, as a whole, must
include not only spontaneousness and moral rectitude, but also symmetry. There is a tendency in
spontaneous movements to extravagance and wildness.  This must be repressed.  The river, to be
beautiful, must indeed wind "at its own sweet
will," but it must wind within its banks. A just
proportion must be preserved between the affections
themselves, and between the affections and the other
powers. Symmetry, involving completeness, is a
most important element of beauty of character.
With these elements, individual mind possesses a
beauty far transcending that of nature.  And if this
be so in a single individual, how much more in a
spiritual system where every relation is responded
to, and every duty met! What is the harmony of
music to the concord of souls in a true affection?
What is the breaking up of light into its seven colors
as it meets with the surfaces of matter, compared
with the modifications of benevolence as it meets with
the varying forms of sensitive and intelligent life?
What is the beauty of natural scenery, with its clustering objects, and contrasted flowers and trees, compared with the meeting of a family, upon no member
of which a stain rests, and where you see the gray
hairs of the patriarch, and the infant of the third
generation?  What is the beauty of satellites circling around primaries, and primaries around the
sun, compared with the order of families and the
State-compared with the order of that moral government of which God is the centre and sun, and of
which a holy love is at once the uniting force and
the glory and beauty.




15
Thus the strength and the beauty which impress
us most, are the strength of the will, and the beauty
of the affections.
That the tendency already noticed of strength and
beauty in matter to exclude each other extends also
to mind, is too obvious to need illustration; and it
is equally obvious that the most desirable character
can be reached only as these are combined in the
most perfect manner. And what is there that this
combination would not include? As perfect strength
and beauty of the body would imply and include all
that is desirable in the body, so would perfect
strength and beauty of the mind and of character
include all that would be desirable in them.  What
is there higher or better that we can wish for our
friends? What higher or better at which a young
man can aim?
The question then arises, how this combination
can be reached. And this brings us directly to the
assertion of the text, that strength and beauty are in
his sanctuary.  Adopting its spiritual import, the
doctrine here indicated, and which I wish to enforce,
is, that it is only within the fold and under the banner of the religion of Christ, that strength and
beauty of character can be perfectly combined.
Aside from Christianity there may be strength combined with the beauty of the natural affections, but
strength combined with the highest beauty there
cannot be.
That true religion would produce this combination
appears because God desires it. This desire he has
indicated, as we cannot doubt, in the structure of his




16
works already referred to.  Does he then value
strength and beauty in these? Has he made them
the foundation of all that we admire, and of most
that we value in material forms? And shall he not
value that in mind which is so analogous as to be
called by the same name? Yea, is not nature typical? Was it not so constituted for the very purpose of leading us on gradually to ideas of this higher
strength and beauty? Is it not but as the Mosaic
dispensation to lead us to something higher and better than itself? As certainly as nature was intended
to lead us at all to a knowledge of the perfections of
God, so certainly were physical strength and beauty
intended to reveal to us that in Him which is the
substance, and of which these are but the reflection.
Hence, only as there is spiritual strength and beauty,
can his own image be produced in his creatures.
But on this point, if nature could leave us in
doubt, revelation does not. We are commanded to
"' be slrong in the Lord; " and the Psalmist prays
that the beauty of the Lord our God may be upon us.
It is the object of the Saviour to present to himself a
glorious church, without spot or wrinkle, or any such
thing. Does God then desire this? Then must it
be the duty and aspiration of every religious man to
strive for it. So only is man religious, so only ennobled, as he strives in coincidence with the purposes
and plans of God-as he works "according to the
pattern showed him in the mount."  Does God desire this? Then will He who is the foundation of all
strength and beauty ultimatelyimpart them to those,
and to those only, who shall come to Him for them.
Thus coming, that process of assimilation will take




17
place, by which, as they behold the glory of the
Lord, they shall be changed into the same image.
Approaching the sun, they will shine brighter, and
the strength of their movement will be increased.
God will clothe them with strength and beauty, and
thus these shall be the completion and glory of his
spiritual, as they are of his material creation.
Again. That the religion of Christ must produce
this combination of strength and beauty, is obvious
from the character of Christ. To be a Christian, a
man must not only receive the doctrines and admire
the precepts of Christ, but must be like him. He
can be a Christian only as he actually follows Christ
and is like Christ. In this is found a grand peculiarity of Christianity as distinguished from other
systems. But there has never appeared on the earth
any character which approximated to that of Christ,
in the union of strength and beauty. In him we see
the strength of achievement, and the strength of
endurance.  He moved with a calm  majesty, like
the sun.  The bloody sweat, and the crown of
thorns, and the cross, were full in his eye; but he
was obedient unto death.  In his perfect self-sacrifice we see the perfection of strength; in the love
which prompted it we see the perfection of beauty.
This combination of self-sacrifice and love, thus perfect in Christ, must be commenced in every Christian; and when it shall be, in its spirit, complete in
him, then will he also be perfect in strength and
beauty.
But once more. That this doctrine is true, appears
from the very nature of true religion. This is no
mere impulse; and strength of character is not a
3




blind obstinacy, which, if it does show strength of
will, shows also, in equal proportion, weakness of
intellect.  No: an intelligent faith is at the foundation of Christian  character.  Such a faith will
"' work," that is, it will produce obedience, and it
will " work by love." But it is in obedience to a
perfect law, from love, that we find the highest
expression of strength and beauty. Law demands
the approbation of the moral nature, and the intelli-.gent action of the will in obedience; but it comes
as an external force, and when it conflicts with
inclination, obedience will have in it something of
constraint; it will not be perfect freedom; it will
be shorn of its beauty.  But let a perfect law no
longer stand without as a law of constraint; let it
enter in and become the internal law of the mind,
so that every inclination and current of the soul-all
its love-shall set in the same direction, and then
will there be a confluence of all in man that is
rational and moral, with all that is emotive-of all
the elements which produce strength with those
which produce beauty. This is the consummation
which the world waits for, the deliverance and the
rest. So only can man be at peace with the law,
and at peace with himself. So only can the most
intense activity become a harmony and a joy, become rest and peace. So only can the nuptials be
celebrated of inclination with conscience, of liberty
with law.  It is of the essence of Christianity to
produce this identification of activity and repose,
this union of inclination and conscience, of liberty
and law, and thus of strength and beauty. So doing,
it must be true; for it so accords with the nature of




19
Iman as to embosom his highest good, here, and to
contain the elements of heaven.  If it be not true,
falsehood is as good as truth, for no truth could more
demonstrably save man. Starting with these comnbinations, the immortal spirit will need nothing but
the expansion of its powers to enable it to move on
in its unending way with the strength of a giant
and the beauty of an angel.
This is a point on which we may well dwell.
You know, my hearers, what a terror to us law is,
especially the law of God; how severe and onerous,
even while it commends itself to the conscience, its
requisitions seem. You know what that fear of its
penalty is that hath torment. NAow, could we come
to see the stern features of this law so radiant with
loveliness that we would not have one of them
changed; could we see within its domain such a perfection of holiness and of happiness that no wish
would stray beyond that domain; could we adopt
this external law as the law of the mind, so that it
should become the life of our life, how plain is it
that all the harmonies of the soul would be restored,
and that in its every movement there would be
strength and beauty. But this enthronement of the
law of God, or as I would choose to say, of the God
of the law, in the centre of the affections, must come
from a perfect Christianity-it can come from that
alone; no other system even proposes to itself such
a result; and hence we may regard the doctrine as
established, that strength and beauty are in his sanctuary, and only there.
But if this be so, it may be asked why more of
moral beauty has not been manifested in the lives




20
of Christians. It is well known that evangelical
religion especially has been regarded by some as
distasteful, and the lives of its professors as severe,
and harsh, and the reverse of beautiful.
To this two answers may be given. The first is
that the real beauty of Christian character that exists
is not known, nor appreciated. It is not known —for
this is no conservatory plant fostered by human culture and admiration. It springs up under the eye
of God on the mountain-side, and in the retired valley. For Him it blooms, and He who notices the
violet that no human eye ever sees will notice this.
It is not appreciated, —for the standards of this
world are wrong....-. The beauty which the world
admires and idolizes, is that beauty of fashion and
of art which may minister to vanity, to sensuality,
to superstition —that beauty of manners which may
cover a corrupt heart-and that beauty of nature
which may become a part of a pervading pantheism.  To these the Christian would give their due
place, but he thinks little of them compared with
the beauty. of the affections and the life.  To him
the character of Christ is supremely beautiful.  He
is the "chief among ten thousand," but how is
he to the world?' It was foretold of Him, perfect'
in beauty as his character was, that he should be a
root out of dry ground, and that when we should
see him there would be no beauty in him that we
should desire him. This was fulfilled. The beauty
of the character'of Christ was not appreciated in
his own day; it is not now; and it is to be expected
that the disciple shall be as his Lord.  It cannot
be expected that the selfish, the sensual, the ambi



21
tious, the proud, the vain, or the frivolous should
admire that which is so opposed to their own
temper and character. Especially cannot this be
expected when holiness lays aside its abstract form,
and is seen in actual life opposing and casting down
cherished corruptions and interests.  Then, instead
of admiration and praise, all history shows that
moral goodness and beauty are vilified; they are
cast out as evil; are persecuted and crucified.
What do bigoted persecutors and infuriated mobs
know or care about moral beauty?
A second answer is, that Christianity is here but
incipient, militant, imperfect.  It begins in repentance, in tears, in struggles against sin, in self-denial
and renunciation of what the heart had clung to.
In this state of struggle there is a beauty to the eye
of God, but not to that of the world. But beyond
this there are many Christians who do not get-nay,
they seem to cease to struggle, and stereotype a
form and aspect of religion fit for neither a sinner
nor a saint, that is neither of the law nor the gospel.
There is in it slavery and penance. The face of
duty is austere.  They abstain from gayety, from
fashion and folly, too much through fear, or conventionalism. They have no consistency, They attend
church on the Sabbath, but show'little of the spirit
of religion during the week. They have more of
the form of religion, than of the spirit of benevolence.
The love of the world in them is not slain by the
cross of Christ. There is no free and full and joyful
consecration of themselves to God.  They know
nothing of the "joy of the Lord " as their strength.
But religion, if any thing with a preponderance of




22
these elements can be called such,-can be beautiful
only as the conditions of beauty.are met. It must
be from the heart, and it must be symmetrical. The
miserable notion of duty as imposing tasks, which
is so prevalent, must pass away. Every thing harsh
and austere must vanish from her countenance.
The Christian must look upon her with the eye of a
lover. At her voice his heart must throb, and his
chest heave; her call must be to him as the sound
of the trumpet to the war-horse. Then would each
individual Christian have not only strength, but
beauty; and that conception in Holy Writ of the
embodied church, so beautiful, and so accordant with
the spirit of our text, would be realized. In her
beauty, she would be "fair as the moon and clear
as the sun," and in her strength she would be
" terrible as an army with banners."
In the preceding discussion, a distinction has been
indicated between that strength and beauty of the
faculties which belong to genius and talent and
taste, and that strength and beauty of character
which involve moral excellence. This distinction
is, perhaps, sufficiently obvious; but genius and
talent have been, and still are, so much deified, and
have cast such an illusive attraction around moral
deformity, that I wish to draw to it particular
attention.
The distinction is that between the agent and the
instrument, between a person giving direction and
that which is directed. This relative place of these
is to be carefully noticed, because of the peculiar'difficulty there is, in the present moral state of the




23
world, in combining talent and genius with a high
and reverent regard for duty. This is not that there
is any natural opposition between them, but because
that admiration and influence which are so dear to
men possessing talent and genius, are expected to
follow them without much reference to moral integrity. Now what we say, is, that we are not to
over-estimate the mere instrument, however brilliant. We say that our chief regard is due to that
sacred personality, that moral presence, which has
both the power and the right to direct talent and
genius, and before which it is their place to wait
and to bow. We say that in any other relation
talent is a curse, and that the light of genius can
only "lead to bewilder, and dazzle to blind."  We
would honor genius and talent as gifts of God; we
would make large allowance, if they must have
them, or think they must, for their peculiarities, their
idiosyncrasies, their weaknesses even; but when
those who possess them would regard themselves,
and be regarded by others, as privileged persons,
whose moral delinquencies are to be allowed or
winked at, and that, too, on the very ground that
should be their highest condemnation, we would
utter our solemn protest. We say that the influence
of no other men can be so hostile to the best interests of the community —if they be public men, to
the liberties of a free people.  We say that no
rebuke can be too prompt or severe when any man
would practically dignify or even palliate meanness,
or trickery, or falsehood, or profaneness, or licentiousness, or corruption, by associating them with
high intellectual gifts. In the judgment of God,




24
nothing can compensate for the want of moral
strength and beauty of character; in comparison
with these, every thing else is as nothing. This
should be so in the judgment of man, and to this
position we would fain hope that public opinion is
slowly finding its way.
This discussion, which I now close, is my last labor
for you, my dear Friends of the Graduating Class, in
my relation to you, which has been so pleasant to me,
as your instructor. If, in the course of your education,
with us hitherto, more direct labor has been bestowed
on your literary acquisitions, yet our chief anxiety
has been for your character. That is the great
thing. On that your happiness and influence here
will mainly depend; by that your whole interest,
under the government of God, will be ultimately
decided. My object in this discourse has been to
-bring to your definite apprehension a standard of
character at which you might safely aim, and to
show you how that standard might be reached. I
have wished to give you a motto to be inscribed
upon your banner, which might give you strength in
the hour of conflict. And what can I give you better than strength and beauty? What can you do
better than to seek the highest combinations of these
in the characters you are to form and to manifest?
And in doing this, you are not to suppose, from
any thing that has been said, that you will be laboring to blend things that are naturally opposed to
each other. No; in the deepest view of them they
are but the varying forms of the manifestation of
one force. They are not one as opposite polar forces




25
are one; but strength, though not necessarily manifesting itself in the form of beauty, though it has a
centrifugal force that tends to carry it off from its
true curve, does yet underlie it, and is essential
to the formation of that curve.  Rightly directed,
strength seems to attenuate and expand itself into
beauty as the trunk of the tree, which is strong,
attenuates and expands itself into the branches and
the leaves, which are beautiful. It is strength alone
that can elaborate itself into beauty; and only as it
does this can we have evidence of the perfection of
strength. The exquisite finish of the leaf of the
tulip, is from the circulation within it of the divine
omnipotence, and is as essential to the perfect evidence for that, as the spheres that roll above.  So
can you give the highest evidence of strength of
character only as that strength can so restrain and
control its own workings as to elaborate itself into
beauty. The strength that we want is not a brute,
unregulated strength; the beauty that we want is
no mere surface beauty, but we want a beauty on
the surface of life that is from the central force of
principle within, as the beauty on the cheek of health
is from the central force at the heart.  This is the
combination and the character that the world needs,
that you need. Going forth with this, the wildernesses and solitary places of the earth will be glad
for you. With this you will fill, up to the measure
of expectation, and beyond it, every position of
domestic and social and public life. You will be
more appreciated as you are more known. The
natural influence of uncommon powers or acquisitions will not be hindered or marred by those sad
4




26
blemishes that every body must speak of in a whisper, but that every body will know. If you should
have greatness of character, it will not shoot up into
those isolated and startling peaks that attract notice
indeed, but are barren; but it will rise up into those
broad table lands that are covered with verdure, and
where the springs arise that gladden the valleys.
You will work in harmony with God, and He will
give you success.
But you are to remember that the strength and
beauty that can do this are not those of nature.
The strength is the strength of faith, and the
beauty is the beauty of holiness. As I have said, it
is only through the religion of Christ that this combination can be reached. Here is our only hope.
But through this it may be reached.' We bless God
forthe hope that to reach this, is, in the hearts of
some of you, the controlling aspiration. We bless
him for the hope, that to some of you it has become
so recently. We would remember and signalize, in
this parting hour, the grace that has effected this.
But if this be so with some, why should it not
be with all?  This combination of strength and
beauty you may all reach, every one of you: and
eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered
into the heart of man to conceive the blessings that
will flow  from  it in the track of ages.  Other
strength will decay, other beauty will fade, but this
strength will only grow stronger and this beauty
more beautiful as eternity shall roll on. "They
that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall
run and not be weary, they shall walk and not




27
faint;" and "the beauty of the Lord" their "God
shall be upon them." This, my Beloved Friends,
this is the strength, and this the beauty that I desire
for you. In your characters may they be blended,
and in all the pilgrimage of life that is now before
you, may you be girded with strength from on high,
and may the beauty of the Lord your God be upon
you.








RECEIVING AND GIVING.
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWN, MASS.
AUGUST 15, 1852.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
PRESIDENT OF WILLIAMS COLLEGE.
SECOND EDITION.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1855.




Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1852,
By T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




SE R MO N.
ACTS xx. 35.
IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE.
As a dependent being, man is, and  must be,
a receiver.  From  God he must receive life and
breath, and all things; and no one can so elevate
or isolate himself, that he shall not need to receive
from his fellow men those things which only their
sympathy and kindness can bestow.
Man being thus necessarily a receiver, we should
anticipate, from the goodness of God, that it would
be blessed for him  to receive.  And so it is.  It is
blessed for the creature to receive from the Creator.
It is blessed not only from the enjoyment which the
gift itself may confer, but as awakening admiration,
and gratitude, and love.  It is blessed for the child
to receive from the parent, for the fiiend to receive
from  his friend.  It is always blessed to receive
when the gift is born of affection.
This blessedness our Saviour knew. We are told
that Mary Magdalene, and Joanna the wife of
Chuza, Herod's steward, and Susanna, and many
others, ministered to him of their substance.  He
received of them what he needed, and, so far as
appears, he consented thus to receive at the hands




4
of gratitude and affection, and was doubtless blessed
in so receiving, his whole support.
But if it is thus blessed to receive, it is more
blessed to give.  This is one of those great truths,
uttered by our Saviour, opposed to the whole spirit
and practice of the age in which he appeared,
which, like his inculcation of the forgiveness of
enemies, and universal philanthropy, and seeking
first the kingdom of God, showed a divine insight.
It is a great practical truth, which, as it is received
or rejected, must affect the whole spirit and all the
results of life.
This blessedness was that pre-eminently known
by our Saviour. " The Son of man came, not to be
ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life
a ransom for many."' He gave, not property, but
himself. He gave instruction, and gifts of healing,
and a divine sympathy. He gave the energies of
his being in activity and in suffering for the welfare
of man.
But here the inquiry arises, what it is to give.
As now used this term carries the mind chiefly, if
not wholly, to property; but this cannot be its
main reference in the text, for then neither Christ
nor his Apostles, would have illustrated their own
precepts, or have known, to any great extent, the
blessedness of giving.  It is worthy of notice, that
no direct record is made, that either Christ or his
Apostles ever gave any thing in the form of property;
and that would be a sad interpretation which would
restrict the pleasures and benefits of giving, to the
rich. To give, is not merely to transfer property
without an equivalent from him who receives it.




5
This may be done from a regard to public opinion,
to quiet conscience, to purchase heaven, to get free
from annoyance.  Property is not affection, it is not
self-sacrificing energy, it is not the heart or the life.
No; to give, is to impart benefits freely, out of good
will. This Christ and his Apostles did. Said Peter
to the impotent man, " Silver and gold have I none,
but such as I have give I thee.  In the name of
Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk."  Here
was a gift which money could not purchase, and
such were all those great gifts which Christ came
to bring.  Thus understood, the pleasures and benefits of giving are open to all, even to her who is
poorer than the poor widow who cast in her two
mites. All can impart benefits of some kind, freely
and from good will; and the proposition which we
now wish to illustrate is, that thus to give is' more
blessed than it is to receive.
That this is so may appear, first, because God is
a giver only, and not a receiver.  Of the modes and
conditions of the divine blessedness we know, indeed,
very little. To our conception, God must have been
perfectly blessed in himself, when, as yet, no creative act had rendered the blessedness of giving possible.  We must conceive of God as self-sufficing
in all respects, as having within himself the, sprin,
of his own activity, and finding in that activity the
source of his blessedness. Without activity in some
form, blessedness is inconceivable, for absolute quiescence is death. But if we know little of the modes
of activity possible to God, and hence of the modes
of his blessedness, we may yet be, sure that in all
the forms of that activity there is blessedness, and




6
pre-eminent blessedness in those which are preeminently his. But, as has been said, he manifests
himself only as a giver.  He is so in creation.  To
the universe of matter, overwhelming us as it does
by its vastness and variety and glory, he gave its
being. From the resources of his own omnipotence
he caused that which was not, to be, and no doubt
there was a sublime blessedness not only in the
result, when he beheld and pronounced it good, but
also in the energy by which it was accomplished.
And having created this universe with all its properties and adjustments, he gave it to his sensitive
and rational creatures to be the theatre of their
being and a source of enjoyment. To the sensitive
and spiritual universe also, through all its ranks,
from the insect up to the seraph, God has given
being, with its infinite diversity of forms, and modes
of perception, and capacities, and responsibilities.
Throughout the universe there is nothing that any
being is, or that he possesses, that is not the gift of
God. And not only has God given in creating, but
he gives continually.  Whatever we may say of
second causes, he is the constant upholder and governor of all things, the ever present, conscious giver
of every good and perfect gift.  This is the highest
conception we can form: of any being, that he
should not only have the spring of activity within
himself' and be self-sufficing, but that he should
suffice for a universe, and find a conscious blessedness in giving without limit and without exhaustion
forevermore. Here we find a conception that bears
us far above the glories of night, and of all telescopic heavens.  Here we find the source of the




river of the water of life, clear as crystal, that overflows and sparkles and spreads itself to the outmost
limits of the creation. What are the starry heavens
to Him who is enthroned as the infinite and only
original giver in this limitless universe!
To give thus without exhaustion, would seem to
be the natural prerogative of God; but there is also
a form of giving that implies self-denial and selfsacrifice; it implies that we forego a good for the
sake of the good of others.  How  this may be
compatible with what we conceive of the' infinite
and perfect blessedness of God, it may not be easy
to see; but that he is capable of this form of giving,
the Scriptures plainly assert when they say, that
He "so loved the world that he gave his only
begotten Son." Possibly the highest blessedness
of a benevolent being can be known only through
self-sacrifice.  Blessedness is more than pleasure;
it is the consciousness and exercise of the highest
goodness. This is the highest form of giving, and
constitutes Christ the great gift of God.  It makes
him not merely the outflow of his natural attributes,
but the manifestation of his heart.
And while God thus gives, he does not receive.
"Who hath first given unto Him and it shall be
recompensed to him again? ) By the right of an
original creation, and of a constant preservation, all
things are already his.  ".He is not worshiped with
men's hands as though he needed any thing, seeing
he giveth:to all life, and breath, and all.things."
He may be said: to accept of:our services; that is,
he may be pleased with our dutiful affection, but
we can bestow upon him no gift;. he can receive




8
nothing from us so as to become the owner of that
which was not his before. We can never requite
him by paying back an equivalent; we can lay him
under no obligation.
If then God finds his own blessedness in giving,
and not at all in receiving, we should naturally
expect, that those who are made in his image would
find it more blessed to give than to receive.
But, secondly, it may not be amiss to mention
that this is one of those great truths which seem to
find their prefiguration and twilight in the material
creation.  The sun, the grandest and noblest of all
material objects, is only a giver.  Age after age,
from his high place, he imparts, without exhaustion,
light and heat, and receives nothing in return.  In
the coldness of our philosophy we say, indeed, that
this involves no blessedness.  This is true, just as it
is true that there is no'color spread over the surface
of bodies;' and yet is the sun a silent preacher of a
truth that is not in him, because we are so made
that we must diffuse over matter our own conceptions and vitalize it with our feelings.  Let the
natural emotions speak, and they say at once, that
the sun; is "as a bridegroom  coming out of his
chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a
race.,  We.attribute' to this sublime body power
and- dignity, and feel that, if it were conscious, it
must rejoice in its greatness and in its dispensing
power.  This teaching becomes more, impressive by
contrast.' The' sun gives only; the sandy desert
only receives, and hence we regard it with aversion,
and as fit only; to symbolize the drearier desert of a,heart thoroughly -selfish and absorbing.




But I observe, thirdly, that this truth is enstamped upon our very constitution; it grows out
of the frame-work of our being.
To see this, we have only to examine a little the
kinds and sources of the blessedness of which we
are capable.  As has been said, all blessedness
must come from activity; and of this there may be
three kinds.  One of these we need not consider,
because there is in it nothing of giving or receiving.
It is the activity of the mind within itself, in contemplation and thought, when it receives no impression from without, and puts forth no outward
activity.  Laying this aside then, we find that
man is a centre of activities, from which influences,
originating in his will, flow outward, and affect the
world without; and also that he is a centre of susceptibilities, to which influences flow in from  the
world without, and by which he is affected. In
the first case he is truly active, putting forth powers,
and may be said, in a large sense, to give; in the
second, he is as passive as a perceiving and sentient
being can be, and he receives.
It is in conformity with this general idea that the
physical frame, even, is constructed.  The nervous
system is a railway with a double track. It is now
well known that there are two: sets of nerves, those
of motion, and those of sensation, running side by
side, apparently intimately blended, yet entirely distinct in their origin and office, by one of which influences pass from within outward, and by the other
from without inward; by one of which we receive,
and by the other, give.  By the one, we receive
materials of instruction, and impressions pleasing or
2




10
painful; by the other, we exert our wills as agents,
and give forth our own proper activity.
When we open our eyes to the light, when we
behold the trees and the mountains, the waters and
the flowers, the stars and works of art, we receive;
when there comes to us the perfume of flowers, or
the fragrance of the new-made hay, we receive;
when we taste the strawberry, the peach, the
melon, we receive; when we hear the song of
birds, the rustling of leaves, the rippling of waters,
or the music of the flute or of the voice, we receive; when we open our minds, through the senses,
to thoughts and impressions from others, we receive.
Here the movement is from without, inward; and
if no folly or wickedness intervene, it is always
blessed, and only blessed, thus to receive.
To this process God has attached pleasure, as he
has to that of receiving food, but both the process
and the pleasure are as clearly subordinate in one
case as in the other. We receive food that the
body may be built up and strengthened, and the
pleasure is incidental.  So here, the object of the
importing railway, or rather railways, is to bring to
the mind those materials upon which it may work
and be strengthened, which may be elaborated into
speech and action and enable man to become a
giver, freighting the outward railway with the products of knowledge andof love.
This last is the true sphere of man. He was
not made to be merely a passive receiver of pleasure, a bundle of sensibilities, to be madly wasted or
artistically and prudently exhausted, beginning with
a fountain full and sparkling, and ending, as all




11
mere pleasure must, with the vapid and bitter dregs
of decay and exhaustion.  He was made to be an
agent, with powers having the spring of their activity within themselves, and having it for their
law that they shall increase in strength by their
own legitimate activity. This it is that allies man
to the angels, and makes him of inappreciable
worth, and fits him to become increasingly a giver,
and to walk with waxing strength in an upward
path, even the path of the just, that shineth more
and more unto the perfect day. This it is in man
that lays the foundation for that most magnificent
of all figures, used by our Saviour concerning the
righteous, that they shall shine forth as the sun in
the kingdom of their Father.
But if this be so, if the sphere of activity and of
giving be higher than that of passivity and of receiving, then must it be more blessed to give than
to receive; for where should any being find his
highest blessedness but in the legitimate exercise of
his highest powers? This is the law of all beings;
so, and so only, can their highest blessedness be
reached.
Intimately as the pleasures of receptivity and of
activity are blended, we yet find in- the distinction
just drawn, a line of cleavage dividing the race into
two classes.  To the one belong the lovers and
seekers of pleasure as distinguished from blessedness or happiness; for pleasure arises from some
congruity between us and that which is without.
In it the movement is from without, inward, and
we are receivers. The lovers of pleasure are those
who make it their business to find that without




12
them, which shall act on their susceptibilities and
minister to their passive enjoyment.  To seek this
predominatingly is the fatal mistake and besetting
sin of most.  To do so is compatible with the
highest forms of civilization and of worldly respectability. It rather implies the cultivation and patronage of the elegancies and refinements of life,
and skill in the most agreeable forms which self-'
love and selfishness can assume.  The elite of the
class may worship beauty and art, but the mass
will worship sensual pleasure.  What they seek for
on earth- is the highest combination of these, and
they would desire no heaven but a Mohammedan
paradise.  Give them  the means of gratification,
and they are courteous, liberal and tolerant; interfere with these, and they are intolerant, deceitful,
malignant, cruel; and thus vices and cruelties more
shocking than those of barbarism may mingle and
alternate with the highest forms of luxury and refinement. With such an object of life, immortality
and accountability disappear from its back-ground,
and its value is estimated in sensations; the individual loses his self-respect and his confidence in
others; and though society may seem to be crowned
with verdure and flowers to its summit, yet that
summit will be the crater of a volcano.
Those, on the other hand, who make their activities the basis of their character, seeking blessedness
rather than pleasure, need, indeed, to have those
activities rightly directed; but they are on a basis
which is capable of sustaining the highest and most
solid structure of individual and social greatness and
blessedness.




13
We have now considered man as having sensibilities on the one hand, and a will on the other,a receptivity and an activity in correspondence with
which his physical frame is formed. But we find
a similar correspondence of faculties in the mind
itself, with no corresponding physical organization.
Man has not only sensibilities and a will, but also
desires and affections; and as he receives by his
sensibilities and gives by his will, so does he receive
by his desires and give by his affections.
Having shown that to give forth activity and
influence is higher and more blessed than to receive
impressions, we may now leave behind us, in our
search for the highest blessedness, all mere passive
enjoyment, and, while we estimate  that at its
proper value, consider only the different forms of
activity. All activity from within, outward, can be
regarded as a form of giving only in the wide sense
already mentioned; but all giving is a form of activity that springs from the affections, and we say
"that this is more blessed than any form of receiving
through the desires.
It is of the very nature of the affections that they
give, and of the desires that they receive.  The
affections have persons for their object; they arise
in view  of worth or worthiness in them, real or
supposed, and we seem in their exercise to give
our very being.  They are disinterested, they flow
out from us, they give, and appropriate nothing.
That is not affection which is not disinterested, and
it is only because this is not a world of open vision
that any outward token, flowing from a secret regard to self, can ever be supposed to give evidence




14
of affection.  In the sphere of affection every outward token is valued as the evidence of a gift more
precious than itself. When we give affection we
truly give; and what is commonly called giving, is
really so only as it is an evidence of this.
The desires, on the other hand, have, as their
distinguishing characteristics, that they appropriate
to themselves the things desired, and that their
object is things and not persons.  They appropriate
wholly; they receive, and give nothing. Here self
is the centre, and nothing is valued except as it
can be made to revolve towards the vortex of this
whirl pool.
And here again it is blessed to receive, and only
blessed, if the desires be kept within their own
sphere.  Not alone is there the music of enjoyment
from the correlation and adjustment of external
things with a sensitive organization, of the harp
with the breeze, but in the attainment of its object
by each of the desires.  There is a legitimate enjoyment in receiving wealth, and admiration, and*
fame, and power.
But here, no less than previously, do we find an
obvious subordination.  Not more obvious is it that
food should be received to be given back in strength
and activity, or that sensation should minister to
knowledge, than it is that the desires were intended
to receive that they might minister to the affections.
Let a man pursue wealth and power, not for their
own sakes, but solely that he may do good to his
fellow creatures, and there is no danger that the
desires, thus subordinated, will be in excess. But
the moment he pursues them, I will not say with




15
some reference to self, for God intended we should
provide for ourselves, but the moment he pursues
them selfishly, the servant becomes the master, and
slavery begins.
And here, too, there is made a great and general
mistake. The ends proposed by the desires, instead
of being held subordinate, become ultimate, and
thus the desires become the main spring of activity
and the basis of character. We all know how each
of the desires creates for itself a world of activity,
in which it becomes not only the pervading, but too
often the dominant principle; and when this is so,
man seeks to balance himself and society upon a
false centre, and can never be at rest.
In the world of business the desire of wealth
rules, and in the eager pursuit of this the vision of
its votaries becomes narrowed, so that they see and
care for nothing else.  Tile fraudulent man, the
rum-seller, the slave-trader, the panderer to appetite,
the inexorable landlord, have, it may be, no malignity, but in the intenseness of this desire, they
bow so eagerly to the god of their idolatry that
they see not the scattered wrecks of property and
of character strewed around them, and hear not
the wail of distress that comes up from fathers and
mothers agonized, and from wives and children
made desolate.  They hear but the cry of this
desire, saying, Give, give, and all the better forms
of intellectual and moral life are contemned and
wither away, and their hearts become as the nether
millstone.
In the world of fashion it is the desire of admiration that reigns.  The value of dress as a necessary




16
and a comfort, becomes subordinate to that which it
receives from the eyes of others, and from the position it is supposed to give.  Health and comfort are
disregarded. Each desires to become a receiving
centre, and the party, the ball, the assembly, where
they have been admired, and especially more admired than others, has been a pleasant party or ball
or assembly to them.  It is in this sphere that vanity, self-complacent, yet meanly dependent and
apprehensive, finds its food. Here every thing is on
the basis of receiving, and this gives it its heartless
and unsatisfying character. Even all copartnerships
for mutual admiration, whether between individuals
or in regular societies, give, only that they may receive as much again.
In the world of ambition the desire of power is
supreme.  No ties of kindred, no obligations of
faith and sacred honor, no pleadings of humanity,
no fear of a righteous retribution, can stay the
course of him  who has once entered the lists for
this glittering prize.  Reckless and remorseless as a
cannon-shot, he moves towards his object, shattering
and prostrating every thing in his way. "The land
is as the garden of Eden before him, and behind
him a desolate wilderness." A miser of power, if
he is less despicable than the miser of wealth, it is
only because he is more formidable; for though he
may he admired by the unthinking, he is yet equally
false to his nature, and to the true ends of life.  He
may be a battle-axe in the hand of the Almighty to
punish the nations, but a true man, knowing his
Maker, and voluntarily co-operating with him, he
cannot be.




17
And what is true of the desires thus specified, is
true of them all. The slightest knowledge of them
will show that they cannot be the basis of either
individual or social happiness. The isolated summits which they would reach are glittering and
attractive at a distance, but there is there no spring
of water for the thirsty soul, and no green thing.
Their constitution is such that they grow by what
they feed on, never reaching, like the bodily appetites, a limit of satiety.  " He that coveteth silver,
shall not be satisfied with silver."'  He that conquers one world, will weep that there is not another
for him to conquer. Hence a character which has
the desires for its basis, must be hard, and dry, and
unamiable, and selfish; and the individual must be
restless and unhappy.  As, too, the desires are
appropriating and necessarily exclusive, if they ate,
the basis of character in the community generally,
it must become the theatre of a general conflict, in
which every malignant passion and dissocial element
will mingle, and society will be dissolved into its
original elements.
But with the affections, the reverse of all this is
true.  In their exercise, we find ultimate ends that
are legitimate; nor is there in them any tendency
to excess and disproportion from their own activity,
They arise from an apprehension of some worth or
worthiness in the: person towards whom  they go
forth; and the only danger is, that the, imagination
will clothe their object in false colors.  Let the
person be seen as he is, and the measure of his
worth, or of his worthiness, is the natural measure
and limit of the affection; and'in this there can be
3




nothing exaggerated or excessive.  If the object be
greatly worthy, the affection ought to be great; and
the greater the affection, the greater the blessedness..Among the highest forms of blessedness
conceivable by us, is that of a perfect affection resting with full complacency upon a worthy object.
But if the individual will thus be made happy
through the affections, much more will society.
This scarcely needs to be shown. The affections
are not only the true bond of society, the only element and sure guarantee of peace, but as burning
coals burn more brightly when brought together,
so' must there be intenser blessedness where the
affections are drawn out by intimate and complex
social relations.
From what has been said under this head, it
would appear that to give, is to put forth power
under the guidance of love.  In doing this, there
will be a union of the activities with the affections.
Hence giving is the culminating point, the blending
and fusion of those activities and affections which
we have shown to be the two highest sources of
human  blessedness.  If, therefore, we will but
notice it, we shall find, as was already said, that it
is enstamped upon our constitution-that it grows
out of the very frame-work of our being, that it is
more blessed to give than to receive.
I cannot leave the discussion under this head
without observing, that we may gather from it the
limit and law  of all our receiving faculties in their
relation to those that give, —of all receptivity in its
relation to activity.  It is that that only should be
received, which will enable us to give; that the




19
limit of receptivity should be the point where it
ceases to minister to activity.
This gives us the law of temperance in all things
-its universal law.  Nature is not arbitrary, or
capricious, or cynical.  We are at liberty to receive
into the body anything, and in any quantity, that
will, on the whole, best minister to the strength and
activity of the body.  The mistake of intemperate
men, of every degree, is to receive for the sake of
passive impression those things which depress and
injure the powers of activity.  The student is at
liberty to receive into his mind as much promiscuous
reading, and to hear as many lectures, as will give
him the most active and vigorous mental powers.
Let him read as much as he will, provided it be
assimilated, and there be nothing of the crudities or
tumidity of mental indigestion.  Let the desires
stretch forth their arms as they may, and gather
wealth and admiration and power, provided there
be nothing gathered to be hoarded and gloated
upon and worshiped; and that the disposition to
communicate go hand in hand with the ability, and
thus the great law  of stewardship come in, and
every man, as he has received, be a good steward
of the manifold grace of God.
It is, indeed, in this relation and law of receiving
and giving, that we find the true ground of the
subordination of different enjoyments, and the true
theory of human well-being.  This last consists,
essentially, in the right activity of the powers.
The right activity of her powers, is that which
makes the King's daughter all glorious within; and
if this be so, the King will see that her clothing




20
shall be of wrought gold. For the completeness
aud fullness of well-being, there is needed not only
the inward harmony and joy, but the investment
and regalia of a world without, that shall testify
through every sense and susceptibility to the sympathy and approbation of Him  by whom that world
was organized and is sustained. We reject not, nor
undervalue the investment; but we find in this law
a necessity, that he who would attain true blessedness at all, should make the basis of his character
the activities and the affections, and not, as the
many do, the sensibilities and the desires.' In the
prevalent type of character, reason and conscience
and the affections are subordinated to some one of
the desires, pleasure being pursued so far as may
be compatible with that.  But if true blessedness is
to be attained, this order must be reversed; and the
love that gives, sustained by reason and conscience,
must take the place of the desires that-would receive; and all mere pleasure, all desire for passive
impression, must give way when love, so sustained,
shall call for active exertion.
I have thus illustrated, as I was able, the weighty
and comprehensive saying of our Saviour, that " it
is more blessed to give than to receive;" and we
find it confirmed by the example of God himself;
by the mute teachings of his works; and by the
best examination we can make of the constitution
of man in its relation to the modes and kinds of
possible  enjoyment.  The essential elements of
giving are power and love-activity and affection
-and the: consciousness of the race testifies that in
the high and appropriate exercise of these there is a
blessedness greater than any other.




21
And what is thus taught by precept and conrfirmed by philosophy and by consciousness, it is
most pleasing to find perfectly illustrated by example. With the interpretation now given, it could
not be more perfectly illustrated than it was by our
Saviour and his Apostles. He " loved us and gave
himself for us."  He saw that the world was in
such a state, that by giving himself he could save
men; and with the full knowledge of what was
before him, the poverty, the reproaches, the buffetings, the mockings, the scourging, the crucifixion,
he gave himself freely. This he did in the conscious exercise of power. He had power to lay
down his life, and he had power to take it again.
He gave, not as he gives whom  giving does not
impoverish, but he gave of his heart's blood till that
heart ceased to beat.  He planted his cross in the
midst of the mad and roaring current of selfishness
aggravated to malignity, and uttered from it the
mighty cry of expiring love. And the waters heard
him, and from  that moment they began to be
refluent about his cross.  From  that moment, a
current deeper and broader and mightier, began to
set heavenward, arid it will continue to be deeper
and broader and mightier till its glad waters shall
encompass the earth, and toss themselves as the
ocean.  And not alone did earth hear that cry.  It
pierced the regions of immensity. Heaven heard
it, and hell heard it, and the remotest star shall
hear it, testifying to the love of God in his unspeakable gift, and to the supremacy of that blessedness
of giving which could be reached only through
death-the death of the cross.  This joy of giving




22
it was that was set before him, for which he endured the cross, despising the shame.
And not only did our Saviour exemplify this precept, but also his Apostles.  They were first receivers, and then givers.  They filled their urns at
the fountain of light and power, and then rayed
these forth with an energy that made them the
great benefactors of the race.  Standing simply as
men, without wealth, or power, or learning, or
genius, they gave their being in its entireness to
the diffusion among men of God's method of salvation, and thus took their stand at the head of the
mightiest moral movement the world has ever seen.
Nor have they failed to have successors in men of a
like spirit, faithful, self-denying, ready at any moment to seal their testimony with their blood.  All
down the ages there have been those who have
given, not property only, but themselves, to this
cause of God and of man.
My dear Friends of the Graduating Class, I now
turn to you.  Our intercourse of the past year has
been one of mutual giving and receiving.  You
have not, I am thankfil to say, merely received, but
in kindness, in courteousness, in faithfulness, in progress, have also given; and in this there has been a
blessedness which I am sure will be cherished in
mutual remembrance.  And now, in closing my
labors for you, it has been with the hope of commending to your more careful attention, and to your
full adoption the reach and spirit of the text, that I
have entered upon the preceding  discussion.  I
would that you should be givers.  To you the




23
exhortation comes with peculiar appropriateness,
" Freely ye have received, freely give."  You have
received from God high endowments-not merely
the susceptibilities of the animal, by which you are
capable of pleasure, but tile powers of the angel,
by which you are capable of an eternal blessedness —not merely the desires which would grasp and
appropriate their objects, but also affections by
which you may give love and its fiuits, voluntarily
joining hands in that line of receiving and giving
which begins at the throne of God and terminates
only with animate being. You have received a
country, vast, prosperous, progressive, whose future
towers up into an undefined magnificence. Freely
you have received the heritage of fiee institutions
bought with blood, for which the nations of the old
world sigh in vain. Under these fostering institutions you have received your early education, and
now, through the wise beneficence of others, are
completing your collegiate course in the free air of
these mountains.  You have received the hoarded
wisdom of the past, a key of knowledge that fits
the wards of nature's locks as never before, that
is daily unlocking, and will unlock, treasures and
resources undreamed of in former days, and surpassing fable.  Above all, you have received " freedom to worship God," and a knowledge of the way
of life and salvation through Jesus Christ our Lord.
O ye plants in the very garden of the Lord, have
ye thus received his rain and his sunshine, and shall
ye not yield fruit? Shall there be among you one
empty vine, bringing forth fruit unto himself; one




24
frivolous, pleasure-loving, self-seeking, world-worshiping idolater? Are you not satisfied that the
law of giving is the true law of our being? And do
you not see how hopeless it must be to go against
those deep tendencies which God has wrought into
our frame-that to strike against the adamant of his
laws is to be "dashed in pieces?" "Freely ye have
received, freely give."  Poor you may be, and many
of you are, in the riches of this world. But there
is a giving higher than that decorous giving that
meets public expectation, but not the requirements
of good stewardship i there is a giving higher than
that of wealth to any extent. The time has come
when a man is "more precious than fine gold; even
a man, than the golden wedge of Ophir."  Give
yourselves, give as Christ gave, as the Apostles gave.
Pierce to the kernel those Christian paradoxes, that
we save by losing, and live by dying, and receive
by giving. Go where duty calls, where there is
ignorance to be enlightened, suffering to be relieved,
vice to be reclaimed, character to be improved.
These are works which must be done by living men.
Wealth alone cannot do them; the labors of the
dead past cannot do them.. It is not the touch
of the bones of a dead Prophet that can give moral
life. In every age it is a sympathizing love that
must stretch itself upon the body of this death, and
then it will live. So give, and in the day of the
Lord Jesus "-you shall receive a crown of glory
that fadeth not away."




PERIFECT  LOVE.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMISTOWN, MS.
AUGUST 15, 1855.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
SECOND EDITION.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1859.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855,
BY T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




SERMON.
1 JOHN Iv. 18.
PERFECT LOVE CASTETH OUT FEAR.
THE happiness which men seek, is not like gold,
which, when once found, can be kept; it is the
result of some activity; it must cease when that
activity ceases; and the happiness that is highest
and best, can spring only from the activity of those
faculties that are highest and best. Here is the
true theory of human happiness. With all normal
activity, God has connected enjoyment; and the
more exalted the faculties, and the more intense
the activity, the higher the enjoyment. If then
the highest happiness can come only from those
faculties, or forms of activity, that are highest and
best, it becomes a paramount question what those
faculties are.
The general modes of activity are three. We
think, we feel, we will. The will, however, need
not be considered here, because it is a means of
good only through thought and emotion. Aside
from mere sensitive good, it is from thought and
emotion that all willing springs, and it is to thought
and emotion that it ministers. We have, then, in



seeking for the immediate sources of enjoyment
not sensitive, to compare only our intellectual and
emotive nature; and our first inquiry is, What is
the relative rank of the intellect and the emotions?
It has been the tendency of the world, and especially of students, to exalt the intellect. Under
this, all agree in including our perceiving and
reasoning powers; and I would also include our
powers of intuition, and of comprehension. These,
especially those of intuitive reason and comprehension, are high powers. By them we are made
in the image of God, we become partakers of his
thoughts and purposes, and are enabled intelligently to serve him. They place us in the same
rank as the angels, and involve the capacity, and
thus the implied promise, of an indefinite progression. In their exercise, there is a consciousness of
inherent and native dignity that sets us apart from
the brutes that perish.
Connected with the activity of the intellect there
is naturally an appropriate and a high enjoyment,
that still has no name as a specific emotion.  Its
wheels do not creak and complain, as they revolve;
they sing. Doubtless there might have been a cold
and unimpassioned perception, a merely dry insight
and comprehension; but we are not so made. "It
is a pleasant thing to behold the sun;" it is pleasant to perceive and trace relations, to discover or
follow an argument; all insight and comprehension
are pleasant. Shall we then say that the pleasure
thus received is itself an emotion. In its widest
sense, we may; but not thus can we practically




discuss this subject.  The pleasure connected with
the mere activity of the faculties, is one thing; the
specific emotions, as of admiration, beauty, sublimity, which depend on the activity of the faculties under certain circumstances, are another; and
there is plainly no fixed ratio between perception
or comprehension on the one hand, and any specific
emotion on the other. There are those with great
powers of insight who feel little admiration; who
can stand before beautiful and sublime objects with
but slight emotion. An astronomer may weigh a
planet, or measure its orbit, or cast an eclipse, with
as little admiration as a shop-keeper would weigh
a pound of sugar, or measure a yard of cloth, or
cast up his day-book; while a person with but
little insight, knowing nothing but facts and results, may contemplate the heavens with constant
admiration and delight.  We even hear of the cold
philosopher; as if there were some incompatibility
between intellect and emotion; and we constantly
observe the greatest variety in the intensity of emotion, when persons are in the presence of the same
beautiful or sublime objects. It is true that all
elevated and worthy emotion must depend on the
intellect; yet so distinct are they, that we may
cultivate the intellect exclusively, and repress the
emotions; or we may riot in emotion, while the
intellect is comparatively neglected.
But since both intellect and feeling are essential
parts of our being; since thought is the condition
of feeling, and feeling stimulates thought; it may
be asked, how we are to decide their relative rank.




This we can do, as in all other systems of related
parts that have reference to an end. In these, that
which precedes as a condition and a means, is subordinate to that which is accomplished as an end.
Hence, that the intellect is subordinate, appears
from the very fact that it is the condition and basis
of the emotions, and that they are later in the
order of nature and of time. In the order of creation, and of all individual development,
" Time's noblest offspring. is the last."
Man, in whom all other things are epitomized and
culminate, came last; and that in him which is
highest and noblest, the powers of reflection and of
reason, with their consequent emotions, also come
last to perfection. In the vegetable, the fruit and
the flower come last, and all that precedes is conditional for these.  Emotion is, indeed, as the
flower to the stalk, as the fruit to the flower. It is
the verdure, that clothes the skeleton trees; it is
the expression, that lives and glows upon features
otherwise rigid and motionless; it is the sweet
smelling savor of every acceptable offering, that is
laid upon the altar of God's service or of the service of man; it is the incense that should go up as
a cloud from this world of marvels and of beauty.
To say that there is no happiness without emotion
in some form, seems hardly adequate. It might be
nearer the truth to say, that it is happiness-for
what do we know of happiness, except as an emotion. And yet there is no distinct emotion of
happiness that is known by that name, and that




7
can be distinguished from those several emotions
by which it is enwrapped, and which it perfumes.
The emotive nature of man, thus pre-eminent,
has a wide range; and we next inquire what it is
in that that is highest and best.
In perceiving external nature, every degree and
kind of perception has its emotion, from the faintest
whisper of beauty, sublimity, admiration, delight,
to their highest notes. It is, however, only when
we pass to sentient and rational beings, that the
emotions take the name of affections, and swell
and surge in the passions.  Here it is that we find
love; but in assigning its rank, we must make
some discriminations.
From  the poverty of language, things but remotely related to each other are often indicated by
the same word. So it is with love. In its broadest
sense, it indicates the tendency of beings capable of
enjoyment towards that in which their enjoyment is
found, whatever it may be. It includes' all animal
appetencies and instinctive affections, as well as
that attachment which, has its primal seat in the
will, and involves rational and moral elements.
The ox is said to love'the grass, the mother bird
its young, the ambitious man loves fame, the miser
loves" money, and' the seraph loves God. It is used.to express the purest affections of spiritual beings,
and to sanctify the grossest and most criminal passions. Like'fitness,' it is used to express a general
relation, and not the nature of the things related;
and the attraction of gravitation is not more unlike
that of two loving hearts, than are some of the dif



ferent forms of what is called love, from each other.
But the love spoken of in the text, has no connection with appetite, or passion, or instinct. or any
thing sensitive; but springs wholly from our rational
and moral nature, and is drawn forth wholly by that
which is rational and moral. It is the love of man
for the spiritual and unseen Creator. It is love, not
as an instinctive tendency, or a mere affection, but
as a principle. As in conscience there is a rational
element, by which we recognize the right, and an
emotion, by which we approve it; so in the higher
forms of love there is a rational apprehension of
worthiness, of moral beauty and excellence, and that
peculiar and strong and undefinable emotion which
is the soul of love. These may be distinguished
firom each other, but they cannot be separated and
the love remain.  It is their union that constitutes
the one substantial and working principle that we
call love, as it is the union of oxygen and hydrogen
that constitutes water; and it is this fusion of the
intellect and the affections, that is called' love' in
the text. This is the highest form of human, and
we may say, of rational activity. The light of the
intellect is cold and cheerless; it is the warmth of
love that brings out the verdure, and awakens the
voice of the swelling song. This is the high and
pure principle by which we are drawn towards all
that is capable of happiness in its proper sense, by
which we are not only attracted towards all that is
amiable and generous and pure and holy in character, but by which we abide steadfast in our attachments. It is the highest form of activity drawn out




by the highest objects. Taken with the happiness
which it enfolds, which pervades and forms a part
of it, it is the highest result, the brightness, the
crown and consummation of the works of God —
nay, it is the great mode of activity and ground of
happiness in God himself. "God is love, and he
that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God, and God in
him."  "He that loveth not, knoweth not God."
But perhaps we may best gain a conception of
the true rank and functions of love, from the agencies of nature which are required as its symbols.
No one of these is adequate. To symbolize it fully,
requires the three great elements or agents, on
which all enjoyment, and life, and order depend.
Of these, the first is light, which represents the
intellectual element in love. How grand a symbol
is this all-encompassing, all-revealing element! It
gives to the earth and heavens all their beauty and
glory. Without it, the distant universe would be to
us as though it were not. This is the only symbol
of that conscious certainty and satisfying knowledge,
without which all affection is degraded to an instinct.
But as there may be and is, knowledge without love,
as light without warmth, we will not dwell upon
this.
The second great element needed to symbolize
love, is heat. Not chiefly as concentrated in fire,
or as radiating immediately from it, is heat known
as a beneficent agent. It pervades all matter, giving
fluidity to water, to the sap of vegetables, to the
blood of animals, quickening every seed that germinates, and is an indispensable condition of all life.
2




10
Without it the universe would be solidified in eternal
frost, and motionless in death. But suppose, now,
there were in this universe no warmth of affection,
no throb of kindness in any heart; that God himself
were, as some would make him, but an iceberg of
intellect, chilling the universe, and that men were
made in his image; and there would be a frost and
a death, which the withdrawal of its vital heat from
the frame of nature could but faintly shadow forth.
Not one pulsation of love in the universe! How
awful the desolation! But where love is, all icy
chains are dissolved, all dormant life is quickened,
every rivulet sings, every flower opens its petals,
and to breathe is to be happy. An intelligent love
is the blended light and warmth that gives to all
things in the spiritual world their life and beauty.
But not less essential in nature than light and
warmth, nor less perfect as a symbol, is another
power that pervades the universe, and binds all
nature together. This is the power of attraction.
It shows itself in various forms, now uniting the
particles of smaller masses in the embrace of a
cohesion which no force can sever, and now binding
together families of worlds as they pay homage to
their centre, and move on with reciprocal attraction
and seeming affection in the fields of space. Without this, particle would be loosed from particle, and
world from world. The earth, the planets, the sun,
the fixed stars would be sifted into space, and would
disappear. Not a spot where the foot might tread
would remain in the universe. And this does but
represent the uniting and harmonizing power of




11
love, in an intelligent and moral system. Within a
limited range, and under higher control, a system
of balanced selfishnesses may move on for a time;
but as a great uniting principle, that will hold every
individual in his place and sphere, and work out any
rational good, nothing but love can be imagined.
This only can unite the family, the church, the state.
Only this can insure harmony among nations, only
this can bind the creature to the throne of the
Creator. With a God thus enthroned and reigning
by love, and every rank and order of being walking
his circuit by the attraction of love, not merely
around the throne of God, but around all those
social and governmental centres which God has
ordained, we have moral order, the only order that
can be permanent, or that has intrinsic worth.
The union thus of three, and perhaps even of two
great elements in nature, as the symbol of a principle or mode of activity in the spiritual world, is
entirely without example. Of these three elements
and forces, the sun is, in our system, the centre.
From him goes forth the light, from him the
warmth, from him chiefly, though it be reciprocal,
the attraction. What a fountain of radiance! How
does that radiance stream forth as in genial marriage with the vitalizing heat! WVhat a centre, we
might almost say, of loving attraction! And when
we look at the splendor and pervasiveness of these
elemental forces, at their gentle, yet ceaseless and
resistless agency, and at their results in the sphere
of matter, we may form a conception of the place
which that love must hold in a moral and spiritual




12
system, which can be symbolized only by all of
these; and we may realize more fully the grandeur
and force of those most simple, yet most sublime
expressions of the Bible, "God is a Sun," and,
"God is Love."
It is to this great principle of love, thus shown
to be the highest form of human, and indeed of
rational activity, that I would now, my dear Friends
of the Graduating Class, call your especial attention. It is of this, that I desire you should become
radiating centres; it is under the control of this,
as flowing out from the great centre of all, that I
desire you should fully come. In order to this,
then, let us, as would be required by the text,
consider first, what it is that love must exclude.
And here I observe, in the first place, that love
would exclude fear.  " Perfect love casteth out
fear." It is chiefly in fear, and not without reason,
that the son of Sirach makes that "great travail"
to consist, which he says "is created for every
man, and that heavy yoke which is upon the sons
of Adam, from the day that they go out of their
mother's womb, till the day that they return to
the mother of all things."  "Their imagination of
things to come," says he, "and the day of death,
trouble their thoughts, and cause fear of heart;
from him that sitteth on a throne of glory, unto
him that is humbled in earth and ashes; from him
that weareth purple and a crown, unto him that is
clothed with a linen frock." How then may fear
be removed. Its opposite is commonly said to be
hope, and it is by this that most would attempt to




exorcise this spectre. But the philosophy of the
Bible is profounder than this. Hope is so far from
being the opposite of fear, that it implies it. So
long as there is that want of certainty which hope
implies, there must be some fingerings of fear.
Nor is it all love that can cast out fear. On the
contrary, much of our love tends to increase and
multiply our fears. The more objects of affection
we have in a world like this, and the more tenderly
we love them, the more open are we to suffering,
and the more ground we have for fear. It is only
the love of God, as a Father, involving perfect
confidence in his wisdom, and  goodness, and
almightiness, that can stay the risings of distrust
and apprehension. This, a perfect filial love not
only can, but must so do, that all fear shall flee
away, as the mists of the morning before the sun.
To him who loves thus, God will be a " refuge and
strength."  He need not, and he will not fear,
"though the earth be removed, and though the
mountains be carried into the midst of the sea."
And not only would perfect love exclude fear, but
also hate. This it does towards the being loved,
by the very force of the terms. But he who has a
perfect love of God, can have no more hatred of
any of his creatures, than God himself has. lie
may —from the very fact of his loving a moral
quality he must-have, a strong hatred of its opposite; but in that there will be no corroding passion,
no malignity, which alone is properly hate, and
in which alone, and in remorse, is there involved
essential misery. As love is pervaded by an insep



14
arable happiness which, as an original part of it,
emanates from it, as the fragrance from the flower,
or the light from  the sun; so is malignity pervaded by an inseparable and an inevitable misery.
This element love would exclude; and thus, under
its sway, both fear and hate, those two great foes
of human good, would disappear.
Once more. The perfect love of God would
exclude that undue regard for self, into which all
malignity properly human strikes its roots. Both
fear and hate are passions, and imply intense feeling; but selfishness is a principle, and may be the
basis and substratum of life. Practically, this is,
indeed, the great antagonist force to love. Consciously or unconsciously, impliedly or avowedly,
we must make either self or God the centre; and
in the conflict of self with the claims and will and
interests of God, consists the great moral battle of
this world. Originally self has the ground; but
the entrance of divine love is as the opening of
spring, where the winter has reigned. The beginning of the spring is often unperceived; its progress is slow; there are long and fierce struggles of
contending forces; sometimes it may seem to go
back. But the sun does not go back. His advance
towards the northern tropic is steady; the snows
disappear, the conflict of the wind ceases, the earth
is quickened, and in due time the long, quiet, fruitful days of summer are sure to come. Such is the
progress, the triumph, the summer of a divine love
reigning in the soul. Now it will bring forth fruit




15
unto God, and all undue regard to self will be
excluded.
Having thus spoken of what a perfect love would
exclude, we now come to that which is positive, and
will first consider it as a motive to action. As such,
it is higher and purer than any other.  To work
from fear, is slavery; to work under the compulsion
of animal want, is a hardship, and if not a positive,
yet a relative curse; to work for personal ends, as
for pride, or ambition, or the accumulation of property, either for its own sake, or our own sake, is
compatible with freedom, but has in it nothing
either purifying or ennobling; it finds and leaves
the soul dry and hard. But activity from love, is
the perfection of freedom and of joy. Love has
the power to make the greatest labors seem light,
and the greatest obstacles trifling.  When Jacob
served seven years for Rachel, " they seemed unto
him but a few days, for the love he had to her."
How free and cheerful is the labor of a mother for
her child! And even among animals, where instinct simulates and foreshadows moral love, we
are attracted towards it, we sympathize with it, we
think it beautiful, we regard it as wanton and cruel
to disturb its natural flow. Its very semblance is
the highest form of animal life; and when the rapt
seraph adores and burns, it is this that gives to the
flame its brightness and its power.
But in a world and a universe where obedience is
so required by the cardinal relations in which we
are placed' to parents, to civil society, and;o God,
the place of love, as a motive to obedience, requires




16
special attention. In a moral system it would seem
that the point where obedience is required, must
be that and that only, where there can be pressure,
friction, derangement. Obedience requires the sacrifice of will, of pride, often of apparent self-interest.
And of these there is no solvent but love. Fear
may hold them in abeyance for a time; policy may
disguise and temper their workings; but only love
can come up and undermine them, and float them
away, and dissolve them in its own depths. Obedience from love, is that alone which is honorable to
him who is obeyed; and there is no other principle,
there can be no other, that will bind a free and
rational being to obey, and make that obedience a
source of happiness. Hence the Bible, always true
to the constitution and wants of our nature, anticipates and recognizes no other obedience. "This is
the love of God, that we keep his commandments."
"' If ye love me, keep my commandments," making
the love first, and the keeping of the commandments
a natural fruit and out-growth of that. Thus it is
that love, where action is not possible, and where it
is, love expressed in action-" love, is the fulfilling
of the law."
Nor, in addressing students, may I omit to mention the relation of love to the intellect as a moving
power. All high emotion is indeed preceded by the
action of the intellect; yet that emotion reacts
upon the intellect, and from it alone must come the
impulse that Will lead to steady and intense application. Here, as in the body, the powers act in a
circle. Digestion forms the blood, the blood gives




power to digestion. It is a prejudice, as disastrous
as it is unfounded, that there can be a schism
between the heart and the intellect, to the advantage of either. The world is not ready to receive
it, but it lies in our structure, and must ultimately
appear, that the love of God is the highest ground
of enthusiasm, not only in the study of his word,
but of his works. They may indeed be studied
from curiosity, from ambition, from a desire even to
disprove the being or the moral government of God;
and thus we may have sharp, disputatious, dogmatical partisans of theories; but the genial, patient,
comprehensive, all-reconciling thinker, will be most
often found where the pale and dry light of the
intellect is tempered by the warm glow of love.
How can he who has no love, interpret a universe
that originated in love? The works of God are all
expressions of his attributes, and thoughts, and feelings. Through them we may commune with him.
So far as there is thought in the works of God, it is
his thought. He it is that, through uniformities and
resemblances and tendencies, whispers into the ear
of a philosophy, not falsely so called, its sublime
truths; and as we begin to feel, and trace more and
more those lines of relation that bind all things into
one system, the touch of any one of which may
vibrate to the fixed stars, this communion becomes
high and thrilling. Science is no longer cold. It
lives, and breathes, and glows, and in the ear of
love its voice is always a hymn to the Creator.
And not only is love a motive of action, it is also
a guide. The modes in which conscious beings
3




18
are guided to their good, are two. They either
comprehend the good, and the means of attaining
it, and so are guided by reason; or, without comprehension, are guided to the good by a blind
and unreasoning instinct. Of these, reason is the
higher, but instinct is the more sure; and proud as
we are of our reason, it not seldom happens that
that very reason would call upon us to give up the
guidance of ourselves, not merely to faith in God,
which some object to, but even to the instinct of a
brute. The traveler on horse-back, returning home
and losing his way in the darkness, will most wisely
give his horse the reins. He who winds his way
over the fearful passes of the Andes, on the back of
a mule, where a single mis-step would precipitate
him a thousand feet, must interpose no suggestions
of reason between the sagacity of instinct and his
own safety. Now what man needs, is a guiding
principle, that shall combine the security of an
instinct, with the ardor of passion, and the freedom
and dignity of a rational wisdom.  And such a
principle he has in the love of God. It is rational
and free, because, in the fullest light of his reason,
man chooses God as the object of his confidence
and love; it has in it the element and impulsion of
passion, because we are drawn towards him by his
own inherent loveliness, as the river to the ocean;
and it is sure, because God must deny himself,
before he could suffer an action, prompted by genuine love to him, to result in ultimate disaster. It is
through this irresistible conviction of security, that
a perfect love must cast out all fear and its torment.




19
In a world like this, where we know so little of the
connections and dependencies of things, a case can
never occur in which the highest reason would not
require us to follow the promptings of love to God,
rather than any calculations of what we may call
prudence, or understanding, or reason. It may lead
to the martyr's stake; but the end will justify it.
It is from the predominance of love in the character
of woman, that what seem to be her instincts, but
which are something higher, are often so much
wiser than the reason of man. Woman loves, and
trusts, and so prays; man reasons, or thinks he
does, and scoffs.  The perfection of character and
of action will be found, as it was in Christ, in the
highest combination of reason and of love.
But not only is love a motive and guide of action,
it is the basis and essential element of character.
The characteristics of a man, are those things by
which he is known; his character, is his moral state,
and this depends on the paramount love that is in
him. If the paramount love be of sensual pleasure, the man is a voluptuary; if of fame, ambitious;
if of money, a miser; and if of God, he is a religious man. According to his paramount love, will
be the image and superscription that shall be set
upon every spiritual being; according to this the
quality of his inner life, his affinities, his companionships, and his ultimate destiny. The perfect love
of God, is the Christian religion perfected in us;
it gives us affinity for him, complacency in him,
and gives us naturally, the inheritance not only of




20
all things which he has made, but also of the direct
brightness and glories of his character.
And this leads me to speak, in the last place, of
love as a source of enjoyment.
Happiness, as has been said, does not consist
chiefly, in the possession of any thing, but in the
activity of the faculties upon their appropriate
objects. The intellect is not for itself; it apprehends
objects adapted to produce emotion, and the emotion
comes to us loaded with happiness, as the air with
fragrance.  We seem at times, indeed, to know it
only as happiness.
But of the emotions, the moral love of a Being
that is infinite and perfect, is the highest possible.
Has man the capacity to apprehend such a Being
directly, and can such a Being thus become, by his
own presence, the immediate cause of emotion 
That he can, the Bible clearly asserts; and this is
the Christian solution, unique and grand as the
telescopic heavens, of the great problem of the
highest good of man. No philosophy and no religion had conceived of any thing so lofty as this. It
is his chief distinction, his highest dignity, that he
is capable of such direct communion.
In this life we see all things by reflected light,
often in utter unconsciousness of the source of that
light.  The tendency is to see the creature, and forget the Creator. Men behold all things in their
unity and beauty, the'cosmos,' without reference to
God. The world is in their heart. But infinite love
has provided for his creatures something better than
this. We shall not only, as here, see God by




21
reflected light, we shall behold his face. The light
that is now below the horizon will arise full-orbed,
and shine with direct rays. It shall flood the universe, and shall never go down. There shall be no
night there. Not that we suppose that the whole
joy of heaven will consist in the direct contemplation of God. Christianity excludes no source of
happiness of which our higher nature could render
us capable. It includes the pleasures of knowledge, of the social state, and the swelling anthem.
But all must see, that if we are admitted, not only
to an apprehension of the universe, but also to an
immediate and direct apprehension of that goodness in which the universe originated; if we may
know the Infinite as a friend knows his fiiend, the
emotion must be far higher. This is the goal, the
limit of imagination and of possibility. Than this
nothing higher, nothing more ultimate or more
satisfying can be conceived.
And now, my Friends, in bringing my labors for
you to a close, what better can I do than to commend to you the cultivation of the affections, and
especially of that highest of all affections, the love
of God. I do not give you advice, but seek to
bring you under the guidance of a great principle,
that will bear you on to your true good, as the river
to the ocean. Adopt this, and I would simply say
to each of you, by way of advice, as Samuel said to
Saul:' Do as occasion shall serve thee, for God is
with thee.' So far as instructors can give direct
aid in education, it is in that of the intellect. In




22
this you have, to a great extent, walked with each
other, and with us; and if the way has been toilsome, it has also been pleasant, and the toil strengthening. We rejoice to have walked with you; we
hope it has been profitable for you, and that it may
hereafter be pleasant in the remembrance, that you
have walked with us. But when the intellectual
part is finished, and the point of transition from
thought to emotion and affection is reached, there
is no longer unity. We have then the expression
of the individuality of each, and the same appearances and facts and knowledge may be transmuted
into motions and affections, as different from each
other as an anthem is from a sneer. I exhort you
to sing the anthem, and if there must be those who
scoff and sneer, not to be of their number. There
is no source of happiness like a loving heart. He
that has found a worthy object of a true affection
has found a treasure, and he that has found one of
infinite worth has found an infinite good. Therefore it is that I address you in no language of stoicism, of caution, of repression, such as age and
experience often adopt. It is peculiar to the love
of God, that there is in it no danger or possibility
of excess. It is with loving, as with glorifying him.
"' When you'glorify the Lord," says the son of
Sirach, "exalt him as much as you can; for even
yet will he far exceed: and when you exalt him,
put forth all your strength and be not weary, for you
can never go far enough." Here there is no need
of repression, no conflict of reason with the affections. The highest office of reason is to minister to




23
a divine love, and if this, in which there can be no
excess, be enthroned, there can be no danger of
excess in any other affection or passion.  It is not
reason, that is the natural governor of the passions.
The office of reason is to enthrone an affection
rightfully supreme. When this is done, all othier
affections take their proper places. Then light,
and warmth, and attraction, coalesce; then, not
fiom coercion or repression, but from co-operation
and harmonious action, will there be peace, and an
infinite joy. I exhort you, then, to no cold caution,
but to the intensest energy, both of thought and of
feeling. Let reason tread her outermost circuits;
she shall gather nothing that will not kindle and
go up as incense at the touch of divine love. Have
zeal, have enthusiasm. There is a sphere for you;
there is a true treasure. There are gold and pearls
and diamonds and rubies that perish not. There is
something worth living for. Mount up as on eagles'
wings, up-up-to the expanse above you there is
no limit.
But while I thus exhort you to this love, as the
permanent good of man, I would also urge it as
especially needed now in our relations here-in
the present tendency to sectionalism in politics,
and to sectarianism in religion. If discordant elements are to be fused, it can be only by love.
Entire unity of view, in regard to modes and rites
and forms, may be hopeless; but may not these be
put and kept where they ought to be? May not
minor points be so merged in essential truth, that
harmony shall not be disturbed? May not God be




24
so loved, that all who love him shall be loved alsothat all shall be loved as he loves them. And who
should do this if not you? This is demanded of
you by the spirit of your training here; the age
demands it of you; God demands it. Who can
better bring the diversity that springs from free
thought into the unity of an intelligent love?
Diversity is before unity, as chaos is before order, as
solution is before the crystal. But has not diversity
touched its limit?. Is it not time that thoughtful
and good men should find a common centre in Him
who foretold the diversity, but prayed for the unity.
To Him we must look.'He is the true head, the
leader, the champion, the restorer of the race. Not
human systems or organizations, but Christ only,
can be a living centre of unity. His kingdom is
one of obedience and love-of obedience from love.
Of these he set the great example. He became
obedient unto death; he loved us unto the end.
My friends, I feel deeply, at this solemn moment,
that the complacency of God in us-that our cooperation with him-that the results of our living
that will stand the fire, will be as our love. This
will purify us. This will strengthen us for selfdenying labors. This will make us missionaries
wherever we may be. This will enable us to unite
substantially with all good men. This will make
it light when we go down into the dark valley.
And when your work is done; when, one by one,
you shall go down into that valley, may that light
be around you; may you each have that " perfect
love" that " casteth out fear."




SELF- DENIA L.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWVN, MASS.
AUGUST 3, 1856.
BY  MARK  1HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
Published by request of the Class,
BOSTON:
T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1856.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856,
By T. 1R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.




SERMON.
HEBREWS II. 10.-MATTHEW xvI. 24.
For it became Him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing
many sons unto glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings.
If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and
follow me.
WHAT is it that makes a hero.  Not simply
labors  performed  and  sufferings endured.   The
slave labors and suffers. The labors and sufferings
must be voluntarily assumed. Nor is this enough.
The fanatic, the superstitious devotee, voluntarily
assume labors and sufferings; but they are not
heroes.  The labors and sufferings must be voluntarily assumed, from  benevolence, a pure affection,
or a sense of duty. Labors and sufferings thus
assumed and perseveringly sustained, make a hero;
and it is the turning point in the destiny of men,
when they freely decide whether they will, or will
not, assume that self-denial and suffering, without
which nothing great or good can be accomplished.
Not more surely does the tree come to its flowering
and its fruitage, than man comes to freedom of
choice, intelligent action, moral responsibility, and
through these, to that moment of decisive and governing choice which shall control his professional
career here, to that which shall give direction to




4
the current of his moral life forever. At this point,
the set of the current may be undecided. It may
be as water on the summit of the Andes. A pebble, the finger of a child, may turn it; but that
moment decides whether it shall mingle with the
stormy Atlantic, or rest and glitter on the bosom
of the broad Pacific.
You, my beloved Friends of the Graduating
Class, stand, to-day, upon the summit of a moral
Andes. It overlooks, on either hand, the plains
you are to traverse, and the ocean you are to sail.
Not as drops of water, are you impelled by a necessitating force; but with the comprehension of reason, with the responsibilities of freedom, with the
advantages of education, in the freshness of opening manhood, you are to decide whether you will
tend towards that dark and troubled sea which can
not rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt; or
towards that bright and peaceful ocean, where
sleep the isles of the blest.
This connection of heroism with labor and suffering preferred for a high end to ease and pleasure,
and this turning point in life, heathen mythology
has presented in the choice of Hercules, between
Virtue and Pleasure. I wish to present them to
you under the clearer light and higher sanctions of
the religion of Christ. This would make every
man a hero. The text asserts that the work of
Christ was accomplished through suffering, which
we know he chose to endure, and that those who
would follow him, must deny themselves, must take
up the cross! Is then the end worthy of these
sacrifices? Are they inherent in the system? How




5
does this principle of self-denial compare with
those which regulate the world  l That we may
answer these questions, let us look
I. At the object of Christianity, as presented in
the text-to bring  "many sons unto glory."
II. At the process by which this is to be accomplished-a.process of salvation implying a previous
liability and tendency to ruin.
III. At the consequent fact that self-denial and
suffering, voluntarily assumed, must enter as essential elements into Christianity.
And IV. Compare the principle of self-denial
with those which regulate the enterprise and pleasures of the world.
FIRST, then, the object of Christianity is to bring' many sons unto glory."
This is its more immediate and direct object,
though, as has been said of the atmosphere, it
"' consolidates uses." The atmosphere evaporates
water, distributes it, reflects light, bears up birds,
wafts ships, supports combustion, conveys sound, is
the breath of our life, and the azure of our heavens.
So Christianity, while it magnifies the law, and
enthrones mercy, and reconciles us to God, and
makes known to principalities and powers in the
heavenly places his manifold wisdom, is also the
regulating and renovating spirit in the relations of
time. It alone inspires and guides progress; for
the progress of man is movement towards God, and
movement towards God will ensure a gradual unfolding of all that exalts and adorns man. It excludes malignity, subdues selfishness, regulates the




passions, subordinates the appetites, quickens the intellect, exalts the affections. It promotes industry,
honesty, truth, purity, kindness. It humbles the
proud, exalts the lowly, upholds law, favors liberty,
is essential to it, and would unite men in one great
brotherhood.  It is the breath of life to our social
and civil well-being here, and spreads the azure of
that heaven into whose unfathomed depths the eye
of faith loves to look. All this it does, while yet
its great object is in the future. The river passes
on, but the trees upon its banks are green and bear
fruit.
The glory spoken of in the text, and which is
the direct object of Christianity, consists in an immortality in the moral likeness of God, and in the
consequent enjoyment of him and of all that he
has to give. It implies conscious rectitude, and
the approbation and love of all the good in the
universe of God. This is true glory; and the love
of this, Christianity does not repress. That love is
Christianity, and it calls out in its pursuit the
whole strength of the human powers. It opens to
the flight of the eagle a boundless firmament.
Here is one difference between the Christian and
the worldly hero. " Now they do it," says the
Apostle, " for a corruptible crown, but we for an
incorruptible." It is a " crown of glory that fadeth
not away." It transcends, as it should to be most
effective, as it must to be adequate, our highest
conceptions.  Even inspiration can only say, as
only inspiration would say, " We know not what
we shall be."  "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,
neither have entered into the heart of man, the




7
things which God hath prepared for them that love
him." This is the highest possible object for man,
and hence there is in it his true end; for the true
end of any thing which God has made, is the highest of which it is capable.
Christianity does not, indeed, claim that it shall
bring all unto glory. Here is a mystery that hangs
over this revelation, and a ground of its rejection
by many. It speaks of sin with a sternness, and
of its unaverted results with a terror, with which
those who have but slight conceptions of the holiness of God have no sympathy. Still, it is entirely
a system of salvation, and will bring unto glory
every one who will receive it. Men may reject it,
and then charge upon it the very ruin from which
it came to deliver them; but it is wholly beneficent.
Through it must come all the ultimate good that
shall come to the race; and if there must be those
who perish, yet the sons that shall be brought unto
glory shall be many. They shall be " a great multitude which no man can number, of all nations
and kindreds and people and tongues."
Such is the object of Christianity; and I now
observe, in the SECOND place, that this object is to
be reached by a process of salvation, implying a
previous liability and tendency to ruin.
This proposition all do not accept; and, among
those who believe in the being and agency of a
personal God, the question respecting its truth
involves a division more radical than any other. It
involves a difference in the foundation on which
men build, in all the aspects of the present system,




in the supposed tendencies of our nature and of
human affairs, and in all plans for reform. This is
the parting point between the Evangelical system
of religion and all others; for Evangelism, being
the proclamation of good tidings, can properly
involve only what is announced from without as
coming into the system, and not any thing already
in the system and that could be evolved from it.
Is the ship moving towards the port, or drifting
upon the rocks? Left to itself, will that aggregate
of capacities and tendencies which we call human
nature reach its true good as instinct reaches its
end? Do we become sons of God, and shall we
be brought unto glory by our first birth, or must
we be born again?
I know, well how strange the state is in which
this doctrine supposes our world to be, and into
what mysteries of the past, and perplexities of the
present, and fears of the future, it must run; and
how strong in us all, is that naturalism by which
we hold, as with the grasp of death, to what is
called the world. I know with what intense hatred
and scorn this doctrine and its adjuncts are regarded, often by learning and philosophy, and especially
by genius, that well knows how to weave its bitter
derision of them into the tissue of its fiction and
its poetry.  I know how  strong the argument
against it is, both from feeling and from a seeming
analogy.
How  bright and beautiful is that nature by
which we are surrounded, and with which we
feel ourselves in sympathy?   We stand abroad
when the day is gone, and the stars are coming out




9
in the clear heavens, and the crescent moon hangs
in the west, and the dark foliage sleeps in the still
air, and the faint light lies upon mountain and valley and river like a white veil upon the face of
beauty, and Feeling asks, Can it be this upon which
revelation has written, " Reserved unto fire"?
iWe see the orbs of heaven moving, unerringly, as
if of themselves; we see the tree pushed upward
by an internal force, and the animal following its instincts, and thus reaching their ends. They have no
need to be born again; and Analogy asks, Is not our
nature also good? If we give ourselves up to the
guidance of its instincts and impulses and passions,
shall it not be well with us? To enjoy, is it not
to obey? May we not give nature her bent, and
eat and drink and enjoy ourselves and die, and feel
that death is but a sleep before a pleasant waking?
O what joy it were to mingle ourselves with the
elements and forces around us, in their on-goingi
without responsibility, or care, or fear! Can it be
that we must deny ourselves'  Have we that in us
which needs to be repressed, crucified, and must
we make strenuous effort or be lost? O how gladly
would we believe that the broad road of nature does
not lead to destruction —that her current would
float us down to no rapids, and to no cataract.
But not so speaks the revealed word. That says
that the broad road does lead to destruction.  Not
so says conscience. When the still night of reflection comes, she does hear the roar of the cataract
towards which sin is floating. Not so say history
and fact. When we contrast the idols of heathen
nations, and their objects of worship, with the true
2




10
God; and their frivolous and debasing superstitions
with his holy and spiritual worship; and their
aims and hopes with the Christian heaven; and
their wretched forms of intellectual and social life,
their wars and licentiousness and revenge and deceit, with the intelligence and purity and love
which Christianity would produce; when we see
how  Christianity itself is thwarted, baffled, perverted, rejected; we must feel that here is moral
perversion and moral ruin.  Not so speaks the
voice of nature, in her sterner and more terrific
aspects; not so in the uncertainty and hazard upon
which she puts us in regard to our interests here;
not so in her unswerving laws and unpitying infictions when the fatal point in transgression is
reached. Not so speaks death, in its present aspect
and form, with its sin-envemoned sting. Not so
speak the law of God, and those dreadful words,
guilt, and remorse, which are in human speech because what they indicate was first in human consciousness. Not so, especially, speak Gethsemane
and Calvary. There, can be no healing without
sickness, no redemption without captivity, no pardon without guilt, no finding of those that are not
lost, no salvation without exposure to ruin. If
nature and Christianity did so speak, the first altar
built by the gate of Paradise, and every bleeding
victim under the Jewish economy were a lie, and
Christianity would deny the necessity of its own
existence.  There would not be, as there is now, a
salvation, and a Captain of our salvation made perfect through sufferings.




With such ground for the proposition that the
process of Christianity is one of salvation, let us
look,
III.  At the consequent fact that self-denial and
suffering, voluntarily assumed, must enter as essential elements into Christianity.
The self-denial and sufferings essential to Christianity as redemptive and restorative, are those of
Christ, and of his people.  Both were necessary,
but on different grounds.  When the Apostle says
of Christ that he was made perfect through sufferings, he must mean, not that he was made perfect
as a man — for as a man he was always perfect —
but that by these he became officially perfect, that
is, qualified for his work.  Why it became God
thus to qualify him, we are not here told; but this
expression implies that in his qualification the sufferings were an indispensable element.  That they
did meet an exigency in the divine government, and
are of peculiar efficacy, appears from the fact that
he did so suffer; from the whole sacrificial economy,
patriarchal and Jewish; from most direct assertions
of the Bible; from the peculiar basis of Christian
obligation; and from the songs of the redeemed.
But all the sufferings of Christ were not redemptive. He met with opposition and reproach, and
felt under them as man may feel.  He "was in all
points tempted like as we are," and there are selfdenials and sufferings which his people must share
with him. The soldier must follow his Captain.
That self-denial enters into the preceptive part of
Christianity, no one can doubt. It is remarkable




12
how  unflinchingly she proclaims her gate of entrance to be strait, and her path to be trodden, narrow.  She calls upon men to count the cost before
they begin to build. Unqualifiedly and universally
does Christ announce the condition of discipleship:'If any nman will come after me, let him  deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.''It is
enough that the disciple be as his M[aster.'' If they
have persecuted me, they will also persecute you.'
But is not this a harsh and an unexpected feature in a religion which originated in love?  Is
there not in it something of arbitrary appointment?
Might not Christ have endured all?  We say, No.
We say that self-denial not only may, but must
enter into Christian life-that so far as Christianity
is redemptive and restorative, every act originating
under it is, and must be, an act of self-denial.
Christianity is not the absolute religion. That is
freedom, health, strength, joy. That is the religion
of heaven, where every power sings in the joy of a
spontaneous activity. But as redemptive and restorative, Christianity exists only as antagonistic
to sin; and hence there must be conflict and consequent self-denial till sin shall be eradicated.
Self-denial is not, as some seem to suppose, a
conflict between different forms of selfishness.  It
is not self-denial when the miser concentrates his
selfishness into one absorbing passion, and through
that denies and subjugates his appetites; but selfdenial is the triumph in man of that which is
higher over that which is lower. It is, first, the
exclusion of selfishness, and then the renunciation
of any form of enjoyment, or of natural good, from




13
duty or from love. Christian self-denial is the denial of self for Christ's sake.  It is love going forth
to reclaim the sinful, and relieve the wretched.
Now Christianity finds man in the intense activity of a spiritual death, and her work is to make
him spiritually alive and healthful; but all moral
death and moral disease so involve a love of sin
and its pleasures, a wrong bias of the will, that
conflict must attend every step of the process in
eradicating sin and restoring the image of God.
The disease is in the will-in the very self. Hence
that self must be denied; and it is the beauty of
Christianity that the great transition-acts by which
man passes over to it are not arbitrary, but imply
just this denial.  Repentance, especially in that
element of it by which we forsake sin, is always
the denial of self; and this must continue as long
as sin shall remain.  The very act of faith by
which we receive Christ is an act of the utter renunciation of self, and all its works, as a ground
of salvation. It is really a denial of self, and a
grounding of its arms in the last citadel into which
it can be driven, and is, in its principle, inclusive
of every subsequent act of self-denial by which sin
is forsaken or overcome.
But if it must require self-denial to resist and
overcome sin in ourselves, so must it when the sin
is in others. To a sinner, the very life of his life
seems involved in the selfish bent of his will, and
hence the war between sin and holiness is one of
extermination. The true expression of the opposition of sin to reproof, of its blind determination
and unfaltering malignity, is to be found in the cru



14
cifixion of Christ.  It slew the Son of God. When
man saw perfect goodness, he crucified it.  That
act showed the character of man; the life and sufferings of Christ showed the kind of effort needed
to reclaim  him.  His mission was wholly for the
good of others, including their radical reformation,
and was therefore one stupendous act and manifestation of self-denial.  Of the same general-character
were the labors of the Apostles and their successors,
and such must be all true missionary labor.  In
doing this, men renounce the love of property, of
ease and enjoyment, and give, and labor, and suffer,
for the good of others.
This essential inherence of self-denial in the
Christian system  is a doctrine that has faded, perhaps is fading, from the consciousness of the
church, and greatly needs to be freshened and
revived.  Having its root in the moral ruin of
man and his possible restoration, it must enter into
the elimination of sin and its consequences from
any system.  It is the distinctive characteristic of
Christian activity as opposed to a life of mere nature, or of absolute wickedness. It excludes, on
the one hand, all penances and self-righteousness;
and, on the other, the love of ease and self-indulgence.  Thus viewed, there is about it nothing
arbitrary, or harsh, or austere. It is no mere negation of good for the sake of the negation, but
rather the regimen necessary for the restoration of
health. Not with the eye of a cynic or of a stoic
is any enjoyment scorned or rejected, but only as
duty and love fix their eye upon something higher
and better. God is not a hard master. The infi



15
nite love of the gospel is dashed with no spirit
averse to enjoyment, or that would mar the unspeakable gift.
But if self-denial must thus enter into the Christian life, let us, as was proposed in the FOURTH
place, compare it with the principles which govern
the world, especially with that which governs it in
its enterprise and business.
The principle which regulates the enterprise and
business of the world, is that of demand and supply; and the spirit of the times requires, when this
would come in conflict with self-denial, that they
should be brought fully into contrast, that you may
choose intelligently between them.
That this principle of demand and supply has a
legitimate sphere, I do not question. Among beings
capable of supplying each other's wants and demanding nothing injurious, it would be wholly
legitimate.  It does now, and must always, regulate trade, as gravity does the level of the ocean;
and to apply it skillfully, is the great means of
success in honorable traffic and in all forms of
business.  The young man inquires what it is that
the world demands and is willing to pay forwhether to supply its wants, or to gratify its tastes
-and as he can furnish this, and the world is willing to pay for it more than it costs, his gains will
increase. In doing this, he can meet with no opposition from the very fact that there is a demand;
and though he may thus accumulate a fortune, he
is often regarded, if not as a benefactor, yet with
complacency and approbation. Especially is this




16
so if he have met a want unsupplied before, thus
opening new sources of enjoyment, and new channels of industry.  How  long did the ice of our
rivers and lakes form and dissolve, and contribute
nothing to industry or comfort? And he who first
had the enterprise to take it to the tropics, deserved
a fortune.  Thus we trust it will be, more and
more; that as the great,ocean currents circulate
the waters of all zones and equalize temperature,
heat creating the demand and cold supplying it, so,
in the legitimate application of this principle, the
productions of all zones shall more and more contribute to bring unity into the seeming diversity
of nature, to supply the wants and augment the
comforts of man.
But wholly legitimate as this principle would be
in a race unperverted, it has its root in the doctrine
that the world needs no moral change-that we
are to take it as it is, and make the most of it.
This it is that supplies, and insists on its right to
supply whatever demand may exist, regardless of
the wickedness or the woe it may cause.  This
it is that will sell the assassin his knife, and the
drunkard his drink, and the slave-dealer his slave.
It says, there is a demand; I only supply it; if I
do not, another will. Thus the business of great
companies and firms, nay the very institutions of
society become impregnated and cemented by iniquity, till interest conspires with appetite and passion to blind the conscience and silence rebuke.
Confining yourselves prudently within the range
of this principle, you may pass on easily, and gain
wealth, and be respected. Men will praise him




17
that doeth well for himself  You will not be of
those who turn the world upside down. You will
not trouble the world, and the world will not trouble you.
But, my friends, when the Captain of our salvation came into this world, he came not to supply a
demand. There was none. HIe came to meet a
deep, though unacknowledged want. He came to
those who did not receive him, who rejected him
and his teachings, and crucified him. Universally
it is the characteristic of wickedness and of the
ignorance it engenders, that they desire to be let
alone. Unhallowed traffic says, let me alone, and
slavery says, let me alone, and drunkenness, and
licentiousness, and Sabbath-breaking say, let us
alone, and superstition and heathenism say, let us
alone. If we wait till there come up from these a
call for reclaiming influences, we shall wait forever.
And not only do they not demand these, but they
will resist them, and persecute those who bring
them, and the unconsciousness of need and the
strength of resistance will be in proportion to the
depth of the ignorance and of the wickedness. In
the face of a state of things like this, what is your
sagacious, prudent, prosperous, demand and supplyman good for?  His principle is that the supply
should be as the demand, and when the demand is
great his labors are great, and so is his harvest.
But just the opposite of this is the principle of
self-denial. Not in proportion to the demand but
to the want of it; to the depth of the insensibility,
or the fierceness of the opposition, will its sensibilities be quickened and its energies stirred. It will
3




18
run at the articulated cry for help; but when there
is no cry, it will abide long, even as the missionaries in the South Sea islands sixteen years, and
chafe the temples of seeming death. Said one who
proposed to be a missionary, " Send me to the darkest and hardest and most degraded place in your
field." There spoke the spirit of the Captain of
our salvation; there the spirit of every true missionary and minister and pastor.  Where is the
pastor even, who so preaches the truth as to search
the conscience, and enforce every duty, and exalt
God, and lead to a life of humility and self-denial
because there is a demand for such preaching.
Where is there one who is not constantly tempted
to substitute the principle of demand and supply
that calls for smooth, or learned, or entertaining, or
exciting preaching, instead of that which would fix
his eye steadily on the true end of preaching? The
object of this principle is, not to take the world as
it is and make the most of it, but to transform  the
world; and it can never rest till that world shall
reflect the image of heaven.  The leaven, if it be
leaven, must work and cause fermentation till the
whole be leavened.
After the contrast now drawn, it will hardly be
necessary to compare this principle of active and
voluntary self-denial with those which govern the
seekers of pleasure and of personal distinction.
For the principle of demand and supply, there is a
legitimate sphere; but a love of pleasure or of personal distinction as a paramount end, has no such
sphere. They have self for their centre. Their
object is to use all things, not to improve them.




19
Incidentally and casually useful, they are necessarily disturbing forces in any great system of order.
They link not themselves with God, or with any
rightly constituted community, and so, when the
springs of nature fail, they wither. There is about
them nothing redolent of immortality. No man,
whatever his wealth, or position, has a right thus
to live to himself No man has a right to excuse
himself from  active self-denial for Christ's sake.
" If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me."
From what has been said, it appears that if there
is in Christianity an element of self-denial and suffering, it is because there is also in it the heroic,
and the redemptive element.
The heroic element is a firm purpose to do and
to endure all that love may prompt and duty require; and implies obstacles great and long continued. It is born of conflict, is manifested through
labors and sufferings, and hence, but for sin and its
consequent evils, could have had no place. It is
not rash, or quixotic, or vain; it is not superstitious or ascetic.  Needless conflict or suffering it
avoids; but when its hour is come, it dares to the
utmost, it endures unto death. Its full perfume is
known only when it is crushed. What wonder,
then, that there has been hero-worship?  What
has the pantheist that is nobler. Yea, what is the
very highest manifestation of being, the sublimest
object of contemplation? Not oceans, not mountains, or precipices, or cataracts, or storms. Not
the blue vault above us, with planets and satellites
and countless suns; not the awful depths of infi



20
nite space.  It is not power in its creative or upholding agency; it is not skill in its minutest or
in its broadest exhibitions; it is not even God himself ruling by love over an intelligent, free, harmonious, happy universe.  No; it is self-sacrificing
Love.  Clothe this and the issues connected with
it, as does Christianity, with the attributes of infinity and eternity, and you have a manifestation of
God such as nothing else can give. It is Love unto
death; Love conquering through death; Love conquering death itself, and bringing up from the
struggle, and bearing aloft the gift of eternal life
for a race that was lost.  Here is the power of a
divine Redeemer-in this the voice of the Captain
of our salvation to a redeemed race, calling upon
them to follow him. For something of this —for
self-sacrificing love according to his measure, there
is a capacity in every man, and to this, in the great
conflict between moral good and evil of which this
world is the theatre, every man is called. It requires no favoring exigency, no special endowment,
no applauding throng, no results even which may
not seem to sleep with the body of the humblest
Christian till the resurrection. Its theatre is time,
its issues are in eternity. This is the true battle of
life. That is, not with the elements, to gain food
and shelter; it is, not with the selfishness around
us, to gain wealth and position; it is the conflict
of every man with that within and around him
which would drag him and others down, and would
debar him and them from their rightful inheritance
and position as children of God. And what element of heroism can there be which does not here
find theatre and scope?  There is an enemy to be




21
conquered, great struggles are required, great results are pending.  Here are needed both endurance and achievement; and if hitherto, in Christian
heroism, endurance has seemed to preponderate
over achievement, it is to be remembered that they
spring from the same root, that endurance is often
the nobler and more difficult, and that in this cause
endurance is achievement.  "He that endureth
unto the end, the same shall be saved."  Wonderful is it that Christianity, which so humbles man,
should also so stimulate and exalt him —that it
should be the only thing that brings within the
reach of all, the struggles and rewards of a true
heroism.
We see also, from the preceding discussion, the
peculiar source and character of Christian joy.
Man is naturally capable of joy in its lighter
forms. There is a joy in wit, and pleasantry, and
mirth; and with these Christianity is not incompatible, except as the sight of the great mountains,
or the piloting of a boat down the rapids, or earnest engagement in any business is incompatible
with them. They are a part of our humanity; they
have their place, and let them have it, varying with
temperaments and with times. There are also the
more serious and deeper joys of success, of gratified
desire and affection in any form. But Christian
joy is joy under the'Christian system, which exists
only in opposition to sin and in conflict with it.
It is not, therefore, the joy of the absolute religion,
when the kingdom shall be delivered up to God,
even the Father, but of a cause yet militant, moving on in discouragement and perplexity, and often
meeting with apparent defeat. It is the joy of re



22
pentance, of humility, of hope, of conflict; for in
the conflict itself there is often a stern joy not to
be exchanged for those that are lighter. There is
in it the joy of earnestness, which is man's natural
element. Negation, skepticism, distrust, have no
joy. There is joy as the truth grows brighter, as
temptation is overcome, as appetite and passion and
evil habits succumb, as there is news of success
and of the power of God's Spirit over the vast and
varied field. An Apostle could say, "' I have no
greater joy than to hear that my children walk in
truth." The Christian is in sympathy with Christ;
and as the captive Jews remembered Jerusalem, so
he remembers his cause, and weeps and rejoices
with the alternations of its success.  He is as the
patriot soldier watching the turns of parties and
the fate of battles. This may give him a sober and
an apprehensive eye, but there is in it a deep and
solemn joy. This is high in itself, but is chiefly to
be regarded as prophetic of that which shall be,
when these straits and shoals and currents of time
shall be past, and we shall look out upon the calm
ocean. That will be the time for joy.  And 0,
what joy, when, in view of the full range of this
mighty conflict, of the parties engaged, and of the
issues involved, we shall see the last enemy destroyed, and many sons shall be brought unto glory.
That will be the time for joy; now is the time for
labor, for self-denial, if need be, for suffering.
Once more, we may see what must be the characteristic of effective labor in the Christian ministry.
Something is said at the present day, perhaps
not too much as it is intended, of making the min



23
istry an inviting field of labor to young men, and
thus in these days, when the world draws so
strongly, of inducing more to enter it. But nothing is gained by fighting the world with its own
weapons. The ministry has its own joys and rewards, higher than any other; but let me say to
you, my friends, who propose to enter it, that in its
true spirit it can never be made an inviting field to
flesh and blood; and unless you expect to take
upon you this burden of self-denial, and to look for
your reward chiefly to the Captain of your salvation when the conflict shall be over, let me entreat
you not to enter it.
But not only in the ministry is self-denial required; there is one rule and standard for all.
And now, my dear friends, let me ask each of
you, standing where you now do, Will you deny
yourselves in this world for Christ's sake? I call
you to no superstition, to no austerity, to no fostering of pride and self-righteousness, but to the
acceptance of this essential element of the Christian system as Christ left it. As you answer this
question, you will settle the cast and general direction of your influence for life. So far as you are
Christian men, and have insight into your own
state and moral wants, you must adopt this as an
element of your own secret, spiritual life. Only
thus can you be transformed into the image of
Christ.  Only thus, too, can you do any thing to
hasten the triumphs of a redemptive and restorative
system on the earth. In proportion to this, must
be your interest and ownership in the future kingdom of Christ. This is the spirit in which Paul
prayed and labored, the spirit in which Mills and




24
his companions prayed under the'hay-stack' fifty
years ago, and devoted themselves personally to the
work of missions; and only in this spirit can you
be associated with them.
Your course of study here is now ended; and
these scenes, which I shall remember, which I trust
you will remember with gratitude and pleasure, are
now closing. The voice of your great Captain is
calling you to other posts in the ranks of his army.
Go to your posts. You are needed there. Long
has that army marched in feebleness and in gloom.
Through the long night of the past I hear its
muffled tread, and the low notes of its complaining
music. I hear the groanings of its prisoners, and
see the light of its martyr fires.  But now the
morning is spread upon the mountains. Catching
the strains of prophecy, the music strikes up inspiring notes, and the tramp of the host as it
emerges from the gloom, begins to shake the earth.
Every where the standard of the Captain of our
salvation is thrown to the breeze, and the ranks are
defiling as on the plain of the final battle. Go to
your posts; take unto you the whole armor of
God; watch the signals and follow the footsteps
of your Leader. That Leader is not now in the
form of the man of sorrows; not now does the
sweat of agony rain from him. Him the armies of
heaven follow, and he "hath on his vesture and on
his thigh a name written, King of kings, and Lord
of lords." The conflict may be long, but its issue
is not doubtful. You may fall upon the field before
the final peal of victory, but be ye faithful unto
death, and ye shall receive a crown of life.




HIGHER AND LOWER GOOD.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWN, MASS.
AUGUST 4, 1857,
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D., LL. D.
President of Williams College.
PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE CLASS.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET,
1 857.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857,
BY T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




MATTHEW vi. 33.
BUT SEEK YE FIRST THE KINGDOM OF GOD, AND HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS; AND
ALL THESE THINGS SHALL BE ADDED UNTO YOU.
THE blessings which man can enjoy may be
divided into two classes.  Of these, one class comes
to him without his seeking them.  If he is to live
at all, he must see the light and feel the warmth of
the sun; he must breathe the air, and smell the
fragrance of flowers, and hear the voices of men
and of birds. These things he may, indeed, seek;
but for the most part they come to him without
any seeking or agency of his.
But there is another class of blessings in respect
to which the voice of nature and of revelation is,
" Seek, and ye shall find."  They are to be had only
by seeking —often only by the most assiduous and
energetic application of those powers which God
has given for their attainment. To most men this
is true of wealth and its advantages; and it is
universally true of all high knowledge and of all
those personal acquisitions and qualities of mind
by which a man becomes truly great.
But these blessings that must thus be sought,
may also be divided into two classes, according to




the direction in which they are sought.  WTe may
either seek to produce outward changes and to
acquire possessions, or we may seek to produce
inward changes-to become wiser and better. We
may seek to derive our happiness chiefly firom what
we possess, or firom what we are. The greater part
of men evidently direct their activity chiefly to the
production of outward changes and the acquisition of possessions. This, as it is the sin, is also
the great error of the race. A few only seek first
to make the tree good, and leave the result with
God.
That "the kingdom of God and his righteousness" are among those blessings that must be sought,
is very plain. In this respect they differ even from
knowledge.  Some knowledge is gathered unconsciously and involuntarily, but the kingdom of God
and righteousness can come only through the activity and consent of the affections and the will. It
is also equally plain, that the direction of the
activity to be put forth in attaining these must be
within. "The kingdom of God," says our Saviour,
"c is within you." It does not consist, in ally degree,
in the possession of any thing. It has nothing to
do with wealth, or station, or learning, or place, or
time. It consists wholly in our state; in what we
really are in our relations to God as he is revealed
in his law, and in his gospel.
And such a state-a right state in our relations
to God-is not only to be sought, but is the highest
end which man can seek. That this is so regarded
by God, is evident front the very fact and plan of
redemption. All the motives and efforts and ener



5
gies of his moral government have been, and are,
adapted to produce in man a change of state.  For
this Christ came; for this the Spirit is given; for
this the gospel is preached; for this angels minister; this causes joy in heaven; in this God is more
glorified than in all the works of his hands. What
God desires of us, is a right state of the affections
and the will-that we should take the place of his
children, and be his children. Such a state, moreover, is the perfection of man  himself in that which
is most intimate and essential to him.  It constitutes him a centre of light and of power. It is the
brilliancy of the diamond, and all else is but the
setting.
Having thus seen what the kingdom  of God
is, in what direction we are to seek it, and that it
is the highest end at which we can aim, we now
proceed to consider the assertion of the text, that
if we seek this, " all these things " shall be added
unto us. What is included in "these things,"
we learn from the context.  "Therefore take no
thought, saying, what shall we eat; or, what shall
we drink; or, wherewithal shall we be clothed? (for
after all these things do the Gentiles seek;) for your
Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of
all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of
God, and his righteousness; and all these things
shall be added unto you."
We have here a promise, in this specific case,
that in seeking a higher good, adequate subordinate
good shall be incidentally secured.  But do these
words of our Saviour express an isolated fact? Is
it not a general truth, that he who in any depart



6
ment aims at and attains the highest good, will also,
and in so doing, attain, not merely an adequate
amount, but the highest amount of subordinate
good?  This we suppose to be a general principle,
and we propose to show  that it is confirmed,
first, by the Scriptures; secondly, by all that we
observe in life; and thirdly, by the very constitution and processes of nature itself.
And first, if we test this principle by the Scriptures, we shall find it fully confirmed in.the Old
Testament.  Of this no more striking instance could
be given than that of Solomon. When he was
permitted to ask what he would, and asked an
understanding heart, "the speech pleased the Lord
that Solomon had asked this thing. And God said
unto him, Because thou hast asked this thing, and
hast not asked for thyself long life; neither hast
asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of
thine enemies; but hast asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment; behold, I have done
according to thy words: lo, I have given thee a
wise and an understanding heart; so that there was
none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall
any arise like unto thee. And I have also given
thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches,
and honor."  He sought that which was higher,
and God added the lower.
But of this principle the whole history "of the
Israelites is an exemplification.  During the period
of the Judges, whenever they sought the Lord and
served him, they prospered. The earth yielded her
increase, and their enemies were subdued; but
when, ceasing to seek the higher blessings, they




turned to idolatry, the lower were also removed.
So in the history of the Kings, whenever one of
them "did that which was right in the sight of the
Lord," the Lord was with him and made his way
prosperous; and when one of them "did evil in
the sight of the Lord," disaster was sure to follow.
This is the one great lesson taught by their whole
history, and intended for the warning of individuals
and of nations.
In the New Testament, spiritual blessings are
more regarded; but even there, this principle does
not fail of being announced in its general form.
We are told that "' godliness is profitable unto all
things, having the promise of the life that now is,"
as well as " of that which_ is to come."
Being thus confirmed by Scripture, let us test
this principle by a reference to the common objects
of desire and pursuit in life.
Health is a subordinate good. To some extent,
certainly, it is a good in itself, but it is chiefly so. as
enabling us to perform fully the duties and labors
of life. How then is health best promoted? Not
by making it a direct object, and exercising for the
sake of exercise, but by seeking, through all the
exercise of body and mind which they involve, to
accomplish those higher ends for the attainment of
which health was given. It was not by attention
to health, but by labor, that our fathers secured
the constitutions they had.  It is when people
have little to do, or do little, that they become
nervous, and make out a daily bulletin of their
feelings; and if they are not sick think they are,
and in the end become so. It is recognized by




every physician as a general principle, that the best
condition and means of health is such activity in
the pursuit of other ends as shall cause health to
be unthought of.
Again, sensitive pleasure is a subordinate good,
and how may this be best obtained?  The body
may be used either for the higher purpose of promoting the moral ends of life, or as a machine
with the direct object of manufacturing the various
forms of pleasurable sensation; and what we say
is, that it will yield more of this form of good in
its higher, than in its lower use. Pleasure results,
not from the body alone, nor from that which acts
upon it alone, but from the relation of the two.
It is as the music from the IEolian harp. Let the
harp be well strung, and it matters little what wind
may blow. So of the body. It is only when this
is well strung by temperance, and has that general
vigor and perfection of all the senses by which it is
best fitted to serve the mind, that it is most perfectly in harmony with all those natural objects
which are adapted to give it pleasure.  The sensitive organization of man was made to respond to
the whole of nature. It is all his counterpart, and
natural inheritance.  But when he begins to make
upon his system drafts of artificial excitement for
the express purpose of pleasure, his relations to
those sources of temperate and lasting pleasure
which God has provided are changed. Quiet and
simple pleasures become insipid; passive impressions become weaker; stronger and still stronger
excitement is required; and the dividends of pleasure are increased only by drawing on the capital




9
stock.  The natural birthright of the senses is then
rejected-sold for a mess of pottage.  Thenceforward the man knows nothing of sun-risings and
sun-settings, and the glories of night, and the march
of the seasons, and the singing of birds. Sensation
is more and more divorced from that union with
intellect and sentiment by which it may be transfigured.  Instead of being mingled in the feast of
life as a condiment, it is concentrated with an unwholesome drug that stimulates and bewilders its
victim for a time, and then palls upon the sense.
Even Epicurus could say, that the greatest amount
of pleasure could be reached only by temperance.
Thus it is that the use of the sensitive organization for a purpose lower than that for which it was
intended, is not only wickedness but folly.  This
point should be fully settled by every young man,
for it is just here that many make shipwreck.'We next inquire how this principle applies to
the acquisition of wealth. Would a lawyer, or a
physician, or an artist gain wealth, how will he do
it most successfully?  Certainly by attaining something higher,-great excellence in his profession or
skill in his art, —and then wealth will flow in as a
matter of course. But if any should say that the
skill is subordinate to the wealth, let me speak of
a character for prudence, for energy, for high integrity and honor, for righteousness generally. To
such a character wealth is certainly subordinate,
and yet the cultivation of that will be fbound one
of the surest ways of acquiring wealth.  This
includes all that is meant by the proverb, that
"honesty is the best policy," and something more.
2




10
Not only is honesty the best policy, but there is a
tendency in all righteousness, or, as the Scriptures
term it, wisdom, to produce wealth and the outward
means of enjoyment.  " Length of days is in her
right hand, and in her left hand riches and honor."
Righteousness must exclude all habits of vice and
of vain and injurious expense; it would insure
industry and a sense of responsibility, and would
secure that confidence which is so important an
element of success with business men.
In the present disordered state of things, there
may be, and are exceptions to this in individual
cases; but, on a large scale, where alone the principle can be fairly tested, there can be no exception.
Let a nation, let this nation become righteous, and
it is as certain as any law in physics, that it would
be the nmost effectual means of increasing its wealth
and worldly prosperity.  The heavy weights of
crime and pauperism, that now drag society down,
would fall off; its productive power would be
greatly increased; property would be more valuable as more secure; and the imagination can
hardly conceive the extent to which such a nation
might enjoy all that can make this life happy.
Again, how may a man best take care of and
extend his reputation. Not by aiming at it directly, by anxiously nursing it, eager to show every
unfavorable rumor to be false, and to fan every
spark of good opinion into a flame; but by going
on in an independent course of duty, leaving unfounded reports to die out of themselves, and the
sparks to kindle into a flame, or not, as they may.
And if this be true of mere reputation, it is
much more so of any great and lasting fame. The




11
highest form of greatness, and, of course, the highest legitimate fame, can never belong to a man who
has fame for his chief object, He is no true artist,
who pursues his art for the sake of fame.  The
patriot, whose highest object is fame, is no patriot.
Health, pleasure, wealth, reputation, fame, these
are all subordinate objects, and to them  all the
principle now laid down applies.  As a general
rule, they are best attained when some higher end
is the immediate object of pursuit.
Here, then, we have a great law for human action.
Is it also a law which God has prescribed for himself, which runs through nature, and is incorporated
into all the processes and methods of his natural
and moral government?  Does he always, in securing higher ends, incidentally secure the lower?
In securing specific ends, and giving unity to
his works, God has two methods.  One of these we
may call the method of additions, the other that of
development. In the first, lie passes onward and
upward, fitom step to step; at each step adding
something new, but also bringing forward, either
in itself or its results, all that had preceded.
To illustrate this, we must go back to the beginning of time, when we may suppose matter to have
existed chaotically in space, having properties but
not laws.  And it may be well for our present purpose, to represent the world to be constructed as a
pyramid with a broad base, and ascending by successive steps or platforms, each above less extensive
than that below.
What then, in such a state, must have been the
first and lowest step by which matter could have
been rendered available. Evidently it was to bring




12
it together into masses; and so the first law in the
order of nature, if not of time, must have been that
of gravitation.  This lies at the foundation.  It is
simple, universal, and seems to pervade all space;
but, acting alone, it would simply hold the particles
in proximity.
The object next higher would be, to form from
these loose particles solid bodies. This is done by
what is called the attraction of cohesion; and
bodies united by this will form the second platform.
But here it will be observed, that the higher includes the lower.  Not all particles that gravitate
cohere, but all that cohere gravitate.
The object next higher would be, to cause particles not merely to cohere, but to combine and to
form compounds.  Bodies thus united would form
the third platform. But here, again, thlis higher is
not attained without the two lower. All bodies
united by chemical affinity also cohere and gravitate.
The next higher and more specific object would
be, the production of regular forms, as in crystals;
but every body that has a regular form also gravitates and coheres, and has its particles united by
chemical affinity.
These are the first four platforms in the upward
progress of the creation, and they include only
inorganic matter.
The platform next higher is composed of regular
forms endowed with organic life.  This includes all
plants-the whole vegetable creation. But in every
plant we find not only organic life, and regular
form, but also chemical affinity, and cohesion, and
gravitation.




13
The next step upward is to sensitive life-that
which is capable of enjoyment and of suffering,
with the instincts necessary for its preservation.
This greatly narrows our platform; but here again
the attainment of the higher both includes and presupposes that of the lower. In every being possessed of sensitive life, we find also organic life, and
regular form, and chemical affinity, and cohesion
and gravitation.
There is but one step more. It is that which
carries us from the sensitive life with its instincts,
up to the higher rational and moral life of man.
Here we find every end attained that we had below,
and something added. Man is subject to every law
to which the minutest portion of matter is subject,
and has, generically, every characteristic of every
order of being from the animalcule up to himself.
In him we find operating gravitation, and cohesion,
and chemical affinity; in him we find regular form,
and sensitive life, and instinct, and, added to these,
the higher gifts of reason and of conscience, by
which he is made in the image of God.
Thus do we pass from that which is subject to
law, to that which also comprehends law. Thus
is man placed on the summit of the pyramid of
these lower works, and fitted to link himself with
that which is above. Thus is he the natural ruler,
the epitome and crown of this lower world. Thus
is he fitted, as partaking of the nature of all, to be
the representative and priest of every thing below
him, and to gather up and give a voice to that
inarticulate praise which goes up from every part
of it to the Creator. Thus it is that the seven steps
of the creation up which I have endeavored to




14
lead you, may be compared to seven notes in music
sounded successively, and then in harmony.  In
the first step, there was a single note; in the second,
the same note was taken up and another that accorded with it was added; in the third, another still
was added to these, till man came, and every thing
was prepared for the full chorus that rang through
the arches of heaven when the morning stars sang
together and all the sons of God shouted for joy.
We see then how perfectly, in this method of
additions, God adheres to the  principle which
we are now considering.  He never does secure,
according to the constitution which he has adopted
it would seem  impossible he ever should secure,
a higher end or good, without securing at the same
time, incidentally, every subordinate end and good.
But, besides the method of additions, I have
spoken of that of development.  This applies only
to organized beings, each of'which is a system
having parts and functions, some of which are
subordinate and others ultimate.  To such a system
nothing is added from without, except as there is
development from within. It supposes something
to be enveloped; and that to which all the other
parts are subservient, will be that which is originally enclosed in all the rest, and which is the last
to come to perfection.  So it is with the brain in
man, so with the flower and the fruit in the plant.
But that the principle in question must hold
under this method is evident because, here, that
which is highest becomes perfect only through the
ministration of the parts that are lower; and the
more perfect the parts are that minister, the more
efficient must their ministration be. This is the




15
general rule. Limitations there may be, but not
exceptions. ~Would God secure to any man the
highest, the best balanced, and the longest continued action of the intellectual and moral powers,
he does it only by giving him a sound physical
constitution.  When Maoses, the servant of the
Lord, was a hundred and twenty years old, " his
eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated."  So
has God constituted every organic being, that "' if
one member suffer, all the members suffer with it,
and if one member rejoice, all the members rejoice
with it;" and if he would secure the perfection of
the higher parts that are ministered unto, he must
do it by securing the perfection of the lower parts
that minister.
So far, then, as we can observe the works and
methods of God, there is no exception to the principle now stated. Within the sphere of this world,
it is evidently a great, guiding idea, in all that he
does. It was so in its construction, giving it unity;
it is so in its government, and how much farther
it may extend, we cannot say.  It may be, taking
the universe together, and going back to the very
birth of time-not of our time, but of all time-that
the first world, or sun, or system that came into
being, gave the key-note to the whole.  It may be
that that note has been repeated with additions
from that time onward, till at length it may require
the ken of the highest archangel to read the extended scale, and the voices, as of many waters,
that surround the throne, to utter the swelling
anthem.
But, it may be asked, is not the great doctrine of
voluntary self-denial, a doctrine taught equally by




16
nature and by Christianity, an exception to this
principle? Is it not of the very essence of selfdenial, that instead of attaining a subordinate good
by pursuing one that is higher, we attain the higher
only by renouncing the subordinate?
This is a difficulty; but it will be observed that
it arises wholly from  the disorders and unnatural
state introduced by sin.  This disorder and perversion are sometimes so great, as in martyrdom, that
it is necessary to sacrifice every subordinate good,
even life itself, for the attainment of that which is
higher.  Paul found it necessary to suffer, and did
suffer, the loss of all things for Christ's sake.
Still, a fair statement of what is required by the
law of Christian self-denial, will show  that such
cases are but exceptions.  This law is not arbitrary.  It is no law of fanaticism, or enthusiasm,
or self-torture.  It simply requires, first, that we
deny ourselves every thing that is sinful in itself;
and, second, that we deny ourselves subordinate
good not sinful in itself only so far as it would
exclude a higher good. The first of these is no
exception to the principle of the text, because
pleasures, sinful in themselves, are not a subordinate but an incompatible good —incompatible
with any true good.  Under the second requisition there may be exceptions, but they commend
themselves to our reason and give us our true law
at a point where there has been serious error. The
Christian may attain any subordinate end, as wealth,
may enjoy any subordinate pleasure, as that of the
senses, to the highest point of non-interference with
that which is higher and better. You are at liberty, my friends, to pursue wealth, and pleasure, and




17
fame, as far as you please, provided that pursuit be
not incompatible with the attainment of a higher
good. You are at perfect liberty to follow amusements to any extent, if there be nothing higher
or better, which, as men, and as Christians, you
can do.
While, then, we admit that exceptions may arise
in this way, still, the general rule will hold that
subordinate good is best attained by the pursuit of
that which is higher.
Having thus illustrated and confirmed the general doctrine implied in the text, from the Scriptures, from what we observe in life, and from  the
constitution of nature, I turn, my Beloved Friends
of the Graduating Class, to you. Together, and I
trust not without some success, we have pursued
the investigations of science, and have sought the
foundations of truth and of duty.  But now the
relation, very pleasant certainly to me, in which we
have stood to each other, is to cease. To you there
has come a period of transition-one of those
doublings of a great head-land, when it becomes the
voyager to make up his reckoning, and to take his
bearings anew. In doing this, do not fail to remember how treacherous is that sea upon which
you are to sail. One, of high promise and hope,
who heard me the last year as you hear me now,
sleeps in death. The name of Lamberton should
admonish you that the voyage may be but brief.
But whether it be brief or protracted, whether with
gales prosperous or adverse, I wish to put into your
hands an infallible chart. Here it is: "'Seek ye
3




first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness."
Since the world began, there was never a sentence
penned or uttered which I should prefer to give
you as your guide. In it is the essence of all wisdom for man, for the individual and for society, the
wisdom of all reform and of all growth.
In following this chart you will, first, see the
necessity of seeking something. " Seek ye," says
our SaViour, "seek."  Have an aim, definite, specific. Without this there can be no comprehensive
plans, no unity, no true decision, no earnestness, no
moral power. The whole history of the race, the
arrangements of nature, the constitution of man,
all proclaim that man can reach his true good only
by the voluntary activity of his highest powers in
seeking a chosen end. Some tilings you may have
without seeking; some you may seek, and not find;
but there are things, and those which you most
need, that you will never find without seeking.
Seek ye-yTe, who are placed on the summit of
the pyramid of these lower works; ye, who may,
if you will, link yourselves with that which is still
higher; ye, who have but one life in which to
make the great choice; ye, who have been redeemed
by the precious blood of the Son of God, seek ye.
But what will ye seek? This is the great question, here and now.  ~What will ye seek? What
will ye seek first?  Not for its own sake, but for
its bearing upon this question, have I asked your
attention to the preceding discussion.  I wished
that my appeal to you to seek first the kingdom of
God, might come, not only from his word, but that
it might be seconded by a voice from all his works.
I wished you to see that the principle involved in




19
the text is so inwrought into all those works, that
it cannot fail to avenge itself upon those who shall
disregard it. I wished you to see that the works of
God are but as a great whispering-gallery, along
which, if you will but put your ear to it, the words of
Christ are constantly echoing. Seek, then, not that
which is below you-you were not made for thatbut that'" which is above, where Christ sitteth, at
the right hand of God."  Seekfirst the kingdom of
God, and his righteousness. Seek it first in the
order of time.  Let no business preclude it.  Seek
it first in the strength of that purpose by which
you devote yourselves to its pursuit. The kingdom
of God! His glorious and eternal kingdom! His
righteousness! The moral likeness of God!  Seek
these, and all other things, truly good, shall be
added unto you. That this shall be so, there comes
a voice, not from the word of God only, but from
the very beginning of time, and it is uttered with
increased force at every step in the process of the
creation. No, my Beloved Friends, it is not I that
speak to you; it is the whole process and method
and structure of the creation of God.  For him all
his works testify.  Wlhen the Saviour says, " Seek
ye first the kingom of God, and his righteousness;
and all these things shall be added unto you," there
is not one of them that does not utter its Amen.
And why should not he who attains the kingdom of God and his righteousness, have all other
things added?' It must be so. If there may be
exceptions and limitations in the present temporary
scene of sin and disorder, I beseech you think not
so of God as to suppose there can be any ultimate
exception. "Though it tarry, wait for it; it will




20
surely come; it will not tarry."  Think not of God
as unwilling that his creatures should enjoy all
from his works that they can enjoy, without sin.
Vast as this universe is, he has made it, the whole
of it, for his creatures. He owns, not the earth
only and the planets, but the sun, and the milkyway, and the far-off nebulae. And what use has
he for all these but to make his creatures happy 
And whom should he make happy but those who,
in his appointed way, seek first his kingdom and
righteousness?  So doing, you shall become his
children; and if children, then heirs; and then it
is the voice of reason as well as of Scripture, that
utters that promise-the most magnificent that language can embody-ye " shall inherit all things."
Ye shall be children and citizens in the kingdom
of God, and shall have the free range and use of
all his works.  The clouds and darkness which
now seem to rest over his moral government, you
shall see roll away; and from the first faint whisper
at the birth of time, to the full and triumphant
chorus of a finished creation and redemption, you
shall catch and repeat the song that shall come up
to God from all his works of creation and providence and grace. Wvith wonder and joy you shall
witness every new step in the process of creative
power, and of the manifestation of the divine character. You shall be present at that next and
higher manifestation to which all things are now
tending and hastening, and of which he speaks
when he says, " Behold, I make all things new."
You shall sit down at the marriage supper of the
Lamb.




EAGLES' WINGS.
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWN, MS.
AUGUST 1, 1858.
BY  MARK  HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE CLASS.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. IR. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1 8 5 8.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858,
BY T. R. MArVcN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




S E  0RM ON.
ISAIAH XL. 30, 31.
EVEN THE YOUTHS SHALL FAINT AND BE WEARY, AND THE YOUNG MEN
SHALL UTTERLY FALL: BUT THEY THAT WAIT UPON THE LORD SHALL
RENEW THEIR- STRENGTH; THEY SHALL MOUNT UP WITH WINGS AS
EAGLES; THEY SHALL RUN, AND NOT BE WEARY; AND THEY SHALL
WALK, AND NOT FAINT.
HAVE we then, here, an exception to the great
law of decay?  Is there any thing that begins to
be, and grows, that does not reach an appointed
limit, and then go back?  Is not the daily movement of the sun in the heavens the fit emblem of
every living thing that he looks upon in his circuit 1 He comes out of his chamber in the morning; he climbs the eastern sky; he reaches his
meridian height, and then declines to his setting.
So it' is with every blade of grass, with every shrub,
with every tree; so with every insect and animal,
from the animalcule to the elephant; so it is with
the physical system of man, and so with his mental
faculties. And not only do change and decay affect
every organized being, but also the empires of men
and their monuments, and even the face of nature
itself.  "And surely the mountain falling cometh
to nought, and the rock is removed out of his
place; the waters wear the stones; thou washest
away the things that grow out of the dust of the
earth; and thou destroyest the hope of man."




4
Throughout this universe nothing is at rest. There
is permanence only from change. The stability of
the heavens is from their motion; the permanence
of our bodies is by constant waste and supply.
Whether the movements in the heavens will be
perpetual we know not, but in the march of life
every step is towards death. The movement there
tends to a cessation, and that cessation is death.
It is this certainty of decay that gives a tinge of
sadness to the scenes that are the most full of life.
In the deepest green of the mountain side, the prophetic eye sees the " sere and yellow leaf;" in the
gayest assembly of the young, it sees the gray hair
and tottering age.
But to this law we find in the text, and in the
Bible generally, an exception. WVe are told that
"' the path of the just is as the shining light, that
shineth more and more unto the perfect day "-that
" the righteous shall hold on his way, and he that
hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger "that "they shall go from  strength to strength" —
that "they shall mount up with wings as eagles;
they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall
walk, and not faint."
So, likewise, the kingdom of Christ is not to be
subject to the decays of other kingdoms.  "Of the
increase of his government and peace there shall
be no end."  "And the kingdom shall not be left
to other people, but it shall break in pieces and
consume all other kingdoms, and it shall stand forever."  "His throne shall be established forever as
the moon, and as a faithful witness in heaven."
"His dominion is an everlasting dominion, which




shall not pass away; and his kingdom that which
shall not be destroyed."
HIere, in those who wait on God, we have an
alleged exception to the law of decay.
What then is it to wait on God? It is not to
wait for him in an indolent passivity. It supposes
that "all our springs are in him," and that there is
an open channel of communication between him
and us; so that the resources of his omnipotence
may flow in to us, and supplement our weaknesses
and infirmities. Its elements are expectation and
trust. It implies ends sought in sympathy with
God, and a sense of dependence on him  actively
expressed. It is as when a captive, who cannot
redeem himself, waits on and earnestly implores
the help of one who can redeem him. We do not
suffice to ourselves. On every side we are surrounded by agents and elements that we cannot
control. Beset where we stand, opposed when we
would go forward, we find ourselves powerless in
the presence of obstacles and foes. Then we wait
upon God; our strength is renewed, and we go forward. Plainly, those " who wait on the Lord" are
the same as " the just," " the righteous;" and the
doctrine is, that the moral and spiritual nature of
man is an exception to every thing else on this earth;
and that moral goodness not only need not wane,
but that it may have an uninterrupted progress.
To establish the doctrine just stated will be our
first object; and to do this, we must find the ground
on which the exception is made. This is found in
the very nature of moral goodness. Moral goodness has its seat in the affections and the will, and




6
these do not so decay with the strength of the body
and the power of the intellect, that that goodness
is impaired.
It is a brave and a beautiful thing, if indeed it
be not rather sublime, when a man, in the fullness
of health and of strength, is required to abjure his
faith in Christ, and in the face of the tyrant he
says boldly, and even defiantly, No. But when the
inquisition puts its victim on the rack, and the
power of endurance is tested to the utmost, and
there remains only strength of mind to apprehend
the question, and only strength of body to whisper
the feeblest No, there is in that No, a power that is
mighty in proportion to the very feebleness of its
utterance. Yea, if we suppose any power of apprehension, and of expression even by the feeblest
sign, to remain, the indication of firm principle
and enduring affection and moral goodness can
become strongest and most affecting only at the
point where the powers of the body and of the
mind flicker on the very verge of death, and at the
moment when they go out in its darkness. The love
of the Saviour for this world reached the crowning point of its expression only at the moment
when he " bowed his head and gave up the ghost."
In these cases the exhaustion and feebleness are
indeed from torture, but the principle is the same
in natural decay. Had the affections of that aged
and dying Christian grown weaker as his powers
decayed, who, when he was asked if he knew his
friend who spoke to him, said, " No,"-if he knew
his children, " No,"-if he knew his wife, "No,"if he knew the Lord Jesus Christ, "Yes," and a




7'
smile from  heaven lighted up his countenance;
" Yes, he is all my hope."  In such cases, the embers of a wasting animal life gather over the " vital
spark of heavenly flame," and obscure it. It seen-ims
to be lost; but when it can be thus reached, as
sometimes it may, it is seen to be all a-glow, and
the light which it shoots up is but the brighter
from the darkness out of which it comes.
It is conceded that the strength of virtue and of
trust are most tried in adversity, and when the natural desires are thwarted.  "Though he slay me,
yet will I trust in him," is the strongest possible
expression of confidence. Let, then, the decay of
the powers from age commence and go on, and let
there be perfect acquiescence in this till their apparent cessation; and how does the power of goodness, as thus seen, differ from that which is seen in
submission to a voluntary death, and in holding on,
through exhaustion from torture, till the very end?
The truth seems to be, that an accountable being,
remaining such, can be placed in no circumstances
in which moral goodness, the principle of duty, of
submission, of faith, may not be brought into exercise; and if exercised, then, by a natural law, must
they be strengthened; and the more difficult and
trying the circumstances are, the more strength
may be gained.  It is through and in the very
weakness of the natural powers, that the moral
powers may show their strength. Only at the moment of the seeming triumph of the tyrant, of
disease, of decay, can humanity pay its highest
homage to goodness and to God.
In the struggles of men against evil and for the




8
right, there is doubtless given the special and supernatural aid of God; but, in addition to this, it
would seem, from what has been said, that the
exception made by the Scriptures to the great natural law of decay, is itself sustained by a natural law.
Having thus shown that there may be constant
progress in moral goodness, we next inquire
whether such progress is not a condition of the
highest possible strength and perfection of the
intellectual faculties. If we regard man simply
as intellectual, will he not, both as an individual,
and as a race, mount higher, in proportion as he
cultivates his moral powers, and waits upon God?
This is a question that deeply concerns every
scholar; and that it should be answered rightly, is
of much consequence, both because it lies at the
basis of all right education, and of all true selfculture; and because there is, to some extent, an
impression that skepticism and wickedness are naturally associated with intellectual power.
In what has been said it has been taken for
granted, that the powers of the intellect really
decay.  This may be doubted.  Of mind in its
essence we know nothing, and of the laws of its
connection with the body, very little. W~hat seems
decay may be from the body, and be only as a temporary drowsiness.  Certain it is that the intellectual, are indispensable to the moral powers; that
in the nature and sphere of each, there is equally
a provision for an indefinite progress; and that the
aged must be supposed to carry into another state,
not the imbecility of a second childhood, but the




results of their mental, as well as of their moral
action. Still, these powers do seem to decay;
between them and the moral powers, as has been
shown, there is a broad distinction; and what we say,
in either case, is, that the condition of their highest
attainment is the cultivation of the moral powers.
That this is true we believe, first, because of the
obstacles to intellectual growth and progress that
would be removed by the ascendency of the moral
powers.
These obstacles are prejudice and vice, both
of which are inseparable from the sway of passion and appetite, and both of which would disappear in the full ascendency of the moral powers.
If prejudice may not be said to weaken the mental
powers, it misdirects, perverts, and limits their action. The power of the eye is one thing.; a clear
atmosphere is another. Prejudice is, to the mental
eye, an indistinct, a colored, a distorting medium.
But while prejudice misdirects, vice enfeebles, or
wholly prevents the action of the intellect. From
the drunkard, the glutton, the licentious man, the
gambler, we do not look for continuous thought,
or for any rich fruit of intellectual culture. They
have the instincts and sagacity of the animal,
heightened by their connection with rational powers; but they are engrossed by their vices, and
their intellects have no range beyond the activity
necessary for self-gratification.  Through  these
vices much of the finest intellect of the race has
been lost.  And so it must be. If the swallow
would fly, its wing must not be draggled in the
mud; if the eagle would continue to mount up,
2




10
the animal that is sucking his blood must drop
from under his wing.
But that the intellect will be most successfully
cultivated through the moral powers, appears, secondly, because it is lower than those powers, and
subordinate to them; and because, in securing a
higher good, we best secure that which is subordinate and lower.
That the intellect is lower than the moral powers appears, because it is conditional for their activity. And here we find a criterion which may
be universally applied in determining, both in matter and in mind, what agencies and powers are
higher, and what are lower. Always that which is
conditional for another thing, and so serves it, is
lower than that thing.  The foundation of a house
is conditional for a house, and is lower, in more
senses than one. It is indispensable, but of no
value without something beyond itself. So of all
the powers and agencies of inanimate matter.
They are conditional for vegetable life, and are
lower.  So, again, vegetable is conditional for
animal life, and it is lower; so with the heart and
the brain; so with the body and the mind; and
so with the intellect and the moral powers. The
intellect is conditional for choice and activity, in
which are the end of man, but it does not choose.
It does not even know ends, as such. It can judge
of their attainability, and of the fitness of means;
but the apprehension and choice of an end, and
especially, that highest act of the mind, the choice
of an ultimate end, belongs to a higher power.
The inferiority of the intellect is also manifest,




because it is an instrumental and not a governing
power.
We cannot too carefully discriminate those powers in us, by which we choose ends, from those that
are merely instruments in their attainment. In the
one is wisdom, in the other talent; in the one is
character, in the other capacity; in the one, the man
himself acts in his whole being, and very personality; in the other, the faculties play on the surface.
The end is already chosen, and the whole work is
simply executive. But, as has been said, the intellect does not choose. It is an axe, a saw, a hammer,
a piece of machinery to be worked by a power back
of itself. It is a Swiss mercenary, that may be
enlisted in any cause, good or bad, and, as such,
is inferior to the employing and directing power.
It appearing thus that the intellect is lower than
the moral powers, it remains to show that the wellbeing of that which is lower call be best attained
only as we secure that of the higher.
This was illustrated at length the last year, on
an occasion similar to this.  It was shown to be
true of health, and pleasure, and wealth, and
reputation, and fame; and also that the principle
implied is incorporated into all the works of God.
It is a great law of nature, with as few exceptions
as there are to most of her laws; and we may
fairly presume, till the contrary shall be shown,
that the intellect is no exception.
But again, that the intellect will be best cultivated through the moral powers will appear, if we
compare those powers with any other force by
which it can be worked.




12
As has been said, the intellect must be worked
by something back of it. It is as the muscle, that
is nothing without the nerve; and its efficiency will
depend partly on original structure and on training,
and partly on the power that lies behind. That
power must be some instinct, tendency, appetite,
passion, taste, feeling, some capacity of emotion or
enjoyment; and if we make a comparison among
these, we shall find that the moral powers have the
advantage, both in strength and continuance, and
also in the unity and harmony that result from their
working.
Man's nature is not a hive of faculties without a
queen bee. It is not a mob. It is rather a commonwealth where each has its place, and where
there can be strength and continuance and harmony of action only as the moral nature is made
central, and as all move and cluster about that.
If any force can compare favorably with the moral
nature, it must be ambition. But ambition refers,
for its standard, to the opinions and attainments of
others; when it has gained its end, or become
hopeless of gaining it, its efforts cease. Let that
end be but gained, and it does not require the improvement of time; it knows nothing of working
in harmony with God, and so nothing of healthy,
symmetrical, beautiful growth and development, as
good in themselves.  It has no power of selfregulation, and so is often consuming and selfdestructive.  It puts the mind in conflict with
itself, and makes it anxious for the result. It is
selfish, repellant, and tends to isolation. That follows here which follows always when the lower




13
faculty is disengaged from the higher, and ceases to
act in its light. That which was intended to walk
erect by holding on to something above it, becomes
a serpent going upon its belly and eating dust.
But the moral nature is stronger than ambition.
It underlies all true heroism, all martyrdom, and,
by uniting us to God, was intended to be the
paramount and immortal force of our nature. Let
this, then, lie back of intellectual effort, and we
have a permanent, constant, self-regulating principle, that will always bring the faculties up to the
full glow of a healthful activity, and forbid them
to go beyond.  Now, the standard will be fixed,
not with reference to others, but by capacity and
opportunity. The mind will act in its unity, with
no conflict of its higher and lower faculties, and
with no fear of the result.  Hence there will be,
not only strength, but balance and completeness
and order and beauty.  Not only will there be harmony among the faculties themselves, with no tendency to a repellency of others, or to isolation;
but it will be felt that the activity is with all, and
for all. It will be felt to be a struggling towards
that absolute perfection of one which is necessary
to the perfection of all.
But whatever may be said of individuals, of communities there can be no doubt. The spiritual and
moral elevation of a people would certainly secure
their general enlightenment.  It would not make
every individual intellectual, but it would create a
summer atmosphere for the quickening and growth
of intellect, that would rest alike upon the hill-top
and in the valley, and would solicit every latent




14
capacity. The higher faculties would so strike
down, and stimulate and appropriate the lower,
that there would be, if not technical intellectualism, yet a broad, balanced,,directive intelligence
which would, as by instinct, bear society on to its
right ends; and in the light and under the stimulus of which, individual growth, whether humble
or gigantic, would be most favored. Then would
the necessity of toil be no longer a blessing to
man by keeping him from mischief. Leisure would
be a blessing. A community let loose into that,
would rise like a bird. Under the power of moral
motives, leisure —the power to do what we please
— would be equivalent to a college education, and
the works of God would be to every man a university. Without these motives, even a college education becomes, within the limits of possible graduation, a systematic evasion of study, the works of
God are a blank, and this furnished world becomes
a pig-stye or a pandemonium. It is in the use to
be made of its leisure, that the problem of the race
lies. Who shall drain this bog? —hitherto a bog
bearing weeds and sending up miasm —who shall
drain it, and make it healthful and fruitful? Tell
me what is to be done with the leisure that a machinery, gigantic and tiny, myriad-handed and halfreasoning, is beginning to give, and will yet give
more fully to the race, and I will tell you what the
destiny of the race will be. To the opportunities
and facilities it will furnish, for intellectual and
social elevation, there is scarcely a limit; there is
none to the sensuality and degradation which may
grow from its abuse. But intellect in the service




of the passions tends downwards. Only friom the
sense of obligation and the free play of those spiritual affinities by which we are united to God, will
there be the broad light of an intellectual day.
We conclude, then, that the higher intellectual
power, whether of the individual or of the community, can be reached only by waiting on God,
and by the culture, through that, of the spiritual
and moral powers.
If, now, it be inquired how the impression of
intellectual power has come to be associated with
skepticism  and wickedness, an answer may be
found, first, in the fields of literature and speculation  commonly entered by the  skeptical ahndc'::
licentious.  These are those of imagination, wit,
ridicule, and transcendental metaphysics.  Often,
pervaded by a sneer, and quietly assuming the falseness of religion and the weakness or hypocrisy of
those who profess it, we have, in novels, in poetry,
in essays, a combination of all these. Their object,
the last excepted, is not truth, but impression;
and this last is as yet so overrun with strange
terms, so the common ground of truth, falsehood,
and nonsense, each aping the profound, that it is
difficult to say whether it is better as a huntingground for truth, or a stalking-ground for vanity,
or a hiding-place for falsehood.  That there is
power in this literature, is not denied; but the
power of imagination, wit, assumption, and even
of bathos, is not distinguished from that of fair
and searching investigation.
A second answer we find in the effect upon the




16
mind of all irregular action, especially when combined with daring, or fool-hardiness.  The utmost
power of a horse, exerted in the true line of draft,
will excite no attention. Half the power put forth
in rearing and plunging, will draw a crowd about
him. A cheap method of notoriety, the world
over, is this rearing and plunging. Sam. Patch,
leaping over Genessee Falls, could gather a greater
crowd than Daniel Webster.  The great powers
of nature, those by which she wheels'up her sun,
and navigates her planets, and lifts vegetation,
and circulates her waters, by which she holds herself in her unity and manifests her diversity, are
regular, quiet, within the traces of law, and excite
no attention. Here and there the quiet eye of a
philosopher expands in permanent wonder, but
from the very fact, the greatest wonder of all, that
these forces are so clothed in order and tempered
with gentleness, they are to the multitude nothing.
Not so with volcanoes and earthquakes, with hurricanes and thunder-storms, with water-spouts and
cataracts.  These are irregular manifestations of
the great forces that lie back of them.  Compared
with those forces, they are only as the eddy to the
river; only as the opening of the side-valve and
the hiss of the steam compared with the force of
the engine that is bearing on the long train; and
yet these are the wonders of the world. So with
the mind. When it respects order and law, when
it seeks the ends and moves in the channels
appointed by God, its mightiest and most beneficent movements excite comparatively little attention. But combine now irregularity with audacity;




17
open a side valve; assail the foundations of belief;
make it impossible for God to work a miracle, or
to prove it if he should; turn history into a myth;
show your consciousness of power by setting yourself against the race; flatter the nineteenth century; dethrone God; if you make the universe
God, yourself being a part of it, so much the
better,-do thus, and there will not be wanting
those who will despise the plodders, and hail you
as c" the coming man."
I have thus endeavored to show, first, that moral
goodness is the only exception, on this earth, to the
law of decay; and, secondly, that it is the condition
of the highest intellectual power, both for the
individual and the race.
In the light of these propositions we may see,
first, what must be the essential elements in the
promised kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ.
They must be righteousness and knowledge.  So
says the prophet.  "The people shall be all righteous: they shall inherit the land forever."  " And
the work of righteousness shall be peace, and the
effect of righteousness, quietness and assurance
forever."  "And wisdom  and knowledge shall be
the stability of thy times, and strength of salvation."
This gives the line and order of effort for all who
would labor for Christ. Not for an unintelligent
piety-well-meaning, but blundering-are they to
labor; not for a superstition without knowledge,
calling itself righteousness, but weak, sentimental
and showy-bolstered up by the fine arts and wirepulled by a hierarchy; not for knowledge without
3




18
righteousness, sensualized, self-conceited and presumptuous; but for a combination of righllteousness
and knowledge working together like the warmth
and the light, every where pervading society in its
free, oceanic, and multitudinous action, and building
it up into the order and beauty of heaven.
In the second place you, my Beloved Friends of
the Graduating Class, will see what you are to do
in carrying out your own education.
That education you have, I trust, entered upon not
wholly from worldly ends, but with some reference
to the state of your permanent being, and to an immortal progress. For it, many of you have made sacrifices, and have applied yourselves laboriously and
faithfully. That education is but begun. Probably
you have never felt more painfully than now the
limitations, the inadequacy, the relative nothingness of your knowledge. If you have any thing
of the spirit of the instructions you have received,
of the spirit of a scholar and of a true man, whatever profession or business you may follow, you
will give a portion of your time to the cultivation
of learning, and the acquisition of mental power.
Grow, my friends; seek to grow. But as a condition of a growth that shall be permanent, healthful,
symmetrical, do not ignore that interaction of the
higher and lower powers which is like that of the
leaves and the trunk of the tree.  As in that,
elaboration, assimilation and ultimate growth are
from above, so it is only through the higher moral
nature that the sap of knowledge is converted into
wisdom. If your chief sphere of study were to
be the abstract sciences, cold, and passionless,




19
where, as in mathematics, the relations depend on
no will, your moral state would be of less moment;
but your chief sphere is to be nature and man,
where every thing is constituted by design, and
where the key to the whole structure and to each
particular department is to be found in ends and
uses. Here love, trust, sympathy, will be stimulants of thought and elements of moral power.
Nature is from  God no less than mind.  It
was made for mind. It reflects the thoughts and
feelings of God. It is understood only as the
thoughts of God in it are reached, and it must be
that, as we are in a light moral state, and in sympathy with God, we shall have a finer sense and a
quicker sympathy on the side of nature. She will
open herself to us more fully, and become, in a far
higher sense, a companion and an educating power.
But let now a man study nature with a scoffing
spirit, and he must fail of insight. His standpoint will be wrong. Movements that are onward
and beautiful when seen from the centre, will seem
to him retrograde and perplexing. The sweetest
voices of nature, her hymns, he cannot hear; her
highest beauties he cannot see, her profoundest
teachings are to him mere babble. Jeers, sarcasm,
fault-finding, exciting no enthusiasm, with no reaction on thought, with no element of satisfaction
except as they minister to notoriety, will take the
place of admiration, love, adoration, by which
thought is naturally quickened and rewarded.
Would you study the works of God, and yourselves as a part of those works, be in harmony
with yourselves, and in sympathy with God.




20
But thirdly.  Not only are you to educate
yourselves, opening your minds to all light, and
putting forth all effort, but directly and indirectly
you will have much to do in educating the community, and you will see, in the light of this subject,
your duty in that regard.
You will neither fbrm, nor encourage, any extravagant expectations from what is commonly called
education. Not so will society grow up into its
true life. If there be that above the intellect to
which it ought to be subservient, but is not, then
there will be a law of degradation even in its own
activity. Education will become, either simply an
accomplishment, or a drudge. It will do nothing
towards removing the follies and weaknesses of
society; so that you will find, as we now do, communities claiming to be the most highly educated,
pervaded, even more than others, with a credulity
and a superstition that would have disgraced the
days of witchcraft, but without the earnestness which
saved those from being contemptible. This we may
satirize and deplore, but, under the system, it cannot be helped. The only true method is that of our
Saviour. Nothing now on the earth, or that ever has
been, can compare with Christianity in its educating power. Wherever it has been in its purity,
the standard of general education has always been
highest. It is so now. You cannot have a pure
Christianity without general education, while yet
education, as such, is not the object of Christianity
at all. Its educating power results solely firom its
reaching and controlling that which is highest, and
from the necessary stimulus and rectification




21
through that, according to the principle laid down,
of all that is lower.  So has it wrought from the
beginning; so will it work, and only in and
through this can you work effectually.  Hence
one great blessing of those revivals of religion
with which God has blessed our colleges-of that
revival with which he has blessed us the past year,
and for which we thank and adore him. Hence
you will make, simply as educators, a capital
mistake, if you do not seek to enthrone Christianity in all our seats of learning, and to extend and
deepen its influence in every possible way. Hence
no institution, not pervaded by Christianity, can
do much in really educating and elevating the
community.
Finally, we see from this subject where lies the
permanent strength and the true good of man.
It is much to know, that there is any one thing
on this earth that does not decay; that while the
body is constant only by change, and its identity is
only similarity, there is in the mind a central point
that is unchangeable, and an identity that is absolute. It is more to know that in this we find our
true selves, that by this we are allied to God.
This takes us out of the sphere of that law of
uniformities, in the light of which we have hitherto
chiefly regarded this subject, and brings us into
that of free personalities. Made in the image of
God, allied to him as personal and free, we have
faculties, call them moral, call them spiritual, by
which we apprehend him, and through which we
become receptive of influences from him. These
influences imply no inspiration of particular truths




22
as to prophets and seers, but are open to the race.
They come as the tide to the stranded vessel that
gradually surrounds it, and lifts it up, and bears
it into the depths and boundlessness of its appropriate element. By these influences, respecting
the laws of our freedom, and the bounds of our
individuality, the Spirit of God enlightens, sustains, purifies, exalts us, and makes us partakers
of his own blessedness. This is the Scripture
doctrine of the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, that
last link in the work of human salvation, by
which, all incompatibilities of justice and mercy
having been removed, the law becomes written in
the heart, and we are brought to rest in the
activity of a full and unceasing complacency in a
holy and infinite God. Thus God himself becomes
the portion of the soul. Thus do we enter into
the  "fullness of him  that filleth all in all."
Beyond this, nothing of good can be conceived of.
This is our rest —our ultimate goal. This it is
that we yearn after; in the congruity of this to
the mind, and in the deep, conscious want of it, it
is that we find the solution of those enthusiasms,
and extravagancies, and distortions of the religious
nature, which have made religion a by-word.
These suppose a capacity and need of communion
with God just as insanity supposes reason, and
they will cease only when that communion returns.
Do you, my friends, accept this doctrine? Will
you accept it practically? Will you open the
way for the coming into your own souls of divine
light and divine help?  Will you put away sin?
This is the one condition of a pure light and a




23
true elevation. You must begin with the heart,
for only the pure in heart can see God, and only
as we see him, and in his light, can we see all
other things in their true proportions. Will you
then open yourselves fully to the light of the
divine teachings, and to the intimacy of a divine
communion. Not only morally, but intellectually,
will the answer to this question be the turning
point in your destiny. The question involved in
this doctrine of a divine communion and help, is
the cardinal one for the race. At every point this
doctrine meets not only our weaknesses and wants,
but also our sifubzlness, and so transcends all transcendentalism, and all possible philosophies and
devices of man. It is not merely a philosophy,
but a redemption and a remedy, a companionship
and a portion. Without this doctrine, man is but
a waif upon the waters, a severed branch that
must perish. With it, he is united to God, and so
there is nothing too great for him to hope. Waith
it, the figure of the text —" they shall mount up
with wings as eagles " - is fully justified.  See the
eagle as he leaves his perch. He flaps his broad
wings, and moves heavily. Slowly he lifts himself
above the horizon, till the inspiration of a freer air
quickens him. Now there is new lightning in his
eye, and new strength in his pinions. See-how
he mounts! Now he is midway in the heavens.
Higher he rises — still higher. Now his broad
circles are narrowing to a point —he is fading away
in the deep blue. Now he is but a speck. Now
he is gone. To the eye of sense, and for the purpose of the figure, it is an endless, upward flight.




24
Such a flight, my dear friends, may be yours; but
only as you yield yourselves to be upborne by an
all-encompassing and an omnipotent Love. You
are, indeed, youths, the very youths spoken of in
the text; for this word is for all ages; but in the
dusty and thronged ways of life you will faint and
be weary. Yes, the hours will come when you will
be, 0, how weary! You are young men; but the
strength of nature will depart, and, relying only on
this, you shall utterly fall. Only " the Everlasting
God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the
earth," who "fainteth not, neither is weary," can
gird you for the coming conflict and sustain you.
Wait upon Him, and you "shall mount up with
wings as eagles; you shall run, and not be weary;
and you shall walk, and not faint."
In addressing to you this parting counsel, in
which all is thus seen to depend upon God, I am
permitted to address, as one of you, my own son.
I rejoice that he has been one of you. And now,
with the most pleasing recollections of the past,
cherishing for you all the spirit of a father, commending you all to that God who alone is able to
keep and to guide you, I close by addressing to
him and to you the words of one of old, who was
also a father. " And thou, Solomon, my son, know
thou the God of thy father, and serve him with a
perfect heart and with a willing mind: for the
Lord searcheth all hearts, and understandeth all
the imaginations of the thoughts: if thou seek him,
he will be found of thee; but if thou forsake him,
he will cast thee off forever."




THE MANIFOLDNESS OF MAN.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMISTOWN, MIS.
JULY  31, 1859.
BY  MARK  HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE CLASS.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1 8 5 9.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859,
BY T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




SER M ON.
LUKE I. 66.
WHAT MANNER OF CHILD SHALL THIS BE?
THE circumstances preceding and attending the
birth of John the Baptist, were extraordinary. As
his father, Zacharias, then "well stricken in years,"
" executed the priest's office before God in the order of his course," " there appeared unto him an
angel of the Lord standing on the right hand of
the altar of incense," and foretold the birth of the
child. WThen Zacharias did not believe him, " the
angel answering said unto him, I am Gabriel, that
stand in the presence of God, and am sent to speak
unto thee, and to show thee these glad tidings.
And behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to
speak, until the day that these things shall be performed." Accordingly Zacharias was dumb until
the time came for naming the child. Then, after
he had written the name given by the angel, " his
mouth was opened immediately, and his tongue
loosed, and he spake and praised God."  These
things "were noised abroad throughout all the
hill-country of Judea;" and it is not strange that
2




4
"all they that heard them laid them up in their
hearts," or that they said, " What manner of child
shall this be." Of a child whose birth was thus
heralded and signalized, something extraordinary
could not fail to be expected.
But while this inquiry was thus naturally made
respecting John, may it not also be appropriately
made respecting every child that is born? There
may be nothing extraordinary, either in connection
with the birth of the child, or with the child itself,
and yet that child shall be different from every
other child that ever was born, or ever shall be;
and its capacities of development, and the possibilities of its future, shall run in lines of such
divergency from those of every other, that we may
well ask respecting it, "What manner of child
shall this be?"
There is nothing in the works of God more
striking than the differences there are of things
that are similar, and the similarities of things that
are different. In the perception of these two we
have the element of science on the one hand, and
of practical skill on the other. So far as beings or
things are similar, they may be named alike, and
treated alike, and so a knowledge of one becomes
the knowledge of all. This is science. Through
this the individuals which God has made, vast as
they are in number and variety, are marshaled, and
ranged in regiments, and battalions, and companies.
In this, and so far as it goes, exceptions and individualities disappear; what seemed promiscuous
and irregular falls into order, and the universe




5
assumes the appearance of troops marching and
countermarching in a grand review. But so far as
things are different, each individual must be studied
by itself, and treated by itself; and as differences
constantly appear, they furnish the occasion of
constant study. Thus it is that through similarities the dictionary of human knowledge is greatly
abridged, while, through diversities, the faculties
are kept constantly awake. At the point where
we cease to discriminate differences, all interest
ceases from uniformity and monotony. At the
point where we cease to discern similarities, interest again ceases from diversity and confusion.
But while these elements pervade the works of
God, while our scientific interest in those works
and practical power over them are from these, yet
are they nowhere more striking, and nowhere as
interesting to us, as in man. Every man has, and
as a man must have, the great features and characteristics which make him a man, and yet how
infinite the diversity! No two are there that look
alike, no two that think alike, no two that act
alike; and doubtless this diversity will become
greater and greater, so long as they shall exist.
Here, and here only, in this diversity ever increasing yet not divorced from unity, do we find the
basis of a harmony that shall also ever increase.
This diversity it was which was implied in the
question of the text. That referred not merely to
the childhood, but to the whole career of John.
What manner of man should he become?  What
part should he perform in the great drama of




human affairs? Should he be a monarch, a conqueror, a sage, a lawgiver? Should he play over
again the old games of ambition, and pleasure, and
gain? or should he be something new and fresh in
the world's history?
The question supposes a great difference between
the child then, and what he would become. And
how great was that difference! Now he is an infant of eight days, with no visible distinction from
other infants; just as helpless and dependent. A
Pharisee might have taken him under the enlarged
border of his garments, and have borne him through
the streets of Jerusalem, and no one have known it.
But pass on now thirty years, and what is he? He
is "the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths
straight." He cries, and all Judea, and Jerusalem,
and the region round about Jordan are stirred, and
go out to him. He is the fulfillment of prophecies
made centuries before, the forerunner of the Messiah, a bright and shining light, one of whom it
could truly be said, that of those born of women,
there had been none greater than he.
But great as this change was, there was nothing
in it so unusual as to attract attention. The man
attracted attention, but not the change. This was
so gradual, that wonder was superseded by familiarity. It was but a single exemplification of a
general law. Hence I observe, in the first place,
That there is a great difference in all organic
beings, between what they are at first, and what
we see them become.




We might ask of any seed just germinating,
What manner of plant shall this be. See; here
is a point of green just visible. Look again. It
has become a violet, with its eye on the sun,
suffused with beauty, and throbbing with the pulses
of the universal life. Here is a filmy substance; it
lies upon the palm of your hand, and a breath
will blow it away. From this, too, emerges a
point of green no larger than the other, and with
no perceptible difference between them. But this
shall become the elm with its pendent branches,
towering and spreading, the pride of the meadow.
We may ask the egg,' What manner of creature
shall this be'  Now  there is in it a beating
speck-a mere point that pulsates.  The philosopher is peering at it through his microscope,
searching for the principle of life, as the child
chases the foot of the rainbow. That principle he
finds not, he shall not find it, but it embodies and
perfects itself, and from points undistinguishable, it
becomes now a wren, chattering and vivacious; now
a golden oriole, warbling and weaving its pendent
nest; now a solemn owl; a peacock, with its
"goodly wings;" an ostrich, with its "wings and
feathers," fleet and powerful; an eagle, screaming
and breasting the storm-cloud far in the sky. It
is indeed now said, that every plant, from the
lichen to the oak, and every animal, from the
insect to man, has its beginning in a single cell.
It is in these cells, undistinguishable by us, that
Omniscience can see the future, and from them
that Omnipotence can call "the things that are
not, as though they were."




8
This capacity of transformation and growth, by
which beings seem to us to pass from the very
verge of nonentity to great perfection and magnitude and power, is among the most striking characteristics of the present state.  It is also one
which we think of, and Revelation confirms the
impression, as belonging to this state alone. There
are not wanting those who believe that this world
is the nursery for peopling this planetary system at
least, if not the worlds scattered through all space.
The individuals thus starting from what seems a
common point, are different in rank, and fall into
different classes; and we next inquire what the
rank of each will be.'The rank of each will be determined, first, by its
rank in its own class; and, secondly, by the rank
of the class.
The rank of an individual in its own class will
be determined by its capacity of development, and
by its actual development in one direction. The
California pine may reach a circumference of thirty
feet, and a height of three hundred and fifty, and
so be the first of its class; but it is by a repetition
always of the same processes, an extension and
increase in one line. Between the greatest and the
least of them there is no difference, except that of
development in a particular direction. Among
men, a man will be really first, who possesses most
perfectly what is distinctively human; and'in general, whatever individual of a class shall manifest
most fully its distinctive characteristic, will be the
first in that class.




But while rank in a class is determined by
development in one direction, the rank of a class
is determined by the capacity of individuals in it
for development in different directions; thus giving
wide scope to the imagination in answering the
question,' What manner of being shall this be?'
The power in a tree of varying from a given line
is as nothing. So it can grow, so only. In animals, this power is greater; in man, greater stilland the more things it is possible for him to become, the more complex must be his nature, and
the higher his rank. As the scheme of the creation
is, that that which is above takes up into itself all
that is below, the more complex the nature is, the
higher it must be, the more directions it may take,
and the greater is the uncertainty that must hang
about its final destiny.
And here I observe, in the third place, that, in
sensitive and moral beings, a capacity of development in one direction involves its opposite, and
that in an equal degree. In this we find startling
indications respecting the possibilities of our future.
In creatures merely sensitive, perhaps a different
constitution was possible, but we know of no instance of it. A capacity for pleasure always involves that of pain, and, so far as we can judge, in
a degree precisely correspondent. But whatever
may be possible in the region of simple enjoyment,
in a moral being the capacity of development in
one direction must imply that in the other.  He
who is capable of moral elevation, must also be of
moral degradation.  He, and he only, who is capa



10
ble of great moral excellence, is capable of great
sin. This is the basis of the maxim, universally
true, that the best things, corrupted, become the
worst. The better, the higher, the purer, the nobler any being is capable of becoming, the more
utter and awful may be its downfall and ruin. It
requires an angel to make a devil.
From what has been said, it appears that the
rank of man will be determined by the range
of his possible development in different directions.
And how wide is that range! How different in
this is man from any other being on the earth!
Let us look at the breadth of this range, first, in
respect to belief. An animal cannot be said to
believe at all, but for an infant how wide is the
range of possible belief! Wonderful is it, that
with the same faculties, thrown into the same
world, with the same phenomena, and orders of
succession, and similarities and differences, such a
range should be possible. Especially is this true
of religious belief, where the range is the widest
conceivable.
Here are two infants just opening their eyes
upon the light, and beginning to gather those
materials which are to be the basis of their belief.
What manner of men shall they be? They seem
alike; but when manhood comes, one of them
shall stand upon this earth so full of the goodness
of God, under these heavens which declare his
glory, he shall see all there is in them of order,
and- beauty, and beneficence, and yet be an atheist.




11
Causeless, aimless, fatherless, hopeless, with nothLng to respond to his deepest wants, for him the
universe shall be whirled in the eddies of chance,
or swept on by the current of a blind and remorseLess fate. The other shall believe that there is one
God, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, omnipotent and omnipresent, holy, just and merciful, the
Creator and Governor of all things, to whom he
may look up and say, My Father.  For him, compared with this God, the universe is as nothing.
In Him it has its being. It is irradiated with his
glory, as the evening cloud with the glory of the
setting sun. Except as expressing his attributes
and indicating his purposes, it had no grandeur
and no significance.
One of these again shall look forward to death,
and see in it the end of man. For him, the sullen
sound sent back from  his coffin when the sod falls
upon it, is the last which the conscious universe is
to know of each individual man, unless, indeed,
the geologist of some future era may find in the
impression of his bones, a record of this. For
him, man has, in death, no pre-eminence over the
beast. By the other, death shall be welcomed as a
friend. It shall be for him the beginning of a
higher life, of clearer insight, of purer joys, of a
greater nearness to God, and of an unending progression. He shall
"The darkening universe defy,
To quench his immortality."
He shall believe with a certainty that shall enable
him to say with one of old, that he knows'that
3




12
if this earthly house of his tabernacle were dissolved, he has a building of God, a house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens,' and so his
great hope shall lie beyond the tomb. One of
these, again, shall believe in no accountability
after death; the other shall believe, that "every
idle word that men shall speak, they shall give
account thereof in the day of judgment."
So these two may come to believe, and yet be
men. These three great doctrines-of God, of a
future life, and of accountability-without which
there can be neither religion nor morality, one
shall receive, and the other shall reject. Side by
side they may stand, separated by scarcely a point
in space; but in that whole interior life which is
most intimate and essential to them, they are as
wide asunder as the poles.
But here it is to be noticed, that while the possibility of this divergence in belief indicates elevation in rank, yet the fact of such divergence indicates for some a low position in that rank. A
perfect instinct is uniform. So is perfect reason,
and these would coincide. These are the extremes,
and between these, imperfection and diversity lie.
Truth is one, and a failure to see it is always the
result either of feebleness or of sin.  Hence, diversity of belief is not among those needed for harmony, but the reverse. A measure of it is compatible with harmony, that is, such as this world
admits of, but the harmony of the universe will be
perfect only when all rational creatures, so far as
they see at all, shall see eye to eye.




But if the divergence of men in religious belief,
and in all belief, is great, it is not less, and is even
more striking, in their objects of worship.
One " planteth an ash, and the rain doth nourish it. Then shall it be for a man to burn.  lie
burneth part thereof in the fire, and the residue
thereof he maketh a god, even his graven image;
he falleth down and worshipeth it; he prayeth
unto it and saith, Deliver me, for thou art my
god." HIe may worship, as men have done, flies,
and serpents, and crocodiles, and oxen, and the
sun, and moon, and stars, and heroes, and devils;
and worshiping these, he becomes, so far as is
possible, assimilated to them. How different these
from  Him who is'the Lord, the true God, the
living God, and an everlasting King; —who hath
made the earth by his power, who hath established
the world by his wisdom, and hath stretched out
the heavens by his discretion.' And can the intelligent worshiper of this God, the holy prophet, or
apostle, rapt in vision, or swallowed up in adoration, be of the same race with the idolater casting
himself beneath the car of Juggernaut, or with
the cannibal savage eating his victim, and dancing
before a carved, besmeared, and hideous log?  Caii
it be that those who do thus, might have changed
places?
Here, again, diversity is not the basis of harmony. If harmony requires diversity, it has its
root in unity, the unity of truth and of God; and
so, of belief and of worship.
We may further ask what any child shall be in




14
position, in attainments, and in the extent of his
influence. Shall he be a miner, thousands of feet
beneath the earth's surface, untaught, unknown,
unthanked, uncared for, with a mind as narrow
and as dark as the sphere of his labors?  Shall
he be a slave, whose range is the plantation, and
to whom cupidity and fear forbid the knowledge
of letters? Shall he be a misanthrope, self-exiled
from society, who dies alone, and whose body is
found by accident?  Shall he be, as probably he
will, neither rich nor poor, neither learned nor
ignorant, neither widely known nor wholly obscure-one of the countless throng on life's thoroughfare of whom the casual observer would take
no note?  Or, shall he tread the high places of
art, of learning, and of power T Shall the canvas
or the marble wait for his touch to become immortal? Shall he be a poet, "soaring in the high
region of his fancy, with his garland and singing
robes about him?." Shall he govern nations, command armies, sway senates, wrest from nature her
secrets, lead the van of progress, and make his
thought and will felt over the globe?
But chiefly may we ask concerning any infant,
What manner of child shall this be in character,
and in the kind of influence he shall exert. Upon
character every thing depends, and from this, influence flows. And shall these be in the line, and
on the level of sensuality and of sense? or of a
selfish and all-absorbing ambition-? or of a pure
philanthropy? or of a whole-hearted consecration
to the will of God? Shall the child be an apostle




15
of righteousness? a martyr missionary? a preacher
like Whitfield, whose eloquence and zeal shall set
a continent on fire 3 Shall he be a fashionable
exquisite, admiring himself, and supposing himself
admired by others 3  Shall he be a political intriguer? an adroit depredator upon society?  Shall
he be a drunkard, and die in a ditch? Shall he
be a thief  a murderer? a pirate 3  Can it be that
he who sails under the black flag of death, and
whose motto is, that "dead men tell no tales,"
once' drew his life from  the breast of a human
mother, returned her caress, and answered to her
smile? Who is this upon whom every eye in the
vast multitude is fixed?  Over his face the fatal
cap is drawn, and he stands upon the drop just
ready to fall.  It is but a few years, and his tiny
hand held the finger of his mother, and in him
were garnered up her fond hopes and high expectations.
At this point the import of the question is
deepest, because the dread issues involved in our
immortality are here at stake. Here are harnessed
the forces that are to move on the plains of eternity. Every thing indicates that in the mind, as
well as in the body, there is, a possibility of RUIN;
that there are there also processes that are cancerous and leprous; and that they may gradually pervade, and at length utterly pervert and corrupt the
whole being. Awful and significant it is, to see
such a disease spreading itself over the body, tainting the fluids more widely, and implicating more
tissues, till deformity becomes only the more ob



16
trusive, and hideous, and persistent, as the forces
of nature were originally greater and more beneficent. And so it may be in mind. Whatever the
fact may be, no one can doubt the fearful capacity
for this. It belongs to our conception of spiritual
forces that they are indefinite, or without limit in
their capacities, in whatever direction they may
move. It is the natural pledge of their immortality, that whatever point they may reach in knowledge or affection, in virtue or in vice, it will always
be possible for them to advance still further.  This
point, whatever it be, must be reached under the
law of' habit, and under that still more general law
that " to him that hath shall be given," and thus
the time must come when there can be no return.
For the same reason that the path of the just shall
be as the shining light, that shines more and more,
the gloom of to-day shall become the darkness of
to-morrow, and the deep midnight of the day following.  Selfishness, passion, hate, shall gain a
permanent ascendency, and the reign of retribution
begin. The immutability of law is the rock to
which the sinner shall be bound; the ceaseless
action of the spiritual powers is the immortal liver
that shall grow as it is consumed, and the diseased
action is the vulture that shall prey upon it. The
worm shall gnaw till it shall become undying, the
fire shall burn till it " cannot be quenched."  This,
not crumbling arches, not mouldering cities, but
this, this is ruin.
What a contrast between this and the possibilities we see before us and in us, when we look at




Lhe man Christ Jesus. In him, in him  alone, call
we form a right estimate of our nature; and that
he has enabled us to do this, is no small ground
of our indebtedness to him.  So far as he was
man only, there was in him no excellence or perfection which we may not attain; and the perfections in him were not only an example to us, but
were a pledge to his followers that they shall
attain the same. The disciple shall be as his
Master.  They shall be like him, for they shall
see him as he is. Christ was the Son of God as
Adam was not; and in him humanity was glorified
as it could have been in no other way. There
was stamped upon it the seal of an infinite value.
It was so taken into union with God as to show
that God can dwell with it, and that the highest
divine perfections may be manifested through it.
Christ was the " brightness of his glory," as manifested on the earth, "the express image of his
person," and whoever would see the capacities
there are in man for elevation and excellence must
look to him. "Looking unto Jesus," is the motto
of the Christian.  He is the only type of normal
development for the race.  I point you to no
heroes or sages, but to Him; to no abstract conception, but to embodied excellence, living, walking, speaking, sympathizing, suffering among men.
The divine image, marred in Adam, was restored
in Christ, and is so held in him that it can be lost
never more. The gem is now set forever. It will
belong to the riches of eternity.  This image we
may attain. Between the attainment of this and




any thing else, the difference is infinite. This is
the true good. And O how great, how infinite is
this good! In view of it, how forcible the question of our Saviour,' What shall it profit a man if
he shall gain the whole world and lose his soul?
Or what shall a man give in exchange for his
soul?' Fully attained, this good is heaven. Whatever outward circumstances may be, potentially,
substantially, ultimately, this is heaven. He that
is like God shall dwell with God. The son shall
be in his father's house. He shall abide forever.
For this we bless thee, O our Father. Cease, my
friends, your disputes about religion. He that is
like God shall dwell with God, and he that is not
like God, shall not dwell with him.
We thus see that man must be in the highest
rank of created beings, and how it is that his
manifoldness is a proof of his greatness. Touching the extremes of being, he is capable of development on the level of any nature of which he is
partaker, and at any point along a line that
reaches from the instinct of the animal up to God
himself. He may become an animal, or simply
human, or devilish, or divine. Made in the image
of God, capable of indefinite progress, of falling
to a depth profound in proportion to the height to
which he can rise, no wider scope could be given
to the imagination than is now given, when the
question is asked concerning any child, "What
manner of child shall this be?"
My beloved Friends of the Graduating Class,
this discussion is especially for you, and in apply



19
ing its principles, I address myself directly to you.
You are no longer children, but men, and in view
of the wide range of possibilities now presented
before you, I ask you, What manner of men
will you bet I come to you individually, and
with affectionate earnestness and deep solicitude,
ask each one of you, WThat manner of man will
you be?
The question, observe, is not, What will you
get? but, What will you be?  The first is the paramount question with selfishness; the second, with
reason and religion. In asking the first, you are
not necessarily selfish; in making it paramount,
you are. In seeking, on the other hand, to be
great, good, noble, like God, you are indeed consulting your own good most wisely, but are not
selfish, for how can a man be selfish, when his
very object is to be benevolent. How be selfish in
seeking to be like God, for God is love. This
question, then, I ask with emphasis, for under the
government of God your all must depend upon it.
And not only do I ask it, this College that has
watched over you, and will follow you with an
abiding interest, and which you will either honor
or disgrace, asks it. Your parents and near
friends, to whom you owe every thing, ask it.
Your country asks it. The church of God asks it.
The nations that are in ignorance, and under
oppression, ask it. And I doubt not there is, at
this solemn moment in your own hearts, a " still
small voice," in which God is, that asks it. What
manner of men will you be?
4




20
This question, as put to you, I desire to limit as
I have not done in the general discussion. That
was in view of two kinds of diversity that must be
discriminated.  There is one having its root in
repugnance and opposition, involving elements that
can never be brought into harmony, and that can
have no unity even, except as there is fixed between
them a great and impassable gulf. For this gulf
there is provision in the essential difference of
moral good and evil; and while these may be embraced in the unity of one government of eternal
righteousness, yet this can be only on the condition
that that gulf shall be fixed.
But there is also a diversity which springs from
unity, and is the basis of harmony; and within
this limit diversity is a good. Only through this
can we have the riches and beauty, as well as the
harmony of the universe.  In this we have the
one light refracted into its seven colors, making
the earth green, and the sky blue, and the clouds
gorgeous. In this is the one sound now parting
itself into its seven notes for music, now articulating itself in speech, now becoming the chirp of
the cricket, and now the roar of the thunder.  In
this is the one water seen in mist, in dew, in
steam, in ice, in snow, in the green heaving ocean,
and in the rainbow that spans it.  In this is the
one body with its organs, the one tree with its
branches, the one universe with its suns, and
planets, and satellites, and comets. Within this
limit, the wider the diversity, the richer are the
fields opened to us in science, in beauty, and in
character.




21
And now, when I put this question to you, I
would have all your diversity within this limit. I
wish to speak with you of no other. This will
involve no restriction, no monotony, or tameness,
or repression of any manly energy, no abatement
of the zest and foam and sparkle of life. It will
only lift you above obstructions, and enable you
to move calmly and freely, as the balloon that
floats in the long upper currents, instead of being
whirled in the lower tempests, and wrecked among
the branches. 0, could I but know that all your
diversity would range within this limit, that you
would all be Christians, true followers of the
Lord Jesus, almost would I say to you, Be what
you please. Certainly I should prefer, since one
star differs from another star in glory, that you
should not be among those less bright. But only
be a star. Shine, and choose your own shade
of light. Be Paul, or Peter, or John, or James,
or even Thomas; any of them but Judas. Be a
Luther, or Melancthon; be Jonathan Edwards, or
Harlan Page; be —but I will go no further; I
will rather recall what I have said, and say to you,
Be yourselves. Bring out your own individuality.
It is your own. As such, respect and cherish it,
only avoiding all affected singularity. You will,
I think, allow  that that individuality has been
respected in your course of instruction here; that
the object has been, not to put upon you the earmark of any system, but to bring your individuality
out under the inspiration of a love of truth. If
it be different from that of others, do not be trou



22
bled. It ought to be. Bring it out in its simplicity, any where within the broad light and
expanse of the one perfect example. Christ was
peculiar, but not singular, except as Mont Blanc
and the Ocean are singular. So be you, and you
shall polish a gem for its setting in the diadem
of Him who weareth many crowns, that shall have
in it shades and lines that no other can have.
And while I thus call upon you to bring out
your own individuality, let me say to you also,
Respect that of others; and not only so, appreciate it, and rejoice in its manifestation. Nothing
is more needed among men than the power and
readiness to do this, and to accept, in religion, in
politics, and in social life, those diversities of belief
and of forms which spring from this, but which
yet have their root in essential unity, and no more
cease to be of it than men of different colors cease
to be of the race. To do this, is liberality, in distinction from laxness and indifference to the truth.
This God intended should be. It is not for nothing, that the notes of birds, and the colors of
flowers, and the outlines of mountains differ, yet
are all pleasing. It is not for nothing, that we are
told that the foundations of the New Jerusalem
are of twelve manner of precious stones; and the
jasper is not better than the sapphire, nor the sapphire than the emerald, nor the emerald than the
amethyst, and all are better than any one would be,
and all are one in their common nature as gems,
and in their common office of adorning and supporting the heavenly city. How to draw the line




23
rightly, in particular cases, no rules can be given;
but you see the general principle, and I beseech
you to do this wisely and liberally, remembering
that it is the tendency of egotism and selfishness to
fall into clannishness, and into a party and sectarian spirit, and to magnify non-essentials.
In the light of what has been said, let me turn
your thoughts to the provision God has made for
the growth and enjoyment of his creatures as intelligent, and aside from the affections. For these the
great conditions, in the construction of his works,
are, first, unity. By this is not meant an indivisible
unit of which there may be any X    -- without
either unity or harmony, and which must remain
unfruitful; but a unity like those spoken of above,
capable of being parted into diversity, and of
returning to itself again. The second condition is
diversity-not merely numerical, but that which is
implied in parts having relation to a common
whole. The third condition is harmony, that is,
such a relation of parts to each other and to the
whole, as to realize and complete our conception
of that whole. For intellectual growth and enjoyment, a perception of these is all that is needed;
and how inexhaustible these are, and how wonderfully blended in this universe, I need not say. In
this view of it, the universe is an organ that constantly discourses music to angels and to God.
The relations of its parts at a given moment, in
their adjustment to each other and to ends, are its
harmony, and the succession of its events are its
melody. Its harmony we can begin to study. Of




24
the melody we can know comparatively nothing,
for our time is too brief; but we may be sure that
both will forever increase.
In view of what has been said, you will also be
able, not only to estimate the place and value of
diversity in the universe, but also of what has been
called many-sidedness, in the individual. Plainly
this is a proof of greatness. At times the admiration for this has been overdone, and there has been
about it, in certain quarters, something of cant.
On the other hand, there are those who say that a
man can excel in but one thing, and should attend
to but one. Doubtless the greatest effect requires
concentration, and there should be no attempt at
varied excellence that would diminish this; but
there are few occupations in which all that a man
can do may not be done with less than his whole
energies; the use of the powers in different directions gives diversion and strength, and there seems
no good reason why a man may not gain excellence
in all the directions in which he is capable of
development. Why may not a man cultivate both
muscle and mind, both mathematics and music,
both poetry and philosophy? I trust you will
shrink into no one channel, but as you have begun, so you will continue to advance in a liberal
culture.
Once more, if the rank of man be so high and
his capacities so great, then is this world a fit
theatre for that great redemption which the Scriptures reveal. Between him and that redemption
there is no want of congruity or proportion. Some




25
there are who speak of this world as'a mere speck
in the universe, and of man as too inconsiderable
to be the object of such regard as is implied in the
coming and death, for him, of the Son of God.
But so far as is possible for any creature, man
takes hold on infinity. He is a child of God, and
in the dealings of God with him  there may be
involved all those principles of wisdom and righteousness and mercy which can be involved in the
divine government any where, and so the whole
universe, mighty as it is, may be brought, through
man, to the "light of the knowledge of the glory
of God." Little can they who think thus, have
meditated upon those sublime and consoling words
of the Apostle, " Beloved, now are we the sons of
God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be;
but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall
be like him; for we shall see him as he is."  This
redemption, 0 let us magnify, for in it is all our
hope. This redemption I commend to you renewedly, earnestly, affectionately, in this solemn and
parting hour.
Finally, my beloved friends, if there is, in the
capacities of man, a fit occasion and ground for the
redemption revealed in the Scriptures, so is there
in his diversities a fit occasion and ground for that
future and final Judgment which they also reveal.
How could these diversities be greater?  How is
every thing respecting God and his government,
even to his very being, denied, questioned, challenged, ridiculed, mocked?  Taken by itself, how
tangled, perplexed, and insoluble by reason, is the




26
present state? What shades of character! What
modifications of responsibility! What wrongs unredressed! What questions cut short by death!
And in connection with these, what scope for the
application, in every delicate adjustment, of every
principle of moral government! Probably in no
other way than by such a Judgment, could these
diversities be reduced to the comprehension of
finite minds, and the ways of God to man be vindicated. Here, as elsewhere, the reality of what God
does, and proposes to do, transcends all that man
could have imagined to be possible, and hence
many deny this also. They say, "Where is the
promise of his comingS" "But the day of the
Lord will come as a thief in the night."  "The
Son of man shall sit on the throne of his glory,
and before him shall be gathered all nations."
This, we believe, will be the next great epoch in
this world's history. And in view of it, I ask the
question no longer in regard to this world, What
manner of men will you be? This world and its
scenes, now so bright before you, will be nothing
then. I ask this question in view of that day when
there will be but one alternative. What manner
of men will you then be? Will you be among the
righteous? Will you be on the right hand? Will
you all be there? May you all hear the music of
that voice which shall say, " Come, ye blessed of
my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you
from the foundation of the world."




NOTHING  TO  BE LOST.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWN, MS.
JULY 29, 1860.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE CLASS.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1860.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860,
By T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




SERMON.
JOHN vt. 12.
GATHER UP THE FRAGMENTS THAT REMAIN, THAT NOTHING BE LOST.
AMONG the more striking miracles wrought by
our Saviour, was that of feeding five thousand men
from five barley loaves and two small fishes.  But,
striking as it was, it was simply a reproduction, in
a different form, of the great miracle of nature that
is constantly going on around us. The miracle
was not at all in the things made, but wholly in
the manner of making them. Bread had been
made before, and as good bread; and there had
been fish before; but never before had they been
formed at once, by the energy of will, from their
original and simple elements. In both cases the
elements existed. There was no new creation; but
in the miracle they were brought together in a
manner entirely different.
When the sower sows the seed in which is the
nucleus, the possibility, and the promise of all the
bread that is to be eaten the succeeding year, where
are the materials out of which that bread is to be
made. They exist, but are dispersed hither and
thither, and are held in different affinities. No




4
human eye can see, and no skill can detect them.
They are like an army in ambush, ready to come
at the appointed signal, but answering only to
that.
And now the earth receives the seed.  It is
buried, but not forgotten. Small as it is, the ocean
knows of it and offers it moisture; and the atmosphere knows of it, and is ready with its invisible
fingers to lift the mist, and fashion the cloud-car,
and transport the moisture to it. The sun, too,
distant as it is, remembers it, and sends it heat and
light. These provoke its hidden life, and the roots
shoot downwards, and the stem upwards. But in
those roots, and in that stem, there is no particle
that will make bread. There must first be a blossom, and then a receptacle formed, and then the
stalk of grain must set itself at work, and the earth,
and the air, and the sun, electricity and magnetism,
agents, visible and invisible, must give their aid;
and then the particles of oxygen and hydrogen, and
nitrogen and carbon, will come from their hiding
places and marshal themselves into starch and
gluten, and the full seed will be formed. The
yellow harvest shall lift itself towards heaven, and
wave and toss itself in the wind, a gift from all the
elements and agencies of nature to man. So do
they all serve him. Then comes the harvesting,
and threshing, and winnowing, and grinding, and
leavening; and then the fire does its work, and it
is bread. Through the processes of a year, through
changes so slow and minute as to escape observation at the time, by the combined agencies of the
earth, and air, and ocean, of the sun and the fire,




5
the materials that were scattered and hidden, have
heard the call that was made for them, and have
come forth; they have entered into their new
combinations, and have become the "bread that
strengtheneth man's heart."
But in all this there is no miracle. There is
nothing strange. Oh, no. We have seen it all,
and have eaten such bread all our lives. It is nature that does all this; or nature and art; though
in reality, art, human art and skill, can do nothing
but to give the opportunity, and provide the conditions for nature to work. Nature it is, and there
is nothing strange about it.
But now, instead of this complicated and mighty
agency extending over months of time, and reaching millions of miles into space, implicating, indeed,
the whole planetary system, instead of sympathies
and interactions between materials where there is
no direct evidence of personality, and so, of anything above what we call nature, there comes One
who claims to be the Lord of nature, and as quietly
as the sun shines, without even indicating that he is
working a miracle, he calls for the elements to
come from their hiding places, and enter into their
new combinations, and they obey. The materials
were all around him, and he controlled their affinities at once, as nature controls the same affinities
in her long processes. The simple record is, that
"Jesus took the loaves; and when he had given
thanks, he distributed to the disciples, and the
disciples to them that were set down; and likewise
of the fishes as much as they would." There was
no seeming effort, no ostentation, no production of




6
anything but barley bread, just such bread as was
made by the people, and of fish such as were caught
in their waters. But this was a miracle, a strange
thing, so strange that many cannot believe it. But
obviously, if we had been accustomed to this, and
then had seen the other for the first time, it would
have been accounted by far the greater miracle.
And here we may remark what a testimony the
miracles of our Saviour, generally, were to the perfection of the works of God in nature, and so to
his own oneness with God. As the bread which
he made by a miracle was no better than- that made
by the ordinary processes, so when he raised men
to life, it was to the same life that they had before,
and that other men have. When he restored a
palsied limb, or a blind eye, it only became as it
was before, or like other limbs and eyes.  A
miracle could make them no better. In this consists the simplicity and grandeur of our Saviour's
miracles, and in this the force of their internal
evidence for his divine mission.  He honored
nature, while he showed that he was her Lord.
Thus calling the materials together without
effort, the Saviour provided for the wants of five
thousand men. Nor was the provision scanty; it
was ample and bountiful. They took as much as
they would, and the fragments left were more than
the original loaves and fishes.
And what the Saviour did at that time, he was
able to do at any time. To his power in this
respect there was no restriction. Always he could
provide for himself and for his disciples in the same
free and magnificent manner. And now, when he




had just made such a provision, and had it in his
power to do so at any time, shall he care for the
remnants, the fragments that remain?  Not so
should we have done. But, and this is not the
least remarkable part of the transaction, the Saviour
did thus care. " When they were filled, he said
unto his disciples, Gather up the fragments that
remain, that nothing be lost." The same thing also
he did on another occasion, when he had fed a
multitude in a similar manner.
What then have we here? Something of penuriousness and smallness?. of an undue desire of
savingS?  That can hardly be in Him who never
owned property, and who had just dispensed his
bounties so freely.  Have we then a command
appropriate only to that time and place? or have
we, as in so many other instances of the sayings of
our Saviour, clothed in a particular and individual
form, a universal maxim, a great principle of the
government of God, and one that should regulate
the conduct of men? Are these words as the index
of a partial and local force  or are they as the
magnetic needle that indicates the polar forces of
this planet, and, so far as we may conjecture, of all
planets and systems. Are they the word of the
individual speaking for that time and place, or of
the Lawgiver, speaking for all times and for all
places? " Gather up the fragments that remain, that
nothing be lost."  Why should anything be lost?
Anything once possessed is said to be lost, when
it is so concealed or removed fiom us that we do
not know where it is. The piece of silver in search
of which the woman swept the house, was lost.




8
The sheep which had wandered away, and which
the owner brought back rejoicing, had been lost.
Anything is also said to be lost, when it fails to
accomplish the end for which it was made or given.
A journey is lost, when the end for which it was
undertaken is not accomplished. A day is lost,
when in it, no good is done; an education is lost
when no use is made of it; a man is lost, when he
becomes hopelessly a drunkard, or is given over to
any vice. We know where to find him, but he is
lost.
That a thing should be lost in the first sense is
accidental, and incident to us from the limitation of
our faculties. Not so with God. To the Omniscient, nothing can be hidden, or obscure, or remote; and if in his agency he shall fail to cause
any past event to be brought to its bearings, or any
existing thing to accomplish its end, it will not be
because he does not know what it is, or where to
find it. In our agency a thing may be, and often
is lost in the second sense, because it is in the first.
We fail to put a thing to its use because we do
not know where to find it.
It is plainly in the second sense, that the term
"lost" was used by our Saviour in the text.  It
was not that there was danger of concealment, but
of waste. It is in this sense that God would have
nothing lost.
The principle involved in the text manifests
itself in two forms, both in human affairs and in
the divine administration. In the one it respects
economy of force when any thing is to be done;
and in the other the waste of material or of means




9
when any thing is possessed. Let us look at the
Divine administration with reference to both of
these.
And first, of the economy of force.
If' we consider those forces that operate in free
space, by which the planets and planetary systems
are moved with such velocity, and guided with such
precision, we have no means of measuring any
thing except by the results. But these will suffice
for us. When the earth comes round to a given
star at the appointed and predicted moment, we
must know  that not one iota of the force that
brought it there could have been spared. It is just
brought there, and no more. When gravitation
draws the earth to the sun, it is by a force that just
retains it in its orbit, and no more; and the opposite force that would drive it into lawlessness and
seclusion, is but just sufficient to prevent it from falling into the sun. As the avalanche is suspended by
a balance of forces so delicate that the traveler who
walks beneath fears even to whisper, lest it should
be launched upon him, so hang the heavens. The
slightest difference of adjustment, the least diminution of force, in any direction, would ultimately
bring the system rushing together to the centre, or
scatter it hopelessly.
And what is true of the forces that act at such
vast distances, is equally true of those that are
acting around us, and at distances that are inappreciable. The affinities by which solid bodies and
gases are held together are so balanced that a less
amount in any direction would unchain their ele2




10
ments, and the atmosphere would be decomposed,
and the earth would effervesce and boil like lime
when it is slacking.
We may notice, also, not only a balance of
forces, implying a minimum in both directions, but
also the different and apparently opposite offices
which the same agents and forces subserve. Under
precisely the same outward conditions, acted upon
by the same outward agents-the same atmosphere,
and storms, and sunshine-a tree that is growing
shall be carried up to its perfection, and one that is
decaying shall be resolved into its original elements. It is in this way that the constant circuit,
and interdependent succession of life and death is
kept up.
But perhaps the economy of force is best illustrated in the structure of animals, where there is
not, in the same way, a balance of forces, but
simply mechanism. Take the skeleton of any animal, and let the problem be to cause it to perform
the same variety of motions that the animal can
perform, and with the same rapidity, and the forces
can be applied only as they are in the animal. In
every animal, regarding its structure, and its position and surroundings relative to that, in the bird
that flies, the fish that swims, the worm that crawls,
the insect that creeps, in the four-footed animal,
and in man, the economy of force is absolutely
perfect. In no instance has any mechanician been
able to show how this economy could be greater.
On the contrary, mechanicians have borrowed many
hints from the structure of animals for the economy
of force, and might borrow more; for her motors




are all perfect, both in their principle and in the
mode of its application. Guided by the principle
that nature does nothing in vain, Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood; and guided by
the principle that she does every thing in the simplest and best way, the mechanician, if he will but
allow for the difference of circumstances, may
safely adopt any of her models and methods.
But on this point there is no need of detail.
The principle contended for is involved in one of
those broad inductions of Newton, which has been
universally accepted as a law of philosophizing.
The law is, "That no more, and no other causes
are to be allowed, than are sufficient to explain the
appearances."
Having thus considered the economy of force,
we next look at that of material and of means.
Between these, the relation is intimate, since all
material used, and all means put in operation,
require force.
As an illustration of economy in both, as thus
related, but especially of material, we may take
the stems of grasses and of grain. Contrive, if you
can, a support for an ear of wheat that shall be
adequate, and yet have in it less of material than
that now provided. It is hollow and jointed, because, with a given amount of material, it is thus
stronger. The same principle applies to the bones
of animals, and to the quills of feathers.  How
perfectly discriminating, how illustrative of the principle involved, is the difference here between a stem
of wheat and the trunk of a tree! As intended
but for a season, the one, though adequate, is hol



12
low and fragile; but the other, as solid, has not too
much material for the support of its top, and to
withstand the storms; and then it is needed, and
was intended, as a supply for the permanent wants
of man. The provision that surrounds the germ of
a seed is just enough to support the young plant
till it can strike its roots into the earth, and no
more. The same is true of that about the vital
point in an egg. The quantity of the atmosphere
is just sufficient for the density needed to bear up
clouds and birds, to give force to winds, that they
may waft ships, and for the pressure needed upon
animal bodies. The amount of heat and of light are
in exact accordance with the demands of vitality
and of vision. Vast as it is, the ocean is not too
large for the evaporation needed to supply vegetation, and wells and springs; and certain it is that
the earth, as a whole, is not a particle too large in
its relation to other bodies to hold its place firmly,
and exert its due influence amidst the perturbations and actions and reactions of the system.
Another form of this economy may be noticed in
the use of the same structure or substance to subserve different purposes, and those independent of
each other. The lungs have an adequate end in
the oxygenation of the blood, a function wholly
within us, and so vital that a very brief suspension
of it is death. They might seem to have sole reference to that. But see these same lungs in their
connection with the voice, circulating fresh thought
and sentiment through society, a function wholly
without us, and not less vital to it than the renovation of the blood is to the body. The one sub



13
stance, oxygen, is a main constituent of water, of
the atmosphere, of all acids, of all vegetable products, and of most mineral substances and rocks as
found in nature. It gives its heat to fire, its acidity
to vinegar, and to potash its caustic power.  It is
the vital element of the atmosphere, and its destructive element. Water! How common it is, yet how
manifold in its uses!  It becomes ice, and so a
reservoir of cold for the summer; it becomes
steam. and so a power in locomotion and in manufacturing; it becomes vapor, and so fits the air to
be breathed, and descends in dew; it becomes
clouds, and so transports the rain; it becomes
snow, and so gives the earth its winter robe. It
is the element and home of all fish, and of the
monsters of the deep; it is the chief constituent of
all fluids of plants and of animals; it quenches
thirst; it is the great cleanser and purifier; it is
an element of beauty. With no running water,
with no tossing ocean, with no cataracts, no dew,
no changing clouds, now dark and seamed with
lightning, now fleecy and mottled with the blue
beyond, and now gorgeous in the sunset, with no
showers, and no rainbow, where would the beauty
of the earth be. And all this from the one substance, water!  WThat economy of material! It
would seem as if no property or capacity of usefulness in this substance could be lost.
The same principle also appears in the results
of all decomposition. This seems a destruction;
but in the sense of annihilation there is no destruction. In this sense nothing has ever been lost.
The materials merely change their forms, and




14
enter into new combinations. The servants retire,
and reappear in a different garb. The partners
are changed; and so, like a star in the heavens,
each changing particle of matter walks its appointed round.  Of this economy in connection
with apparent destruction, we find large evidence
in geology. There have, it seems, been creations
and epochs long since that have come to an end;
but when they did so, the command was given to
the earth, " Gather up the fragments that remain,
that nothing be lost," and the earth heard and
obeyed. And now we have these fragments in the
form of soil and drift; in granite and marble; in
mines and coal-beds; in foot-prints and fossils, for
the profit and instruction of those who now live;
and probably much more, of those who shall live
hereafter.
But while these instances are sufficient to establish the principle, there are objections and difficulties. There is apparent waste. Large portions of
the earth are mere sandy plains, deserts, or inaccessible mountains; and upon these the sunshine and
rain and dews descend. There is also an apparent
and great waste of the germs of life.
In reply, it may be said that deserts and mountains are of use physically.  "Were it not," says
Maury, " for the Great Desert of Sahara, and other
arid plains of Africa, the western shores of that
continent, within the trade-wind region, would be
almost, if not altogether, as rainless and sterile as
the desert itself. We are to regard the sandy
deserts, and arid plains, and the inland basins of
the earth, as compensations in the great system




15
of atmospherical circulation."  The inaccessible
and snow-capped mountains condense the moisture
and form water-sheds. They are as a hand lifted
up to compress the distended atmosphere, and to
return to the ocean in long, and fertilizing, and
navigable rivers, the tribute it had given.
- But aside from this, if we admit, as we must,
moral considerations and reasons, these difficulties
vanish! Those deserts are not too large, or sterile,
to be a mirror in which the man who receives the
blessings of God and makes no return, may see his
own features reflected.  Those mountains of rock
are not too hard and unimpressible to represent
that adamant that can resist a Saviour's love.
Those germs of life destroyed are not too many, or
too precious, to show what is possible in regard to
those powers and capabilities which every man has,
and which he may dwarf and ruin. Without a
correspondence between external nature and the
character of man, the end of probation here could
not be reached; and without these and similar
features and facts in nature, that correspondence
could not exist.
To many, the above would be a sufficient solution of the difficulties. It is so to me. But the
text suggests another. It implies that to the accomplishment of any great work, fragments may
be incidental, nay, that they may be required, for
the completeness of the work itself. There are
cases in which a provision is not enough, if it be
not more than enough. So it was here. If no
fragments had remained, it would not have been in
accordance with the liberality of a bountiful pro



16
vider, and something, yea, much, of the moral
effect of the miracle would have been lost.
Now it is plain that there is, in this world, a
great work carried on through, or in accordance
with, what we call general laws. It is thus that the
rain and the sunshine descend, and that the current
of life, broad and deep, is kept in its even flow.
To this the earth as a whole and the elements
minister. In this great work it could not be expected that the sun should withhold his beams from
every barren spot, or that the rain should skip and
shun every stone and sand-bank. This would be
petty, not in accordance with the nature of general
laws, or with the dignity of the divine government.
The great work is done. The current of life flows
on, and no more.  The nations are fed; and if
there are outlying facts, the bearing of which
upon the result we do not see, we may well class
them with fragments that remain, which will be
used at another time, or are used in other connections.
On the whole, then, we conclude that the economy
of God, both with respect to force and to material,
is perfect. In so wide a reach, where we confessedly know so little, it is not reasonable that a
conclusion so borne out by the great mass and
current of facts should be held in abeyance out of
respect to mere exceptional eddies.  Sustained,
therefore, by the science of the nineteenth century,
we venture with the fullest confidence, in regard to
every particle of this universe, the assertion implied
in the sublime interrogatories of the prophet:
" YVho hath measured the waters in the hollow of




17
his hand, and meted out heaven with the span, and
comprehended the dust of the earth in a measure,
and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills
in a balance? "
The principle of economy thus regarded in the
divine administration, ought to be equally regarded
by man in the conduct of life. It ought to be thus
regarded, but is not. Not only is there indolence,
and so dormancy of capacity, but there is great
misdirection of force, and waste of material. Who
is there that gathers what he might? that becomes
what he might? that achieves what he might? 
In doing each and all of these, and in that only,
would be the highest success; and to this, economy
is no less necessary than energy. The monarch
who conquers a country provides for retaining it;
without this his victories would be fruitless, and
they become available only as he can incorporate it
into his own dominions, and, if need be, make it
the means of still further conquests. So it is with
us. The two elements or factors of success in life,
mental capacity being given, are the energy, the
will, needed for getting, and for achievement; and
the economy needed for so keeping what is thus
gained, that nothing shall be lost. Of these elements the first is more exciting, more naturally
attractive of sympathy, and has received, by far,
greater attention. Young men are constantly exhorted to energy and enterprise, to perseverance
and force of will, while the power of a wise economy
and husbandry of resources is disregarded.
This general principle needs to be applied, first,
3




18
in regard to health and physical energy. In the
management of these there has been, and still is,
unspeakable loss. Let the pressure of necessity be
removed, and men have not sufficient resolution
and self-control to comply with the conditions of
physical vigor. Civilization, the accumulation of
wealth, refinement, leisure, bring facilities for various forms of indulgence incompatible with this
vigor in its highest form; and so uniform is this,
that no nation, highly civilized, has escaped physical deterioration. They have not learned the secret
of gaining in refinement, without losing in a robust
manhood.  The population of cities, it is said,
requires to be renovated by men fresh from the
country every third generation, and that it is such
men, or their descendants of the second generation,
who hold the wealth and places of influence there.
Of course there are exceptions, but this is the general rule. The third generation are inferior, both
physically and mentally. They are second or thirdrate men. Instead of being judges of soils and of
oxen, they are judges of actors, and singers, and
neck-ties; instead of being leaders in a town meeting, they are leaders of fashion.  They become
dilettanti. They drink, they gamble, they give
themselves up to pleasure, they are of no particular
use in the world, and not seldom either they or
their children are beggars in the streets where their
fathers were merchant princes. Meantime, everywhere, in the city and in the country, in the counting house and in the college, men are drawn into
"the old way," or rather, ways "which wicked
men have trodden." They become victims of licen



19
tiousness, or of some form of artificial stimulation;
and with various alternations of hope and fear on
the part of their friends, and of successful struggle
and defeat, they become a curse to society, and go
down to dishonored graves. The promises of early
life are not met. The parental hand is pierced by
the reed that it leans upon.  Instead of fruit,
awakened hope finds ashes in her grasp.
Of this loss something is due to ignorance, but
there is scarcely any one whose knowledge is not in
advance of his practice; and where that is the case,
the root of the evil, and generally of the ignorance
itself, lies deeper. It lies in the insane purpose
to secure present enjoyment, regardless of consequences. From this no mere regard to self-culture,
to the laws of health, to enjoyment on the whole,
will hold the masses back when solicitation stands
at every corner, and addresses every sense. Restraint will be spurned, and caution mocked at,
and a pure and efficient manhood will disappear.
This, a pervasive Christianity can prevent, and
nothing else can.  Nothing but the cross of Christ
can so startle the spiritual nature from its torpor, as
to make it an effectual counterpoise to the debasing
and sensual tendencies of the race. Favored by
temperament and education, individuals may measurably escape, but if the race is to triumph in the
conflict between the flesh and the spirit, between
the lower propensities and the higher nature, they
must, as Constantine is said to have done, see the
cross, and on it the motto, " In hoc signo vinces."
By this sign you shall conquer.




20
But, secondly, this principle is peculiarly applicable in its relation to time.
There is a low philosophy which says that time
is money. It is more; it is the interval between
two eternities; it is life; it is opportunity; it is
salvation. It is that which, once past, comes not
again. It fixes the past. It moulds the future.
Money cannot buy it. A dying queen may exclaim,
"Millions of money for an inch of time," but the
millions will not buy the inch. Money has no
relation to it. To waste it costs no effort. 7We
have only to wrap our talent in a napkin and sit
still; but to improve it requires both effort and
wisdom, for it may be, and most often is, laboriously wasted.
"Gather up the fragments" of time, "that
nothing be lost." This can be addressed only to
those who are employing the greater portion of
their time in some earnest work. He who floats
loosely and aimlessly in society has no fragments
of time, as related to a whole. It is all fragments.
He himself is a fragment, lying useless, and his
whole life requires to be recast. But whatever the
great business of a man may be, however engrossing, there will always be some fragments of time
that will remain; and with most men these are so
considerable, that the disposition made of them will
greatly modify the results of life. The secret of
doing much is to do a little at a time, but to persevere in doing it. A half an hour a day, in the
service of an earnest purpose, has been sufficient
for the acquisition of languages and the writing of




21
books, and for laying the foundation of a lasting
fame.  Even the minute fragment required for
drawing his waxed ends, was employed by Roger
Sherman in looking on his book open before him;
and it was thus that he became a sage, and a signer
of the Declaration of Independence. Let a professional man, or any man, when he starts in life,
have a side study, be it History, or a Language, or
Poetry, or any branch of Natural History, as Geology, and let him give to it the fragments of his
time, and he will be surprised at his own acquisitions; the whole tone of his thoughts and life will
be elevated, and the change of subject will be his
best recreation. Of such a pursuit of Mineralogy
and Geology, we have a striking instance in this
vicinity. And what is thus true in literature and
science, is still more so in religion, and in all that
relates to duty. There is no time too brief for
anil ejaculatory prayer. When the countenance of
Nehemiah was sad for the desolations of Jerusalem, and the king asked him, "What is thy request l" there was time between the question and
the answer for him to pray " to the God of heaven."
If the object of this world had been to furnish
opportunities for doing good, it could hardly have
been arranged better than it is; and whoever has a
heart set upon that, will have no need that any
fragments of time he may gather up, should be
lost.
But, once more, you will expect me to say that
this principle applies also to property.
Owing to the undue estimate of wealth, this has
indeed been supposed to be the special field and




22
domain of economy, and there are those who make
it their chief business to practice and to inculcate a
small economy in this department. Certainly the
principle applies here as elsewhere. Why should
any property be lost? If it is worth the getting,
why not the keeping. It is by saving, no less
than by getting, that accumulation comes; and
failure in this is oftener from a want of economy
than of enterprise. Should there then be accumulation   Certainly. The right of property is
given by God. Property itself, that is, something
accumulated and kept, is a necessity for society.
It not only confers comfort and independence,
but is a great and desirable power for good. It
is a duty to give; we are commanded to give;
but he who has nothing can give nothing. This
is commonly thought a sufficient excuse. It may,
or may not be. It is so, just as it is a sufficient
excuse for begging, that a man has nothing to
eat. But how came he to have nothing to eat?
Hlow came the man to have nothing to give?  If
there has been a want, either of industry, or of the
strictest economy, it is not a sufficient excuse. Of
the extent of this accumulation, with its temptations and dangers, I am not now to speak. Of
that every man must judge for himself. But be it
greater or less, there need be no hesitation in saying that any loss of property, any want of economy
in spending it, any failure to save any portion of it,
must be the result either of human imperfection or
of sin.
But in this attention to minute things, this regard
to fragments, is there not something of smallness




23
and narrowness; of a carefulness and painstaking
not compatible with enjoyment?   Is there not
something alien from the tone and temper of a
high and free and generous spirit? That there are
such associations, in connection with what is called
economy, cannot be denied. But we must here
make distinctions. There is that, if we call it
economy at all, which must be called a wicked
economy. It is that of the miser. He saves for
the sake of saving, and so loses by his very keeping. The fragments were to be gathered up, not
that they should be carried about in baskets and
kept till they should be mouldy, for then they
would have been lost by being kept; but that, subsequently, and on the first fit occasion, they should
be put to the use for which they were made.
There is, also, as I have said, a small economya careful parsimoniousness, not exactly miserliness,
but bordering upon it. It is born of fear, has reference to self, and does not contemplate use, except
for low and personal ends.
There is, again, an honorable economy, having
for its end the gratification of the natural affections, opportunities for mental improvement, position in society, and all these in connection with the
highest manhood and most perfect personal independence. For a parent to be economical, to the
point of severe self-denial, for the education of a
child; for a young man to be thus economical for
his own education; for one accustomed or seeking
to associate with the wealthy and the fashionable,
to conform to no habit of expense that would
require dishonesty or meanness in any direction,




24
implies high qualities; and the economy thus
practiced is an honorable economy.
But besides these, there is what may be called a
sublime economy. This is not confined to money,
or property, but is in imitation of the method of
God, and from a perception of its connection with
beneficence. It includes the employment and expenditure of whatever would bear on human wellbeing, and its principle is, " That nothing be lost."
It sees that the water must be gathered in clouds
before it can be poured out in rain; that the
reservoir must be filled before the city can be supplied; that every where God gathers by little and
little what he dispenses with a liberal hand, and
thus, instead of being connected with smallness or
narrowness, this economy becomes the very spring
and fountain-head of generosity and liberality and
beneficence. He who adopts this principle looks
around him, and over the earth, and sees hunger
to be fed, and nakedness to be clothed, and ignorance to be instructed, and vice to be reclaimed, and
talent and worth to be encouraged, and institutions
to be aided; he hears the cry of heathen nations
calling for the gospel; and now a regard for the
least thing that can work towards either, or all of
these for which God is working, is dignified and
consecrated by the principle that gave it birth.
Now, nothing that can thus work is small to him.
Of the cold water that he is bearing to the
wounded and perishing on the battle-field of life,
and which he knows to be far short of their necessities, he would not lose a drop. Now he works
for God, and with God; and he finds enlargement




both of mind and of heart just in proportion as he
is able to comprehend in his working plans, as
God does in his, every instrumentality and means,
however apparently insignificant and minute.
In these parting words of instruction to you, My
Beloved Friends of the Graduating Class, with
whom I have been so long and so pleasantly associated, it has been my wish to place before you one
great element of all success, whether it be of that
outward but delusive success, that belongs only to
time, or of that inward and true success, that lays
up its treasures in heaven.  In connection with
both, the principle applies, that nothing should be
lost. This element of success is not the primitive,
or the greatest.  I have no wish to magnify it at
the expense of the power of attainment and acquisition, but call your attention to it as equally indispensable with that, and because its character is
often misapprehended, and its'value not appreciated.
Between the two elements of' success just mentioned, as between the great forces of nature, there
is a tendency to opposition, and you will need to
balance them carefully, if you would preserve the
true course and orbit of life.  With some, the constitutional tendency is towards energy, attainment,
acquisition; and as the consciousness of power in
this direction is greater, it is natural there should
be a certain profusion and recklessness in expenditure. To the young and self-confident, their resources of time, of health, of energy, if not of




money, seem exhaustless; and why should they
care for loss. With others, the tendency is towards
caution. They gain by saving. They never either
pay, or give, too much for any thing. They are in
danger of withholding more than is meet, even
when it tendeth to poverty. Of these elements, if
there must be a preponderance of either, let it be
of the first. But, rightly viewed, these are not
conflicting, but complementary elements. If there
were no gathering, there could be neither saving
nor giving; if there were no saving, there could
be no systematic, far-sighted, effective use or distribution. Here, as everywhere, the example of our
Saviour is perfect.  How  grand the energy by
which he controlled the elements! How adequate,
and more than adequate, the provision for all that
use required! And yet how perfect the economy
— an economy, you will be careful to observe, that
in no degree restricted use, but simply provided
against loss. Here we have the whole principle.  Everything for use, nothing to be lost. Why
should any thing, that can be used, be lost? How
can it be, but from recklessness, or weakness, or
wickedness?
You, my Beloved Friends, have rich endowments,
a rich inheritance, a capital of priceless worth, no
part of which ought to be lost. You have youth,
and health, and education, and freedom, personal,
civil, and religious. You inherit the past, and
stand on the threshold of a future that must be
richer in thronging events and in opportunities for
good, than any past has been. Your fathers inher



THE LIVING HOUSE,
O R
GOD'S METHOD OF SOCIAL UNITY.
A
BACCALAUREATE SERMON,
DELIVERED AT
WILLIAMSTOWN, MS.
AUGUST 3, 1862.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. 1. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1862.








SE RM ON.
1 PETER II. 4, 5.
TO WHOM COMING, AS UNTO A LIVING STONE, DISALLOWED INDEED OF MEN, BUT
CHOSEN OF GOD, AND PRECIOUS, YE ALSO, AS LIVELY STONES, ARE BUILT UP
A SPIRITUAL HOUSE.
IN building a house, materials of great diversity
are brought into unity. They are placed in such
relations as to be mutually subservient, and become
one thing. This is what is done in all construction.  It is what God has done in building this
material universe.  The process of this, as conducted by him, is expressly compared to the building of a house by man. " For," says the Apostle,
"every house is builded by some man, but he that
built all things is God."
As thus constructed, the universe is no multitudinous mass of unrelated units baffling all comprehension.  The separate beings and facts are,
indeed, without number, and are infinitely diversified; but they may yet be partitioned off into
divisions, assorted into groups, the ligament which
binds each of these into unity may be distinctly
traced, and each group, thus assorted and bound
together, becomes the field of a separate science.
And not only are the facts within each group
1




related to each other, but the groups themselves.
Not, as the ancients supposed, are the heavens,
and the earth, and the regions beneath, constituted
and governed, each on different principles. The
light from the farthest star is the same as that
which comes from  the sun, and which is struck
from the flint; the particle of dust that floats in
the air is governed by the same laws as the earth
that floats in space and is enveloped by that air;
the spire of grass at our feet requires not only the
sun and the rain, but all those laws of electricity,
and magnetism, and cohesion, and affinity, by
which the globe itself, and the solar system, and
the far vaster stellar systems cohere and stand up
together. Not only, therefore, is there a unity of
each science, but a unity of the sciences.  The
farther we investigate the more do we find of unity
in the works of God, and nothing seems left to
science but to accept that instinctive and universal
conviction which has recorded itself in language,
and which calls these works of God, so varied and
so vast, a uni-verse.
With this constitution of the external universe,
that of the mind is in harmony. It is a necessity
for it to seek to reduce its knowledge to unity.
Before science can begin, we must observe separate
facts; but as soon as these are observed, there is
an effort to bring them into system, that is, into
unity; and when this is fully done, there is a completed science.  No man can observe a new and
strange fact, without seeking to bring it into relation with facts already known and classified.




But it is not solely as speculative that man
desires, and is required, to reduce all things to
unity. As a practical being, it is his great business to do this. As the beings and facts of nature
are given to him, as speculative, that he may find
their mutual relations, and thus their unity, so are
the substances of nature given to him, as a practical being, that he may find their capabilities, and
bring them into such relations of convergence and
unity as shall subserve his purposes. Like the
facts and phenomena, these substances are given
separately. The air is given by itself, and the iron,
and the fuel, and the fire, and the water, and all
these are to be brought into such convergence
and unity of action as to cause the locomotive
and the steam-ship to be, and to speed them on
their wondrous way. In all contrivances, from
the simple lever to those marvelous combinations
of machinery that seem  endowed not only with
hands, but with thought, there is always to be
found a unity in the subservience of every part
to the purpose of the designer, and it is this unity
which he designs to produce. As a creature made
in the image of God, man- not only finds in his
works unity with reference to an end, but he
wishes to produce such unity.
But this is not all.  If we pass from  matter
to mind we find another, a spiritual universe, to
which the first is subservient.  We can scarcely
avoid the conclusion, favored as it is by the Scriptures and by all analogy, that there is a spiritual
universe corresponding in vastness and variety to




6
the material one; and if so, the great object of
God, in the whole, must be such an arrangement
and government of this as shall secure for it the
highest social and spiritual unity. This, too, is
favored by the Scriptures.  Christians are to be
built.up a spiritual house. Christ prayed that
they might all be one; and the Apostle, glancing,
it would seem, at that wider range of which we
have spoken, says: " That in the dispensation of
the fullness of times he might gather together in
one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven,
and which are on earth; even in him."
And here, also, in this spiritual universe, man
is not merely to find a unity produced by God;
he is also, and in this chiefly, to seek to produce
unity.
In doing this, the first sphere of action for every
man is his own spirit. Blessed is he who can
bring into that, that unity which is at once peace
and power.  This is the first condition of all true
rest, and of all healthful activity. The more complex man is; the more incompatible are his desires;
the more deeply opposed are the flesh and the
spirit; the more needful, and the more beautiful
is that unity which belongs to the original design
of God, and which is brought in by one overmastering purpose subordinating all things to itself.
In this is singleness of eye; in this consistency,
efficiency, a ground for self-respect, and for the
respect of others.
But this unity of the individual spirit is not
only a condition of individual peace and joy, but




7
also of those bonds of peace by which individuals
are united to each other. This brings us to a
wider and more complex field, to that social and
spiritual unity which we now propose to consider.
In this field the first and most perfect unity is
to be found in the marriage union. In marriage,
according to its original idea, there is the most
perfect social unity known on earth. They twain
become one flesh. It is based on a diversity in
the whole being,-a diversity, not of opposition,
but of correspondence, by which each supplements
the other, and in which there is always the basis
for the truest and deepest unity.
It is from such a unity that society springs,
branching out into families, communities, and
nations. Here, again, unity is needed not only
within each family, community and nation, but
also between families, communities and nations.
This is possible. Despite the isolations, the alienations, the enmities there are, it is the law, it is
the only condition of social good, and it is the
production of this that is the end of all constitutions, and legislation, and government. A solution
of all social problems, those which have taxed the
powers of man from the beginning, can end in
nothing better than this. That the race of man
should recognize its own unity in a spirit of
brotherhood, overlooking no one having the attributes of man, and thus, under the government of
God, become fitted for a unity with other races,
trained in other planets, in other systems, related
to us by the correspondence of diversity, they fitted




to supplement us, as we them, gives us the grandest conception of a social system which it is possible for us to form.  It is towards this that all true
reformers look; as they approximate this, their
end is attained; as they find the principle of this,
they find the principle of all real reforms.
It is of this complex social unity that the text
speaks under the figure of a house built up. of
separate stones.  "Ye are built up a spiritual
house."  And this unity men have sought, and
still seek to secure, chiefly in two ways.
The first is by the balance of mutual interests
and selfishnesses.
Interest and selfishness are not, like malignity,
necessarily repellent. So far as two selfish persons
are either necessary to each other from the conditions of their being, or can make use of each other,
they can go on together; and, by a skillful adjustment;of checks and balances, much may be done
to make it for the immediate interest of all to go
on thus.  Selfishness may do good to others, that
others may do good to it; it may lend to others,
"hoping to receive as much again." It may, for
its own sake, do much for the upbuilding and perfection of society; and with this as its controlling
principle, together with the gregariousness common to man with the animals, society may exist
and have a degree of unity.:But with a governing
selfishness, held in check, and known to be, solely
by expediency, there must be constant distrust.
Thus governed, men will overstep the limits of
right when they dare, and the individuals of society




will resolve themselves into an armed neutrality,
with a constant outlook for opportunities of safe
aggression. Outward peace there may be, but it
will be from mutual dread, as when two prizefighters survey each other, and each prefers to
decline the contest. It will be on the principle
that a certain gun, supposed to be very destructive,
was named "the peacemaker."  There will be
sought a balance of power like that so long made
the object of European politicians. Such a political balance required for its maintenance standing
armies, and navies, and fortifications, and constant
watchfulness. And such a balance in society will
require the division of powers, and a police, and
courts, and prisons, and written contracts, and
securities. Such a unity may be better than none.
It is far better; but there must be something better than this.
A second mode of producing unity among men
is by power, or pressure from without.
This involves the first, to some extent, and is
superinduced upon it. It is the method adopted
by all despotisms, whether of one man, of a few, or
of many. The great object of ambition has been
to exercise the power of a despotic will over masses
of men organized as armies, and through these to
hold in subjection, as one empire, vast regions,
peopled, it may be, by nations the most discordant.
Such was the empire of Nebuchadnezzar, who sent
forth his decree'to every people, and nation, and
language.' Such was the Persian empire under
Ahasuerus, whose letters were sent' to the rulers




10
of the provinces which were from India to Ethiopia, a hundred and twenty and seven provinces,
unto every province according to the writing thereof, and unto every people after their language.'
Such was the empire of Alexander, that fell in
pieces by its own weight, as soon as his strong
grasp upon it was relaxed. Such, emphatically,
was the Roman empire. Extending from the African deserts to Britain, and from India to the pillars of Hercules, it held in a forced unity nations
utterly diverse in language, and habits, and interests. It was a mere aggregation, a conglomerate,
whose parts were held in position by Roman legions.
Such, indeed, were the republics of antiquity, when
they became extensive. Of the rights of man as
such, they knew nothing; they did not extend citizenship with their conquests, but held their provinces in subjection, and so preserved unity by
power.  Such has been, and still is, to a great
extent, the condition of Europe; much more of
countries less enlightened. Different nationalities
are forced together. Every where there is the
pressure of power as an external force. The free
play of affinities, whether laterally, or vertically,
is checked; and the spirit, if not the laws of caste,
is rigidly maintained. Hence the unity, such as
there is, being enforced, is unquiet; not peaceful,
spontaneous and fruitful.
In opposition to these methods, now  tried so
long that the world is weary, is that adopted by
God, and beautifully indicated in the text. The
figure in this passage is remarkable, as bringing




11
into coalescence objects and qualities seemingly
the most incompatible.  A stone is passive.  You
may lift it, toss it, hurl it, smite it, lay it in a wall,
and it will resist only in virtue of its inertia and
cohesion.  A stone is dead-so dead, that when
we would speak of the perfection and intensity of
death in other things, we say of them that they are
stone-dead.  A stone is solid, permanent, a fit material to enter into structures that are to endure for
ages.  How opposite is all this to that vitality, and
sensibility, and self-assertion, and transient character that belong to all organic and living things!
How  opposite, especially, is it to  spirituality.
Nothing could be more opposite, and yet it is precisely in the blending of these opposites that the
power and beauty of the figure are found.  That
the building should be of stone, was required to
indicate its perpetuity; for its turrets are to gleam
forever in the light of eternity. That the stones
should be living, was required to indicate their
union, each in its place; not by mechanical means,
or outward pressure, but by vital affinit.
Here it is that we reach the peculiarity of this
structure. It is that the materials are living, and
are united by a vital affinity.  If now we suppose
this affinity to spring from that which is deepest
and most essential in the materials, we shall have
the whole method of God in producing social
unity; we shall have that which we must adopt in
seeking to produce it, if we are ever to succeed.
Of this method of union by vital affinity, there
are two conditions. The first and indispensable
2




12
one is, that the materials should be vitalized, or be
alive. The second is, that they should be free to
move in accordance with the laws of vitality.
What it is to be vitalized in mere matter, and
how this is done, we know. It is to have life communicated to that which was dead; and this is
done by bringing the materials, not in masses, but
particle by particle, into contact with that which
already has vitality. It is done as by a leavening
power, a kind of sacred contagion; and when it is
done, the materials are ready to be marshaled into
their places, and to perform their functions under
the vital laws.
So far the process is beautifiul and typical, but
the marshaling is perhaps more so. Here the
second condition, that of freedom, comes in. In
matter, fluidity is freedom. It is the freedom of
the individual particle to move in any direction;
and strange as it may seem, that a fluid should be
alive, yet it is, and the Scripture doctrine, that the
blood " is the life thereof," is a philosophical necessity. Having then materials for the upbuilding of
every part of the body, vitalized, and free, as held
in solution, what is to be done?  There are to be
formed bone, muscle, tendon, brain, nerves, skin,
hair, nails, the transparent humors of the eye, and
its dark pigment. The materials are undistinguishable, and mixed in utter confusion. But now the
affinity shows itself, and the miracle of bringing
order out of chaos, as seen in the first creation, is
repeated. Each particle goes to its own place,
stands in its own lot, performs just the office it is




13
fitted to perform; and thus, to a body constantly
changing in its matter, there is given permanence,
and strength, and beauty.
Of the process now mentioned all materials are
not capable, but only food. It is the capability of
this that makes them food. But whether capable
of it or not, any substance not actually vitalized,
or in a position to be so, is a foreign substance.
As such it is either an encumbrance or an irritant,
and is expelled by the vital force. This power of
rejection and expulsion is no less essential than
that of assimilation.
All this perfectly represents what occurs, or
should occur, in that higher social region of which
the text speaks.  Every particle thus vitalized
becomes a living stone to build up a living house,
and in thus helping to build the whole, its own
place is found, and its appetency satisfied.
In passing to the higher spiritual region, if we
find differences, it is only those required by the
nature of the subject. We have here the same
indispensable conditions of vitality and freedom,
and the same expulsive power. But life here, in
accordance with the usage of the Scriptures, and
with all usage, is something more than life, and
death is not merely its absence. Life here is
consciousness, sensibility, sympathy, affection. It
is consent and harmony, and the more intense the
life in one direction, the more perfect the death
in another. To be alive to God is to have every
faculty active and quick in apprehending his perfections, and in doing his will; and one wholly




14
in this state would be dead to sin. Its allurements
would awaken no more response than an appeal
to the senses of the dead. They would be viands
set at the mouth of a tomb. On the other hand,
no life is more intense than that of him who is
" dead in trespasses and sins." He is so engrossed
in his own selfish plans that no voice of the
word, or providence, or Spirit of God, makes any
impression upon him. Call as you may, there is
no response. There is no voice, nor any that
answers or regards. He is dead. In the same
way men may be alive to the beauties of nature,
or of art, to the behests of duty, the calls of
compassion, the voice of their country; and they
may be dead to all these. They may be wholly
engrossed in business, or in pleasure. Men may
be so alive to the wages of unrighteousness as to
become, as the Apostle says, "trees twice dead,
plucked up by the roots."
We say, then, that for a social structure, he is a
living stone -who is capable of being so inwrought
into it as to add, and only add, to its strength and
symmetry. This will imply that he be permeated
by those ideas which are the life of the system,
that he be plastic to its forces, and responsive
to its instinctive wants. He must be an agent,
and not an instrument. It is the characteristic of
vital methods, as opposed to mechanical, that the
movement is from within. The moment the interior appetency, and impulse, and choice, cease to
be respected, there is social death; the idea of
mutual subserviency through vital action, which




15
is God's idea, is lost, and society, instead of moving like the heavens, becomes a crazy mechanism,
whirling and crashing on with the blindness and
unsteadiness of human passion and power.
Such is the idea of vitality in a social system.
It implies a sympathy, a rational consent and harmonv of the individual with the movements and
ends of the system, that will lead him to seek and
to keep, not office, but just that place for which
he is best fitted.
The idea of freedom, figurative in matter, is
literal here. It implies both the immediate absence of arbitrary power, and security against it.
The lion must not only be sated for the moment,
or accidentally sluggish, he must be caged. There
must be no intervention of mere will, seeking, for
a side and selfish purpose, to wield the masses as
instruments, or to prevent any living stone from
finding its true place. The idea of freedom  also
implies the absence of any horizontal and petrified
strata in society, as caste, or fixed classes, which
would prevent a free movement, upwards or downwards, horizontally or obliquely. Such strata mnay
exist without arbitrary power; it may exist without them, but they naturally go together and mutually aid each other.  Established orders are a
frame-work to support the throne, and the throne
concentrates power to guard these orders from the
encroachments of each other, and of the people.
Of such a combination of concentrated power
and established orders, great public works, and
high civilization and refinement in the favored




16
classes, are the natural result, while the lower
classes are degraded.  In such a form of society
there may be much of beauty, and power, and
beneficence. Once originated, it readily perpetuates itself, and becomes venerable. From this,
with the vast wealth accumulated, public and private, though in few hands, and from the consequent magnificence, it appeals strongly to the
imagination and tends to control the associations.
Being born into it, children are overshadowed by
it, and their associations are conformed to its order
as they are to that of nature. Both seem to come
from a power above them, and to belong almost
equally to an order of things over which they have
no control.  Institutions, just those established,
with their settled order, are everything; the individual is nothing. There is no longer room for
an appeal to original rights and fitnesses. The
sphere of choice and of action provided by God,
and needed for the best development of the life of
all, becomes limited. There is no fluidity, and for
a man to pass up through the orders of society by
merit, is a marvel. If he choose to fall in with
the prescribed course, well; but if Buonaparte is
to rise from the lower strata of society to its top,
it can be only as the metallic vein is shot up
through the earthy strata by an underlying force
that would convulse a continent.
Of the two great elements of social order now
spoken of, vitality and freedom, freedom has been
most prominent in the thoughts and in the speech
of men. Freedom has been the battle-cry of the




17
race.  For this heroes have fought.  Men seek
scope, that is freedom, for the action of vitality,
but do not so readily feel the deficiency of that or
seek its increase.  This is natural, because the
absence of freedom is a restraint that is instantly
felt, and naturally resisted; but the absence of
vitality is insensibility, and the less life a man has,
of any kind, physical, intellectual, spiritual, the
less inclined will he be to struggle for more.
But while freedom is thus more prominent than
vitality, it is not at all in the same rank. All good
is from vitality. Freedom is only the condition of
its best exercise. For a good man, freedom is a
good; for a bad man, it is an evil. Without vitality
in the sense of the text, freedom becomes anarchy.
With it, pervading the whole social system, there
will be essential freedom, whatever the outward
form  of society may be.  If every stone in the
house be living, there will be nothing to originate
mechanical methods and obstructions; vital laws
will rule, and the rule of these is freedom.
All that has now been said will apply to social
unity of any kind; but that spoken of in the text
is spiritual.  "Ye are built up a spiritual house."
Let there be vitality and freedom, and there may
be unity after God's method; but its strength and
value will be as the life from which it springs.
Spiritual unity must be from spiritual life, and in
these we find the sphere and method of God in his
grandest work.
Of spiritual unity the peculiarities are two. The
first is, that it springs from that life which is
deepest.




18
Surely, if man is made in the image of God, that
by which he is thus made must be that which
makes him man, and so is his very being. If so,
his natural affinities-using the word natural in its
highest sense-will be for God and those who are
like him. If so, as union with God and those who
are like him is essential to this life, it must expel
every interest, or life, or love incompatible with it.
No love of father or mother may compete with it.
It will move on as the river towards the ocean.
Not to do this, would be to deny its own nature.
The second peculiarity of spiritual life, at least
in man, is, that Christ is, for him, both the source
of vitality and the centre of unity.
Without Christ, men are destitute of spiritual
life. They are "without God, and without hope."
This is the cardinal fact in the moral history of
the world. The recognition or non-recognition of
this, will determine the character of all speculative
theologies, and also the character and results of all
efforts for the good of man. This fact the world
do not admit; and hence they disallow Christ, both
as a source of life and as the centre of unity. He is
" disallowed indeed of men, but chosen of God and
precious."  It is on this that the whole method of
God in the restoration of man is based, and it is
for the recognition of this by men, and their adoption of God's method of vitality and unity, that the
tardy and laboring and distracted times wait. No
partial reform will do; no "coming man."  Every
where men are divergent, repellent.  The bond of
a common humanity has been found to be but a




19
bond of tow to bind the Samson of human selfishness and passion. There must be a divine life,
a divine centre, a more than human bond. This
life is in Christ. He is " the life."  This bond is
from him. In him are condensed all human relationships, as of "brother and sister and mother;"
and to these-higher and holier —that of Saviour
is added. In him, as the second Adam; in his
matchless character, human, yet divine; in his allembracing and self-sacrificing love; in him, as
the champion of humanity in its weakness and,guilt, able and willing to bring succor in the hour
of its direst need, and to raise it up from the darkness and the dust of death, there is every requisite
for a centre of unity for the race, so that "all
things which are on earth," as well as "those
which are in heaven, may be gathered together in
one, even in him." In this, in this only, is there
an object worthy of God. Hie has created worlds,
and families of worlds, of mere matter, and given
them a unity of unspeakable beauty and grandeur;
but without sensation or recognition, without enjoyment or praise, what would they be worth?
Nothing. No, the only work worthy of God is
one crowned by creatures made in his image, with
their vitality from him, and himself the centre of
their unity-unity in love, fitly represented by the
marriage union. This work, we believe, will correspond in its vastness to that of the stellar hosts,
and as far transcend them in glory as mind transcends the inanimate clod. It will embrace all
orders of rational intelligences, in all worlds; sin
3




20
and its consequences will be eliminated, and it
shall stand in its glorious order forever.  The
promised new heavens and earth do not so much
respect any new combinations and unity of matter,
as of conscious agents; and they will be such that
all that has gone before in the works of God will
be as nothing. " For behold," says God, " I create
new heavens and a new earth; and the former
shall not be remembered, nor come into mind.
But be ye glad and rejoice forever in that which
I create; for, behold, I create Jerusalem a rejoicing and her people a joy."
It is of such a social system, my beloved friends
of the Graduating Class, that you are to fit yourselves to form a part; it is into such a system that
you are to seek to bring others. This will comprehend your whole duty. It is the focal point
to which our efforts for you have converged, and
if your education here has not fitted you for this,
it is a failure.  This you will best do, not by
ignoring or disregarding those lower social systems
on earth which God has ordained, but by filling
your places as living stones in them all. That
you may do this rightly, I have wished, in these
parting words, to furnish you both with a test of
systems, and with guiding principles.
First, then, it will follow, from what has been
said, that if you are either to fit yourselves for
such a system, or to aid in fitting others, an indispensable condition must be, that you should be
alive.




21
WThat can a dead man do? In the first place,
death can enjoy nothing. And then, what place
has a cold, unconscious, apathetic stone, where
everything is vital, and responsive, and eager to
meet the wants of the whole? It is an obstruction
not merely, but an offense, and cannot be permanently suffered. So is it in the family; so in the
college-what is the use of a dead student? so
in the state; so in the church; so, emphatically,
must it be in heaven. With little vitality, such
offenses may be endured, but the more intense the
life, the more does it array itself against all death,
and seek to free itself from its contact. The very
pavement of heaven would rise against the foot
of the wicked; it would cast them out. "Without are dogs." And what, again, can a dead man
do in communicating life? Life comes from life.
God is its author; but, having originated it, it
spreads from centres according to laws, and those
centres must be alive. In the spiritual, as in the
natural world, there is no spontaneous generation.
Would you communicate knowledge?  You must
have it. So of life. Christianity does not spring
up of itself; it must be borne by the living
preacher. Yes, by a living preacher, and not by
one that is dead.
If, then, you would enjoy any thing; if you
would not be an offense; if you would communicate any thing, you must be alive.
You will also find, in what has been said, a test
of all social organizations. Of these, the present
emergency requires that I should refer especially




22
to those that are national, and to your duty to the
government in which you are to have a part.
Organizations express life, and react upon it.
Of these, some are better than others. It is not
true, that "that is the best government which is
best administered."  That government is the best,
and is likely to be best administered, which is constructed most nearly after God's method, as indicated in the text. That, accordingly, is the best
government which combines most perfectly vitality,
freedom, and unity. WVe are wont to think of the
excellence of our government as from freedom.
Not so, except as there is vitality back of the freedom, and as it leads to unity. Its excellence is
that its method is vital, and not mechanical. It
is self-government, working out, as by an instinct
of life, the common good. It is a common-wealth.
It casts the character in the mould of freedom, and
becomes a great educating and formative power.
It makes a radical difference whether the people
have a government distinct from themselves and
exercised over them, or whether they are the government, expressing their will through constitutional forms. In the one case the people will be
recipients and instruments, receiving a provision
made for them by those whose business it is to
take care of them; in the other, they will be vital,
and will perform a high function of vitality by
which, if they perform it well, they must grow
into a larger manhood. If they perform it well!
Just here it is that the voice of patriotism, of
oppressed humanity every where, that the voice




23
of God reaches every young man, and especially
every educated young man. You inherit a government more conformed to the methods of God
than any other. There is in it more of freedom
in all directions; we trust there is also more of
vitality, of unity, and of power to expel what
would be destructive of its life. But this is yet
to be tested, and the result will depend on the
present generation of young men. If our national
life shall come out triumphant in its struggle with
that internal and cancerous malady to which it
has at times seemed to succumb, it will be the
most glorious triumph of free principles the world
has ever seen.  Will it thus come out?  We
think so. The government has a power, and the
nation a life and a conscious unity, that we did
not know of till the present struggle. Let but
the demon of slavery be cast out, and though it
leave the nation rent, and torn, and prostrate, we
shall yet rise to a strength and greatness unknown
before. There is no strength like that of unity
from vitality and freedom. There is no beauty
like it. Go forth, then, and do what you can in
giving to the nation this strength and beauty. Be
true to God's methods; be true to the interests
of freedom, and to the rights of man.
Again, as we have seen that vitality is the chief
thing in order to social unity, it will follow that
your highest aim will be to communicate that.
This was done by our Saviour. He had life
in himself. He was the Life, and his great object
was to give life to the world. For this he gave




24
himself. This principle was original with him.
It is distinctive. It is this, and this only, that has
made his religion a power in the world, working
like leaven.  Overlooked by the world, "disallowed of men," it is yet demonstrably the only
true principle of reform. If a living house is to
be built, there must be living stones.  The difficulty in social structures is in the material.  If this
nation is to fail, it will be from that. Ambition,
selfishness, human wisdom, take such materials as
they find and use them as they may, often skillfully,
for their own ends. Christ says, begin with the
materials.  "Make the tree good."  Go to the ignorant, the vicious, the proud, the sensual, the selfish
in every form, and teach them that wisdom of God
which consists, not in getting any thing, or in
achieving any thing, but in becoming as little children before him.  Thus shall they enter, by love,
into his kingdom, and into the heirship of all
things.  This is totally different from  any achievement for admiration, or from any exercise of
power, as by the great ones of the earth. It is
wholly alien from the spirit of the world, and yet
from this only can there be renovation in society,
or fruit unto life everlasting. This will preclude
all monkish seclusion, it will bring you heart to
heart with your fellow-men, no matter who, so
they be men, and will call for all you may have
of life to communicate.  Your usefulness will not
be as your talents, but as you may communicate
vitality. I rejoice, my dear friends, in the confidence that so many of you have adopted this prin



25
ciple. Apply it in your lives, unmoved by the
sneers of skepticism, or by the success and selfcomplacency of the worldly wise.
Once more, in view of the discordance and divisions in the world, it will readily occur to you,
from what has been said, how important it is that
your centres of unity should be rightly chosen.
Both your influence and peace will depend much
upon this. Here your wisdom will be to choose
only those which God has established. God has
established the family, and not communism; the
state, and not party; the church, the one living,
spiritual church, and not sects; Christ, and not
popes, or theological doctors and teachers. The
true ground of union is vitality with reference to a
common centre; and distant as it may seem, we
hope and believe the time will come when men
will every where swing away from centres false,
artificial, divisive, and revolve only, with mutual
attraction, around those that are God-appointed.
Finally, while I exhort you to enter, as a vital
part, into every social unity instituted by God, the
great question with you, as with us all, is whether
you have come to Christ. " Unto whom coming."
Have you come to him as unto a living stone, and
so been made yourselves living as to be fit to become a part of that spiritual house which God is
building? Christ, my dear friends, is still "disallowed of men." The builders refuse him. So do
not you. You are building for eternity; look well
to your foundation. Christ is " chosen of God,"
and other foundation can no man lay. He is




precious to him as "the Head-stone of the corner."
" HIe is precious to them  that believe."  If you
have not done so, come to him now, in this hour
of transition, and of out-look upon the future, and
he will be precious to you. Is it to be to any of
you that your strength will be weakened in the
way, and that death will claim you early? Christ
will be precious, 0 how precious! Are any of
you, as some are, in seeking to sustain those
powers that be, and that are ordained of God, to
encounter the temptations of a camp, the exposure
of a southern climate, the hazards of the battlefield? How precious will be the presence and
succor of One that sticketh closer than a brother!
Are you to bear the responsibilities of life, and
wage its battles till old age? Little do you know
of your own weakness, and of the besetments and
fierce struggles of the long way, if a divine Helper
would not be precious to you. He will be precious
to you in the final hour. When you shall walk
through the valley of the shadow of death, his rod
and his staff, they shall comfort you. And when
the present order shall come to an end, and that
building of God, whose stones are now preparing,
shall go up without the sound of the axe or the
hammer, till "the head-stone thereof shall be
brought forth with shoutings," you shall be there,
and cry, " Grace, grace, unto it."'The Lord bless you and keep you: the Lord
make his face shine upon you, and be gracious
unto you: the Lord lift up his countenance upon
you, and give you peace.'




27
ited a continent that required to be subdued. You,
one that requires to be cultivated; they inherited
the printing press worked by hand, and the stage
coach, and the sailing vessel; you inherit the cylinder press worked by steam, and the railroad car,
and the steamship, and the electric telegraph. It
was for them to lift up their eyes upon the varied
forms of destitution and crime in our land, and
upon the darkness and woes of heathendom, and to
form  the associations, and gain the knowledge
necessary for effective working. It is for you to
take these instrumentalities and work them. Work
them with accelerated speed, and with mightier
power. Meliorate the physical condition of man.
Bring back a revolted world to its allegiance to
God. And when you look at the magnitude of
this work, is there anything, whether of time, or
health, or money, or influence, or of capability in
any direction, which you can afford to lose? No.
Oh, no. In such a work every resource is needed;
"Hold fast what thou hast;" fbr such a work,
"Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost."
But, my friends, if it be the will of God that you
should lose nothing of time, or health, or even of
money, how much more must it be his will that
you should not lose yourselves. This you can do.
You can lose yourselves; and such a loss, you will
observe, implies not merely deprivation, but all
there is of suffering and of penalty under the moral
laws of God. As the loss of health is sickness,
and of light, darkness, so is the loss of hope,
despair, and the loss of heaven is hell. You can




throw yourselves away.  Yotu can become of no
use in this universe except for a warning. You
can lose your souls. Oh, what a loss is that! The
perversion and degradation  of every high  and
immortal power for an eternity! And shall this be
true of any one of you?  Will you be lost when
One has come from heaven, traveling in the greatness of his strength, and with garments dyed in
blood, on purpose to guide you home —home to a,
Father's house —to an eternal home? WTill you
not rather, on this day of interest, it may be of'
final decision, when all the world, and all choices
are open before you, hear his voice saying, " Follow rme."  "'For what shall it profit a man, if
he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own
soul? "




AN
A DD R E SS,
DELIVERED IN BOSTON, MAY 26, 1852,
BEFORE THE
Zotidet for tie lromnotion of (ollegiatc an0b Qrcologkial
0bucation at tre seot.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
BOS TON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1 85 2.




BOSTON, MAY 27, 1852.
DEAR SIR,
I am instructed by the Boston Directors of the Society for the Promotion of Collegiate and Theological Education at the West,-acting in
behalf of the whole Board,-to present to you their thanks for your very
able, eloquent and acceptable Address delivered before the Society which
they represent, at their meeting in this city yesterday,-and to request of
you a copy for publication.
Very respectfully and truly,
Your friend and servant,
S. H. WALLEY.
Rev. M. HopKiNs, D. D.
WILLIAMS COLLEGE, MAY 29, 1852.
DEAR SIR,
It gives me pleasure to know that the Address before the Society for
the Promotion of Collegiate and Theological Education at the West, was
acceptable to the Directors. If they think its publication will promote the
good work in which they are engaged, it is at their service.
With great respect and regard, yours,
MARK HOPKINS.
Hon. S. H. WALLEY.




ADDRESS.
CHRISTIANITY is God's method of restoring man to his
lost manhood. This consists chiefly, indeed, in the image
of God, for " in the image of God created he him; " but
there is no attribute of a true humanity which Christianity will not quicken and ultimately make perfect. It
is an evidence of the truth of our religion, that no man
can become more of a Christian, without, at the same
time, becoming more of a man. The Author and first
Minister of this religion was a perfect man. He was
perfect, not merely as sinless, but in his sympathy with
all God's works, and in the perfection and balance of his
faculties; and what the church needs, what she is to
labor and pray for, is a ministry as nearly as possible
like him.
Such a ministry it is the object of this Society to furnish. It is not a College Society, for the sake of Colleges
as a means of general education. Not for that, important
as it is, does it occupy the pulpit on the Sabbath.  It
would, indeed, strengthen all those affiliated influences,
from the common school upwards, in connection with
which the church is best sustained; but it has to do with
Colleges only as it can inscribe upon them, as our fathers
did upon Harvard, " Christo et Ecclesia; " only as they
can be made the most efficient instruments in raising up
such men as the church needs.




But what men the church needs, and of course the
education they should receive, will depend on the functions they are to perform, and the relations they are to
sustain to the people. If they are to be a hierarchy, separated from the people by dress, by manner, by the prerogatives of a transmitted sanctity, with subordinate
ranks, so constituted as to furnish within itself objects
of cupidity and ambition, and, either by itself or in connection with the temporal power, seeking its own wealth
and aggrandizement, then there will be needed, and will
be among them, some men of high talent and the most
finished education.  These will generally do, in substance, under the garb of religion, just what is done by
the leaders in civil and military affairs; but the mass will
receive, as in the papal church, but a narrow, technical,
monkish education, fitting them for subordinate places in
the order. They will be educated as ecclesiastics, and not
as men; for the good of the order, and not of mankind.
They will become both agents and instruments in a system of education, which will be at once an engine of a
selfish ambition and of popular degradation. If such is
to be the general type and attitude of the ministry, it
is clear that clerical and popular education can never
coalesce.
But such is not the ministry which the church needs.
She needs an order of men who will devote themselves,
in sympathy with Christ, to the elevation and salvation
of the race. They are to have no separate interests, as a
class. They are to be of the people, and with them, and
for them. Adopting no narrow sectarianism, but Christianity, as God's method, and the only one, of elevating
men, they must seek to apply that as teachers and leaders.
As the method reaches that which is deepest and most
peculiarly human in man, it may and ought to embrace,
and subordinate to itself, every legitimate form of human
culture.




If ministers are to make the people in the highest
sense men, they must themselves be such men; and the
education best fitted to make a minister, will be that
which is best fitted to make such a man; it will be that
which will bring him most fully into sympathy with God,
as revealed not only in his word, but in all his works, and
also with a true humanity. He will need no culture
which will separate him, by refinement and fastidiousness,
from the humblest and most ignorant; he will.need one
which will put him in sympathy with the most refined
and intelligent. He will, in short, need, not so much an
education that is technical and professional, as one that
is broad and liberal, an education for man as man.
Perhaps our Fathers did not state this in terms, but it
was a perception of it that led them, in founding what
they called " Schools of the Prophets," to found institutions, furnishing for all the most generous and liberal culture which the times could afford.  Surprise has been
expressed that an institution, adapted as Harvard was, to
all, should have been founded with primary reference to
the education of the ministry; and that it should have
been called, for more than a century, the Ca School of the
Prophets." But we may here find an explanation of that
fact. It arose from a comprehension, by men who have
been sometimes called narrow and bigoted, of the true
position of the ministry, and of the relation of Christianity to every thing that can exalt and ennoble man.
The Fathers of the Puritan church said, that those who
were to teach them, should themselves be taught; that
the church should have, for the education of her ministers
primarily, but also for all her sons, institutions at once
Christian and liberal.  Such institutions she founded and
has sustained.  And what the Fathers said, we say. We
say that the church must and will have, for her sons,
institutions of the highest order, which she can feel to be
Christian institutions, and to which she can give her




6
sympathies and her prayers.  We insist, too, that the
union of religion with all knowledge is as essential to the
healthy life of a free.state as to that of the church; and
hence, that the founding and sustaining of such institutions is the duty of both.
But what the Fathers did for New England, this Society would do for the West.  With such modifications as
a sound discretion would dictate, it would transplant the
New England College to the western prairie, for the purpose of raising up there a Christian ministry.  This the
church might do from her own resources. If it were the
only way of obtaining a suitable ministry, she ought to do
it.  But if in doing this, she will provide an indispensable
link in that chain of educational instrumentalities, which
are at once the strength and glory of a free people, then
patriotism may be appealed to as well as piety, and the
object is one in which the whole country is directly interested.
The question then arises, whether the New England
College, transplanted, and perhaps modified, would be, in
its place, the best agency that could be devised, in such a
system of general education as a great and free people ought
to have.  This opens a field so wide that we can scarcely
enter upon it; but it is clear that this Society can legitimate itself most fully, and find its most triumphant vindication, only in the establishment of this general position.
It was said by Dr. Johnson, that education was as well
known in his day, and had long been as well known, as it
ever could be; and in this country the same self-complacent opinion formerly prevailed.  But now, the waters
have come up into these channels of discussion that were
dry; and it is only the most solid structures that are not
afloat. In some of the States, the whole system of Common
Schools has been revised, and an attempt made, we hope
a successful one, to introduce new methods of instruction,
and to place them on higher ground. In the opinion of
some, the whole system of Academies is wrong, and




7
should be displaced by High Schools for towns; and
there are those who think that the College system should
be abandoned. They regard it, if not positively injurious,
yet as antiquated and narrow, and not furnishing the
education demanded by the times. In this diversity of
opinion, and especially where the foundations are to be
laid in new States, it may be well to inquire whether
there are any points respecting a collegiate education concerning which we may hope for a general agreement, and
also, incidentally, where the points of divergence will arise.
And first, I think it will be generally agreed, that the
country needs provision for a system of liberal education.
By a liberal education, I mean that which has for its
object the symmetrical expansion, and the discipline of
the human powers,-the cultivation of man as man. By
the expansion of the powers, we give them strength; by
their symmetrical expansion, we give them balance; and
by discipline, we give the man control over them. If we
can do these three things, we shall have such men as are
needed, —strong men, with well-balanced powers, fully
subject to their own control.  Such an education is
distinguished from a professional, and what some would
call a practical one, by the fact that knowledge and power
are gained without reference to any specific end to which
they are to be applied.
That provision for such an education is needed is obvious, because it meets one of the higher wants of our
nature. Man was not made to be wholly a slave to the
interests of the present life. There is in him an element
that lifts him above them, and gives him a delight in
beauty, and in truth, as well as in goodness, for their own
sake. The humblest individual, who cultivates a flower
for the sake of its beauty, wears the badge of a nattire not
wholly of earth and of time. The artisan, who spends an
hour, when his toil is done, in solving a mathematical
problem; the clerk, or the farmer's boy, whose mind




turns spontaneously to some department of literature or of
science, where, without thought of fame or of gain, he
finds delight in his own activity, as the swallow finds it
in flying, shows a capacity and a want that can only be
met by a liberal culture. It is the mind working in its
own proper sphere, for the pleasure of the work. This
tendency may be encouraged where it shows itself, may
be quickened where it lies dormant.  It often exists
strongly, not with reference to any particular department,
but to knowledge generally; and we need institutions
that shall draw out and give scope to whatever there may
be of this ennobling element among a people.
Moreover, man is by nature an artist; in the fine arts,
beauty and completeness are his sole ends, and all the arts
are modified by a regard for these. And not only is he
an artist, but of all beings and things he is the best fitted
to be the subject of art.  Of all beings, he is originally
the most unformed, and the most susceptible of formative
influences. And shall man labor for beauty and completeness upon the rigid and insensible marble, and shall he do
nothing to realize these in the flexible and living material,
which is capable of a beauty so much nobler and higher?
Rightly viewed, education is the highest among the fine
arts.
Education, conducted on these principles, is, indeed,
regarded by some as not practical. But what can be
more practical than to make a true man? I distrust that
practicalness that would take from the man, to add to his
possessions. I believe that this universe is so constructed,
that he who seeks legitimately a higher end in any department, will so best secure those that are lower; and facts
show that the best practical results to society have originated in the kind of activity of which I have spoken.
Another end of a liberal education is to gain some general acquaintance with the circle of literature and the:sciences. There is no department of literature, there is
no single science, to which a man may not devote his life




without exhausting it; and it is desirable that he should
ultimately concentrate his powers on some one department.
But before thus selecting one, it is desirable that he should
have a general acquaintance with all. This enables him
to know his own tendencies; it tends as nothing else can
to liberalize his mind, and gives position and standing
among literary men.  In some things there must be
thoroughness and discipline, and an acquaintance with
them sufficient for practical purposes.  With others, the
acquaintance must be what you may call superficial, if
you please; but yet it will answer a most valuable purpose. The knowledge of chemistry that can be acquired
from the course of lectures given in any of our Colleges,
imay be, and is superficial, and inadequate to the wants of
the practical chemist; but it is sufficient to open to the
general student one great department of the works of
God, to give him its principles, and enable him to bring
them into harmony with the rest. Here is a science at
the opposite pole of astronomy, as considering forces that
act at imperceptible distances; and yet the wonder and
delight with which we trace the definite combinations of
atoms, and the laws and forces that govern them, are
hardly less than those which we experience when we
trace the laws and forces that govern the heavenly bodies.
Indeed, it may yet be found that the forces which govern
both are the same. While, therefore, the College may
not teach chemistry so as to make it the means of fame
or gain, it yet does make it an open avenue to these; and
especially are its teachings adequate for all the purposes of
man as an emotive and contemplative being, striving to
bring unity into all his knowledge, and to connect the
physical universe with its Creator.  So with the mathematics, as an instrument of investigation; so with astronomy, and geology, and the various branches of natural
history. A general view of these can be given, which
will not only liberalize the mind, and elicit tendencies,
2




10
but which will bring into activity, and bring out in their
full proportions, all the faculties, and thus lay the foundation for the study of any particular profession.
It may be observed further, that while the studies of
such a course are always appropriate, there yet seems to be
special provision made for them  in that formative period
between mere boyhood and the time when professional
studies and active pursuits may be best entered upon.
But if there is to be a system of liberal education,
chiefly for persons in their forming period, I think it will
be generally agreed that it should involve some religious
instruction and training, and a general supervision of
manners and of morals. At no period of life can these
be more needed, than during that which generally occupies the college course; and many parents will never consent to send their sons from them  at that age, without
something of the kind.  It is true, the college system implies confidence in the character of the student; and no
young man should enter upon it who has not some maturity of character and strength of principle.  It is true, also,
that the means of supervision in Colleges are not as effec.tive as would be desirable, at times when the general
tendency is downward, and when there is artful and
determined vice.  Still, let a young man meet the same
instructors three times a day for recitation, and twice for
prayer, and be obliged to give an accournt of himself if he
is unprepared or absent, and let the record of his attendance be reviewed once a week by a college faculty; and
if they are discerning and faithful men, they will soon
understand the tendencies of every individual, and will be
able, by kind suggestion and by discipline, to exert an invaluable influence in arresting evil, and in forming aright
the general habits. Any thing that would tend to remove
this feature from the system, or to diminish its effect, would
be undesirable. More, far more, if possible, ought to be done.
So far, under this head, I should hope for a general
agreement.  I may not hope it, however, when I say, that




11
the course of study in a liberal education should be, as a
whole, a prescribed one.
Without a prescribed course that shall be substantially
pursued by all, there can be no pursuit of' any study with
reference to symmetry of development in the faculties.
Let studies be optional, and men will choose that to which
they have some natural or accidental bias. He who is fond
of mathematics, will take mathematics and pursue thenm.
This I would have hirm do, ultimately; but if he is to
be liberally educated, the very thing he needs now, is to
have whatever germs of taste and perceptions of beauty
there may be in him, stimulated to some such growth as
shall be a counterpoise and relief to his mathematical tendencies.  So again, is a man imaginative, susceptible,
poetical, capable of becoming an orator and a poet? I
would have him follow his bent; but while he is the last
man that would choose mathematics, and perhaps metaphysics, he is the very one whose happiness and usefulness would be most promoted by a judicious discipline
in those studies.
It is said, I know, that if a study be really beneficial,
it will stand on its own merits; and so far as it is so, will
be pursued.  But this proceeds on a supposition not sustained by facts.  Do mankind always, do the young
especially, make sacrifices, and deny themselves for what
they know xvill be for their good? How is this with the
studies of children? How with early rising? How with
the taking of a cold bath? How with physical exercise?
How with abstinence fromn narcotics? How is it with
uncivilized and heathen nations, in their relations to civilization and Christianity? In these, and similar cases, of
which the present seems to be one, the best results can be
reached only by subjection to a prescribed course. There
is in man a tendency to choose present ease; to defer,
and avoid labor and difficulty; and this tendency it should
be one object of education to counteract.  By adopting a
prescribed course, we submit to nothing compulsory or




12
slavish. We simply avail ourselves of the experience and
wisdom of those who have gone before us.
Again, the idea to be realized here is a specific one;
nearly as much so, as in professional education.  The
reading and lines of thought in each profession may
branch into infinity, no less than in a liberal education;
but if it would be folly not to prescribe a course in the
one, why not in the other, especially as the students are
younger and less able to choose for themselves? But if
we abandon this feature, we say that there is no specific
idea, and the whole system must lose its unity, and
dignity, and power. There will indeed be no system of
liberal education, and education itself will be displaced
from among the fine arts. Its teachers will cease to be
professional agents, and will do work to order.
Without a prescribed course, also, there would be no
benefit from the collision, the comparison and the general
discipline of a college class.  In most cases, this is of
great value.  Meeting with others week after week, and
year after year, on the basis of perfect equality, and grappling with the same difficulties, an individual can scarcely
fail to gain a knowledge both of his absolute and relative
strength. For this end, no better system could be devised.
Besides, peculiarities and weak points, especially in the
various forms of vanity and self-conceit, are generally
modified, or disappear under this discipline.
It may be mentioned, too, that without a prescribed
course there would be no community of literary men,
standing on common ground, as the graduates of our Colleges now do. The whole of the present order, with all
the strong associations connected with it, which work
many desirable results, both social and literary, would
have to be given up.
But such a system, it is said, must require all to proceed
at the same rate, and limit them to the same acquisitions.
By no means, unless we suppose the student to be the
merest automaton.  We would, indeed, require certain




13
things; but would encourage the student to attain as
much more as possible. We would not teach him that
his object is to." cram" for an examination, and to pass
an ordeal as soon as he could reach a given standard.
We would rather give some time and scope for growth
and breadth in a natural way; for general reading, and
the indulgence of individual taste. Our graduates should
all be men; but we would cramp nothing, and dwarf
nothing, and would heave them differ as much in their
intellectual, as their physical stature.
But while we would thus have a standard for a liberal
education, it should no more be a fixed one, than that for
professional education. What would be a liberal education in one age, would not be in another; and no man
should wish, however good it might be for the time, to
stereotype any such system. Clearly the standard, and the
whole system of education, can be true to its end only by
being flexible to the advancement and wants of the age.
May I not say, then, that we need institutions that will
give a liberal education, including regard to manners and
morals, and to religion; that shall be adapted, in restraint
and discipline, to the period between the confinement of
the school-room and the perfect freedom of manhood;
and that shall have a prescribed course, based on the wisdom of the past, and adapted, by good sense, to the wants
of the present? Such institutions I suppose our Colleges
were intended to be; and institutions that will do substantially this, it seems to me, the community not only
need, but will have.
That the Colleges have always realized this idea, need
not be asserted. They have, perhaps, been too numerous; they have lacked means; students have been poor,
and obliged to teach; there has been a strong tendency to
rush into active life, and at the same time a desire to have
the name of having completed a liberal course of study.
There has, too, been a popular cry against Colleges as too
rigid and exclusive; some of them have pursued a mis



14
taken policy, and it has been difficult to keep the standard
where it should be.
Nor do I suppose that any of the Colleges either have
pursued, or do now pursue, the very best methods of realizing this idea. To do this, the studies selected should be
those best adapted at once to immediate and practical
utility, and to the discipline of the mind; they should be
arranged in a course, the preceding parts of which should
prepare the way for those that follow; and they should be
pursued in such proportions, at such times and in such a
manner, as is best suited to those laws of thought on
which all philosophical education must be based; as will
best facilitate acquisition, and give knowledge that shall
be at once permanent and readily at command.
Into such a course, to refer very briefly to this much
agitated question, I have no doubt the ancient classics
should enter. By the study of these we gain, indirectly,
much knowledge of ancient history and of man; we become conversant with the finest models; rendering carefully and elegantly from one language into another we
adopt the best method of attaining a copious and exact
vocabulary as an instrument not only of communication
but of thought; we gain some insight into the philosophy
of language; and from the intimate connection of the
Latin and Greek with the composition and structure of
our own language, especially in professional and technical
terms, we gain a knowledge of that which could be acquired in no other way.
We admit fully that there are men of great distinction
and usefulness who have not studied the classics; but we
say there are some things they cannot do as well as they
otherwise might, and some which they cannot do at all.
Webster, and Everett, and Choate, would doubtless have
been distinguished men without classical study; but they
could never have done what they have done. There is
an element in their speeches and writings which every
scholar sees could not have been there without this,




15
which is felt by the whole public, which gives them now
a higher place as English classics, and will give them a
firmer hold on posterity. These men have not only
studied the classics, but, occupied as they have otherwise
been, it is understood that they have lived in communion
with them. After a speech by Mr. Choate, strong, indeed,
in thought and in logic, but for its beauty and power of
language tile most extraordinary I ever heard-certainly,
I think, no man living could equal it-he said, in conversation, that he found some time every day for the reading
of Greek.
With this view of the classics we would retain them;
but it would be a great point gained, if, as is now the
tendency, the preparation in them could be more thorough.
In minor matters there is a good deal of diversity in
the course pursued by the different Colleges, and doubtless room for improvement in them all. If I might venture to state my own impressions, I should say that the
physical system  has not been sufficiently cared for.  In
many cases, where health has not actually failed, the vital
energies and general tone of the system have been depressed. I should say, too, that habits of observation, or,
in other words, the senses, have not been sufficiently cultivated. I would make drawing a part of the course,
and, if possible, music, and have an early study of some
science requiring observation and description, furnishing
series of natural objects for this purpose.  Perhaps, too,
sufficient attention has not been paid to method in the
arrangement and distribution of the studies.
With these remarks on a liberal education, we now pass
to a second general proposition, to which, I think, most
will assent, which is, that the means of such an education
should, as nearly as possible, be made accessible to all.
This is a second great idea which those, who have
founded and sustained our Colleges, have endeavored from
the first to realize. They have struggled on in the en



16
deavor to attain these two ends, which, with inadequate
means, must always conflict. They have wished to furnish every facility, from books, and apparatus, and teachers to give the best possible education, and yet make it
so little expensive as to be accessible to all. This is the
true idea of a College in this country; and surely nothing
can be more in accordance with our common school system, and with the whole spirit of our institutions.
The people ought to have, they must have, accessible
to all —  would gladly see them as free as our common
schools-institutions furnished with every facility for the
very highest education; so good that no man, whatever
may be his wealth or station, can send his son elsewhere, except to his own disadvantage. The feeling that
this is so, should be a great and pervading element in our
social and civil state. For this it is that the State has
bestowed its bounty.  For this, public spirited and farseeing individuals in former times and our own, the Harvards, the Williamses, the Browns, the Lawrences, and
the Willistons, have labored and made sacrifices. It is
not a mere equality of right that will keep society in a
state of stable equilibrium; there must also be a strong
tendency to equality of condition and of social position.
But knowledge and wealth are the two great means by
which men gain standing and influence; and where the
means of attaining these are guarded from practical monopoly, there the institutions will be essentially equal and
free. There you will have all the equality that is compatible with a healthy stimulus and just reward of individual enterprise. In the old world, the spirit of monopoly has generally reigned, both in respect to wealth
and knowledge. In some instances they have, indeed,
thrown open the road to the highest knowledge more
freely even than we have yet done; but this has been so
done by the government, that they have held the patronage and direction of talent, and, under the form of popular education, have endeavored to bias, indirectly, the




17
finest minds in favor of monarchical institutions.  But
in this country, whatever may be said of wealth, there
should be no monopoly of knowledge.  Its fountains
should be practically anrd equally open to all.  This will
draw out the latent talent and genius, the intellectual
pith and manhood of the whole country, and bring them
into free competition.  It will bring, side by side, the son
of the poor widow and of the millionaire.  Side by side
it will bring the hard-handed, sun-brownled, coarsely clad
youth, who, with the exception of some help from home
in clothincg, expects to work his own way; who furnislles
his room with two chairs and a table, and goes to work;
who does not so far approximate a carpet on his floor, or a
picture on his wall, as even to desire them; and the youth
delicately brought up, whose mother comes on with him,
and sees to the fitting up of his room, and indulges him
in some things which she herself thinks rather extravagant, because other young men have them, and she has
always observed that her son studies best when he has
things pleasant about him. Now, a young man will present himself elaborately fitted, well informed and gentlemanly in all respects; and now, one w ho has started utp,
perhaps, from some nook in the mountains denominated
Green, who has acquired, in an incredibly short time, the
Latin, and Greek, and mathematics, necessary to enter
College, but who knows nothing of literature, or history,
or the world. He does not know that such a man as
Addison, or Johnson, or Walter Scott, ever lived.  Going
to the president's study for the first time, he sits with his
hat on, evidently as innocent of any conception of manners, as of the tricks that await him from those far inferior
to him in true worth and in promise, who may laugh at
him now, but who, before three years are past, will be
very likely to "laugh on the other side."
A system like this, really felt by the whole people to
belong to them, must be among those things which will
3




make every man proud of his country, and make it dear to
him.  It must tend powerfully to preserve and foster a
genuine spirit of equality and independence. It is capable
of abuse; but they must know very little of its real spirit
and bearings, who can call it aristocratic.  It would be
impossible to devise a system more entirely the reverse.
The next proposition I would make, is one to which
many would gladly assent, if they do not. It is, that
such a system would not require a very large expenditure
of' money.  I say this because there is, in some quarters,
a contrary impression; and because, if true, it is important to this enterprise, and to the whole system, that it
should be so understood.
In  a single, well-devised, thorough, undergraduate
course, very large libraries, a great amount of apparatus,
and a large body of instructors, can be of no essential
service.  This follows from  the position of the young
mnen when they enter, and from what it is possible they
should do in four years.  A specific work is to be done;
and it is reasonable to suppose that it would be better
done by a few, well-qualified, thorough, working men,
than by a large number.  The excellence of a course will
not depend on the amount of science there is in connection with an institution; but on the faithfulness and skill
with which the instructors bring their minds into contact
with the mind of the pupil, and lead him along those
paths of thought and investigation where their own minds
have been. It is the characteristic of an instructor, that
he. causes the mind of the pupil to go where his mind
goes.  He is not to tell the pupil about things, as he
might tell about a fine prospect; and attempt to make
him see it through his eyes; lie must go himself, and
stand where the prospect is, must see that the pupil follows
him step by step, and cause him to stand where he
stands, and to see with his own eyes. But to do this requires time, and acquaintance with individuals,-on some




19
subjects, it requires a great expenditure of thought and
emnotion; and if the instruction be greatly divided, very
little of this will be possible.  Responsibility will be
divided, and the danger will be, that there will be in the
course but little depth and power. A few such men, every
institution should be able to' command and to retain.  It
should pay them  well.  Obtain the right men, and let
their hearts be in the work, and the great difficulty is
surmounted.  But to do this, surely'need not require a
very great expenditure.  Williams College has now stood
nearly sixty years.  From  the question of its removal,
and from fire, it has passed through periods of great difficulty.  It is not for me to say what it has done; but it
has lived, and has educated nearly fifteen hundred men,
and is now educating more than two hundred.  But it
never has had, it has not now, I do not know that it ever
will have, charity funds and all;, a productive capital of
fifty thousand dollars.  This ought not so to be.  These
brethren are quite right in seeking to lay broader foundations for the great West, and I desire to aid them in doing
so.  For its stability and greatest efficiency, such an institution should have from seventy-five to a hundred thousand dollars.  The latter sum would be the limit of my:yishes, unless classes are to be divided; and for double
-that we could educate gratuitously, if not all who would
come, yet more than our present number. This shows
that if the Western States, or any other States, choose to
put their college system  on the same footing with their
common schools, they can do it.
But the question now arises, whether this system would
supply all the educational wants of the country. To this,
I have no hesitation in saying, No. The time I think
has come, when we need an institution, one or more, of
a different order. We need a University. Of this, the
nucleus and basis should be professional education, meaning by this not merely that for the three professions tech



20
nically so called, but education in any branch of literature
or science, or art, which would fit an individual for a
specific line of life.
Here men from the different Colleges, and others
desiring to be fitted for practical life, should meet, and
stand chiefly on their own responsibility, and be free to
learn, and, as far as practicable, to teach whatever they
might choose.  Here should be a library of a million or
a million and a half of volumes, and cabinets, and collections in the arts, and facilities for prosecuting, to any extent,
any branch of knowledge.  Here the scientific farmer,
the mechanic, the miner, the engineer, the chemist, the
artist, the literary man, should find ample means of
instruction. As far as possible, they should have access
to all that the experience and genius of the world has yet
contributed in their several departments.;Of the causes and indications of such a want, I need
not now speak.  They are to be found in the inmmense
expansion of the industrial and commercial interests in
connection with the application of science to the arts; in
the quickening and extension of thought and activity in
all directions; and in the general advancement of society
and demand for a higher culture.  For a long time this
want has been felt, and has been increasing; and the
attempts by some of our Colleges to supply it have been
praiseworthy.
How this want may be best met, is a broad question,
which we cannot now discuss. Clearly it cannot be done
by each separate College; and so far as I can form an
opinion, any attempt to blend the two courses into one,
will but produce an expensive, complex, incongruous and
inadequate system.
The question will then arise, whether such an institution, really distinct, should stand wholly by itself, or be
engrafted on some, one of our Colleges. If it should be
thus erngrafted, the object would be, not the benefit of
the college course,-for no one supposes that the profes



21
sional schools connected with some of our Colleges can
be of any advantage to that, —but that the University
might avail itself of the means already in possession of
the College. How far this consideration should weigh
at the East, it would be difficult to say; but if a new systern were to be formed, it would be my decided iinpression that it would be better if they were wholly separated.
The whole object, and scope, and economy of a collegiate and of a professional course, must be entirely
different; and there cannot but be practical evils, where
young men, having such different objects, and under such
different regulations, are associated.
Nor would the establishment of such a University require too great an expenditure.  No buildings would be
needed, except for a library and cabinets, and lecture
rooms; and from the greater numbers, the lectures would
pay for themselves, or at least would require less endowment than if scattered in separate schools.  There are
men in this country who could found such an institution,
and put it well on its way, and have an aimple fortune
left. This would give us an educational system efficient
and complete; there are movements toward it in various
quarters, and such an one I trust we may yet have.
I have thus indicated some things which I should
regard as essential to a complete educational system.
This has been done very briefly and imperfectly; but I
hope sufficiently to show, what was said must be shown
in order to legitimate this Society most fully —that is,
that the Institutions which it would establish at the West,
will be an essential link ill such an educational system as
a great and free people ought to have.  Its specific object,
indeed, is to provide ministers for the churches; but we
contend that the general education which they need is
precisely that which is fitted for man as man-that which
any judicious parent would wish to give his son, to fit
him for usefulness and distinction in the world.




22
There is here, there can be but one great point of difference, and that is the extent to which religious instruction
and influence shall enter into these Seminaries.  This is a
point on which this Society can have no hesitation and no
compromise.  Man has a moral and religious nature, by
which it was intended his other qualities should be controlled. To this, the intellect and all its acquisitions should
be subservient; upon the right direction of this, will
depend his individual well-being here and hereafter, and
the well-being of society; and it is absurd to think of
educating him  as a man, and neglect this.  No man,
especially no Christian man, has a right to send his son
to an institution where provision is not made and care
taken for this. In this, the period of college life is often
a critical one, often a turning point. What a man is when
he leaves College, he generally continues to be.
What we need, then, and must have, are institutions on
the broad basis of Christianity, with a course of study
thoroughly liberal,-institutions of which no one can complain for sectarianism; and yet having connected with
them siuch religious instruction and influence as should
satisfy Christian people, as will tend to foster piety, and
lead men to God. These are the two great features, and
the only ones on which we insist.  Retain these fully,
and we are willing our institutions should be modified,
should be Westernized, if you please, to any extent.
That there may be such institutions, is shown by our
New England and other Colleges.  Who complains of
Yale College, or of Princeton, as sectarian?  If there can
be any ground of complaint, it must be only from the
connection with them of Theological Seminaries. Experience shows that Colleges may be so conducted as to be
highly favorable to growth in piety, and to revivals of
religion. There are no communities where revivals have
been more frequent, or more powerful, or more free from
questionable elements, or more happy in their results.
From the first, the Colleges generally have sympathized




23
fully with the religious community in this; and more
especially since the annual observance by the churches of
a day of fasting and prayer on their behalf.
Modern times do not furnish, scarcely can ancient times
furnish more signal instances of answer to prayer.  It has
been wonderful to see the great mass of such a community swayed by an invisible influence, as the trees of the
wood are swayed,-an influence gradually awing down
all opposition, and producing in every mind the solemn
conviction that it was from God. It has been sublime to
see young men, in the face of such a community, in the
perfect stillness of the crowded meeting, rise and in few
and simple words state their convictions of sin, their hope
in the mercy of God, and their determination to serve him
in future.  Such scenes we have witnessed the past year,
and also the present. They have been witnessed in many
other Colleges; and this Society would establish institutions where they may be witnessed without a miracle.
And such institutions are needed not merely for the
sake of religion, but of education itself and of the state.
God made the intellect and the moral nature to work in
harmony, to act and react on each other. He never intended the intellect should reach its perfection, except
under the control of the moral faculty; it never will;
and to seek to make it, is like seeking to roll up the stone
of Sisiphus. It is time this principle was fully recognized, especially in our western States, where it is sad to
see such immense educational resources in danger of perversion and loss. Nothing can be more beautifull than the
theory of a College as an institution where every facility
is provided, and young men have nothing to do but to
come in the freshness, and strength, and ingenuousness of
their youth, and devote themselves to self-improvement.
A more gratifying sight could hardly be presented, than
that of two hundred or more young men, devoting themselves faithfully to self-improvement, in the enjoyment of
such advantages. But he must know little of human




2-4
nature, who does not perceive that there must be connected with such institutions tendencies and influences
that are strong to evil, and which, unlresisted and uncontrolled, would render them a curse rather than a blessing.
There is danger that they will become the abodes of
indolence and vice, danger of physical, and social, and
moral deterioration.  If any one supposes that there will
be generally, among such a body, faithful devotion to
study, and moral purity, without the restraints of religion,
and, I may say, the presence of the Spirit of God, he has
only to look below the surface to be fully undeceived.
No; if there ever was an institution that needed the
prayers of God's people and every good and holy influence, that institution is a College.  States may endow
Colleges as they will; but constituting them so as virtually to exclude these influences, there will be heard a
voice, and there ought to be, saying, A" Come out of them,
my people."  And they will come out and endow institutions for themselves, and such institutions will be preferred by the great mass of those who have sons to educate. If political bodies, in those States where there are
large educational funds, cannot secure and perpetuate
such influences, it would be better that they should let
collegiate education alone, except as they might aid permanent boards of trust established for the purpose, and
that they should give their strength to the upbuilding of
a University on the plan above mentioned.
In the mean time this Society has a work to do. Let
it do it well; let it strengthen the bonds of kindness;
let it add to the ties of blood the assimilative influence of
kindred literary institutions; let it select wisely the points
where the fortresses shall be cast up, on what may be the
moral battle-field of the world; let it furnish clear light
for the guidance of the unequalled strength that is there
growing up; let it provide such a ministry for the church
as she will need in the day that is coming.




A
DISCOURSE
COMMEMORATIVE OF
AMOS LAWRENCE,
DELIVERED BY REQUEST OF THE STUDENTS,
IN THE
CHAPEL OF WILLIAMS COLLEGE,
FEBRUARY 21, 1853.
BY
MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE.
PUBLISHED BY THE STUDENTS.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN.
1853.




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts




DISCOURSE.
JOB XXIX. 11-13.
WHEN THE EAR HEARD ME, THEN IT BLESSED ME; AND WHEN THE EYE SANW
ME, IT GAVE WITNESS TO ME; BECAUSE I DELIVERED THE POOR THAT
CRIED, AND THE FATHERLESS, AND HIM THAT HAD NONE TO HELP HIM.
THE BLESSING OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH CAME UPON ME, AND
I CAUSED THE WIDOWV S HEART TO SING FOR JOY.
THE patience of Job, in connection with such
signal afflictions, has, in some measure, drawn attention from the general excellence of his character.
That patience was no isolated virtue, having its root
in some special aptitude for it of the constitution;
but a manifestation, under varied circumstances, of
that rational and central excellence that had shone
forth under a different form in prosperity. It was
but the circling round to us of the completed orb
of his character.  Not from his conduct in affliction,
but in prosperity, it was, that he was called by God' a perfect and an upright man.' Scarcely, if at all, has
the world shown a finer example of all that goes to
make up a complete manhood- of vivid and refined
feeling, of elevated and tender sentiment, of enlarged
benevolence, of parental faithfulness, of intellectual
(~3)




4
power in the high form of genius, and of an exalted
religious character.
Up to the time mentioned in the history, these
excellences had been manifested in connection with
high distinction in life, with great wealth, and uninterrupted prosperity. God had, as it is said,' made
an hedge about him, and about his house, and about
all that he had on every side.' He had' blessed the
work of his hands,' and'his substance was increased
in the land;- so that this man was the greatest
of all the men of the east.'
Thus exalted and prosperous, he was, of course,
subject to the usual temptations of pride, and vanity,
and voluptuousness, and avarice. But these he resisted. He did not for a moment forget his great
moral relations to the Creator and to his fellow-creatures. He abused no power intrusted to him; and
in the acquisition, the right estimate, and the right
use of property, he set an example for the world.
There is no indication that he was the possessor
of hereditary power, or that he had any position or
advantage that was not due, under the blessing of
God, to his own exertions and force of character.
But that his wealth was of his own acquisition is
clearly indicated by what is said of God's having
blessed the work of his hands, and of his substance
as increased in the land; also where he says, " Because mine hand had gotten much," showing that it
was his own hand that had gotten it.




5
And this wealth he acquired honestly. No part
of it was gained by any process of which any one
could complain. No furrow turned for him could
bear witness against him, either that the soil was
dishonestly acquired, or that the wages of the laborer
were withheld.'" If," says he, triumphantly, when
the unjust suspicions of his friends wrung from him
his vindication, —" if my land cry against me, or that
the furrows likewise thereof complain; if I have eaten
the fruits thereof without money, or have caused the
owners thereof to lose their life; let thistles grow instead of wheat, and cockle instead of barley." Nor
did he, as is too often done, either gain or save any
thing by any form of hard dealing with his servants
or dependants. How noble and solemn is his recognition of their claims to equal justice! "If," says
he, "I did despise the cause of my man servant, or
of my maid servant, when they contended with me,
what then shall I do when God riseth up? and when
he visiteth, what shall I answer him?  Did not he
that made me in the womb make him?  and did not
one fashion us in the womb?"
Having thus acquired his property rightfully, he
saw its true relations to human life, and placed upon
it no undue estimate. Between the idolatry of wealth
and of the other creatures of God he made no distinction. " If," says he, " I have made gold my hope,
or have said to the fine gold, Thou art my confidence;
if I rejoiced because my wealth was great, and




because mine hand had gotten much; if I beheld the
sun when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness; and my heart hath been secretly enticed, or my
mouth hath kissed my hand, — this also were an
iniquity to be punished by the Judge; for I should
have denied the God that is above."
And the property thus acquired, and thus estimated, he knew how to use. He employed it in
establishing his children "about him," who seem to
have lived in harmony, and to have been to him a
source of great comfort. He employed it also in
sustaining the bountiful hospitality of the east.
"The stranger," says he, "did not lodge in the
street, but I opened my doors to the traveller." And
especially did he employ his wealth in providing
for the wants of the poor. "If," says he, " I have
withheld the poor from their desire, or have caused
the eyes of the widow to fail; or have eaten my
morsel myself alone, and the fatherless hath not
eaten thereof; if I have seen any perish for want of
clothing, or any poor without covering; if his loins
have not blessed me, and if he were not warmed with
the fleece of my sheep; if I have lifted up my hand
against the fatherless, when I saw my help in the
gate, - then let mine arm fall from my shoulder blade,
and mine arm be broken from the bone."
Of such a man it might well be expected that he
could say, as he says in the text, "When the ear
heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw




7
me, it gave witness to me; because I delivered the
poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that
had none to help him. The blessing of him that
was ready to perish came upon me, and I caused
the widow's heart to sing for joy."
These words, thus spoken by Job, could have been
applied to themselves by few men who have since
lived, more appropriately than by a distinguished
Benefactor of this College, who has recently been
taken from the earth. It is known to his friends
that Mr. LAWRENCE stood in the first rank among
men in those qualities, both of the head and of the
heart, that adorn humanity, and to some of these I
may hereafter refer; but he was known to the public
chiefly for his acquisition, his estimate, and his use of
wealth. With an integrity as unsullied as that of
Job in the acquisition of property, and with a heart
as large and a hand as open in its distribution, if
we make allowance for the different length of human
life, his charities were probably not less extensive.
Among the men of great wealth who have died
in this country, he stands, so far as I know, in some
respects alone; and rising as he did from moderate
circumstances, there cannot but be involved in his
course lessons of instruction, great principles demanding not only careful, but special attention in this day
of the vast increase, the rapid acquisition, and the
selfish and reckless expenditure of wealth. Perhaps
one purpose for which he was raised up was to call




attention to these lessons and principles. Perhaps
the time may be near when higher and more rational
views in regard to property and its uses shall prevail;
when numbers shall escape from that weary and
monotonous round of mammon  the toilsome and
careful accumulation, till death, of sums that generally depress the manhood, and often ruin the character, of those for whom they are laid up; when it
shall be seen that it is not money, but the' love of
money,' that is the' root of all evil,' and that property
is a great trust. Concerning all this, Mr. Lawrence
made no new discovery, but he did what is often
quite as important. He saw, as by intuition, great
practical principles, and by embodying them in actual life, he gave to some that had fallen much into
desuetude the freshness and force of a new discovery.
He did in his department and sphere what Howard
and Mills did in theirs.
Like most men in this country who have possessed
great wealth, Mr. Lawrence was indebted for it to
his own exertions. His parents were of the old Puritan stock, and the formative influences of his childhood were those of a religious New England family.
His father shared deeply in the spirit and perils of'76. He belonged to a company of'minute men;' and
on the very day of his marriage the alarm was given,
his company was called for, and he left his bride, and
without returning, gave himself for months to the
service of his country. He was a farmer, and a man




9
of standing and influence both in the town and in
the church. Above poverty and dependence, he was
yet unable to do more for his children than to give
them the means of education accessible in their native town, and place them in favorable positions to
be the artificers of their own fortune. With the
stern manliness that oftenest overlies the deepest and
tenderest feelings, he showed them that he was willing to make any sacrifice for their good, and they
reciprocated the feeling.
At the usual age, Mr. Lawrence was placed in a
store in Groton as a clerk. This clerkship he regarded as the turning point of his life, and was wont
to trace back his success to the course he then took.
He was placed with a man past middle age, who had
been long in business, and was supposed to be
wealthy. This man spent the most of his time in
the store, but did very little, employing several clerks.
It was the usage in those days to'treat' customers
after they had traded, the clerks preparing the various
mixtures, and often drinking with them. To this
usage Mr. Lawrence conformed for a short time, but
soon observed that the owner of the store generally
showed before night that he had gone too far, and
that the older clerks were fast following in his footsteps. His mind was soon made up. Understanding
perfectly the ridicule he should meet with, and which
for a time he did meet with in its fullest measure,
he yet took at once the ground of total abstinence.
c9




10
Such a stand, taken at such an age, in such circumstances of temptation, before temperance societies
had been heard of, or the investigations had been
commenced on which they were based, was a striking instance of that practical judgment and decision
which characterized him through life. About the
same time, he came to a similar decision in regard
to tobacco, and never used it in any form. In the
wisdom of his course on both these points he was
confirmed by all his subsequent observation. The
man in whose store he was, died a drunkard; and
every one of those clerks, together with other young
men in the village similarly situated, had long since
found drunkards' graves. In a letter received from
him last summer, which accompanied fifty copies of
"Stories on Tobacco, by Uncle Toby," after stating
that he had never used it, he says, " To this abstinence from its use (and from rum) I owe, under
God, my present position in society. Further, I have
always given the preference, among such persons as I
have employed for more than forty years past, to such
as avoided rum and tobacco, — and my experience
has been to confirm me that it is true wisdom to have
done so. The evil is growing in a fearfully rapid ratio
among us, and requires the steady course of respected
and honored men to prevent its spread, by influencing the school children of our land against becoming
its slaves."  Who can tell the bearing upon his business of thus employing men of unclouded intellect,




and steady nerves, having the power of self-control.
Who can tell how many young men, without knowing the reason, failed to obtain a place which would
have been to them a fortune?
At twenty-one, Mr. Lawrence went to Boston, not
with the purpose of remaining, but to learn the fashions, and see how business was done there. This
was in April, 1807. Instead, however, of returning
to Groton, as he had intended, he was induced to remain in Boston as a clerk. Here he so commended
himself to his employers, by his energy and business
talent, that they very soon offered him a place in
the firm. Much to their surprise, and without any
definite knowledge of their affairs, he declined the
offer. He did not like their manner of doing business. Here, again, the result showed his sagacity.
In less than six months they failed, and he was
appointed by the creditors to take charge of the sale
of the goods. This he did; and in December went
into business on his own account.
He was now exposed to the temptations of a city.
But he stood firm. His days were spent in business,
and his evenings in useful reading. He avoided
the appearance of evil, treading on no questionable
ground; and no stain or suspicion of vice ever rested
upon him.
Of his business career I know no particulars. I
have never understood that he was, in the ordinary
sense of that word, a fortunate man. His wealth




12
came to him by no lucky chances, but by a skill and
an energy that commanded uniform and great success. His judgment was shown, not merely in the
purchase of goods, and in the lines of business on
which he entered, but also, as has been said, in his
selection of agents, clerks, and partners; and in
deciding whom he might safely trust. He made no
bad debts. It is said there has been no man in Boston who took hold of business with the same grasp
and energy. Quick in his perceptions, deciding as
by intuition, and prompt in action, he is said to have
had in those days little patience with the slow, the
inefficient, the dainty, or those who felt above their
business. So energetic young men, in every department, are apt to feel. They think these things need
not be. And perhaps they need not; but in time
they become more tolerant of them, finding, as the
Saviour said of the poor, that we have them always
with us.
The first year his gains were small, but he dealt so
promptly and honorably that his customers returned
and brought others; and thus the rills began to come
in that formed the river. In a few years he placed
himself at the head of a house that, for wealth and
mercantile honor, was among the very first in Boston,
and which continued so till the firm was dissolved
by his death.
For twenty-five years he continued in active business. At the end of that time, he was suddenly




prostrated by drinking cold water when heated.
There seemed to be a paralysis of the stomach, and
for many days he was not expected to recover. After
that, he was subject to sudden attacks, which deprived
him, sometimes for hours, of all consciousness. From
that time, he was obliged to be most careful of his
diet. His food was of the simplest kind, was eaten by
weight, and for twenty years he sat down at no meal
with his family. His attacks often came without
warning; he expected to die, as he did, in one of
them, and hence expressively called himself, in military phrase,'a minute man.' From this time he
gave no attention to the details of business, but remained the senior partner of the firm, giving counsel
and general direction, and being consulted and relied
on in all questions of difficulty and importance.
In speaking of the acquisition of his property,
and as indicating his sagacity and enterprise, it may
be mentioned that Mr. Lawrence was among the
earliest and most successful of those who engaged in
manufactures.
Of his estimate of property, and of the modes in
which it can be made to contribute to the enjoyment
of its possessor, and to human well being, we can
judge only from the use that he made of it.
It has been supposed by some that his habit of
giving largely commenced with his ill health; but this




14
was by no means the case. It is known that it
extended back to the period of his early prosperity,
and kept pace with that. He had a sense of religious obligation, and a benevolent heart; and then,
with the same sagacity that governed his business
transactions, he perceived the tendency there is in
accumulation to increase the love of money, and
guarded against it. In his busiest days, he had
pasted, in large letters, in his pocket book, passages
of Scripture inculcating liberality, and the obligation of good stewardship.
But while this was so, we cannot suppose that his
views were not modified by the loss of his health.
Often struck down in a moment, and awaking to consciousness as from the sleep of death, and then remaining for weeks so feeble that neither he nor his
friends expected his recovery, he was led to look
fully and calmly at death, and must have gained
views of life and its ends which another discipline
would not have given him. This was doubtless a
part of God's preparation of him for the work he
was to do, and he so regarded it. Thenceforth he
lived to do good..When it was that he came to the determination
not to increase his property I do not know. Nor do
I know the whole amount of his charities. Probably
that will never be known. I am, however, safe in
saying, that, since 1840, his benefactions have not
been less than FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS.




15
This he did not dispense at random, nor yet by any
rigid and inflexible system that could not be moulded
and shaped by the calls and aspects of each new day.
He wished to know his duty as a Christian man, and
to do it, and to gratify his best affections. He aided
family connections near and remote, and old friends
and acquaintances. If any of them needed a few
hundred dollars to help them over a difficult position,
it was sure to come. But his sympathy was not limited at all to kindred or acquaintance, or in any way
narrowed by sect or party. He was a true man, in
sympathy with suffering humanity, and was always
glad - it gave him real pleasure - to find a worthy
object of his bounty. He sought out such objects.
He learned histories of reverses, and of noble struggles
with adversity, that were stranger than fiction. Those
thus struggling he placed in positions to help themselves, furnishing them, if necessary, with sums from
one hundred to a thousand dollars, or more, as freely
as he would have given a cup of cold water. He
visited almshouses, and hospitals, and insane asylums,
and retreats for the deaf and dumb, and the blind,
and became deeply interested in many of their inmates. He was watchful of every thing needed there
for comfort or for instruction, and his presence always
carried sunshine with it.  He distributed useful
books. He aided genius, and encouraged promising
talent. A true son of New England, he appreciated
education, and gave his money and his influence to




16
extend it, and to elevate its standard in every grade
of our institutions, from the primary school in Boston to the College. Not only the Academy at Groton
but several Colleges, and more particularly this College, were largely aided by him.
Other persons have aided this College generously,
and have our thanks and those of the public; but
he was its chief benefactor. With one exception,*
he is the only person who has ever given the College, at any one time, a larger sum than one thousand
dollars, and the only person who has thus given
more than that to its unrestricted use.
As your request that I should address you on this
occasion had its origin in his benefactions to the College, some account of them will be expected.
In October, 1841, the building known as the East
College was burned. Needy as the institution was
before, this rendered necessary an application to the
legislature for-funds, and when this failed, to the
public at large. Owing to a panic in the money
market, this application was but slightly responded
to, except in this town. In Boston the amount
raised was less than two thousand dollars, and the
largest sum given by any individual was one hundred
dollars. This sum was paid by Mr. Lawrence, who
was applied to by a friend of the College; and this, it
is believed, was the only application ever made to
* Woodbridge Little, Esq., who gave $2,500, and bequeathed $3,200,
to aid indigent and pious young men.




17
him on its behalf. This directed his attention to the
wants of the College, but nothing more was heard
from him till January, 1844. At that time, I was
delivering a course of the Lowell Lectures in Boston,
when his son, Mr. Amos A. Lawrence, called and
informed me that his father had five thousand dollars
which he wished to place at the disposal of the College. As I was previously but slightly acquainted
with Mr. Lawrence, and had had no conversation
with him on the subject, this was to me an entire
surprise; and embarrassed as the institution then was
by its debt for the new buildings, the relief and encouragement which it brought to my own mind, and
to the minds of others, friends of the College, can
hardly be expressed. Still, this did not wholly remove the debt. On hearing this casually mentioned,
he said, if he had known how we were situated, he
thought he should have given us more; and the following July, without another word on the subject,
he sent me a check for five thousand dollars. This
put the College out of debt, and added two or three
thousand dollars to its available funds.
In January, 1846, he wrote, saying he wished to
see me; and on meeting him, he said his object was
to consult me about the disposition of tent thousand
dollars, which he proposed to give the College. He
wished to know how I thought it would do the most
good. I replied at once, "By being placed at the
disposal of the trustees, to be used at their discre3




18
tion."  He said, "' Very well;" and that was all that
passed on that point. So I thought, and knowing
his simplicity of character and singleness of purpose,
I felt no embarrassment in making that reply. Here
was a beautiful exemplification of the precept of the
Apostle, " He that giveth, let him do it with simplicity." Such a mall had a right to have for one of
his mottoes, " Deeds, not words." This was just
what was needed — not all that was needed, but it
gave us some breadth and enlargement, and was a
beginning in what it had long been felt must sooner
or later be undertaken   the securing of an available
fund suitable as a basis for such an institution.
His next large gift was the library. This came
from his asking me, as I was riding with him the
following winter, if we wanted any thing. Nothing
occurred to me at the time, and I replied in the
negative; but the next day I remembered that the
trustees had voted to build a library, provided the
treasurer should find it could be done for twenty-five
hundred dollars. This I mentioned to him. He
inquired what I supposed it would cost. I replied,
five thousand dollars. He said at once, "I will give
it."  TWith his approbation, the plan of a building
was subsequently adopted that would cost seven
thousand dollars, and he paid that sum.
A year or two subsequently, he inquired of me the
price of tuition here, saying he should like to connect
Groton Academy with Williams College; and he




19
paid two thousand dollars to establish four scholarships for any who might come from that institution.
His next gift was the telescope, which cost about fifteen hundred dollars. The history of this would involve some details which I have not now time to give.
In 1851, accompanied by Mrs. Lawrence, he made
a visit here. This was the first time either of them
had seen the place. In walking over the grounds,
he said they had great capabilities, but that we needed
more land; and authorized the purchase of an adjacent piece, of four acres. This purchase was made
for one thousand dollars; and if the College can
have the means of laying it out, and adorning it
suitably, it will, besides furnishing scope for exercise,
be a fit addition of the charms of culture to great
beauty of natural scenery.
In addition to these gifts, he has, at different times,
enriched the library with costly books, of the expense
of which I know nothing. Almost every thing we
have in the form of art was given by him.
In December, 1845, I received a letter from him,
dated the 22d, or'forefathers' day,' which enclosed
one hundred dollars, to be used for the aid of
needy students, in those emergencies which often
arise. This was entirely at his own suggestion, and
nothing could have been more timely or appropriate
in an institution like this, where so many young men
are struggling to make their own way. Since that
time, he has furnished me with, at least, one hundred




20
dollars annually for that purpose, and he regarded
this expenditure with much interest.
Thus, in different ways, Mr. Lawrence had given
to the College between thirty and forty thousand dollars, and he had expressed the purpose, if he should
live, of aiding it still further.
Understanding, as he did, the position and wants
of this College, he sympathized fully with the trustees
in their purpose to raise the sum of fifty thousand
dollars, and at the time of his death was exerting a
most warm-hearted and powerful influence for its accomplishment. In reference to this great effort, we
feel that a strong helper is taken away.
The aid which Mr. Lawrence thus gave to the
College was great and indispensable, and probably no
memorial of him will be more enduring than what he
has done here. By this, being dead, he yet speaks,
and will continue to speak in all coming time. From
him will flow down enjoyment and instruction to
those who shall walk these grounds, and look at the
heavens through this telescope, and read the books
gathered in this library, and hear instruction from
teachers sustained wholly or in part by his bounty.
Probably he could not have spent this money more
usefully, and there is reason to believe that he could
have spent it in no way to bring to himself more enjoyment. The prosperity of the College was a source
of great gratification to him, and he said, more than
once, that he had been many times repaid for what




21
he had done here. That he should have thus done
what he did unsolicited, and that he, and, I may add,
his family, should have continued to find in it so
much of satisfaction, is most grateful to my own
feelings, and must be so to those of every friend of
the College. In doing it, he seemed to place himself
in the relation, not so much of a patron of the College, as of a sympathizer and helper in a great and
good work.
7Having thus spoken of the use of his property by
Mr. Lawrence, I observe that it was distinguished by
the three characteristics, which seem to me essential
to the most perfect accomplishment of the ends of
benevolence; and that in two of these he was preeminent.
The first of these is, that he gave the money in his
lifetime. No man, I presume, has lived on this continent, who has approximated him in the amount
thus given; and in this course there are principles
involved which deserve the careful attention of those
who would act conscientiously, and with the highest
wisdom. There may, doubtless, be good reasons why
property destined for benevolent uses should be retained till death, and he is justly honored who then
gives it a wise direction; but giving thus cannot furnish either the same test, or discipline of character,
or the same enjoyment; nor can it always accomplish the same ends. By his course, Mr. Lawrence




22
put his money to its true work long before it would
have done any thing on the principle of accumulation, and to a work, too, to which it never could have
been put in any other way. He made it sure also
that that work should be done, and had the pleasure
of seeing its results, and of knowing that, through
it, he became the object of gratitude and affection.
So doing, lie showed that he stood completely above
that tendency to accumulate which seems to form
the chief end of most successful business men, and
which, unless strongly counteracted, narrows itself
into avarice as old age comes on, almost with the certainty of a natural law. He did stand completely
above this. No one could know him without perceiving that in his giving there was no remnant of
grudging or of reluctance; that he gave not only
freely, but with gladness, as if it were the appropriate action of a vital energy. And in so doing, and
in witnessing the results, and in the atmosphere of
sympathy and love thus created, there was a test, and
a discipline, and an enjoyment, as well as a benefit
to others, that could have been reached in no other
way.
The second peculiarity in the bounty of Mr. Lawrence, and in which he was preeminent, was the
personal attention and sympathy which he bestowed
with it. He had in his house a room where he kept
stores of useful articles for distribution. He made
up the bundle, he directed the package. No detail




23
was overlooked. He remembered the children, and
designated for each the toy, the book, the elegant gift.
He thought of every want, and was ingenious and
happy in devising appropriate gifts. In this attention
to the minutest token of regard, while, at the same
time, he could give away thousands like a prince, I
have known no one like him. And if the gift was
appropriate, the manner of giving was not less so.
There was in this the nicest appreciation of the feelings of others, and an intuitive perception of delicacy
and propriety. These were the characteristics that
gave him a hold upon the hearts of many, and made
his death really felt as that of few other men in
Boston could have been. In these we find not a little
of the utility, and much of the beauty, of charity.
Even in his human life, man does not live by bread
alone, but by sympathy, and the play of reciprocal
affection; and is often more touched by the kindness
than by the relief. Only this sympathy it is that can
establish the right relation between the rich and the
poor, and the necessity for this can be superseded by
no legal provision. This only can neutralize the
repellent and aggressive tendencies of individuals
and of classes, and make society a brotherhood,
where the various inequalities shall work out moral
good, and where acts of mutual kindness and helpfulness may pass and repass as upon a golden chain,
during a brief pilgrimage and scene of probation,
It is a great and a good thing for a rich man to set




24
the stream of charity in motion, to employ an agent,
to send a check, to found an asylum, to endow a
professorship, to open a fountain that shall flow for
ages; but it is as different from sympathy with present
suffering, and the relief of immediate want, as the
building of a dam to turn a factory by one great
sluiceway, is from the irrigation of the fields. Both
ought to be done.  By Mr. Lawrence both were
done.
The third characteristic referred to, of the bounty
of Mr. Lawrence, was, that he gave as a Christian
man, - from a sense of religious obligation. Not
that all his gifts had a religious aspect. He gave
gifts of friendship and of affection.  There was a
large enclosure where the affections walked foremost,
and where, though they asked leave of Duty, they
yet received no prompting from her. Whether he
always drew this line rightly, whether in the measure
and direction of his charities he was always right,
whether so much of diffusion and individuality was
wise, it is not for me to say. Certain it is, that this
form of charity holds a place in the church, now, less
prominent relatively than it did in the early ages;
and it may be that the proportions of Christian character, in portions of the church, need to be remodelled and recast in this respect. These are questions for each individual. It is sufficient to know
that Mr. Lawrence looked the great doctrine of
stewardship full in the face, and prayed earnestly




25
over it, and responded to it practically as few have
done.
This is what is chiefly needed by us all, as intrusted
by God with our various gifts and means of influence.
This it is that is needed by men of wealth. The
feeling of the absolute ownership of property, and
of the full right of its disposal within the range of
human law, is entirely different from that of stewardship - of a trust held under another, and to be administered with reference to his will. This position is
one which the man of wealth is most slow to take.
Every natural feeling resists it. But not till this
position is taken will the man himself find his true
place, or wealth its true uses, or the wealthy themselves the highest and the appropriate blessedness
which it can confer.
That Mr. Lawrence took this position, will appear by an extract from one of his letters.  "If,"
he writes, " by the consecration of my earthly possessions to some extent, I can make the Christian
character practically more lovely, and illustrate, in
my own case, that the highest enjoyments here are
promoted by the free use of the good things intrusted
to us, what so good use can I make of them? I feel
that my stewardship is a very imperfect one, and that
my use of these good things might be extended profitably to myself."
Hitherto wealth has been a great corrupter. It
has inflamed the passions, and narrowed the heart,
4




26
and made it sordid. It has been harder for a rich
man to enter into the kingdom of heaven than for a
camel to go through the eye of a needle. The probation of wealth has been more perilous than that
of poverty. But let this broad position of stewardship be taken, and under it let the characteristics
before mentioned come in; let the rich man no
longer reverse in its spirit the precept to do with his
might what his hand findeth to do because there is
no work in the grave, and refuse to do any thing till
he goes there, and because he is going there; let
him hold always his own heart close to the beating
heart of humanity, so that they shall throb with a
common pulsation, - and these evils will vanish, and
will bear away with them many of the chief evils of
society. The man rich in this world will be "' rich in
good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate." He will not do a vain work, that shall have
no relation to the great plans of God; and " at his
end be a fool." He will lift up his eyes upon a
world lying in wickedness, and in consequent suffering, and will seek to remove the wickedness, and
to relieve the suffering. The accumulated and concentrated water that had before carried desolation in
its course, and left its channel dry and dusty, will
now show a long track of verdure where it flows; it
will find its way to the roots of a thousand flowers,
that shall cover the earth with their beauty, and fill
the air with their perfume.




27
In what has now been said, some traits of the
character of Mr. Lawrence have been indicated.
Something more of him you may wish to know, and
it may be proper for me to state; but it must be
with a painful sense of its inadequacy. Words and
descriptions must fail to convey to others an impression of what he was to his friends. This must
always be so where the strength of a character lies
so much as did his in the affections. You may
give to the perished flower its botanical name and
scientific description, but this is not to see it in
its living beauty, and to enter the sphere of its fragrance.
Undoubtedly he was a man of great original powers. On this point I have had but one opinion since
knowing him. His mind was not speculative, discursive, metaphysical; but in the high moral qualities, in decision and energy, in intuitive perception
and sound practical judgment, in the sensibilities
and affections, and in the imagination, he was great.
Like all remarkable men who are not one-sided, he
had large faculties, which found their harmony in
their conflict, or rather in their balance. He was
quick and tender in his feelings, yet firm; ardent in
his affections, yet judicious; large in his gifts, yet
discriminating; he was a keen observer, yet kind in
his feelings; he had a fertile and shaping imagination
- he built air castles, and they vanished, and then he
built others; but when he decided to build any thing




28
on the ground, it was well planned and promptly
finished.
His tastes were natural and simple, his habits
plain, and his feelings always fresh, genuine, and
youthful. Not even the smell of the fire of prosperity had passed on him. He shunned notoriety.
He had a strong repugnance to all affectation, and
pretence, and misplaced finery. A young man with
rings on his fingers had small chance of employment
or favor from him. He was impatient of talk when
action was called for, and of all attempts to substitute talk for action.
His command over the English language, especially
in writing, indicated his power. Style is no mechanical product, that can be formed by rules, but is
the outgrowth and image of the mind; and his had
often great felicity and strength. 5When he wrote
under the impulse of his feelings, he seemed to
impregnate the very paper, and make it redolent of
them.
HIe loved nature, and instead of becoming insensible to it as years came on, it seemed rather to open
upon him like a new revelation. It was full of life
and of teaching, and the charms of natural beauty
were heightened by those associations which his quick
imagination connected with its objects and scenes.
After the death of two of his children, he says,
"Dear S, and R:, speak in words without
sound through every breeze, and in every flower, and




29
in the fragrance of every perfume from the fields or
the trees." Years ago, after a long confinement,
with little hope of recovery, he visited, when first
able to get out, the Panorama of Jerusalem, then
on exhibition in Boston, and remained there till
the scene took full possession of his mind. Shortly
after, on a fine day, he rode out to Brookline;
and as returning health threw over those hills a
mantle of beauty that he had never seen before, they
were immediately associated in his mind with the
Panorama of Jerusalem, and then with the glories of
the Jerusalem  above. This association was indissoluble, and he would take his friends out to see his'Mount Zion.' In 1850, he says, " It really seems to
me like the sides of Mount Zion, and that I can cling
to them as I view them."
Soon after the death of his youngest son, a storm
rent a large bough from one of the oaks that sheltered his grave. The oak bled, and when he saw it,
he applied it to himself. The next time he visited
Mount Auburn, the gardener had removed all appearance of injury, and covered the wound with what
seemed to be bark; and he fancied that the remaining
portions of the tree had now a more vigorous growth.
This thrilled him- it was a sermon, and his application of it will be seen in the following extract:
" And then again the calls, as I visit Mount Auburn,
speak to me with an eloquence that no tongue can
equal, when I see the old oak holding its head erect,




30
its opposite branches more extended; its leaves have
been greener, larger, and more numerous, as its whole
nourishment has gone into one side of the tree the
past year, and thus have taught me that my precious
ones secured, would encourage me to cheer on such
as need the shade and encouragement this old oak
can supply."
Hear him again, at the close of 1851, associating
natural beauty with social blessings.  "The closing
of the old year," says he, "was like our western horizon after sunset, bright and beautiful; the opening
of the new, radiant with life, light, and hope, and
crowned with such a costume of love as few old
fathers, grandfathers, and uncles can muster."
Thus sensitive to the pulsations and suggestions
of nature, it might be expected that he would be
still more so within the sphere of the domestic affections.  He was; and in these, few men have been as
happy. His home was all that a home could be; and
then, like Job, he had his children about him, and
his children's children.  Bereaved of two of his
children, he could still say, "And with all these precious ones left, it seems as though I had sources of
enjoyment that any man might be justified in craving.
If I starve my body, I feed my spirit, and thus
receive my full share of the good things of life. My
greatest trouble is, not rendering due returns for
these." This is a charmed circle with which the
stranger may not intermeddle; but perhaps a single




31
extract, showing his feelings on the return of his son
from abroad, may be allowed. " The intelligence of
son W- -'s arrival in New York preceded his arrival
in Boston only one hour; and the effect of the intelligence was like the gas which is called laughing gas,
only with me it was crying. In truth, it was more
than I could stand; and I allowed nature fair play,
and cried, and gave utterance to my feelings aloud
and alone, as I did not wish my wife to know how it
was with me. By the time W -  came, I was selfpossessed in a good degree, and for three days I have
lived, in the matter of enjoyment, full three months."
With such avenues of enjoyment open, though
sometimes pitied as an invalid, he might well be, as
he was, a most cheerful and happy man. As intimated in an extract above, his abstemiousness may
have made him more keenly alive to the higher
sources of enjoyment, and even in sensitive good he
did not regard himself as a loser. "If," says he,
"' your young folks want to know the true meaning
of epicureanism, tell them to take some bits of coarse
bread, (one ounce and a little more,) soak them in
three gills of coarse meal gruel, and make their dinner of them and nothing else, beginning very hungry
and leaving off more hungry. The food is delicious,
and such as no modern epicureanism can equal."
But man has wants deeper than can be supplied
by wealth, or nature, or domestic affections. His




32
great relations are to his God and to eternity. This
Mr. Lawrence felt, and he was a deeply religious
man. His trust in God, and his hope of salvation
through Christ, were the basis of his character. He
believed in the providence of God as concerned in
all events, and as discriminating and retributive in
this world. He felt that he could trust God in his
providence where he could not see. " The events of
my life," he writes, " have so far been ordered in a
way to make me feel that I know nothing at the
time except that a Father rules; and his discipline,
however severe, is never more so than is required." He
believed in the Bible, and saw rightly its relation to
all our blessings. "What," he writes again, " should
we do if the Bible were not the foundation of our
system of self-government? and what will become of
us when we wilfully and wickedly cast it behind
us? "  He read the Bible morning and evening in
his family, and prayed with them; and it may aid
those who are acquainted with the prayers of Thornton, in forming a conception of his religious character, to know that he used them. Family religion he
esteemed as above all price; and when he first learned
that a beloved relative had established family worship, he wept for joy. He distributed religious books
very extensively, chiefly those of the American Tract
Society and of the Sunday School Union. He believed in revivals of religion, and prayed for them.
In 1848, he wrote, " This religious awakening among




33
your college students is among the blessings that our
Father vouchsafes to his servants who labor faithfully in their work, and I can see his hand as plainly
in it as though it was thrust before my face as I write
this sentence. Let us, then, bless his holy name, and
thank him as disciples and followers of Christ the
beloved, and urge upon these young men to come
forward as' doves to their windows.' If my work
and my trusteeship have in any manner been instrumental in this good work in your College, it will be
matter of grateful thanksgiving while I live." Of
the religious movement in Boston, in 1849, he says,
" Our dead Unitarianism of ten or fifteen years ago
is stirred up, and the deep feelings of sin, and salvation through the Beloved, are awakened where there
seemed to be nothing but indifference and coldness,
and my hope and belief is, that great good will follow."  Still later lie says, "And now let us turn to
matters of more importance  the awakening of the
young men of your College to their highest interest,
the salvation of their souls. I have been moved to
tears in reading the simple statement of the case, and
I pray God to perfect the good work thus begun."
Of creeds held in the understanding, but not influencing the life, he thought little; and the tendency of
his mind was to practical rather than doctrinal views.
He believed in our Lord Jesus Christ as a Saviour,
and trusted in him for salvation. He was a man of
habitual prayer. The last time I visited him, he said to
5




34
me that he had been restless during the night, and that
the only way in which he could " get quieted was by
getting near to God; " and that he went to sleep
repeating a prayer. During the same visit, he spoke
strongly of his readiness, and even of his desire, to
depart. He viewed death with tranquillity, and hope,
and preparation, for it was habitual with him.
What need I say more? At midnight the summons camne, —- and his work was done.
The vacancy caused by such a death is wide, and
cannot be filled. It cannot be filled to affection, to
friendship, to those who were cheered and strengthened by his sympathy and aid. If it can possibly be
filled to this College, it cannot be to some of us. It is
not now a branch from the old oak that is rent away;
itself is laid low, and those upon whose heads the
sun of trouble "beats heavy," can no more find shelter under its broad branches. The vacancy cannot
be filled; but his name will stand high among the
benefactors of the race, and his example and influence will live through all time.
The sphere of Mr. Lawrence and his line of life
were different from those contemplated by the most
of us. But success in life, in all departments, depends on the same general qualities; and in these, as
I have now spoken of them, he may well be an example to us. Especially would I ask you to go back




35
to that period when he was of the age of many of
you, and when, as he uniformly said, the foundation
of his prosperity was laid. Of this he had then no
distinct foresight; but when the lines of life that
seemed almost parallel had diverged widely, he could
see it, and could say, as he did, " The difference
between doing exactly right and  a little wrong,
makes all the difference between success and failure
in life."  Oftener than young men suppose, when
they know it not, their destiny is sealed by the processes and decisions of their own minds before they
are twenty. How great and precious the results of
such a life! How different from those of a different
course! How striking that such consequences should
depend on what was passing in the mind of a lad in
a country store! Who can estimate the capabilities
wrapped up in any such lad? Who, especially, can say
of any one of you, what may be depending upon the
course that he shall take from this time onward. I
feel, my friends, that this will take hold, not on
time only, but on eternity; and I entreat you to be
wise.
Let me add a single word on the position of young
men in our Colleges whose facilities of education
are thus furnished by a spirit of self-sacrifice, and
enlightened patriotism, and Christian benevolence.
It cannot be, my friends, that you are under no obligation to regard the spirit in which these are given,
and to do your part in securing the results contem



36
plated. Of this young men are too often reckless.
They sometimes think that they pay for their education. No one pays for it. If paid for in money, few
could afford it; but for the sacrifices that have been
made, and are making, in this cause, money cannot
pay. There is in them a spirit of love that contemplates high results, intellectual, moral, spiritual;
that yearns for these, and can be satisfied with nothing less. Such results must be realized in our institutions, or they are a failure. Who, and what, then,
is the young man, indolent, self-indulgent, profane,
vicious, who can enter such an enclosure, and exhale
an influence of disaster and of moral death? Only
in and through you, my friends, with your intelligent and voluntary cooperation, can the results thus
sought be secured. Who, then, will not work to.
gether with these noble benefactors? Who will not
be a co-worker with God?




God's Provisions and Man's Perversions,
A
DISCOUR SE 
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
CONGREGATIONAL  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION,
IN THE
TREMONT  TEMPLE, BOSTON,
EMAY 29, 1855,
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D,
President of Williams College.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN, 42 CONGRESS STREET%
1855.




NOTE.
IT has been suggested that the following Discourse might have a controversial
aspect. In yielding it for publication, the author would say that he has never been a
controversialist, and does not intend to be. He desires to guard himself, and, if
possible, others, against the common weakness and wickedness by which Christians are
Alienated in their feelings as they approximate each other in their views. What they
need to contend against is not so much Popery, as that in man from which Popery
springs; and if controversy respecting minor points could be conducted in the light of
this higher truth, its bitterness would cease. We should not then see Englishmen and
Frenchmen uniting for a common object, and Christians contending with each other. It
would then be easy for those mutually conceding to each other the essentials of Christianity, to discuss modes and forms in the kindest spirit. God has made great and
common provisions, and we simply inquire by what modes, under these, of government
and trainilig, the greatest intelligence, efficiency and piety of all the members of a
church may be produced. Our view is, that the highest training can be had only
through freedom and responsibility; that if men are to be trained for freedom they
must have freedom; if for responsibility, that it must be laid upon them; and that
with Christian men at least, this may be safely done. They " are called unto liberty."
They are best governed by principles, rather than by rules and forms. It is not controversy, but the establishment of this great principle, that we seek.
WILLIAMS COLLEGE, JULY 23, 1855.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by T. R. MARVIN, in the
Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




DISCOURSE.
To secure the well-being of man, is the great practical
problem of life; and we are met to-day, Fathers and
Brethren, because we believe that the principles which
bind us together, are intimately connected with that wellbeing. For this, in all its forms, physical and mental,
individual and social, temporal and eternal, God has provided the materials and the conditions. In doing this, as
in creating the earth and the heavens, and in moving the
planets in their orbits, he has asked of us neither counsel
nor aid. So, in the solitude of his own resistless and
unmodified agency, does he often work, but not so does
he consummate his purpose of securing human wellbeing.  Having provided the materials and conditions,
for their adjustment and application, he waits for the free
and intelligent co6peration of man; and without this, the
end cannot be reached.  It is at this point that man may
become an intelligent co-worker with God. This he can
do, either as he comprehends, and so adopts, the plans of
God; or as he exercises a rational faith, where he cannot
comprehend; and the capacity thus to work with God, is
his highest distinction, and thus to work is his only
wisdom.
There can be no well-being except through the materials furnished, and the conditions appointed by God, and
when these are adjusted in accordance with the nature of




4
any being, he will enjoy all the good of which he is capable. The ephemeris that is born into the right adjustment of light and warmth, and sports its day, has all the
well-being it can have. The measure of its moments and
of its capacities is full.  Throughout the creation of
God, materials and conditions of good are set over against
capacities.  He creates no want which may not be met,
capacity which may not be filled. If there be failure, it
is not in his provision, but commences with the agency of
the creature in securing the materials provided by him,
and in conforming to his conditions.
Like all other well-being, that of man must result from
a normal activity.  This may be, either of susceptibilities
excited by an appropriate stimulus, or of powers acting
upon an appropriate object; and when every susceptibility is thus awakened, and every power thus goes forth,
each observing its own time and measure, then does man
reach all the good of which he is capable. Such essential
stimulus and object, as of light to the eye, and God for
the soul, must be distinguished from mere instrunmentalities and means, which are to be valued only as they place
man more readily and fully in the right relation to these;
and it is from the failure to make this distinction, that we
have latitudinarianism on the one hand, and bigotry on
the other.  He who is indifferent to essential elements,
who believes that we can see by darkness as well as by
light, is a latitudinarian; and he who believes that no
light is fit to see by that has not been refracted through
his prism, is a bigot. Certain conditions must be complied
with, or there will be no well-being; but yet the system
under which we are, is, in this respect, one of great flexibility and leniency. Perfect health can be insured only
by a perfect conformity to organic law; and still there
may be devised, under that law, different combinations of
food, and systems of regimen, that shall be equally good;
while tolerable health is compatible with even a wide




5
range of partial and temporary violation of law. It
would be difficult to say, either what a perfect system of
tillage is, or what it would produce; and yet a very poor
form of it may prevent starvation.  In these, and all similar cases, provisions are made and conditions established
by God; and the benefits received will be in proportion
to our application of the provisions, and compliance with
the conditions.
The materials which God has provided for tile physical
well-being of man, are light, warmth, air, water, and food.
Not one of these can be spared, for no one can there be
a substitute.  It is upon an interaction between these and
the vital powers, that physical well-being depends; and
the object is, so to adjust them, that this interaction may
best take place.  But what a field does this open for
human industry and skill! What is the larger part of the
labor and the movement of life, —its tillage, its building,
its dress, its commerce, its travel, but attempts either to
procure or to adjust the light and warmth and air and
water and food, which God gives? Having health, only
the right application of these is needed to preserve it; and
when it is impaired, much may be done through these for
its restoration.  Here there is room  for every variety of
opinion respecting climate and exposure, ventilation and
dietetics; and perhaps it can be said of no one system, that
it is absolutely the best. The materials appointed by God
we must have; but whether our houses shall be warmed
by wood or coal, by furnaces or fire-places; whether we
shall have our water from aqueducts, or cisterns, or wells;
whether our light shall come through a plain window, or
a bow-window, through one that is square, or one that is
pointed, matters little. Even light through painted glass
may be pleasing to the children, and do very well to see
by. Only let the materials provided by God be used, and
it is of little moment what contrivances we may adopt in
their application,




To secure the intellectual activity of man, and so his
well-being intellectually, God has surrounded him  by
objects of a structure the most beautiful, and varied, and
complex, and wonderful; and has placed him in the
midst of a succession of orderly, and yet ever-varying
changes, that bear upon his well-being, and can scarcely
fail to quicken his investigations into causes, and structures, and processes, and results.
And here again the mind is benefited, not directly by
means-as schools, and colleges, and teachers; but only as
it is brought into direct contact with the materials provided by God, and tries its strength upon the questions
involved in the structures and processes of this amazing
scene of things.
The neglect and perversion by man, of God's provisions
for his physical and mental well-being —his gluttony and
dfrunkenness; his voluntary ignorance and error, need no
illustration.
For the social, and civil, and religious well-being of
man, besides the teachings of natural religion, God has
ordained in his Word three institutions, in signal accordance with our constitution and wants.  These are Marriage, Civil Government, and the Church. As God gave
them, they are perfectly adapted tol man.  They are not,
indeed, like air and food, the very things by which we
live; but they are, in some form, the indispensable chanirnels of those things upon which our spiritual nature does
immediately fix and depend. Only in and through them
can we have, first, the joys of domestic life, and families
trained up for society and for God; secondly, security in
the enjoyment of all rights, and the best sphere and training for action; and thirdly, conformity to God, and fitness
for heaven.  These are the ends; and here, too, to them
should all forms be subordinated.  The institutions are
from  God, but all of them  may have different forms,
which here become, not merely forms, but methods of




7
reaching the ends just mentioned; and it is this question
of methods, under the name of forms, that is now deeply
agitating the world. Of these, all are not equally adapted
to our nature. Those originally instituted by God, are so
adapted in the highest and best sense. They furnish the
least possible occasion and excitement for evil passions;
they open to all the widest sphere of activity and of
responsibility; and their whole tendency is, to elevate the
individual and the species in the highest degree.  But
when man lost sympathy with God, and sought to Work
out, through his institutions, as through his natural gifts,
ends different from those proposed by him, it became
necessary to change the original forms for those which
could be more readily and efficiently wielded by selfishness and passion. Thus have arisen systems, adapted to
our nature indeed, and with consummate skill, but only
as they have encouraged and given scope to the evil passions of men, and have addressed themselves to their
fears and weaknesses; systems which have perpetuated
themselves, not by the elevation, but by the degradation
of the people. They claim to be either identical, or sub"
stantially the same with the original institutions; but they
have been so changed, and so adapted to other ends, that
it is as if a ploughshare, which is substantially the same
as a sword, should be gradually beaten into that, and
should claim, all through the process, and at the end of it,
to be a ploughshare still.
Now in respect to these changes and perversions, we
hold that all the provisions made by God, and especially
the three great institutions mentioned above, have had an
analogous history. Selfishness and passion would natiirally work alike through them all. In each, we say, that
God has either established or indicated the general form
which he prefers; and that it may be shown by an examination of our nature, and of the past-by philosophy and
by history-that if the full benefit of the institutions is to




be reached, we must adopt, not only them, but the general forms in which they were given; or, which is the
same thing, those which are best adapted to the nature of
man. These points, particularly the analogy of their history, we now propose to consider.
The object of Marriage, as has been said, is to secure
domestic happiness, and the right nurture and training of
children for society and for heaven. Doubtless, also, it
was intended to be an emblem of the spiritual union between God and his people under the old dispensation, and
of Christ and his church under the new. As originally
instituted, it consisted in the union of one man with one
woman for life, without the power of divorce, except for
one cause. In this form, and prompted by affection, it
could not well be perverted to the purposes of lust and
avarice, but was perfectly adapted to promote the highest
and purest earthly happiness. So would the earth be
most rapidly replenished; so would instinct and passion
be most ennobled by a union with affection; so, having
the whole care of both parents, would families be best
provided for and trained; so would the example of parents
incite children to a similar union, and symbolize one still
higher. The institution was from Heaven, its spirit was
that of Heaven, it tended to Heaven. After the introduction of sin, it was indeed impossible that all the benefits originally intended to flow from the institution should
be enjoyed; but it was still an institution of God, calculated in its form to counteract the spirit of selfishness and
unkindness and passion, and to remain the source of the
best earthly happiness left us by the fall.
But this institution, in the form which God gave it, man
would not retain. How soon he departed from it we do
not know; but very early, and in its place, he substituted
polygamy, and the power of - divorce by the husband
almost at will. And so far was the original spirit of the




9
institution lost, even among the Israelites, that its announcement by Christ in its strictness, was received by
his disciples with the greatest surprise, and with the
strange assertion that it would be better to have nothing
to do with marriage, than to be under such restrictions.
For ages, God had permitted, as he still permits, his own
institution to be thus perverted, because of the hardness of
men's hearts. Rather than put an end to human probation, he chose to give a wide range to passion and selfishness, and to suffer them to work out, in some measure,
their results. In the mean time God had always had a
witness in the higher instincts and better promptings of
at least a portion of the race; and through these, and the
authority of Christ, the institution has been preserved in
the earth.
Respecting the conflict between marriage as God gave
it, on the one hand, and polygamy and those forms of
licentiousness by which its spirit is repudiated, oil the
other, we can enter upon no details. We can only
observe in general,
1. That the institution, as God gave it, has been
rejected by the majority of the race. Learned writers
have shown that polygamy was allowed, not only among
the Hebrews, but also among all the ancient nations. It
is now allowed in all Mohammedan, and in most, if not
all heathen countries, to say nothing of a portion of our
own; and it is well known that in some countries where
marriage is sanctioned by law, faithfulness to its obligations has been the exception, rather than the rule.
2. But we remark secondly, that the tendency to evade
the true spirit of God's institution, has been especially strong
among the great, the wealthy, and the fashionable. These
classes have seemed to claim a particular dispensation to
disregard this institution. In general, heathen and Mohammedan kings and rulers, nobles and men of high
standing, have had wives limited in number only by their
2.




10
ability to support them; and in Christian countries, the
tendency in this direction, of a court and an aristocracy,
of wealth and fashion, is but too well known.
3. Polygamy can plead a high antiquity, and the
example of men distinguished for piety. The teachings
of our Saviour respecting marriage and divorce, plainly
imply the condemnation of polygamy; but so ancient was
it then, so had it been practiced by the Jewish Fathers,
even by Abraham himself; so had it become incorporated
into the habits of thought and action among the Jews,
that nothing but divine authority could, in that day, have
withstood the force of such examples, and of the argument from the antiquity of the institution.
4. As marriage places a restraint upon the passions and
the selfishness of men, its adherents have always been, if
not persecuted, yet ridiculed, by those who discard it, as
over-strict and puritanical, as behind the age and wanting
in large and liberal views. Marriage claims to be a divine
institution; a true regard to it involves the recognition of
a divine, invisible and holy superintendence, and it is this
which has always met with the most decided hostility of
a portion of the race.
5. History condemns polygamy.  This shows that
while there may be a measure of domestic happiness and
national prosperity in connection with polygamy, yet that
it is incompatible with the full blessings of domestic life
for the married. pair, with the best nurture and training of
children, and with the high and permanent prosperity of
a state. It must make the rich voluptuaries, and deprive
the poor of their rights; it must sell and degrade woman,
and cause alienations of affection, and contentions in families, and the neglect of children. Wherever it has been
established, there has been stealthy, if not visible decay;
and as the institution of God has been more and more
widely departed from, society has tended more and more
to dissolution.




11
With these general considerations, we next proceed to
consider Civil Government.  This, irrespective of any
particular form, springs so directly from the nature of man,
and his necessary relations, that it is generally conceded
to be from God.  Its ends are security, scope, and training-the fullest security of all rights of person and property, the widest scope compatible with this, for all activity, and the training of the powers to submission to law
on the one hand, and to self-respect on the other.  Of
these, security has been chiefly regarded, and has too
often been attained by abridging the sphere of individual
responsibility and activity; thus cramping energy, and
repressing the growth and distorting the natural form of
society.
That these ends may be best secured by a republican
form  of government-by free institutions fairly applying
the principles of liberty and equality-need not be proved
in this country and at this day.  This, therefore, is the
form, as we contend, indicated, if not instituted, by God;
and while we concede that much of good may be enjoyed
under other forms, we yet say: that only through this can
the three great ends just mentioned be fully attained.
That this is the form indicated by God, is evident, not
from speculation merely, but from that form of government which he gave his own people, and from the circuimstances attending their change of that form. As instituted
by God, the government of the Israelites was a Commonwealth; and from their division into tribes, it bore, in
some respects, a resemblance to that of these States.
Though Moses was brought up in a court, he made no
provision for monarchy, or for any permanent order of
nobility. Joshua, after the conquest of Canaan, retired,
as did Washington,- to private life, with no attempt to
secure for himself, or his descendants, hereditary advantages; and the nation, except as they were punished for
their idolatry, prospered as a Commonwealth for more than
four hundred years.




Some have said that this was a theocracy. But how
was it a theocracy, more than any republican government
must be? A republican government is not one of force.
The moment it becomes so, though the form may remain,
the spirit has departed. It implies principle, and a subjection to the rule of conscience and of God. God did,
indeed, give the laws of the Jewish state; but the question about the form of a government, does not turn on the
origin of the laws, as given directly by God, or indirectly
through the people, but on the mode in which they are
administered. God did not appear, in person, to administer
these laws. He instituted a commonwealth, a republic,
in distinction from a monarchy; its laws were formally
adopted by the people,* and though requiring for its full
success, as republics now do, a recognition of the supremacy of Jehovah, yet it was to be administered by men,
precisely as governments are now.
But of this form, the Jews became weary, and asked
Samuel to give them a king. They wished to be like the
heathen around them. And here again, as in polygamy,
God permitted- them to try the experiment, because of the
hardness of their hearts; but his expressions of displeasure,
and his warnings of the consequences, were as full and
explicit as we anywhere find against polygamy. It was
regarded by God as a rejection of himself, and of the
same character as the rebellions in the wilderness.  "' For
they have not," said he to Samuel, "rejected thee, but
they have rejected me, that I should not reign over them.
According to all the works which they have done since
the day that I brought them up out of Egypt, even unto
this day, wherewith they have forsaken me, and served
other gods, so do they also unto thee. Now therefore,"
that is, because of the hardness of their hearts, "' hearken
unto their voice: howbeit, yet protest solemnly unto them,
and show them the manner of the king that shall reign
over them."  Then follows a statement of the results of
* Exodus xix. aud xxiv.




13
such a change —of the concentration of power and wealth,
of the heavy burdens of taxation, of the change of men
and women from independence and freedom, to be the
dependents and tools of power, and of the organization of
standing armies to perpetuate that power; and they were
told, " Ye shall cry out in that day because of your king,
which ye shall have chosen you. And the Lord will not
hear you in that day."* But though thus fully warned,
"'the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel, and
they said, Nay, but we will have a king over us, that we
also may be like all the nations."  Could God have indicated more explicitly his view of the tendencies of monarchy, or his preference for free institutions?
But here, too, we observe, 1st, that those who have
adhered to the form of Civil Government thus evidently
preferred by God, have been in the minority.  When the
object came to be the selfish acquisition of power, without
regard to the rights and best good of the people, it was to
be expected that the forms best adapted to give free scope
to their activity, in the pursuit of individual welfare, and
to react favorably upon their whole spiritual life, as
rational and free, would be superseded by those which,
while they might confer security from others, should make
the ruled the tools and the prey of the rulers.  Selfishness
operates uniformly, and the constant pressure of a corrupt
tendency has been too powerful for the vigilance of principle; and thus the great mass of the race have been monarchists by interest, by principle, -by habit, by association,
or by necessity.  Here, too, the higher instincts of humanity could never be wholly repressed. Always among
the nobler races, there have been yearnings for liberty,
and those who have been ready to lay down. their lives
for her sake.
2. Monarchy has been sustained by the wealth, and
pomp, and fashion of the world. From its concentration
of power, and consequently of wealth, from its control of
1 Samuel viii.




the labor and property of the masses, it could not fail to
surround itself with all that is striking and magnificent in
architecture, with all that is costly and splendid in dress
and equipage, with all that is beautiful and exquisite in
art. It has naturally established artificial points of etiquette, and entrenched itself within ceremonies and forms;
it has addressed itself to the imaginations of the people by
pomp and shows; it has set up the doctrine of a divine
right, and maintained it by "the last argument of kings,"
thus claiming the sanction of God, and sometimes even
divine worship.  All this has gathered around it the talent
of the country; has been connected, inthe minds of the
people, with the real blessings they have enjoyed in connection with it; has associated with the court and its
usages, refinement, elegance, taste, fashion; and has created a thorough distaste for the natural plainness and simplicity of free institutions, and an aversion to them.
3. Monarchy can claim a high antiquity, and the support of illustrious men.  It goes back to the time of
Abraham, and aside from the Bible, it might not be possible to show that it was not the primitive form. So soon
had the forms of freedom disappeared under the love of
power and the general corruption.
4. Free institutions, those preferred by God, have been
persecuted.  The ends of polygamy do not require that it
should persecute marriage, but monarchy forms to itself
an interest distinct from that of the people; it becomes a
permanent, embodied, self-perpetuating thing, with quick
instincts for self-preservation, esteeming no crime so great
as interference with itself, and utterly unscrupulous in its
use of subtilty or force for the attainment of its ends.
With such a separate interest, it naturally becomes a persecuting power. So has it ever been, and, where it can
be, so is it now.  It has driven freedom  into the fastnesses of the mountains, into dens and caves, often leaving
upon the earth scarcely a place for the sole of its foot; and




15
it was only by being removed across the ocean, and into
the wilderness, that the germ of a great republic could be
nursed into a strength that monarchy could not crush.
5. Free institutions are sustained, and monarchy is
condemned, by history.
The Jews were prosperous, at times, under a monarchy;
but the form of a government is one of those constant
elements involving tendencies that will, sooner or later,
become effect, and the general habits of the people, and
the alternations inevitable where so much depends upon
one man, show the disastrous tendency of the system.
Under forms of its own choosing, the same amount of
wickedness will work more effectively; and they went on,
fluctuating, till they reached a point of corruption which
God could not tolerate in his people, and till he gave them
up to captivity. So only could he effectually teach them to
renounce idolatry and monarchy. And as with polygamy,
so has it been with monarchy everywhere. Everywhere
under it have the masses been degraded; nowhere have
security and an adequate sphere and right training been
attained as they should have been. If the civilization has
been high, it has been limited and partial. The people
have not been educated.  Security from outward foes
they have had, but not from the exactions and oppressions of tyranny; and by being deprived of all participation in political affairs, they are excluded from a
great and indispensable field for both training and action.
A republican government is of itself a great school, and
involves a training, and opens spheres for honorable
ambition, unknown to a monarchy.  There is in it a
quickening power pervading the whole mass.  Hence,
imperfectly as the theory of a free government has been
understood, the highest achievements in arts and in arms,
in poetry and eloquence, the brightest:spots in the
history of the race, have been where there was the most
freedom. And so it is now. Wherever monarchy now
is, there is either an ignorance and degradation too deep to




16
appreciate their own wretchedness, or an uneasiness and
restlessness, from a deep consciousness of great and radical
misadjustments in the arrangements of the social order.
We now come to the Church. Here we find the highest and most central interest of man, and hence that to
which all others must ultimately be subservient-about
which they must revolve.  The object of the church is,
to produce likeness to God, as he was manifested in Christ;
thus originating and strengthening affinities which will
insure peace on earth, and a holy and happy heaven. It
is to give, not outward security, but inward peace; to
furnish a sphere for spiritual activity, to train men for
such activity here, and to fit them to dwell with God.
And here the analogy we would trace requires that we
should consider both the old dispensation and the new,
because the conflict under the old, chiefly respected the
object of worship, and under the new, its forms.
Under the old dispensation, as always, God presented
himself as the sole object of worship. But if men would
reject the forms proposed by God, much more would
they reject God himself; and, accordingly, they almost
immediately lapsed into polytheism and idolatry. " When
they knew God, they glorified him not as God." "They
did not like to retain God in their knowledge." "' Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and
changed the glory of the uncorruptible God, into an image
made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and to fourfooted beasts and creeping things."
And here again, more emphatically than under the
other heads, we observe, first, that the worshipers of
the true God were greatly in the minority. With the
exception of the children of Israel, the whole world fell
away to polytheism and idolatry; and even the Israelites
were retained in their allegiance to God, only by his
constant and special interpositions.  Such was at one




17
time the apostasy of the ten tribes, that the prophet of
God said, "I, even I only, am left."
2. Idolatry has been sustained by the wealth, and art,
and pomp, and fashion of the world.  Among most
heathen nations it has been to illustrate and glorify their
religion, that wealth has been poured out most freely,
and that their highest forms of art, whether in architecture, sculpture, or painting, have been reached, What,
but for their mythology, would have been the art of the
Greeks?
3. Idolatry can claim a high antiquity and the support
of illustrious men. Solomon was an idolater for a time.
The heathen sages were idolaters.  The Egyptians, the
Assyrians, the Persians, the Greeks, the Rorans, all the
chief nations with their great men, were idolaters. And
so great was the antiquity of their idolatry and so was it
sustained, as now among the Hiindoos, by a fabulous
literature, that for thousands of years, it would have been
impossible, except by divine revelation, to show that it
was not the primitive form of belief and of worship.
4. The worshipers of the true God were persecuted.
The various forms of false religion tolerated each other,
but they were agreed in despising and persecuting the
true worshipers.  These were regarded as illiberal, intolerant, over-scrupulous, as behind the age and unfashionable. So was Elijah regarded at the court of Ahab, and
they sought his life. These are the very men who "had
trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea moreover of
bonds and imprisonment: they were stoned, they were
sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword."
As idolatry always connected itself with the state, it
could wield the civil power; and when it chose, want of
conformity became rebellion, and prayer to God a capital offence.
5. Idolatry is condemned, and the true religion is sustained, by history.  When men changed the object of
3




18
worship, they necessarily changed its forms. These were
lowered and debased, and made subservient to the selfishness of the priests, and to the fanaticism and sensuality of
the worshipers, till the character of the gods, and the
forms of religion became the most dreadful source of corruption, and the most formidable obstacle to the progress
of truth and of purity.'The light that was in them
became darkness, and how great was that darkness.'
Man cannot be stationary. If not elevated, he will be
debased. Bnt he can be elevated only by communion
with that which is above him; and when the true idea of
God is lost, permanent progress is hopeless. The true
ends of society never have been, and never can be reached
under polytheism  and idolatry.  However imagination
and poetry may gild certain forms of heathen mythology,
it has yet been true of those who did not like to retain
God in their knowledge, that he has given "' them  over
to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not
convenient; being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness; full of envy, murder,
debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, backbiters, haters
of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil
things, disobedient to parents, without understanding,
covenant breakers, without natural affection, implacable,
unmerciful."
Till the coming of Christ, then, God had given men
marriage, and they made it polygamy; he had given
republicanism, and they made it monarchy; he had given
the worship of the One Only Living and True God, and
they had made it polytheism and idolatry. How wonderful his forbearance! How great the mystery that he
should suffer his own institutions to be thus overborne
and comparatively lost, and idols to be substituted for
himself!
But when Christ came, he introduced a new dispensa



19
tion and a radical change.  Forms, as no longer typical,
lost their importance.  The new wine of his religion he
would not put into those old bottles, the new cloth he
would not join to the old garment. The middle wall of
partition between Jew and Gentile was taken away, and
a universal and spiritual religion, applicable to all times,
and places, and persons, and sublimely simple in its forms,
was introduced.  In its spirit, as expressive of the principles of God's moral government, it was identicalv with
the former dispensation; but in its universality, and inldifference to forms, it was its opposite. All that was national,
technical, local, formal, it rejected; all that was spiritual,
holy, universal, it retained; and in this mingled uniformity and contrariety we see strong evidence that both
were from God. It had nothing to do with building up
hierarchies, or constructing organizations through which
ambition and avarice might be gratified. It went to the
individual; it knew no man except as a sinner; and, not
by sacrifices, or penances, or works, but as a free gift
through the one perfect Sacrifice, it offered deliverance
from the dominion and the penalty of sin, a moral and
vital union with God through Christ, and a consequent
place as a child and subject in his one family and in his
eternal kingdom.  Making the law of God the rule, and
Christ the model of life, it required love to him, and love
to his followers for his sake; and having thus laid the
basis of moral union and progress, it left men to the
freeest activity of their own powers, and encouraged the
largest individual responsibility as essential to the highest
training of those powers. As it knew men before they
became Christians only as sinners, so afterwards it knows
them  only as holding the same relation to God, and as
equally bound to use all their faculties for him.  All
were received on the same conditions, bought with the
same price, had been changed into the same likeness, had
access to God in the same way, and were preparing for the




20
same heaven. For such, the simplest possible rites were
provided, to remind them  of the sin from  which they
had been washed; of the sufferings by which they had
been redeemed; and to give visibility to the church;
pastors and teachers were given for their instruction and
edification; and there was laid down a code of discipline,
easy of application and wholly moral in its power. If
the offending person would not hear his brother alone, or
with one or two others, the church was to be told, and no
provision was made for a further appeal. This was all.
The ends for which the church was instituted required
nothing more, and its unity was to be found, not in any
external organization extending over different countries, or
even over the same, but in the moral likeness of its members to each other, and in a common relation to Christ.
And must the,- forms and arrangements, so simple, so
beautiful, so worthy of God and accordant with the character of Christ, so well adapted to promote the spirituality
of the individual and the efficiency of the church, and
through which her great primitive conquests were mademust these too be perverted? Must the last and greatest
manifestation of the divine mercy be the occasion of the
last and greatest exhibition of human perverseness and
malignant ingenuity? So, if the old leaven of wickedness
were not destroyed, we might anticipate that it would be;
so prophecy foretold that it would be-the man of sin must
be revealed; so all Protestants believe that it has been.
In this perversion we suppose the first step to have been
a gradual distinction, unknown in the first century,
between presbyters and bishops, and the growth, from
that, of prelatical Episcopacy. When once there was a
bishop, with a diocese, the same principle would require
an archbishop; for as the world was then situated politically, who was to limit or define the diocese, or to settle
the conflicting claims of bishops? And if pastors require
an overseer, why not bishops? Then again the same




21
reason that would require an archbishop, would require a
supreme head, and thus the system naturally culminated
in patriarchates and in popery.  With the exception of
these United States, where circumstances have hitherto
rendered it impossible, the Episcopal system has everywhere protruded a supreme head.  In the Church of
England, that head is the reigning sovereign, whoever it
may be, without regard to religious character, or the
choice of the church-a monstrous anomaly which the
Puseyites are right in attacking.
But the assumption by the bishops of the power originally belonging to the congregations, and then gradually
of power over other bishops, was not the most important
element in the corruption which inaugurated popery.
That element lay in the attempt, nearly simultaneous,
to clothe Christian teachers with the same prerogatives as
the Jewish priesthood-to make them priests and sacrificial mediators.  This gave to the churches altars, and to
the officiating ministers vestments; it invested them with
an awful sanctity, made them the objects of a superstitious veneration, and the sole medium through which
grace and salvation could be imparted. This was an
entire perversion of the original idea of Christianity; or
rather, it was a change in its very substance, and the
laying of another foundation.  Here we find the true root
of the papacy, of the clergy as a distinct order, of transmitted grace, and of an apostolical succession; and
wherever this sacrificial element is, in connection with
these claims, there is the man of sin, taking his seat in
the temple of God. Of these elements, either would be
pernicious by itself; but in combination, the priestly
power wielding the civil, either directly or indirectly,
they are at the basis of a double tyranny, the most
awful this world has seen, and only the more awful as
assuming to be the religion of the merciful Saviour. Most
sad is it that such transcendent wickedness should be




22
connected, and in the minds of many, identified with such
a religion; but the best gifts of God can be perverted
only by a hardening and searing process, more dreadful
than any other.  Those who fall from  a great height,
must sink to a corresponding depth.
And here we remark once more, that those who have
adhered to the institutions of God, as he gave them,
have been in the minority.  We have, first, the Primitive
Church for a hundred and fifty years or more; and when
the struggle commenced which led to popish usurpations,
we have the ancient Cathari, or Puritans, bearing singularly enough the same name that modern intolerance fixed
on our Fathers as a reproach. Of these, the history is not
known as it should be.* They not only rejected prelacy,
but declined the offer of Constantine to be connected
with the state.  They  were a numerous and powerful
body, and had descendants and representatives throughout
the dark ages, and till the Reformation. We have also
the great majority of the Reformed Churches since the
time of Luther; but the number of these is small, compared with the Coptic, and Nestorian, and Armenian, and
Greek, and Papal, and English Churches.
We observe, secondly, that the prelatical system  has
been upheld by the wealth and art, and pomp and fashion
of the world.
The religion of Christ is not cynical. It does not
object to wealth, or to any thing beautiful in art, or elegant in fashion. It simply ignores them as aside from its
great end.t  Its sphere is far deeper, in that which is
spiritual.  It is emphatically the gospel to the poor.  Its
work is by the bed of sickness, and of death, in the hut
of poverty, among the jungles of India and the snows of
* See an able article by Dr, Forsyth, in the "Literary and Theological Journal" for
January, 1855.
t If the end of Christianity could be accomplished, the highest art and elegance would
spring from it; but as a means of accomplishing that end it rejects everything not
accessible to all. It is the knowledge of Christ that makes a man a Christian, and in
him " are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge."




23
Greenland, as well as in the palace. Wherever there is a
conscience that is quickened, and the great question is
asked, " What shall I do to be saved?" there is its peculiar sphere, and it utters its stern rebuke against any
attempt to substitute the emotions awakened by art, for
those that spring from an enlightened and quickened conscience. When one of the disciples would have awakened the admiration of the Saviour, for the beauties of
architecture, and said to him, "Master, see what manner
of stones, and what buildings are here! " the Master did
not seize the occasion to discourse upon art, or to found a
school of church architecture. He simply replied, "' Seest
thou these great buildings? there shall not be left one
stone upon another that shall not be thrown down." It
was upon a temple spiritual and imperishable that his eye
was fixed, and the utterance of his religion everywhere is,
"The things that are seen, are temporal; but the things
that are not seen, are eternal."
But from its concentration of wealth and power, there
is an inherent tendency in prelacy, precisely as in monarchy, to associate with itself wealth and art, and pomp
and fashion.  There is a tendency, illustrated by its
whole history, to appeal to the sensuous, rather than to
the spiritual part of our nature. It has deified art. It has
thought architecture, and sculpture, and painting, requisites to the highest form of the worship of the One Only
Living and True God.  It has built vast cathedrals,
meaningless and useless except as they sustain those two
ideas subversive of all Christianity, sacrificial mediation,
and auricular confession.  It has prescribed ceremonies
and vestments and processions, and made of these vital
points. It has had its ritualism for the rich and refined,
making it easy for them  to stand equally well in the
church and in the fashionable world; and in all countries
except this, social discriminations have been made against
those who would not conform; they have been put under




24
the ban of fashion; and to those who would rise in family
and fortune, other than religious reasons have been offered
for worshiping with the establishment. The slightest
knowledge of English literature and society shows us
with what distaste and aversion Dissenters, and especially
the Puritans, have been and still are regarded by a large
set of sentimentalists in the English Church, and what an
air of relative gentility they conceive that to be, in which
they exist.  Whether anything of all this has crossed the
Atlantic, it is not for me to say.
But we observe, thirdly, that the prelatical system can
claim a high antiquity and the support of illustrious men.
Of the great and good men who have lived and labored
under this system, particularly in the English Church, I
yield to no one in my admiration. I honor them, and
shall always be ready to express my indebtedness to them.
On this point I am ready to concede all that can be asked;
but even if they were as wise as Solomon, they might,
like him, be led astray; and then there have always been
those opposed to them quite as great and quite as good.
The main point here is antiquity, for we claim to be
the true ancients. Recent research has thrown new light
on the history of England, particularly of Cromawell and
the Puritans; it has greatly changed ancient Roman history; and it has cast a broad light, which cannot now be
obscured, upon the free and simple forms and spiritual
worship of the primitive church. HIere prelacy has made
high claims, availing itself much of what are now clearly
shown to be forgeries.  In the language of Bunsen,
" Between us and those fathers, empty phantoms have
sprung up, darkening that primitive age."@  But those
phantoms have been laid; for he says again,'" As regards
those churches which insist upon hierarchical tradition,
both as to dogma and authority, they acknowledge, and
cannot help acknowledging, the paramount authority of' Hippolytus, vol. iii. p. 8.




25
the first links in the chain of that historical development
which they call tradition.  The undeniable facts of that
age accordingly witness against them, as much as they do
in favor of a free Christianity."
Again he says, 1"The hierarchical party, towards the
end of the second century, used the captivating idea of
the'Catholic Church,' as a basis for the doctrine of
spiritual absolutism, and foisted the doctrine into all the
documents, fathering their unholy tenets upon the ancient
bishops, with the same zeal and impudence as, in later
times, the papists did in their decretals.'"t
For the original identity of bishops with presbyters or
pastors; for their oversight of but a single church; for
the equality of pastors, and of churches; and for their
free and spiritual forms of worship, there is a mass of
evidence, from the state of things then existing, from
Scripture, from the Fathers, and from the researches of
modern historians, such that, in its selection, one does not
know where to begin or where to end.
To one acquainted with the materials of which Christian churches were composed, and their position in the
first century, the supposition of anything like papal, or
even episcopal forms of government, and especially of
worship, seems preposterous. They had, and could have
had no church-structures, no altars, no vestments, no
rituals.
The original equality of bishops and presbyters is very
evident, and is admitted by many Episcopalians. This is
clear from the Scriptures.  When Paul enumerated the
gifts of the Saviour to the church, he mentioned apostles,
prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers, but not bishops.
Indeed, it would appear from the address of Paul to the
elders of the church at Ephesus, not only that elders and
bishops are the same, but that so far from having the
oversight of more churches than one, there were someH* ippolytus, vol. i. p. 307.  t Ibid, vol. i. p. 101.
4




26
times more bishops than one over a single church,-for he
says, "Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to all
the flock over whom the Holy Ghost hath made you'E=rtuzon7ov; bishops."  The word had then acquired no
specific meaning, and the same man might be a presbyter
or elder, shepherd or pastor, and an overseer or bishop,
as he was viewed in different relations. Clement, the
most ancient of the apostolical fathers, uses the terms
interchangeably. He "' was not," says Riddle, an Episcopal church historian, "even aware of the distinction
between bishops and presbyters-terms which, in fact, he
uses as synonymous."  Polycarp, in his epistle, speaks of
presbyters, but does not even mention bishops.  Irenmus
speaks of the succession of the presbyters, and Jerome
says they were originally the very same.  " Our intention," says he, " is to show  that among the ancients,
presbyters and bishops were the very same.  But that, by
little and little, that the plants of dissension might be
plucked up, the whole concern was devolved upon an
individual."*  At the Reformation, all the Reformed
churches came on to the same ground, and renounced the
principle of any divine right of Episcopal ordination.
" The Smalcaldic Articles, in 1533, which strenuously
assert the identity of bishops and presbyters, and their
equality by divine right in the power of ordination, were
signed by nearly eight thousand ministers, among whom
were Luther, Melancthon, Bucer," &c.t  About the same
time, a declaration was made in England, that "in the
New Testament, there is no mention of any degree and
distinction of orders, but only of deacons or ministers,
and of priests or bishops," and this was signed by thirtyseven distinguished civilians and divines, and by thirteen
bishops, among whom were Archbishop Cranmer, and the
* See Coleman's "Primitive Church," p. 214, where the original is
given, and much more to the same effect.
t Christian Spectator for 1830.




27
leaders of the Reformation.  Cranmer says, expressly,
"' The bishops and priests were at one time, and were no
two things, but both one office in the beginning of
Christ's religion." In the English edition of Burnet, there
are documents, omitted in the American edition, showing
that this question was carefully considered in those times,
and decided by a large majority with us. Inr these, the
answers of individuals to this question is given, and Dr.
Redman comes fully on to our ground, and says, that
"the authority of preaching and ministering the sacraments is given immediately to the church, and the church
may appoint ministers as is thought convenient."*  It is
historically certain that high-church principles can be
traced back in the Church of England only to the last
part of the reign of Elizabeth, when they began to be
needed against the Puritans. Whitgift himself only wished
they might be true, and even long after that, Stillingfleet
says, "It is acknowledged by the stoutest champions of
Episcopacy,. before these late unhappy divisions, that ordination performed by presbyters, in case of necessity, is
valid; which I have already shown doth evidently prove
that Episcopal government is not founded on any unalterable divine right."  Of Archbishop Leighton, Burnet says,'" He did not think orders given without bishops were null
and void," but "he thought every church might make
such forms of ordination as they pleased."t  That this
general view was originally held by the English Church,
both Hallam and Macaulay agree. Nor had the first Scottish bishops Episcopal ordination. " Bishop Andrews,"
says Burnet, "moved the ordaining them."  " But that
was overruled by King James, who thought it went too
far towards the unchurching of all those who had no
bishops among them.":
No less evident is it that a bishop had originally the
* Christian Spectator for 1830.  1 Burnet's Own Times, p. 1.40.: Burnet's Own Times, p. 139.




28
oversight of but a single parish.  Says Clarkson, an
Episcopalian, " A bishop, in the best ages of Christianity,
was no other than the pastor of a single church. A pastor
of a single church is now as truly a bishop."  Says
Bunsen, "Every town, however small, was a bishopric."@
But on this I cannot dwell.  I will only add, as applicable to the present times on another account, one of
the canons of the Ante-Nicene Church. " A bishop ought
not to leave his own parish, and go to another, although
the multitude should force him, unless some rational cause
compelleth him.-But this he shall not try by himself,
but after the judgment of many bishops, and after pressing supplications."t
On these and all the other points on which we are at issue
with prelacy, we have with us the learning and thorough
research of Germany.  Neander, the first church historian
of modern times, is with us. So is the Chevalier Bunsen,
combining German learning with English good sense, in
his great work " Hyppolitus," in which he edits a newly
discovered work by Bishop Hyppolitus, and thoroughly
discusses the whole subject. Nor is Bunsen merely a
historian and a scholar.  He is a profound thinker, a
diplomatist, and man of the world. With us, too, are
Moshiem, and Planck, and Bdhmer; nor may I omit to
mention the thorough and unanswerable works of our
countrymen, Dr. Edward Beecher and Dr. Lyman Coleman, which ought to be in the library of every pastor.
We observe, fourthly, that those who have adhered to
Christian institutions as God gave them, have been persecuted.
The primitive church was persecuted by both Jews
and Gentiles till prelacy arose, and that has always been,
where it could be, a persecuting power. It is so naturally,
for the same reason that monarchy is. It forms to itself
a paramount interest distinct from  that of the church,
i Hyppolitus, vol. ii. p. 123.  t Ibid. vol. ii. p. 80.




29
sometimes so losing sight of the laity, that the clergy
alone have been called the church. It is easy to see
that precisely the same love of power, and distinction,
and wealth, that would change a republic into a monarchy, would destroy the equality of the pastors, and the
independence of churches; would change the character of
original officers, as bishops, and create new ones unknown
to the Scriptures, making its bishops as little like primitive bishops, as the patriarch of Constantinople is like the
patriarch Abraham; and that all politicians, favoring monarchy, would also favor such a change.  This would
bring the institutions of the church and of the state into
harmony, and enable the rulers, in both, to aid each
other in attaining their personal ends; and when this is
done, the results are to be looked for in the Inquisition,
and St. Bartholomew's day. Then the two classes of
powers can be fully exercised, which it has been seriously maintained were conferred upon Peter by the two
commands —" Feed my sheep," and "Arise, Peter, slay
and eat."  It is really wonderful how  few spots there
have been on the earth where a free Christianity could
be without some form  of disability, without molestation and without fear. Nowhere has this been, where
prelacy has been predominant, not even in England.
Only by being driven across the ocean, and into the
wilderness, could a free church, like a free State, have
permission and scope to grow strong; and even here we
are unchurched, and turned over to " uncovenanted mercies," and the determination to subvert our religious
liberties is boldly avowed.  Wherever, too, we would
plant free churches in countries nominally Christian, we
find the true idea of religious liberty, now the great want
of the world, utterly unknown; and the most formidable
obstacle in our way is persecution by prelacy, in some
form, to the extent of its power.




30
We observe, fifthly, that a free Christianity is sustained,
and prelacy is condemned by history.
This opens a wide field, but we have only to glance at
the whole field of prelacy, at the Coptic, the Nestorian,
the Armenian, the Greek, the Papal and the English
Churches, to be satisfied on this point. With the exception of England, and of the Low Church there, the
priesthood have every where become ambitious and corrupt, and the people ignorant, superstitious and degraded.
It is sickening to read the accounts of the clergy in
ancient times, after prelacy had come in, and when, from
the wealth and power and distinction connected with it,
every body was desirous of entering what then began to
be called the priesthood.  Says Gregory Nazianzen, in the
fourth century, "' I am worn out-with contending against
the envy of the holy bishops; disturbing the public peace
by their contentions, and subordinating the Christian faith
to their own private interests."  " If I must write the
whole truth, I am determined to absent myself from all
assemblies of the bishops; for I have never seen a happy
result of any councils, nor any that did not occasion an
increase of evils, rather than a reformation of them, by
reason of these pertinacious contentions, and this vehement
thirst for power, such as no words can express."*  Still
later, Jerome says, "' The bishops, by their pride and their
base deeds, are a reproach to their name, and whenever
they perceive one to have gained an influence by rightly
handling the word of God, they seek, by detraction, to
oppose him."t  When Leighton entered the Episcopal
Church, after finding out the men with whom he had
become associated, he said,'"that how fully soever he
was satisfied in his own mind as to Episcopacy, yet it
seemed that God was against them, and that they were
not like to be the men that should build up his church,'
so that struggling about it seemed to him like a fighting
* Coleman's "Primitive Church," p. 280.    t Ibid. p. 302.




against God.  He who had the greatest hand in it, proceeded with so much dissimulation, and the rest of the
order were so mean and so selfish."* And so under this
false system, it has very generally been, down to the cardplaying, wine-drinking, fox-hunting incumbents and recumbents of the English Establishment.  There is no
sadder chapter in the history of our race, than this fearful
perversion of Christianity, and the wide-spread moral and
spiritual paralysis consequent upon it. England excepted,
there is not a.church that has been under prelacy, that is
not in need of Christian missions, and to which we are
not sending them.
And how has it been with the English Church? Of all
the Protestant churches, she is the only one that has
retained prelacy; for though the Lutherans have bishops,
as the Methodists have, yet they are not prelatical, not a
separate order, not by divine right, or apostolical succession. Nor were they originally so in England.  There
was at first a strong sympathy with other Protestant
churches, and foreign churches were recognized as in the
fullest sense churches of Christ.  " Foreign divines,"
among them John Knox, "' were invited by Cranmer from
abroad to aid in the Reformation, and were instantly
employed in clerical duties, without one hint of re-ordination;" and it was enacted by Parliament, " that the ordination of foreign churches should be held valid, and that
those who had no other orders should be of like capacity
with others, to enjoy any place of ministry in England."-t
But by that facilis ascensus, which has always shown
itself in connection with prelacy, high-church principles
came in, and what has been the result? According to
Hallam, the clergy studiously inculcated, in the reign of
Charles I, "that resistance to the commands of rulers was,
in every conceivable instance, a heinous sin."j In the
Burnet's Own Times, p. 141.  t Christian Spectator for 1830.
t Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 264.




32
language of Macaulay, the church became "the servile
handmaid of monarchy, the steady enemy of public liberty.
The divine right of kings, and the duty of passively
obeying all their commands, were her favorite tenets.
She held them firmly through times of oppression, persecution and licentiousness, while law was trampled down;
while judgment was perverted; while the people were
eaten as though they were bread."'  She persecuted to
imprisonment, exile and deaths the Puritans and the Covenanters; she arraigned Baxter, and imprisoned Bunyan;
she opposed the Christian Sabbath, which England now
owes to the Puritans; she opposed the spiritual reformation, made necessary by her own supineness, under Wesley and Whitefield. Endowed as she has been, she has
done next to nothing for the education and elevation of
the masses; and while she had originally all England, and
while there has been so much to make Dissent discreditable and uncomfortable, yet more than half of the people of
England have left her, and are Dissenters to-day. And
while many have gone off by Dissent, by the natural tendency of high-churchism, many have recently gone back
to Rome, and more ought to go. Making, then, every
allowance for the great good contained in the Church of
England, and done by her, may we not say that prelacy,
even there, is a failure?
But of the Church of England, and of the Episcopal
Church in this country, it is difficult to speak without
putting ourselves in a false position, because they really
contain two denominations, differing more from each
other than we do from one of them. With the Church of
England, as it was at first, and for many years, when the
Lord bishop of Derby could say in a public discourse,
" The Gallican, Belgic, Helvetian and German churches
reject not us, nor we thern, although we differ in rites and
discipline;" when he could say further, "'For my part,
* Miscellanies, vol. i. p. 293.




33
I freely profess that were my lot cast among any of the
Reformed  churches beyond  the  seas, I would  presently
join in their communion, and not at all scruple to conform
myself to  their received  customs " —what  probably  no
bishop, even  in  this country, would  now  dare  to  saywith such a church, recognizing other churches, and
laboring with  them, we would not contend.   With  such
men  as Newton, and  Scott, and  Simeon, and  Wilberforce; as BledelI and  Milnor, and some, of honored  name
now  living  among  us;  with  our low-church  brethren
generally, if they could but stay where they are, we
would not contend.   They are our personal friends.   We
honor and  love them, and all the more because they seem
to be falling into that honored minority in which we
have  always  been.   But against the  spirit of  highchurchism, in  whatever form, involving  as it does the
essence of superstition, bigotry and oppression, we feel
bound to contend.   Social experiments require centuries,
and we cannot afford, the world cannot afford, to try this
over again.  Our souls have  still in  remembrance  "'the
wormwood and the gall." Still, the world is what it
always has been. No man who has watched the progress
of high-churchism in this country need ask how it arose
at first.t   With  the  exception, perhaps, of Mormonism,
the progress of nothing has been more striking; and such
is its adaptation  at once  to  indolence and  ambition, to
formalism  and  fanaticism, that we are to  be  surprised  at
nothing, and that only the grace of God can save us.
Turn we then to our own simple, scriptural institu* Hopkins on the Ten Commandments, Ser. 2.
"t' It is well known," says Dr. Coleman, " that the introduction of Episcopacy into
this country gave rise to a long and bitter controversy. The objection from within the
Episcopal churches, as well as from without, was, that its form of government was antirepublican, and opposed to the spirit of our free institutions. The House of Burgesses,
in Virginia, composed chiefly of Episcopalians, declared their abhorrence of bishops,
unless at the distance of three thousand miles, and denounced' the plan of introducing
them, in the most unexceptionable form, on this side of the Atlantic, as a pernicious
project.' Such was Episcopacy after the Revolution, and high churchism did not exist."
-Primitive Church, p. 261.
5




tions, adapted in the best sense to the nature of man.
AnZd inl doing this we recur to the principles stated at the
openitng  of this discussion, and placing ourselves above all
forms, and looking only at ends, we recognlize Christ as
all and in all; and wherever he is fonnd, through whatever forms, there we give our hands and our hearts.  We
recognize the adaptive and plastic power of the Christian,
as of the natural life, and its capability of shiowing itself
with equal beauty under forms that are different.  We say
that in the application of general principles here, i)recisely
as in regard to health and intellectual well-being, there
may be modifications that shall be equally good. Exclude
the sacrificial and hierarchical elements, let there  be
equality of rank among the clergy, let tile substantial
power and the respollsibiiity rest with the congregations,
as with those who are all called to be kings and priests
unto God, and we are content.  Then, in all things
indifferent, as architectuIre, liturgies, responses, robes, we
concede the largest liberty.  Those whom  our Saviour
sent forth to preach were not, indeed, permitted to have
two coats, and we do not see that it follows that preachers
now should be required to have two robes, or that a
Christian teacher should  change his garments during
service, because the Jewish priest, who slew animals,
changed his; but if any prefer this, we only say, " Let all
things be done to edification."  We admit, too, the paramount importance of a right spirit in the administration of
any forms; and that they must be adapted to the capacities and moral state of the people.  Still, the form  will
react upon the spirit, the method will modify the results.
As man now is, his character will beformed more by his
temptations than his duties, and that must be the best
system which will present the fewest temptations to those
who have the control, and the most responsibilities to
those who have not.  If then there are formns, which God
has indicated and recognized, it may be expected that the




35
church, as a whole, will be benefited in proportion as she
shall conformr  herself to them, and that only through
thern her highest efficiency will be reached.  That there
are such forms, we believe; and what they are, ought to
be investigated in the freeest and broadest spirit, without
personality, or sectarianism, and in every light of Scripture, of analogy, of history, and of philosophy.  Such
investigation  we invite.  Omitting, then, the scriptural
argument, not drawing sharp lines, not claiming perfection for our own system, cordially receiving brethren of
other names who are really one with us in spirit, with
whom we have labored, and love to labor, and mean to
labor,-we say that Congregationalism is analogous to the
freedom of the winds and the waves, and to all free institutionrs.  We say that she is the mother aind model of
those institutions; for as Blnsen says, " These Christians
belonged to no state, but their father-land in heaven was
to them a reality; and the love cof the brethren in truth,
and not in words, made the Christian congregation the
foreshadowing of a Christian commonwealth, and a model
for all ages to come."
ter history, to say nothing of primitive times, shows
a general intelligence, a love of' liberty and of' the Bible,
a readiness to make sacrifices for education and for imissions, a purity and fidelity of the clergy, and an efficiency and unsectarianismn of the laity, that have never
been surpassed.  She has labored for Christianity, and
not for herself, and far, far be the day when she shall
lose her unsectarian spirit.  With her originated common schools; with her, foreign missions in England, for
the Baptists are Congregationalists; with her, both foreign and domestic missions in this country.
If we apply the test of philosophy, we shall find that
she adopts, more fully than any others, that great
principle of individual responsibility, and so of intelligent liberty, on which the hope of the world now rests.




36
She bases the security of all upon the culture of all.
Thus we rest on 4 great principle, and this is our strength.
Slowly, but surely, it will upheave the nations.  We
shall find that she is adapted to man, as man, precisely
as is republicanism, whether he may live at the North or at
the South, at the East or at the West.  If people are too
ignorant to understand their relations, or to assume
responsibility; if they are too worldly, or too fashionable,
to care for the church; if they wish for an order of men
to take care of their religion, and of the interests of Christ
in the world, while they are willing to pay for it; then,
and then only is Congregationalism not adapted to them.
We shall find, and.that I did hope to show, that the wit
of man cannot devise a system  that shall contain fewer
elements that would foster ambition, or sectarianism, or
formalism, or superstition. It does present the fewest
temptations to the clergy, and lays the most responsibility
on the laity.
And finally, we find in Congregationalism  the best, if
not the only ground of that unity, of which the Bible
speaks, and for which the heart yearns —" That they all
may be one."  Other churches, with centralized forms of
government, tend to break into sects; they must have different centres, and jurisdictions, and names; and there
can be no unity except, as in the papal church, under one
head.  But Congregational churches pass over all state
limits as water, and would be as little divided by them;
and if they could cover the earth, recognizing each other
as brethren, Christ as their common head, and heaven as
their common home, there would be a unity, perfect and
sublime, as of the ocean. Then, when the waters were
at rest, would the whole earth reflect the image of
Heaven, and when they should be heaved and tossed
by holy emotion,'the sea would roar and the fullness
thereof, the world and they that dwell therein.-The
floods would clap their hands.'




THE PROMISE TO ABRAHAM.
MISSIONARY SERMON.
BY
MARK  HOPKINS, D. D.
President of Williams College.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1 8 5 8.




NoTrE.-The substance of the following Discourse was delivered at Bangor,
Maine, in August last, at the ordination of the Rev. E. P. ROBERTS, as a
Missionary to Micronesia. It has since been repeated here, and elsewhererecently at the Missionary Convention held at Pittsfield-and is now published at the request of the MLILS THEOLOGICAL SOCIETY, with the hope that
it may strengthen the faith of the friends of missions.
WILLIAMS COLLEGE, JAN. 1, 1858.




SE R MON.
ROMANS IV. 13.
FOR THE PROMISE, THAT HE SHOULD BE THE HEIR OF THE WORLD, WAS
NOT TO ABRAHAM, OR TO HIS SEED, THROUGH THE LAW, BUT THROUGH
THE RIGHTEOUSNESS OF FAITH.
IN the passage now read from the word of God, we have,
First, the fact that it entered into the original conception of
the religion of the Bible, that it should be universal. The
promise to Abraham was, that he should be " the heir of the
world."
We have, Secondly, the grand characteristic, from the
first, of the religion of the Bible, and that by which it is
fitted to become universal. Abraham was to be the heir of
the world through the righteousness of faith.
We have, Thirdly, the ground on which the people of
God have expected, and do expect, that this religion will
become universal. The promise was to Abraham.
And we have, Fourthly, as implied in the last, the principle of action which must sustain those who labor to make
this religion universal-faith in the promise. These points
we now propose to consider.
We say then, First, that it entered into the original conception of the religion of the Bible, that it should become
universal.




As it is the object of Christianity, and especially of the
missionary work, to establish a universal religion, it becomes
us to inquire into the origin and history of this idea.
Ideas giving impulse and direction to human thought and
effort, may either originate with God, or with man. The idea
of the law of gravitation did not originate with Newton. It had
been operative in the works of God thousands of years before
he was born, and was as really expressed in the movements
of those works, as a thought is expressed in a sentence. It
lay behind those movements, as the thought behind a sentence;
was presupposed by them, was their upholding and informing
principle. And so we say that the idea of a universal religion originated with God, was communicated by him to man,
and is, to Him, like the law of the planetary motions, one of
those great ideas, in accordance with which, and for the realization of which He works.  True, this idea may spring at
once from a correct conception of the attributes and claims of
the true God, and so, when once made known, commends
itself to our reason; still, as man was situated, we say it could
have come only from God.
It was more than four hundred years after the flood, when
the promise referred to in the text, that all the families of the
earth should be blessed in him, was made to Abraham. The
race had been dispersed over the earth, had been divided into
different tribes, with different languages, and idolatry in
various forms had become nearly or quite universal. With
idolatry is naturally connected the idea of local divinities,
and the impression, still prevalent among the heathen, that
each religion is good, and the best for its own locality. The
earth had not been explored.  Nothing was known of its
form, or of its extent; nothing of the capabilities of the race
for extension, or for various forms of culture and organization.  The tendency then was, not to centralization any
where, but to wider dispersions, the reach of which no man
could foresee, and which might be so wide as to sunder per



manently, as they did for ages, the relations of different parts
of the race. There was no writing then, no printing, no
system  of roads or of intercommunication.  The race was
not only idolatrous, but nomadic and predatory. It was a
great thing for Abraham to go out from his kindred and his
father's house, to a land which he knew not of; and nothing
but the special protection of God could have prevented him
from being plundered and slain. WVar, indeed, not for the
purpose of union, but of plunder and subjection, seems to
have been then, as it was subsequently, the great business
and ground of distinction among men.
Under such circumstances, the suggestion that a universal
religion either was then, or ever could become possible,
would seem entirely aside from the laws of human thought.
It was no light thing thus to claim to know the future for
all time; and to recognize the highest and only true bond
of unity for the race; and to conceive that that unity might
be realized, and to utter this with the simplicity and majesty
and unfaltering certainty which we find only in the Scriptures.
And then, if the suggestion were made, it would seem still
farther aside from the laws of human motive and effort, that
any man should deny himself, and labor for such an end.
Aside from the religion of the Bible, such a person as a
Christian Missionary could not be conceived of. No motive,
merely human, could call men off from their apathy, their
toil, their sensuality, their ambition, and lead them to such
labors as would be requisite to establish a religion that could
become universal. No, my friends, it was not for man, thus
situated, to originate an idea so far-reaching and comprehensive, so'exciting and elevating, so alien from all that was,
and so consonant with all that ought to be, as that of one,
true, exclusive, universal religion. It was not for any one
individual, especially one who had none of the ordinary
grounds of distinction, who built no city, founded no state,




conquered no country, wrote no book, who was a wanderer
dwelling in tents, to conceive of himself as holding such a
relation to all nations, that they should be blessed in him;
and the fact that this was foretold of such an individual
nearly four thousand years ago, and that it has come to pass
to such an extent, is conclusive proof that the Bible is from
God, and that the promise will be completely fulfilled.
But strong as this proof is, it becomes more so when we
look at the history of this idea. It had no gradual growth,
was from no tendency of society, or progress of the mind;
but appeared in its completeness, like an apparition from
heaven.  Like such an apparition, it appeared for a moment,
and then departed.
And not only did it thus appear and depart, but it appeared
in combination with an idea that seemed its opposite, and
departed leaving that idea wholly dominant.  The chief
marvel connected with this promise is, not its universality
simply, but its combination of universality with exclusiveness. The covenant was with Abraham, and its immediate
effect was, not to unite him with others, but to separate him
from  them, even from  his kindred and his father's house.
This separation continued while he lived, during the lives of
the patriarchs, and became still more exclusive under the
Mosaic dispensation, one great object of which was to separate the Jews from other nations. Here was a seeming
inconsistency, which could have proceeded only on the deepest knowledge of what the completed circle of God's providence would be. It was like Columbus seeking the Indies
by sailing in an opposite direction.  It was like the change
of the egg into a grub, when the promise had been that
it should be a butterfly. There was doubtless provision for
a three-fold development, as there is in insect life for a threefold organization; but this was utterly beyond the reach of
human ken, and could as little have been foretold by man
without experience, as the changes in the insect.




And indeed, when we look at these three-fold organizations of insect life, each preceding one, so slowly and
strangely preparatory, so identical, and yet so diverse; when
we see it, now creeping upon the earth, now enclosed in its
web, and now floating in freedom and beauty in the upper
air; and then look at the Patriarchal dispensation passing into
the Mosaic; at the Mosaic enclosing itself within its web of
rites and ceremonies; and then, at the expansion and glory
and universality of the Christian dispensation, it is difficult
not to feel that the one is related to the other, though it be
but as the slightest sketch of a great master to his masterpiece. May not this be? Is it too much to believe that He
who forms in the dew-drop the image of the sun, who has
established corresponding ratios of distance between the
leaves of the plant and the orbits of the planets, should thus
show, as in a glass, through the structure and changes of
that which is lowest and most transient in his works, something of the march and glory of that which is highest and
most permanent?
But however this may be, the promise was made, not only
with no apparent provision for its fulfillment, but in connection with an arrangement by which, in all human probability,
it must have been counter-worked.
Originating thus high up upon the hoary peaks of time,
and in combination with an element apparently its opposite,
this idea, this element of universality, just showed itself, and
then, like water that finds a subterranean channel, it disappeared. From that time till the coming of Christ, there was
nothing in the history of the world to indicate that such an
element existed. There was nothing to show any tendency
towards universality. Every thing indicated the reverse.
Compared with the nations around them, the people of God
were generally a small people, and their system of polity was
neither attractive nor aggressive. In the course of events,
there was no breath, no token, no movement, to indicate any




8
such principle; and yet we find it bursting up ill prophecy,
along the track of time, like fountains in the desert, and so
as to show a divine and irrepressible force.
And the striking point here, one affording conclusive proof
of the truth of the Bible, is that the utterances and overflowings of prophecy became more distinct and full, as the
prospect of their fulfillment, on the grounds of experience
and probability, became more and more dark. It was when
the idolatries of the heathen had become multiplied and confirmed, when the' glory of Israel had declined, and the
nation was ready to go into captivity, or had already gone,
that we find the utterances of her poets and prophets most
fully inspired with this idea. With great variety of expression, and with unmistakable clearness, they foretell a time
when wars shall cease, and the peaceable kingdom of Immanuel shall be every where established.  "Nation,,' say
they, "shall not lift up sword against nation."  "The idols
IHe shall utterly abolish."  "The mountain of the Lord's
house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and
all nations shall flow unto it."  "The kingdom, and dominion, and the greatness of the kingdom under the whole
heaven, shall be given to the people of the saints of the Most
High."  "The earth shall be filled with the knowledge of
the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea."  " From
the rising of the sun, even unto the going down of the same,
my name shall be great among the Gentiles; and in every
place incense shall be offered unto my name and a pure
offering."
The next point to be noticed in the history of this idea, is
the place it occupies in the Christian dispensation. And
here the marvel is-not less, and wholly unaccountable except
on the supposition that, Christ was what he claimed to be.
Like that of the  being of a God, this is one of those ideas
which the Saviour did not so much formally announce, as
take for granted. He assumed it as entering into his relig



9
ion, as a matter of course, and in this there was unspeakable
grandeur.  He said, " I am the light of the world."  " The
field is the world."  He commanded his disciples to "go
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."
Here we find this idea appearing at the opening of the
new dispensation, as it had before at that of the old; but
whereas it was then a prophecy, it was now a purpose.  The
transition from a mere thought, a conception, an imagination,
to a purpose, is a great one; and, in comparing the old dispensation with the new, it is here that we find one of the
great points both of identity and of transition.  The underlying conception in the old dispensation was an ultimate
universality.  That was really its glory, and it was only by
the adoption of that as an object and a purpose, that the
religion of Christ could become the fulfillment, the antitype,
the expansion, the transfiguration of the did dispensation.
Accordingly we behold Christ-doubtless the one solitary
person of the race who had ever cherished, or even formed
such a purpose-taking the ancient promise, eliminating its
really great element and placing that in front, and then saying
to the world, "I am  not come to destroy the law  and
the prophets, but to fulfill."  So doing, he became the central point towards which all in the past that belonged to the
old covenant converged, and from which all in the great
future must radiate and expand. As he alone gave to the
law its spiritual interpretation, so did he alone give to the
promise its true expansion. If, then, Christ was not from
God, how unaccountable in him the idea even of a universal religion! How much more so that he should quietly,
and as it were unconsciously, assume it as a part of his system! How much more still, that in him, in him alone, it
should become a purpose! And most of all, that he should
announce that this purpose would be accomplished by his
own crucifixion! "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all
men unto me."




10
In the history of this idea, but one step remains. Receiving it from Christ now in the form of a purpose, the
disciples, immediately after his resurrection, commenced their
labors for its realization. Then was seen the true spirit of
Christian missionaries; a spirit of self-denial and faith,
which, if it could return into the church, would soon cause
the gospel to be preached in every nation under heaven.
Then every church was of course a missionary society, and
every church member held himself ready to serve the church,
and the great Head of the church, wherever he might be
called.
But those days passed away.  The spirit of worldliness
and of self-aggrandizement stole in.  The man of sin began
to assert his supremacy, and the night of the dark ages set
in. The Reformation was a great work; but, as its name
imports, it was a work within the church, and it was not till
recent times that she began again to feel the inspiration of
this great purpose.  But now the apathy of ages is broken.
The church begins to remember that she is the heir of the
world; the voice of the ancient promise rises and swells
upon her ear; it seems like a new revelation, and she feels
that it is time to arise and take possession of the promised
inheritance.  It is almost within our own day, that "the
angel having the everlasting gospel to preach to every nation,
and kindred, and tongue, and people," has renewed his
flight; and we trust that flight shall not cease till there shall
be heard in heaven those great voices saying, "The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord
and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever."
Such is a slight sketch of the origin and progress of that
great idea which was involved in the promise made to
Abraham.
Let us now consider, Secondly, as indicated in the text, that
grand characteristic of the religion of the Bible by which it




11
is fitted to become universal.  Abraham was to be the heir
of the world through the righteousness of faith.
And here it is certainly remarkable, that in that transaction
with the father of the faithful, in which the old dispensation
commenced, there should be found, in such close connection
with that idea of universality which was to be the consummation of the religion, the peculiarity by which that religion
should be distinguished from all others, and should be fitted
to become universal.  The promise to Abraham was, that he
should be the heir of the world, and it was the very believing
of this that was counted to him for righteousness. So says
the Apostle.  " Abraham believed God, and it was counted
to him for righteousness." In believing this, he believed in
a Saviour to come, and so he became the heir of the world,
"not through the law, but through the righteousness of
faith."
The term "righteousness," is here used by the Apostle
to signify a mode of justification. Ordinarily, "the righteousness of God " would indicate a personal quality in him;
but as used in this Epistle, it indicates the method which he
has adopted of constituting and declaring his people righteous; that is, the justification which is of God. Thus in
the third chapter, 21st and 22d verses, "But now, the righteousness of God without the law is manifested, being witnessed by the law and the prophets; even the righteousness
of God which is by faith of Jesus Christ unto all and upon
all that believe."  Certainly, God has no personal righteousness "without the law," or, "which is by faith of Jesus
Christ."
Here then we have, brought face to face in the text, the
only two modes of justification before God, that are possible;
and we are told that the religion for man-for the race-is
not to be through the law, or any of its works, but through
the righteousness of faith; that is, that it is to be a justification wholly free and gratuitous. " It is of faith, that it might




12
be by grace." This it is that makes the gospel to be what it
is-the evangel, the good tidings, a proclamation of mercy
and of free salvation.  This is the central evangelical element.  It presupposes the claims of Law, else there could
be no salvation.  It presupposes the Atonement, " that God
might be just, while he justifies the ungodly;" but the salvation itself is wholly free. There is no condition even, but
that of acceptance.  Repentance and faith are sometimes
said to be conditions; but in this it is forgotten that holiness
itself is essentially the salvation, and that repentance and
faith are but the forms in which holiness must necessarily
begin. They are the acceptance.
That this characteristic of justification by faith, that is, of
a free salvation, fits the religion to become universal, is plain,
because it recognizes man simply as a sinner. It knows
nothing of him in any other relation; nothing of age, or
sex, or rank, or wealth, or knowledge, or country, or color,
or race.  There is here, "neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, barbarian, Scythian, bond nor
free, but Christ is all, and in all."  " In Jesus Christ, neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision, but
faith that worketh by love." Wherever, therefore, there is
a human being who knows that he is a sinner, and desires to
be delivered from the power and curse of sin, there this doctrine will be welcome. O, how welcome! It is no system
of metaphysics, or of dogmas; it is a proclamation; it is
good tidings; it is rest to the weary, peace to the tempesttossed; it is forgiveness and free salvation.
Here the gospel is broadly distinguished from  all mere
systems of development, and training, and culture, which
require time and a system of appliances. And this distinction is so vital that it was signalized by our Saviour in the
salvation of the thief on the cross. Both the thieves reviled
him, but one of them had but to turn upon him the eye of
faith and say, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into




13
thy kingdom," and instantly the reply was, " To-day thou
shalt be with me in paradise."  All his relations and prospects were changed in a moment. Hence the gospel may be
carried at once to the ignorant, the degraded, the abandoned.
Clothed with supernatural power, there is no depth of degradation or extremity of suffering which it cannot reach.  To
the hut of poverty, it bears a wealth which the world cannot
give; to the dungeon of the captive, the liberty wherewith
Christ makes men free; and, though rejected till then, yet,
in the hour of sickness and death, it can gild the pallid countenance with the light of hope, and the radiance of a celestial
joy.
But not merely because it regards man solely as a sinner,
and makes salvation a gift, does this principle of justification
by faith adapt Christianity to become universal. It thus
adapts it because it is as simple as one of the great laws of
nature, and is yet as complex in its relations, and as pervading
in its results, as are those laws.  How simple it is! Only to
believe!  And yet it will adjust rightly all the relations of
man to God, to himself, and to society.
Without faith in God, man is alienated from him, and can
neither love nor obey him. With it, the filial relation is
restored. This involves a recognition of the paramount
claims of God; it involves ultimate heirship, and all essential
good.
Without this faith, man rests upon his native goodness and
on his works, and thus is fostered pride, that primal sin of
the spirit, not only in its relations to God, but to itself. But
this doctrine strikes at the root of all pride. It leaves man,
in respect to salvation, no ground of his own, not the least
self-righteousness, and this brings him to the foot of the cross.
It is when he feels his own utter destitution, and only then,
that he will come and ask at the hand of mercy, free and
sovereign, what he needs. This is submission; and when the




14
pride that struggled against this departs, then comes in peace,
and a cheerful obedience, born of gratitude and love.
But in thus adjusting the relations of man to God and to
himself, those of society will be adjusted also. A true religion must include a perfect morality.  Self-adjustment implies
it. But justification by faith has a special relation to those
pervading and unutterable evils in society, which spring from
superstition and formalism. These it would sweep utterly
away. They always imply works as opposed to faith, and
not works from faith. They imply something outward, done
on the supposition that it will avail to some extent as the
ground of salvation. Of these, especially of the spirit of
formalism, how full is the whole world!  How full especially of superstition, are the papal and heathen worlds!
Hlow appalling the power which these give to man over the
conscience of his fellow; and through this, how mighty the
support they have lent to systems of civil oppression! They
have sat as an incubus upon the nations. They have converted the very church and temple of God into a den of
thieves and the stronghold of tyranny. But when this has
been done, the simple sling and stone by which these giants
have been slain, is the doctrine of justification by faith. It
was the proclamation of this by Luther, that caused the
knees of the papacy to smite together; and now, there is no
doctrine so hated by Rome, and by all who tend thitherward.
This is the doctrine that Rome really combats at every point,
that heathenism and tyranny every where combat, because
this alone brings all men into immediate relation to Christ as
the sole Head of the Church, and so, dispenses with all those
forms and intermediate agencies through which they have
been degraded and oppressed. Before this, would vanish at
once the confessional, and indulgences, and penances, and
pilgrimages, and masses, and prayers for the dead, and
prayers to saints, and mawkish mixtures of modern senti



15.
mentalism and medieval superstitions;-all the modifications
of superstition, in short, whether in the heathen, or the
nominally Christian world; and in place of these there would
come the simple worship of God in spirit and in truth, and
"6 the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace."
This, then, is the doctrine for man as a sinner. It is for
all, and to be received by all in precisely the same way.  It
is for the king, for without it he must become poorer and
more powerless than the lowest of his subjects who receive
it; it is for the scholar and the philosopher, for without
it they have no light that will not go out in the darkness
of the tomb; and this too is the doctrine for the poor
benighted heathen, for he too is a man and a sinner.
But while we say that there is thus an adaptation and a
tendency in the religion of the Bible to become universal, we
yet say that this has not been, and is not now, the ground on
which the people of God expect that it will become so. That
ground, as is stated in our Third proposition, which we now
proceed to consider, is the promise of God.  " The promise
was to Abraham."
In reasoning from  adaptations and tendencies, we must
regard, not those only, but also obstacles and opposing
influences. There is in the seed a tendency to grow, but
this may be so checked and thwarted by an adverse soil
and climate, that no one would predict of the plant, that
it would ever reach its full size, or, perhaps, even maintain a
feeble and sickly life. So with the religion of the Bible.
Till the time of Christ, neither its adaptation nor tendency to
become universal could have been perceived; and since then,
such have been its reverses and perversions, for long periods,
that no human sagacity could have predicted its ultimate
triumph.  Missionary zeal has not been stimulated by a philosophical perception of adaptations and tendencies. There
never has been a time when, on grounds of mere reason,




16
and without reference to supernatural agency, it would have
been rational to predict even the continuance of a pure Christianity.  It would not be rational to predict it now.  /We
hear much, indeed, at present, of civilization and commerce;
of science and the arts; of ocean steamers and ocean telegraphs; and it is thought, by some, that these herald and
will secure the progress of Christianity. These we would not
undervalue. They are the indirect product of Christianity,
but there is in them literally nothing to move it forward.
They may be as the wheels upon which it shall move, but
even then it will be only as the " spirit of the living creature is in the wheels." Let the vitalizing force of Christianity be withdrawn from society, and the car of civilization will be unfastened from  its engine, and will come to a
stop. But Christianity itself has moved on by a divine
energy; it has advanced against all calculations of probabilities, and only by conflict.  Its life has been through death.
That life has been in God, and from God.  It must be so
still, and He only can assure us of its continuance, or predict
its range.
The future can be known by us only in two ways-either
from the experience of the past, or from the promise or prediction of one who has it under his control. These grounds
are quite distinct, and may seem, and be, opposed to each
other.  The prediction of a final conflagration and general
judgment, is in opposition to all experience. In such cases,
there is a conflict between the evidence for the permanence
of the present system and the truth of the promise. This
has sometimes been called a conflict between reason and
faith, but is really only a question for reason, of evidence
and of fact; and it is not difficult to show, on grounds of
reason, that confidence in the word of a moral being who
can control the future, must be a firmer basis of belief than
any experience of the past can be.  Only admit that there is
a God, and that this universe is controlled for moral ends, as




17
it must be if he be God, and it will be seen at once, from
the very nature of the element of experience, that it must be
as nothing when opposed to the word of God, and that there
can, therefore, be no conflict between faith and reason, respecting any of the great facts of the future, revealed in the Bible.
What is it for a particular order in a material system to come
to an end? Another, and a better order may succeed it; but
if the truth of God fail, that is a subversion *of all foundations, and an end of all order, physical and moral. Hence
the promise of God is rationally the firmest ground on which
confidence can rest; and it is precisely and only on this that
we do rest in our belief that this world shall be given to
Christ.  Me believe the promise; and belief in a promise,
from confidence in the promiser, is faith.
This brings us to consider, finally, the principle of action
which must sustain those, and especially missionaries, who
labor to make this religion universal-Faith in the promise.
The labors and trials of the missionary are peculiar. This
is not, as is often supposed, because he must leave friends
and country, and break up cherished associations, and go and
dwell among a strange, a heathen, and a degraded people.
Others do this, and in great numbers, from the love of gain.
His great trial is, when he has reached a heathen shore, in
giving himself there, during the best years of his life, with
no hope of any thing but a bare support, in singleness of
heart, with earnestness, with diligence, with watchfulness and
prayer, in the midst of apathy, ignorance, low vice, suspicion
and opposition, to the work of enlightening and saving a
people whom he knows only as the children of a common
Father, and as those for whom Christ died. To do this, is
not of nature unrenewed. It requires the support, not merely
of a high aim, but of a divine principle.; and such is faith.
Here faith is regarded not merely as a ground of belief,
nor yet in its relations to a mode of justification by God, but
3




18
as a principle of' action.  Being not simply belief, but confidence, and belief only from confidence, it takes hold of the
emotive nature, and so may become a principle of action.
Being confidence in God, it may become the strongest, the
deepest, the most pervading, as well as the most rational
principle by which we can be moved.  This is needed, not
by missionaries only. It has been, and is, distinctively, the
religious principle-the source of strength and endurance to
the whole church.  This, as was just said, is a divine principle.  It is apart from all others; it may be opposed to
them.  It does not judge by sense, or by past experience.
Let its warrant be clear, and it knows nothing of difficulties
or impossibilities. It says, "With God all things are possible." If called upon to step out of the ship into the water,
it will step out. It believes in a God who is mightier than
nature; and hence its range of expectation is not limited by
nature, and it can believe in future events, and labor for
fiture consummations, of which nature and experience can
furnish no ground of expectation. Hence, too, to those who
judge from nature and experience only, its projects must
seem madness, its hope delusive, and its labors inexplicable.
By those of them who condescend to notice it at all, it is
looked upon with a pity, sometimes wondering, but oftener
derisive.  This antagonism  has always existed, and always
will. But faith holds on its way, and the mockers die, and
the great plans of God, of which they never had even a
glimpse, move on. This is no untried principle. At the
opening of the old dispensation, in connection with the very
promise referred to in the text, God purposely laid upon it a
stress and a pressure that tested its power. " By faith, Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he
should afterwards receive for an inheritance, obeyed, and he
went out, not knowing whither he went."  " By faith, when
he was tried, he offered up Isaac, and he that had received
the promises offered up his only begotten son, of whom it




19
was said, that in Isaac shall thy seed be called."  "He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief, but was
strong in faith, giving glory to God."   "By faith," also,
"Moses," the head of the Jewish dispensation, "esteemed
the reproaches of Christ greater riches than the treasures of
Egypt, and endured as seeing Him who is invisible."  c" By
faith, the Israelites passed through the Red Sea;" by faith
the ancient worthies performed their wonders.  Nor has this
principle lost its power under the new dispensation.  It supported the Apostles as it did Abraham. It sustained the
martyrs.  It carried Luther to the Diet of Worms.  It led
our Pilgrim  Fathers across the ocean; and when modern
missionaries have gone out, like Abraham, into some place
which the church should afterwards receive for an inheritance, not knowing whither they went, they have gone by
faith. And so they go now, thus honoring the Lord Jesus,
and giving the best possible testimony to the value of that
salvation which he came to bring. No, this principle has
not lost its power; it never can lose it while God lives, and
mall is his child.
Having thus considered the points proposed, I ask you to
notice their remarkable combination in the text.  We have
here, not only the promise of a universal religion, so wonderful; and its freeness by which it is fitted to become universal,
not less wonderful; and the promise as the sole basis of our
expectation, putting this religion wholly aside from nature
and above it; but in our labors to make this religion universal, we have the impulse and strength of that very confidence
by which the promise was originally accepted, and by which
we ourselves accepted of a free salvation.
From  this subject I observe, first, that the object of the
missionary is the noblest that can* call forth the energies of
man.  Some labor solely for pay., These are hirelings.
Some, again, labor from the inspiration of the idea they




would realize., It is in them as a fire in their bones, and if
it be a moral one, they are moulded into its image. Such are
artists, patriots, philanthropists, heroes; and of the kind of
inspiration that is in all these, there can be no more perfect
example than the true missionary. His object is wider in its
range, and more beneficial in its results, than any other.
Men labor for civil liberty and human rights, but a thorough
religious revolution and renovation would involve such individual, as well as social and civil changes, as would secure
all the rights and the highest well-being of man.  Let there
but be the spiritual regeneration of all into the image of one
who represents a perfect manhood; let there be the mutual
attractions which must flow from  such a similarity; let there
be the subjection of all to the same moral laws, and the union
of all in love to the same common Saviour, and the best purposes of all revolutions would be reached. Society would
be moulded into the image of heaven.
We see, in the second place, that the missionary work is
not chimerical, and the certainty of the ultimate triumph of
the religion of the Bible.
This idea of a universal religion, as we have seen, origi-.
nated with God; its realization was foretold by his prophets
in the darkest hours; it was adopted by the Saviour; was
made by him a purpose and a command; and we have reason
to believe, fiom the movements of Providence, and from the
fact that the religious nature is central in man, that this is the
central idea in the administration of the world.  Nothing
short of this has'ever been proposed by the church of Christ;
and now, when she is awake to it as but once before, how
grandly does the voice of the old promise, that has bided its
time for four thousand years, mingle itself with the expectations
and hopes of an awakening race, with the portents of change,
and with those movements of Providence which have been of
late, and are now as the sound of a going in the tops of the
mulberry trees.




21
Only when the time is ripe, do great events spring from
little causes. It is but fifty-one years ago, that a few young
men knelt in prayer for the heathen, beside a haystack. As
their prayers ceased, the sun, which had been hidden by a
passing storm, shone forth, and the bow of promise spanned
the eastern sky.  It was the token of God upon the cloud.
From that day to this, his smile has rested on the cause. It
is less than fifty years since the American Board, of which
that meeting was the germ, was formed, and now it may be
said of its missionary stations, as has been said of the military posts of Great Britain, that the sun never sets upon
them. As he rises in the farthest East, he beholds them,
first, in China, then in India, then in Persia, then in the
Turkish empire, then in Western Afiica, then among the
Indians on this continent, then in the Sandwich Islands, and
then in Micronesia; thus belting the globe.  Not by the
drum-beat, calling to arms, are his morning beams welcomed
at all these stations; but by the voice of prayer, and the
proclamation of "peace on earth, good-will to men."  Every
where those walls of exclusion which, fifty years ago, rose to
the very heavens, are prostrate. Every where there is a
feeling of unrest, and of indefinite yearning, and the moral
and social elements of a world wait the plastic hand of a pure
Christianity. The period of those dispersions by which
relations were sundered, is now past. The divergency was
not, as it seemed, in straight lines, but upon a globe, and in
a circle which now tends to its completion. The tendency
to unity through science, the arts, and commerce, as well as
through missionary labors, is not less remarkable than the
original tendency to dispersion. The nations are fast nearing
a point of intercommunication and reciprocal influence,
where that which is effete must be swept away, and that
which is artificial must be destroyed; and the feebler moral
forces must give way before those which have an undying
life from nature and from God. Towards this point there




22
has been a tendency from the beginning. The movement
has indeed been slow, and not such as man would have
expected; but it has been analogous to the great movements
of God in his providence and in his works. So, if we may
credit the geologists, has this earth reached its present state.
So have moved on the great empires. So retribution follows
crime. So rise the tides. So grows the tree, with long
intervals of repose and of apparent death. So comes on the
spring, with battling elements and frequent reverses, with
snow-banks and violets, and, if we had no experience, we
might be doubtful what the end would be. But we know
that back, of all this, beyond these fluctuations, away in the
serene heavens, the sun is moving steadily on; that these
very agitations of the elements and seeming reverses, are not
only the sign, but the result of his approach, and that the
full warmth and radiance of the summer noontide are sure to
come. So, 0 Divine Redeemer, Sun of Righteousness, come
thou! So will He come. It may be through clouds and
darkness and tempest; but the heaven where HIe is, is
serene; He is " travelling in the greatness of his strength;"
and as surely as the throne of God abides, we know He shall
yet reach the height and splendor of the highest noon, and
that the light of millennial glory shall flood the earth.
WVho then is in sympathy with Christ? What are we
willing to do to help forward this great cause?












i:ELIGIOUS TEACHIING AND WOHRSHIP.
A
SERMON,
PREACHED AT THE
DEDICATION OF THE NEW CHAPEL,
CONNECTED WITH
WILLIAMS COLLEGE.
SEPT, 22, 1859.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
President of the College.
BOSTON:
PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN & SON, 42 CONGRESS STREET.
1859.




NOTE.
THIE views presented in this Discourse are in accordance with the
views of the Trustees of the College, upon the importance of discussing
the truths of revelation, as well as the principles of science.
The President was requested to preach the Dedication Sermon himself,
and to make the religious teaching in the College the principal topic.
EMERSON DAVIS,
Chairman of Committee.
At a meeting of Graduates of the College, held in Alumni Hall immediately after the Dedication of the new Chapel, it was unanimously
voted to request a copy of the Discourse, delivered on that occasion, for
publication.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859,
BY T. R. MARVIN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




SER ION.
MATTHEW VII. 25.
AND IT FELL NOT; FOR IT WAS FOUNDED UPON A ROCK.
A ROCK is the emblem  of stability.  The winds
sweep over it; the waters glide past it; the sands
shift around it; the tree by it grows and decays;
the boy looks upon it, and passes into life, and
fights its battles, and returns with white locks and
a feeble step, and there it remains unchanged.
Relatively to all things around it, it seems to be,
and it is, stable. And yet, emblem though it be of
stability, it is not itself really stable. It is not so
in fact, or as related to forces that may act upon it.
In common with the earth, of which it is a part, it
has a motion far more rapid than a cannon ball,
and there are known forces that can heave, and
rend, and fuse every rock on the surface of the
globe, or within its depths.
What, then, is that which is really stable, and of
which a rock is the emblem? It is God, and his
purposes.  "He is the Rock," He only.  With
Him  there is " no variableness, neither shadow of
turning."  He is " the same yesterday, to-day, and
forever."  All matter is fluent.  So far as we




4
know, or have reason to   ieve, there is not a
particle of it in the universe that is not in motion;
and aside fiom  God, and independent of Him,
it has no permanent existence.  He created and
upholds it, and it is entirely flexible and plastic
in his hands; while He abides forevermore. As
saith the Scripture, "Of old hast thou laid the
foundation of the earth; and the heavens are the
work of thine hands. They shall perish, but thou
shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a
garment; as a vesture shalt. thou change them,
and they shall be changed: but thou art the same,
and thy years shall have no end." "He is the
Rock."  He " only hath immortality," that is, hath
within himself, and in virtue of his own original
mode of being, a permanent, undecaying, and unchanging existence.
But the purposes of God are as unchangeable as
his being. "He is in one mind, and who can turn
him? and what his soul desireth, even that- he
doeth,."  "For I," says he, "am  the Lord; I
change not." " His way is perfect," and therefore
unchangeable; but this is the result of his purposes. The reasons on which these are based, can
never be seen in a new light, and so they cannot
change.  As the purposes of God grow out of his
perfections, while those perfections abide, his purposes must abide also.
In these purposes of God, so far as we can ascertain them, we find a test of wisdom in all arrangements of men in their individual concerns, and in
all founding and ordering of public institutions.




Whatever there is in the purposes and work of any
of God's creatures, that coincides with his purposes
and work, will be wrought into that structure which
God is rearing, and will stand; and whatever does
not coincide with those purposes will not stand.
It will be counterworked, will end in disaster, and
be buried in oblivion.  The works of man, originated in his own wisdom, and conducted for his own
ends, may seem to prosper for a time. They may
go up, as did the tower of Babel, but they shall not
inherit the ages; God will send confusion upon
them, and they shall cease, and perish forever. He
therefore, and he only, is wise, who intends to work,
and does work, both in accordance with those purposes, and in furtherance of them.
It is true, indeed, that there is a sense in which
all things are included in the divine purposes; and
to reconcile this with the free-agency and responsibility of man, has been the labor of many. This
we shall not attempt here. For all practical'purposes, the view of God and his government given
in the parable of the tares, is the true one. The
husbandman sowed wheat. It was his purpose to
raise'wheat. An enemy sowed tares. Here was
something not at all so in accordance with his purpose as was the sowing of the wheat-something
to be in some way counteracted. For a wise reason, he suffered the tares to grow with the wheat
till the harvest. Then they were gathered together
into bundles to be burned. So it is now. There
is wheat, and there are tares; they grow together.
The purpose of God is the growth and harvesting of




6
the wheat. In these he permits us to aid, and in
this, and this only, is there wisdom. The wheat
shall be gathered into the garner and be preserved;
the tares shall be burned.
The purposes of God are indicated in the structure of his works; in his providence; and in his
word; and these conspire in showing that man was
made for religion. Aside from the word of God;
aside from history, which is, or ought to be, but a
record of his providence, and the philosophy of
which will always show a religious purpose, there
can be no fair analysis of man that will not give the
religious powers as deeper and more radical than
any others. It is not, therefore, more obvious that
the eyes were made for seeing, or the feet for walking, than that God intended that the relation of
man to himself, should be his great and central
and all-harmonizing relation; and that man should
know, and love, and worship, and obey Him. For
these man has capacities, these are the highest uses
to which those capacities can be put, and the highest use to which a capacity can be put, is always
that for which God intended it. But to know, and
love, and worship, and obey God, is to be religious.
These are the whole of religion. We may, indeed,
say that the whole of religion is to know and love
God; but from these, worship and obedience emanate as light from the sun, and are so inseparable
from them, that they may well be mentioned as its
constituent parts.
We cannot then be mistaken in supposing that
we are working in accordance with the purposes of




God, and with Him, in doing what we may to lead
men to know, and love, and worship, and obey
him. It is the business of education in its broadest
sense, excluding all that is professional, and regarding man solely as man-that is, of a liberal, in
distinction from a professional education —to form
man to be all that God intended he should be; or,
at least, to go as far towards this as is possible. If
this work is beyond the reach of education alone,
and the aids of his own Spirit and grace are needed
for its accomplishment, then must we recognize the
necessity of such aids, we must seek them, and
work in harmony with them..That this: is'the true view of education, seems
self-evident when it is stated. It simply implies
that God intended that man should be all he ought
to be. It is only thus that man can work in harmony with God. Expressed in a different form, by
those who do not care to recognize:God, this is
really at the basis of all those great changes and
simplifications which have been made in the theory
of government, in political economy, in the treatment of disease, and in vital and social problems
generally, by the system of what is called "letting
alone," or "trusting to:nature;" implying that
there are ends. proposed in nature, and that towards
those ends there are tendencies and movements
which'it is the great business:of practical wisdom
to: recognize and aid.; To deny that.God has a
purpose and agency in this matter, would be atheism.. But if He has, and we cannot know what
that purpose is, there can never be a perfect system




of education.  The formative agencies would be
discrepant, and the result disastrous. But if we
can know that it is the purpose of God to bring
men, with faculties enlarged and trained, through
the knowledge of himself, through love and worship
and obedience, into conformity with himself, and
so into right relations with all their fellow creatures,
then we may be sure that any institution which
shall really accomplish this, or aid in it, will be
founded upon a rock, and will stand.
This general purpose we wish it to be the object
of this College to promote.  This is the grand,
comprehensive, ultimate object at which we would
aim. Nor, in our view of it, would this restrict at
all the course of liberal study, but would rather
enlarge it. We believe that all scientific knowledge, and all knowledge that ought to enter into a
course of liberal study, has a tendency to lead men
to God. Let the eye be but purged, and it will do
this; and then, the relations of men to God being
rightly adjusted, we believe that those of men
to each other will fall into harmony of their own
accord.
Of the four constituents of religion mentioned
above, knowledge is a necessary condition, but may
exist by itself without religion; while the other
three are essential elements. Of these, love and
obedience are wholly individual and personal.
Being inward and spiritual, they must come from
the affections and will of each individual by an act
in which no one else can have any share, or, the
conditions being given, can render any aid. In




9
these indispensable, greatest, and most central elements of religion, each individual must be wholly
by himself before God. But in gaining a knowledge
of God and of religion, we may be aided by others;
and worship may be social, and we may be aided
in that. In short, in gaining knowledge, and in
worship, we may make use of means, while love
and obedience are simple acts that do not, strictly
speaking, admit of means. Accordingly, provision
can be made in our public institutions not strictly
for religion in its essence, but only for teaching,
and for worship; and the simple question is, what
this provision shall be. And first, of teaching.
So far as teaching is concerned, this question
has chief relation to revealed theology. In many,
perhaps the most, of our higher institutions, some
treatise on Natural Theology is studied.  Often
there is a lesson in the Greek Testament Monday
morning, or in Biblical Geography. Perhaps the
Evidences of Christianity are studied; but when the
question is, whether the inquiry shall be raised in
the class-room what Christianity is, and whether,
in their connections with that, the highest and
deepest questions which connect themselves with
human life and God's government shall be there
discussed, there is a difference of opinion.
Practically, there has been a great change on this
point. Originally, education was almost wholly
under the auspices of religion, and its institutions
were founded chiefly for the purpose of raising up
a learned as well as a godly ministry. Very different from the present, both in direct teaching, and in




10
their modes of interpenetration, must have been
the general relation of education and religion when
such laws as the following, once those of Harvard
College, could have been adopted.
" Every one shall consider the main end of his
life and studies, to know God and Jesus Christ,
which is eternal life."
"Seeing the Lord giveth wisdom, every one shall
seriously, by prayer in secret, seek wisdom of
Him."
(" Every one shall so exercise himself in reading
the Scriptures twice a day, that they be ready to
give an account of their proficiency therein, both
in theoretical observations of language, in logic,
and, in practical and spiritual truths, as their Tutor
shall require, according to their several abilities
respectively, seeing the entrance of the word giveth
light," and when the only literary condition of
receiving the first degree was that the scholar " is
found able to read the original of the Old and New
Testament into the Latin tongue, and to resolve
them logically."*
Since that time the tendency has been to separate
the teachings and discussions of the class-room from
religion. This has arisen partly from, the larger
number of those having in view other callings than
the ministry who have sought a liberal education,
and from the feeling that young men generally
could not be interested in the discussion of the
higher questions of theology; partly from the great
number of new and exciting subjects requiring to
* Quincy's History of Harvard College, pp. 515 and 517.




be taught; and partly from multiplied differences
of religious opinion in the community, inducing a
fear of the imputation of sectarianism. And this
has gone on, till now, in the course of study published by some of' our higher institutions, not a
vestige of instruction distinctively religious is left.
In the latter part of the last century, the Westminster Catechism was studied in Yale College,
and was transferred from there here; for eight out
of thirteen of the first Trustees of this College were
graduates of Yale. At what time it was discontinued there I do not know, but here it has remained, and has always furnished, and does now, the
regular exercise for the Senior Class every Saturday
forenoon. So far as I know, we are alone in retaining this, or any thing analogous, in the course of
college instruction; and most persons are surprised
when it is stated that it is so retained.
Are we then wrong. If not, by what principle
are we to be guided?
It is now conceded, that a college course should
have chief relation to man as man, and so is to
be the common basis and preparation for all the
professions. Theology may not, therefore, be studied in College professionally, but only as a part
of a liberal education. May it be thus studied?
We think it not only may, but ought to be. A
liberal education, it will be remembered, is the
training of man to be what God intended he should
be. Unless this deep and serious view is retained,
the business of education will degenerate into a
mere trade. Men will cease to work with God




12
and for Him, and will work for money. But aside
from this view, in saying what we do, we do not
place Theology on ground different from that of
the other professions, or of the studies generally.
No man has a culture truly liberal, who is not
acquainted with the general principles, and great
outlines, of all the departments of knowledge.
Between these, and the knowledge needed by the
professional man, the line is sufficiently distinct,
and these it is the business of the college course
to give. Thus we do not teach a' man to be a
physician, but we do teach Anatomy and Physiology-and these lie at the basis of medical practice-so far as to give a general knowledge of
the human frame, of its place in the scale of God's
works, and of the mode of preserving health. We
do not teach men to be lawyers, but we do teach
them the Constitution of the United States, giving
them a knowledge of the institutions under which
they live, and involving the general principles of
law; and gladly would we have, as the Institution
had in its early history, a course of Lectures on
those principles, or have studied, as there formerly
was, a book (Vattell) on the Law of Nations. We
do not teach men to be engineers, but we teach
them the Mathematics by which they may become
so. We do not make men specialists, of any kind;
but we teach the outlines, and' general principles,
which give comprehension and guidance in all
specialties, and we see no good reason why religion
should be an- exception.
But while we see no good reason why religion




13
should be an exception, we see strong ones why
it should not. Among these are the relation of religious truths to other truths; and to the human
mind.
These, that is, religious truths, are the high table
lands. Here arise the great rivers of thought and
of influence. Here are the mysteries, and though
we may not find the head of the Nile, yet hither
must our explorations tend, and in this direction
must our approximations be found. To deep thinkers, all other speculations, severed from those that
are religious, must seem fragmentary and inadequate.
But it is chiefly from their relation to the human
mind, as stimulating and formative, that religious
truths are demanded as a part of a liberal education.
If education is to be superficial, to consist of accomplishments, and information, and of what can be
given by others, then these truths may be dispensed
with. But if the human soul has capacities to be
reverently approached and drawn out, and the best
education is in that; if reflection is to be induced;
if the problems of human destiny are to be wrestled
with; if its latent powers and highest affinities are
to be aroused; if the great deep of an immortal
nature is to be stirred and heaved from  centre to
circumference, so that the deep that is in man shall
call back to the infinite depths there are in the
universe and in God; then we must have the power,
quickening and formative, of religious truth. It is
only heavenly bodies that these deep tidal waves
obey. Men may refine, and file, and polish as they




14
will; they may cry out Enthusiasm! Fanaticism!
Nineteenth Century! to their heart's content; but
if they construct a system  of education that shall
ignore the highest powers and the deepest wants of
man, they may set themselves apart in their own
niches, quiet it may be, and the forces and movements of' society will rise and roar around them, and
sweep by them, but with their origin or direction
they will have little to do. What we wish is a
system of education that shall first be true to our
nature, and then in full and living sympathy with
the times.
But can there be such teaching without fostering
a spirit' of sectarianism and of bigotry? If not, it
ought not to be. Here, however, it must be observed, that sectarianism has more than one basis; and
that the chief one is not doctrines, but rites, and
forms, and modes of organization and government;
and attention to these would not be required by the
objects of a college course. It is in these latter
that we find the whole difference and ground of
separation between Congregationalists, Presbyterians, Episcopalians and Baptists. I say, the whole
difference, because there is no doctrine, properly
such, held by either as a test, which would exclude
a man from any of the others. So far, then, there
would be no objection.
But even if there be a difference in doctrine, it
would be sad if a teacher may not so understand
his position as to deal fairly with the human mindif he may not introduce young men to subjects
pertaining to God and immortality, and infinity,




15
without being a partisan. Let perfect freedom of
questioning and discussion be, as it always has
been here, by me at least, not only conceded, but
encouraged, and there will be little danger that
young men, most of them past their majority, with
good native powers and trained minds, will be
unduly biased.
The truth is, that through revealed religion we
best approach the deepest and most vital problems
of life-those which belong to all ages and to men
every where, whether Christian or heathen, and in
the presence of which every thoughtful man must
at some time stand. These problems revelation
solves in its own way, and there is no higher task
for reason than to find its own limits in connection
with these problems, and to reconcile the solutions
of revelation with its own independent laws and
processes. In this, some diversity of views must
be expected; but why should not the teacher and
the pupil view Niagara together, and calculate its
height, and the mass of its waters, though they may
differ as to their source, or the origin of the precipice over which they fall?  The interest and power
of education must depend on the interest and power
of the subjects with which it deals, and no man can
feel greatly indebted to his education, or his teacher,
who has not found some great want of his nature
met, and received aid at the points of severest
struggle. And is a liberal education to be deprived
of its grandest inspiration, is its whole field to be
swept of its mysteries and its sublimities, and left
to utilities, so called, and to prettinesses, because




16
of our distrust of each other, and especially because of the objections of those whose distrust of
individual men is generally in proportion to their
profession of belief in the goodness of the race?
We trust not.
As has been said, this instruction was continued
here in the form in which it was commenced.
When it became my duty to enter upon it, it was
with no little misgiving; but I now wish to add the
testimony of experience to the views already expressed, and to say, that no study under my charge,
and with one or two exceptions I have generally
heard all those of the Senior year, has been attended to with an interest either as deep or as general
as this. In proof of what is thus said, it may not
be amiss for me to confirm the statement recently
made, though by no agency of mine, in the public
prints, that the classes have, not once, or twice, or
thrice, but frequently, requested that they might
have an hour and a half instead of an hour for
this recitation. This, with any power of teaching
I may possess, I will venture to say never could
have occurred in any other study.
Thus encouraged, we hope that what has been,
will continue to be. And we hope this the more,
because, by the munificence and wise foresight of
Mr. Jackson, a Professorship of Christian Theology
has been recently established in this College. It
was indeed the view of Mr. Jackson, that those
who should desire to study Theology professionally,
without going through the course prescribed by
the Seminaries, should have the opportunity of




17
doing so here. This opportunity will be given,
as we may be able; but it was also with his full
consent and concurrence, that the President was
appointed on his foundation, and that its avails
should go, in part, to sustain and extend the religious instruction already given in the College.
Thus, while we would welcome every new science,
we would not discard the old; we would not, under
the guise of progress and enlargement, bring in
restriction and diminution; while we rejoice in the
progress of physical investigation, whilei we are
doing what we can, and mean to do much to enlarge
our means of instruction in this direction, we would
yet preserve the balance; we would not mar the
circle; we do not believe that the votaries of physical science'are the only people, and that wisdom
would die with them;' and however high they may
pile the mountains of their own department, we
would say to them, and cause it to be felt, that
"there be higher than they."
Having thus spoken of religious knowledge,
which is the first great object to which this house
is to be set apart, and which it represents, we now
turn to the second, which is worship. This is
higher than knowledge, because knowledge is for
worship. Worship is no unmeaning form repeated
by habit, and capable of coalescing with wickedness, or of being commuted for it; it is no blind or
mystic impression of awe, engendered by superstition and heightened by craft; it is no mixture of
religious emotions with those of art; but has its
3




18
basis in a rational apprehension of the attributes of
a personal, invisible, and holy God. It can be truly
performed only by one who is in the image of God,
both in nature and in character, and implies the
highest possible recognition of his perfections and
complacency in them. It is, therefore, the highest
act of the creature; and the question is, What aid
can be rendered in this act?
And here I observe, that the highest worship may
exist with no external aid. The centre and essence
of all worship implies a recognition of the personality and holiness of God; and in the discussion
of this subject we are never to forget that without
this there can be no worship. A pantheist cannot
worship; and the moment there is a tendency towards pantheism, worship is enervated, and mysticism and sentimentalism set in. But this recognition of the personality and moral attributes of God
must take place in the depths of the soul, and can
have no relation to place, or to any qualities or
combinations of matter. These, if attractive, as in
the fine arts, may be unfavorable, and accordingly
we find that private devotion, where every thing of
this kind is excluded, is especially mentioned by
Christ as acceptable to God. There is no higher
worship than that which may be rendered by him
who enters into his closet, and shuts the door.
But this, it will be said, is private worship,
and we are speaking of that which is social and
public. We say, then, that there may be the
highest and best social and public worship-if
there be but adequate means of expression



19
without any thing addressed to the eye, or the
taste, to produce an impression. If not, how ought
we to pity the Christians of the first two centuries, who had no paintings, or sculpture, or
architecture, or artistic music, to aid them in their
worship? How should we pity the poor in their
log cabins, refined and devoted though they may
be, in their family devotions? How those whom, in
all ages, persecution has driven into mountains and
caves, whence their prayers and their songs have
gone up? Is it not enough that man should reject
and persecute them, but will God too avert, or half
avert, his face, because they are poor and persecuted
for his Name's sake? Nay, verily. If there is worship any where that is acceptable, if there is prayer
any where that enters into the ears of the Lord of
Sabaoth, it is from these. Strange indeed would it
be, if He who waters the whole earth from the
heavens, making no special conduit that he gives
in charge to any, who causes the springs to burst
forth from every hill-side, who hears the young
ravens when they cry, who, though he dwells in the
high and holy place, dwells also with him that is
of a contrite and humble spirit, strange if He should
find it necessary to wait for his childen to paint
pictures, and carve statuary, and frame musical instruments, and build cathedrals, bbefore he could
dwell with them, or they could love and adore Him
with the fullest acceptance.
But are there no aids to worship? Yes, precisely
as there are to music, or rather to musical feeling;
and they are social in the same way. For every




20
thing emotional there are negative conditions that
are not directly aids, yet indispensable. There must
be nothing to distract the attention; and the mind
must be in a right tone. These being given, emotion expressed by an individual will communicate
itself' to others; and the expression of it by a multitude will react upon the individual. In these two
statements we have the whole philosophy of this
subject. The influence is vital, and not mechanical.
Life is from life; and all life is originally from the
Living One. As fire kindles fire, as the musical
power in another that is superior to ours quickens
our power, as the volume of sound from many voices
reacts upon us solely because there is in it music
expressed, so do the superior devotion of another
and the united devotions of many, and they only,
quicken our devotion. It is worship expressed
that aids worship, and nothing else.
On this whole subject of worship, as connected
with the fine arts, entire coincidence of opinion
and feeling are not to be expected. The slowness
of man to apprehend God as a spirit; his aversion
to his character as holy; the tendency to substitute
aesthetical emotions for true worship; the disturbing, and often capricious influence of association
and habit; and the complexity of those emotions
which may be associated, perhaps blended, with a
true worship, are such, that men will often mistake
their own position and feelings, and misjudge those
of others. Still, if a man say that he can worship
God better by means of architecture, that is, of
matter in the form of a building, he might well be




21
asked how he would answer the man who should
say that he could worship God better by means of
matter in the form of an idol. Certain it is, if
God is to be worshiped, that it must be in the
apprehension of his own attributes; certain it is,
that as our conceptions of Him as a person become
more distinct; as the glories of his holiness and
mercy are more revealed; as ideas distinctively
Christian, such as repentance, faith, obedience and
love, become more immanent and controlling, every
thing pertaining to art must either wholly disappear, or dwindle more and more, till we reach that
direct and pure worship of heaven in which it is
more than intimated that no aid of this kind can
come in. "And I saw," says John, "no temple
therein; for the Lord God Almighty, and the
Lamb, are the temple of it."
It is with views like these that we desire and
propose, on this occasion, in the name of the Trustees and Faculty of the College, of the Alumni
and Donors who have contributed to its erection,
to dedicate this house to the service of Almighty
God, to be used for religious teaching, with the
fullest proclamation and encouragement of the
right of private judgment; and for the worship
of God in spirit and in truth.
The building to be thus set apart will be the
third Chapel used by the College. The first was
in the south end of the second and third stories of
the West College. That was used till September 2d,
1828. At that time, the Chapel in the building




22
opposite was dedicated. That building was erected through the extraordinary zeal and labors of
Dr. Griffin. Besides the Chapel proper, it contained
a room for a Library, for a Cabinet, for the Philosophical Apparatus, and for Lectures. Also the
Conference Room, the Senior Recitation Room, a
room for the Libraries of the Societies, and a
Chemical Laboratory and Lecture Room; and was
supposed to contain provision for all the wants of
the College in these departments for many years, if
not for all time. But soon the Society Libraries
outgrew their quarters; then the Chemical department spread out into a wing; then the place for
the books of the College Library became too strait,
and they migrated to Lawrence Hall; and under
the command of Dr. Emmons, the older records of
the creation wheeled into their places. Then the
Seniors were obliged to swarm into the Conference
Room, and the classes, at prayers, to scatter themselves, which was never anticipated, about the
gallery of the Chapel, and finally, while other
reasons conspired, it was seen that the increasing
demands of Physical Science required that the
whole of that building, the Conference Room
excepted, should be given up for its illustration
and cultivation. In thus deciding we have not felt
that it would be turned aside from the general purpose for which it was erected, and we would now
use the language of Dr. Griffin, respecting it, and
say, "Let it be devoted to science as subservient to
the Redeemer's kingdom."
This having been decided, through the zeal and




23
generosity, and, in many cases, I may say, the
self-denial of the Alumni and other Friends of the
College, this building arose. We are thankful for
it, and for all there is in connection with it of
architecture and of beauty. It was intended to
have in it, and we think we have, as much of these
as our means would allow. Would there were
more. Because nature has done much for us, we
would not do the less. We would rather seek to
make what we do, respond to what she has done.
WTe value architecture in connection with education. We would invoke the spirit of beauty in
its every form. We think of that spirit as worthy
of heaven; we believe she descended thence; but
we remember that she has also been thrust down
and debased even to hell. We simply wish to give
everything its place. We do not think of architecture as a means, or direct aid of worship; nor
of the spirit of beauty as the Spirit of God.
From the form of this building its parts have a
relation that may be said to symbolize, not inaptly,
the proper relation of ideas and ends in a College.
In front, prominent and beautiful, is the Chapel,
which represents the great ideas of religious instruction and worship. Separate from this, yet
connected by the tower and spire, heaven-ward
pointing for both, are the rooms for the instruction
of the two upper classes; and over these, united
with each and all, is the Alumni Hall. So, through
worship and instruction, religious and secular, but
both pointing to heaven, would we raise our Alumni
to their own place, and send them thence into the
world.




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Of this whole building it may be said literally,
that it is founded upon a Rock; for there was not
a stone in its foundation, that did not reach the
rock. In this respect, we trust and believe, that it
is a symbol of the Institution itself. So the providence of God would seem to indicate, for the rains
have descended, and the winds have blown, and
beat upon it, but it still stands firmer than ever.
And if those who shall control it shall but order it
in accordance with the purposes of God, if they
shall respect the great laws and wants of mind, as
modified by the changes of society, we know that
it shall be founded upon a rock, and shall not fall.
So may it be. To this beautiful valley may young
men, ingenuous and aspiring, continue to come.
Here may there be known those joys of a student's
life that leave no sting, and no stain. Here may
health mantle the cheek; here strength and beauty
blend in the character. Here, O here, may the
Spirit of God descend, and the Saviour be found,
and the love of self be overmastered, and Christians learn to " stand up for Jesus," and to stand
by each other.  Hence may all go forth well
equipped for service in life; and especially, as
heretofore, may they go, whose "feet shall be
beautiful upon the mountains" of heathendom,
who shall "publish salvation."