w \r ^

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

{./

^ A

r/-

[ I.I

11.25

£ Itt 12.0

U II 1.6

(?>.

^>.

Photographic

^Sciences

Corporalion

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO

(716) 672-4503

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICIVIH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

Technical and Bibliographic Notas/IMotes techniques et bibliographiques

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Features of this
copy which may be bibliographicaily unique,
which may alter any of the images in the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checked below.

Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur

I I Covers damaged/

Couverture endommagie

Covers restored and/or laminated/
Couverture restaur6e et/ou peilicuiAe

Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

I I Coloured maps/

Cartes g6ographiques en couleur

□ Coloured inic (i.e. other than blue or black)/
Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire)

r~~| Coloured plates and/or illustrations/

Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur

Bound with other material/
Reiii avec d'autres documents

Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
along interior margin/

La re liure serr6e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge intArieure

Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever possible, these
have been omitted from filming/
11 se peut que certaines pcges blanches ajouties
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte,
mais, iorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas 6t6 fiimies.

Additional comments:/
Commentaires suppl6mentaires;

L'Instltut a microfiimi le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a AtA possible de se procurer. Les details
de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du
point de vue bibiiographique. qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite. ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la methods normale de filmage
sont indiqufo ci-dessous.

□ Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur

□ Pages damaged/
Pages endommagies

□ Pages restored and/or laminated/
P

Pages restaur6es et/ou peliicuites

Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages d6color6es, tacheties ou piquAes

□ Pages detached/
Pages ditachies

Showthrough/

2l1 Transparence

I Quality of print varies/

— I Quality in^gale de I'impression

I Includes supplementary material/

— I Comprend du materiel supplimentaire

— I Only edition available/
I Seule Mition disponible

Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
slips, tissues, etc., have been ref limed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure,
etc.. ont M fiim^es A nouveau de fafon d
obtenir la meilleure image possible.

The c(
to the

The in
possit
of the
filmini

Origin
begini
the lat
sion, «
other
first p
sion, i
or illui

The la
shall <
TINUI
which

IViaps,
differ!
entire
begini
right i
requir
meth<

This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/

Ce document est fiimA au taux de rMuction indiquA ci-dessous

10X 14X 18X 22X

26X

30X

12X

16X

2DX

24X

28X

32X

laire
8 details
ques du
It modifier
(iger una
a fiimaga

The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanics
to the generosity of:

National Library of Canada

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

L'exemplaire filmA fut reproduit grAce k la
g6n6rosit6 de:

BibliothAque nationale du Canada

Las Images suivantes ont 4t4 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at
de la nettetA de l'exemplaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conditions du contrat de
fiimaga.

i/
luAes

Original copies In printed paper covers are filmed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All
other original copies are filmed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.

Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est imprim6e sont film6s en commen9ant
par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la
dernlAre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'iiiustration, soit par le second
plat, salon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires
originaux sont filmis en commenpant par la
premidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'iiiustration et en terminant par
la dernlAre page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol —^ (meening "CON-
TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.

Un das symbolos suivants apparaltra sur la
dernlAre image de cheque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symbols — ► signifie "A SUIVRE". le
symbole y signifie "FIN".

aire

Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction ratios. Those too large to be
entirely included in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The following diagrams illustrate the
method:

Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc.. peuvent Atre
film6s A des taux de reduction diffArents.
Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre
reproduit en un seul clichA. il est fllmA A partir
de Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite.
et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre
d'imagas nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la mAthode.

by errata
ned to

lent

une pelure.

fapon A

1 2 3

32X

HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE

A Book for Young People^

JOHN TULLOCH, D.D.,

PRINCIPAL OF ST. MARV's COLLF.CB, gT. ANDKKW'S.

TORONTO:
BELFORDS, CLARKE & Co., PUBLISHERS.

MDCCCLXXIX.

COPYRIGHTED.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION,

PART L— BUSINESS.

I. WHAT TO DO,
.1. HOW TO DO IT,

PART II. STUDY.

I. HOW TO READ, .
II. BOOKS-— WHAT TO READ, .

PART III.— RECREATION.

I. HOW TO ENJOY, .
II. WHAT TO ENJOY.

PART IV.— RELIGION

I. IMPORTANCE OP RELIGION,
II. OBJECT OF KELIGIOF,

III. THE SUPERNATURAL,

IV. REVELATION, .
V. THE CHRISTIAN EVIDENCES,

VI. THE INDIRECT WITNESS, .
VII. THE DIRECT WITNESS,
VIII. THE INTERNAL WITNESS,
IX. WHAT TO BELIEVE,
X. WHAT TO AIM AT, .

CONCLUSION,

PAOC

7
. 28

. 45

. 65

io;j

J 20

141
147
162
173
178
183
198
257
^70
292

303

PREFACE TO NEW EDITION.

In this new edition of "How to Succeed in
Life," I have re-written entirely the part dealing
with the genuineness of the Gospels in the light
of the most recent criticism on the subject, and
especially the confident statements as to the
later origin of all the four Gospels made by the
author of "Supernatural Religion/' With no
pretensions to deal in such a volume with the
details of this author's argument, I think I have
pointed out sufficiently how little the course of
his argument affects the originality of the sub-
stantial evidence for ♦^he supernatural origin of
Christianity. Here, as throughout, I have
sought to state the case with perfect candour
and impartiality — in short, to take the reader
into my confidence, and (as I hope) to give him
some real assistance in coming to a right conclu-

PREFACE,

.'>ion. Dictation in such matters can do no good
on one side or the other. Every one who wishes
to have an intelligent opinion must look at the
facts so far for himself, and form his own judg-
ment. I have simply tried to help the young

reader in doing^this.

J.T.

INTRODUCTION.

opening man-
I mended itself

HERE is a charm '

hood which ha.^

to the imagination m every age.

The undefined hopes and promises

of the future — the dawning strength
of intellect — the vigorous flow of passion — the
very exchange of home ties and protected joys
for free and manly pleasures, give to this period
an interest and excitement unfelt, perhaps, at
any other. It is the beginning of life in the
sense of independent and self-supporting action.
Hitherto life has been to boys, as to girls, a
derivative and dependent existence — a sucker
from the parent growth- a home discipline

INTRODUCTION,

of authority and guidance and communicated
impulse. But henceforth it is a transplanted
growth of its own — a new and free power of
activity, in which the mainspring is no longer
authority or law from without, but principle or
opinion from within. The shoot which has been
nourished under the shelter of the parent stem,
and bent according to its inclination, is trans-
ferred to the open world, where of its own im-
pulse and character ib must take root, and grow
into strength, or sink into weakness and vice.

There is a natural pleasure in such a change.
The sense of freedom is always joyful, at least
at first. The mere consciousness of awakening
powers and prospective work touches with ela-
tion the youthful breast.

But to every right -hearted youth this time
must be also one of severe trial. Anxiety must
greatly dash its pleasure. There must be regrets
behind, and uncertainties before. The thought
of home must excite a pang even in the first
moments of freedom. Its glad shelter — its
kindly guidance — its very restraints, how dear
and tender must they seem in parting ! How
brightly must they shine in the retrospect as
the youth turns from them to the hardened and
unfamiliar face of the world ! With what a
sweet, sadly-cheering pathos must they linger
in the memory ! And then what chance and
hazard is there in his newly -gotten freedom)

INTRODUCTION,

What instincts of warning in its very novelty
and dim inexperience ! What possibilities otf
failure as well as of success in the unknown
future as it stretches before him I

Serious thoughts like these more frequently
underlie the careless neglect of youth than is
supposed. They do not shew themselves, or
seldom do; but they work deeply and quietly.
Even in the boy who seems all absorbed in
amusements or tasks there is frequently a secret
life of intensely serious consciousness which keeps
questioning with itself as to the meaning of what
is going on around him and what may be before
him — which projects itself into the future, and
rehearses the responsibilities and ambitions of
his career.

Certainly there is a grave importance as well
as a pleasant charm in the beginning of life.
There is awe as well as excitement in it, when
rightly viewed. The possibilities that lie in it
of noble or ignoble work — of happy self-sacrifice
or ruinous self-indulgence — the capacities in the
right use of which it may rise to heights of beau-
tiful virtue, in the abuse of which it may sink to
depths of debasing vice — make the crisis one of
fear as well as of hope, of sadness as well as of
joy. It is wistful as well as pleasing to think of
the young passing year by year into the world,
and engaging with its duties, its interests, and
temptations. Of the throng that struggle at the

4 INTRODUCTION.

gates of entrance, how many reach their ar/tici-
pated goal ? Carry the mind forward a few years,
and some have climbed the hills of difficulty and
gained the eminence on which they wished to
stand — some, although they may not have done
this, have yet kept their truth unhurt, their in-
tegrity unspoiled ; but others have turned back,
or have perished by the way, or fallen in weak-
ness of will, no more to rise again.

As we place ourselves with the young at the
opening gates of life, and think of the end from
the beginning, it is a deep concern more than
anything else that fills us. Words of earnest
argument and warning counsel rather than of
congratulation rise to our lips. The seriousness
outweighs the pleasantness of the prospect. The
following pages have sprung out of this feeling.
They deal with religion, and especially with the
difficulties of Christian faith at present ; they
venture to touch upon professional business and
its responsibilities ; they offer some counsels as to
study and books. The interests and occupation
of the writer have naturally led him to deal with
the first of these topics at most length. Faith
is the foundation of life ; religion of duty ; and
it is impossible to discuss either without respect
to the peculiar atmosphere of doubt in which we
live, and in which many of the young live even
more consciously than their elders. Yet there
Is nothing of elaborateness — of learning — or the

INTRODUCTION,

ritici-
>rears,
y and
ed to
: done
iir in-
back,
weak-

at the
d from
•e than
earnest
chan of
ousness
:t. The
feeling,
vith the
they
less and
lels as to
;upation
leal with
Faith
;y ; and
respect
hich we
live even
let there
>r the

pretence of learning, in these discussions. They
are designed as the free talk of a friend rather
than the disquisitions of a theologian. The
author has long thought over some of the
topics, and he should be glad if his thoughts
were useful to any who may be busy with the
same inquiries. Plain and unelaborate as they
are, they are not likely to interest any but those
who have some spirit of inquiry. If to such they
should prove at all " Aids to faith," their highest
purpose would be served.

Work away I
For the Master's eye is on lie,
Never off us, stili upon us,

Night and day!

Work away I
K*ep the busy fingers plying ;
Keep the ceaseless shuttles flying;:
See that never thread lie wroi;^ ;
Let not clash or clatter round us,
Sound of whirring wheels, con foiiod US :
Steady hand I let woof be strong
And firm, that has to last so long I

Work away I

Bring your axes, woodmen true ;
Smite the forest till the blue
Of Heaven's sunny eye looks thmupli
Every wide and tangled glade ;
Jungle swamp and tnicket shade

Give to-day I
O'er the torrents fling your bridget*,
Pioneers I Upon the ridges
Widen, siuootn the rocky stair —
They that follow, far behind,
Coming after us, will find
Surer, easier, footine there;
Heart to heart, and nand with hanvl,
From the dawn to dusk of day.

Work away !
Scouts upon tlie mountain's peak —
Ve that sec the Promised Land,
Hearten us I for ye can speak
Of the country ye have scanii'd.

Far away 1

Work away I
For the Father's eye is on us.
Never off us, still upon us,

Night and day I

Work AND PRAv!
Pray I and Work will be completer;
Work I and Prayer will be the sweeter
Love 1 and Prayer and Work the Hcctcr
Will ascend upon their way I

Live in Future as in Present ;
Work for both while yet the day
Is our own I for Lord and Peasant,
Long and bright as summer's day,
Cometh, yet more sure, more pleasant.
CometH soon our Holiday;
Work away i

The Author oj "Thh Patibncb iM HoHB.'

WHAT TO DO.

HE Christian ideal of life has seemed
to many so far removed from the
world and its ways, that they have
been driven to seek after its attain-
ment in an entire abstraction from the world's
business and pleasures. They have sought to
flee from evil, and not to fight with it. But we
rightly judge that this is at once inconsistent
with Christian truth and futile as a moral aim
Our faith is "the victory that overcometh the
world," and not the beaten foe that flies from it.
The world is not merely the mass of evil and
misery that is around us, but especially the
evil that holds our own hearts — the enemy of

HO \V TO iSUCCEED IN LIFE.

spiritual life and strength and peace that we
cany with us wherever we go, and which is
indeed ofcen nearer to us in quiet solitude than
in the stirring mart.

Moreover, as the world is constituted, it is no
question of choice, but of obvious necessity, that
most men spend their lives in its business and
employments. Every one has his work to do.
The whole fabric of our modern civilisation is
nothing else than the development of the in-
dustrial principle which is implanted in our con-
stitution, and divinely sanctified in this very fact.
The earth was given to man to dress and keep
it. He was appointed to find in work the ap-
propriate activity and happiness of his being.
And there is no law more clear in principle, more
sure in result, than that which affixes to social
industry, prosperity and blessing. The wealth
of nations is its fruit, the glory of civilisation
its crown.

To the young who stand, as it were, on the
threshold of the great workhouse of the world,
preparing to take their part in it, it becomes a
serious and urgent consideration what part they
are to take in it. After the formation of Chris-
tian principles, the choice of a profession is the
most serious consideration that can engage their
attention.

Perhaps the first step in the consideration is
to reclise the necessity of having definite work

WHAT TO DO.

to do, and the real worth, and, if we may say
so, sacredness of all honest work. I'here arc
few men who escape the necessity of adopting
some calling or profession ; and there are fewer
still who, if they rightly understood their own
interest and happiness, would ever think of such
an escape. For, according to that law of work
of which we have already spoken, life finds its
most enjoyable action in regular alternations of
employment and leisure. Without employment
it becomes a tedium, and men are forced to
make work for themselves. They turn their very
pleasures into toil, and undertake, from the mere
want of something to do, the most laborious and
exhausting pastimes. To any healthy nature,
idleness is an intolerable burden ; and its en-
forced endurance a more painful penance than
the hardest labours.

It is not easy, however, for the young to
realise this. " Play " has been such a charm to
their schoolboy fancy, that they sometimes
dream that they would like life to be all play.
They are apt, at least, to take to regular work
with something of a grudge. They have so
many delays and difficulties about a profession,
that time passes on and they miss their oppor-
tunity. There is no more serious calamity can
happen to any young man than this ; and many
a life has been wasted from sheer incapacity of
fixing on what to do. The will gets feeble in the

, ■

1 I

10 no W TO SUCCEED W LIFE.

direction of self-denial of any kind, and talents
which might have carried their possessor on to
social consideration and usefulness, serve merelv
to illumine an aimless and pitied existence.

Young men who are, so to speak, born t<;
work — to whom life leaves no chance of idleness
— are perhaps the most fortunate. They take
up the yoke in their youth. They set their
faces to duty from the first ; and if life should
prove a burden, their backs become inured to it,
so that they bear the weight more easily than
others do pleasures and vanities. In our modern
life, this is a largely-increasing class. As the
relations of society become n.ore complicated,
and its needs more enlarged, refined, and ex-
pensive, the duty of work — of every man to his
own work — becomes more urgent and universal.
There is no room left for the idle. There rre
certainly no rewards to them. Society expects
every man to do his duty ; and its revenge is
very swift when its claims are neglected or its
expectations disappointed.

But it is at least equally important for young
men to begin life with an intelligent appreciation
of work as a whole, and to free their mind from
the prejudices which have so long prevailed on
this subject. It is singular how long and to
what extent these prejudices have prevailed.
Some kinds of employment have been deemed

WHAT TO DO.

by traditionary opinion to be honourable, and
such as gentlemen may engage in ; others have
been deemed ic be base, and unfit for gentle-
men. Why so ? It would puzzle any moralist
to tell. The profession of a soldier is supposed
to be the peculiar profession of a gentleman ;
that of a tailor is the opprobrium of boys and
the ridicule of small wits. Is there not some-
thing untrue as well as unworthy in the implied
comparison } There is surely no reason why
industrial employments, involving a high exer-
cise of intelligence and skill, should not be as
honourable as the profession of a soldier ; such
employments are peculiarly characteristic ot
civilisation, and rise with it into higher forms of
utility ; while the mere soldier, even if his need
should not decrease — as our Peace-utopians
dreamed some years ago — must yet sink into
comparative insignificance with the progress of
Christian enlightenment and the wider diflfusion
cf good government.

Prejudices of this sort, however, are very invet-
erate, and live long in sentiment after they have
been defeated in reason. While we are losing
sight of the usages of feudal times, its traditions
.still cling to us — traditions which are the legi-
timate descendants of the ignorance which led
the mailed baron to boast that he had never
learned to write — and which made it be deemed
inconsistent with the position of a gentleman to

13 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

I ' ,i

do anything but fight, or hunt, or spend his
time in wassail. It is not necessary, certainly,
and would not be well for society to unlearn such
traditions all at once. They connect age with
age, and perhaps lend a softening influence to the
vast changes which the modern development of
wealth is calling forth ; but they are not the less
really ignorant ; and when prolonged in force,
tlirough a time whose social necessities have
outlived them, they become purely mischievous.

Such a time is ours. The protective or feudal
idea of life is gone. The lord and his retainers —
the castle and its dependants — are images of the
past. Economical relations are everywhere sup-
planting the old personal and authoritative rela-
tions which used to bind society together. Ser-
vants and masters, traders and customers, tenants
and landlords, no longer occupy towards each
other indefinite attitudes of dependence, on the
one hand, and of patronising favour, on the other
hand. Each have their own definite position
and interests — their fixed commercial relation
to the others ; and within their own spheres and
duties they ire almost equally independent.

This may be a bad or a good change. It is
a subject of regret to many who look back upon
the old state of things with sentiments of emo-
tion as that to which their youth was familiar,
and the memory of which pleasantly lingers v/ith
them. As life becomes a retrospect rather than

WHAT TO DO.

■

a prospect, it is natural that the mind should
cling to the old familiar forms of society, and
repel, even with dislike, the revolutions taking
place around it. There is, no doubt, a good
deal to excite regret in the accessories of the
change. With the decline of the instincts of
dependence, those of respectful courtesy and
obedient charity are apt also to vanish. There
is less free, lively, and affectionate intercourse
of class with class, where the commercial feeling
has displaced the old personal family feeling —
an evil which may be seen working, with special
confusion, at present in the department of do-
mestic service. But whatever may be the dis-
agreeable results of the change, as we see it
proceeding under our eyes, it is, beyond ques-
tion, an inevitable change, which we ought not
therefore to regret, but to understand and make
the most of for the good of society as a whole.
It is the necessary consequence of the enormous
development of industrial life, and the rapidly-
accumulating wealth touching all classes of
society, which flows from this development.
And if society should seem to lose some of
its old courtesies in the course of things, we are
to remember that the feeling of independence
which has sprung up in exchange is a great gain.
Society cannot lose in the end from its own pro-
gress. A widening field of human activity will
be opened up in many directions ; industrial

14 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

employment of all kinds will rise to an equal
value and worth, ai means of securing an

honest and honourable livelihood. Men will
learn to be ashamed of no work which gives
them a solid footing in the struggling mass of
social activity around them, and saves them from
being a burden to others.

It is the imperative duty of all who recognise
the vast social revolution that is going on, if they
cannot help to clear the pathway of the worker
— male and female — at least to do nothing to
obstruct it by the promulgation of obsolete
and mischievous notions. Let the revolution
silently work itself out. Let young men, and
young women too, of whatever grade of life, to
whom there may seem no opening in the now
recognised channels of professional or domestic
activity which have been conventionally associ-
ated with their position, make to themselves, as
they may be able, an opening in the ranks of
commercial or mechanical employment. If
society, from its very increase of wealth and re-
finement, and the expensive habits which neces-
sarily flow from this increase, creates obstacles
to an advantageous settlement in life after the
old easy manner to many among the young, it
certainly ought not by its prejudices to stand in
the way of their launching upon the great world
of life in their own behalf, and attaining to what
industrial independence and prosperity they can.

ir//. I T TO DO.

It is at least a right and wise feeling for the
young to cultivate — that there is no form of
honest work which is really beneath them. It
may or may not be suitable for them. It may
or may not be the species of work to which
they have any call. But let them not despise
it. The grocer is equally honourable with the
lawyer, and the tailor with the, soldier, as we
have already said. It is just as really becoming
a gentleman — if we could purge our minds of
traditional delusions which will not stand a
moment's impartial examination — to serve be-
hind a counter as to sit at a desk, to pursue a
handicraft as to indite a law paper or write an
article. The only work that is more honourable,
is work of higher skill and more meritorious ex-
cellence. It is the qualities of the workman, and
not the name or nature of the work, that is the
source of all real honour and respect.

The professions to which life invites the young
are of very various kinds ; and the question of
choice among them, as it is very important, is
sometimes also very trying and difficult. Rightly
viewed, it ought to be a question simply of capa-
city. What am I fit for } But it is more easy in
many cases to ask this question than to answer
it. It will certainly, however, facilitate an answer,
to disembarrass the mind of stch prejudices as
we have been speaking of. The field of choice

10 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

!l ll

I ;

;i "

is in this manner left comparatively open. Work
as such, if it be honest work, is esteemed not for
the adventitious associations that may surround
it, but because it offers an appropriate exercise
for such powers as we possess, and a means of
self-support and independence.

There are those to whom the choice of a pro-
fession presenfs comparatively few difficulties.
They are gifted with an aptitude for some par-
ticular calling, in such a degree that they them-
selves and their friends discern their bent from
'early youth, and they grow up with no other
desire than to betake themselves to what is ac-
knowledged to be their destiny in the world.
Such c^ses arc, perhaps, the happiest of all; but
they are far from numerous, A special aptitude
is seldom so pronounced in youth. Even where
it exists, it lies hid many a time, and unknown
even to its possessor, till opportunity calls it
forth. There are other cases where the circum-
stances of the young are such as to mark out for
them without deliberation on their part the pro-
fession which they are to follow. Family tradi-
tions and social advantages may so clearly point
their way in life that they never hesitate. They
have never been accustomed to look in any
other direction, and they take to their lot with a
nappy pride, or at least a cheerful contentment.

But the great majority of young men are not
to be found in either of these envied positions,

■isl

WHAT TO DO.

They have their way to nial^c in the world ; and
they are neither so specially jjiftcd, on the one
hand, nor so fortunately circumstanced, on the
other hand, as to see clearly and without delib-
eration the direction in which they should turn,
and the fitting work to which they should give
themselves.

Many things must be considered by them and
for them in such a case which we are not called
upon to discuss here — which, indeed, we cannot
discuss here. The accidents of position, with
\vhich, after all, the balance of their lot may lie,
vary so indefinitely that it would be impossible
to indicate any clear line of direction for them.
But without venturing to do this, it may be use-
ful to fix the thoughts of the young upon certain
general features of the various classes of profes-
sions that lie before them in the world open for
their ambition and attainment.

Professions may be generally classified as in-
tellectual, commercial, and mechanical, exclud-
ing those which belong to the public service,
such as the army and navy, and the civil offices
under Government. These form by themselves
a class of professions of great importance. But
the aptitudes which they require are, upon the
whole, less determined, and therefore less easily
characterised, than those which the ordinary
professions demand. A merchant or a shoe-

I r

I 1

^ '

IE !

18 HO W TO SUCCEED TN L TEE.

maker, or even a clerjrymaA, may become,
should circumstances summon him, a soldier or
a diplomatist, but neither the soldier nor diplo-
matist could so easily assume the function of the
merchant, or shoemaker, or clergyman. And
for the simple reason that the function of these
last is more definite, or professional, and, there-
fore, involves a more special aptitude, or one
more easy of discovery and consideration. Not
that, for a moment, we would be supposed to un-
dervalue the inner faculties that go to make the
excellent soldier or Government official. Only in
the former case, the qualities of honour, bravery,
and patriotism, are such as all men ought to pos-
sess — they are common attributes of a healthy
humanity ; and in the latter case, the very same
qualities that point to official employment, and
would be likely to obtain distinction in it, are
such as are equally needed for some of the ordi-
nary professions included in our classification.

Neither must it be supposed, in making this
classification, that the names we have used have
anything more than a general application war-
ranted by the talk of society, and, therefore,
sufficiently intelligible. There are certain call-
ings which society has agreed to consider more
intellectual, more of the character of professions,
and others which it regards as more peculiarly
of a business or commercial character, and others
again that are more of the nature of a craft, or

WflA'l TO uO

handiwork. In point of fact, all are intellectual
in the sense of calling into exercise the intel-
lectual powers ; and it may so happen that
more mental capacity may be shewn in conduct-
ing affairs of business, or in inventing or applying
some new mechanical agency, than in the dis-
charge of the duties of the intellectual profes-
sions, commonly so called. This does not,
however, affect the propriety of the classifica-
tion. The subject-matter of the callings is
nevertheless distinct. Those of the first class
deal more largely and directly with the intel-
lectual nature of man ; they involve a more spe-
cial mental training ; while those of the other
two classes deal more with the outward industrial
activities, and are presumed not to require so
prolonged or careful an intellectual education.

This obvious distinction serves to mark gene-
rally the qualities that are demanded in these
respective orders of professions. Whether a
man is to be a clergyman, lawyer, (using the
word in its largest sense as including the pro-
fession of the bar) physician, — or a merchant,
an engineer, or an ordinary tradesman, should
depend, in a general way at least, on the com-
parative vivacity and force of his intellectual
powers. A youth who has but little intellectual
interest, who cares but little or not at all fov
literary study and the delights of scholastic am-
bition, is shut out by nature from approach to

20 HOW 10 .^. L'CC r.FD 73 L IFK

! i

the former professions. They are not /it's calling
in any higli or even useful sense. He may ap-
proach them and enter upon them, and a certain
worldly success may even await him in them
under the favouring gale of circumstances ; but
according to any real standard of excellence or
utility, he has missed his proper course in life.
He may have found what he wanted, but others
will often have failed to find in him what they
were entitled to expect.

Take the case of a clergyman, for example.
We do not forget that in this cace there are cer-
tain qualities of still higher consideration and
moment than even the intellectual ; but we do
not meddle with these here. These qualities
may be supposed by some to isolate the func-
tion of a clergyman altogether from the ordi-
nary avocations of life ; but even such a view
would not aft'ect the bearing of our remarks.
Practically, the function of the Christian minis-
try is and will always be one of the main chan-
nels into which youthful activity is directed in
this and every Christian country. Look at the
work of this ministry then, and it will be obvious
at once what a fatal deficiency is the want of
intellectual interest. The very truths with which
it deals, in their original meaning, their history,
their moral and social influence, must remain in
a great degree unintelligible when there is not a
constant pleasure in studying them. It is need-

uniAT rn po

less to say that they are so simple that a child
may understand them. In one sense this is true.
But the child-understandint^, however precious,
is not the understanding of the well-instructed
Scribe, who is able to bring forth from his treasury
things new and old. It is melancholy to think
what wreck many make in this way by turning
the deep things of God into baby-prattle, and
narrowin^j the jjrand circumference of Christian
truth lo then o»vn soiAfi circle ol ideas. Every-
where Christianity suffers with the decay of
living thought, and the poverty of intellectual
comprehension in the clergy ; and there never
was a darker or sadder delusion than that which
infected and may still infect certain classes of
society, that a man whose mental capacities did
not promise much success in the world might
yet be useful in the Church. It is not, perhaps,
too much to say that one half of the evils which
have retarded the progress of Christian truth,
and perilled the very existence of the Christian
Church, have come, not, as is often said, from un-
sanctified talent, but from the degrading influ-
ence of mean talents, and narrowness of thought.
The same is no less true of the Bar or legal
profession in all its bearings, and of the profession
of Medicine. Each of these professions demands
a vivacious intellectual interest, powers of real
and independent thought. Neither their princi-
ples can be grasped, nor their highest applications

HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

1 i

to the wellbeing of society appreciated, without
these. All, it may be said, are not required to
rise so high ; there must be common as well as
higher workmen in all professions, — " hewers of
wood and drawers of water," as well as men oi
wide and commanding intelligence. And this is
true. Only the question remains, whether those
who never rise above the mechanical routine of
the higher professions would not have been really
more happy and useful in some lower department
of industry. In contemplating a profession none
should willingly set before them the prospect of
being nothing but a Gideonite in it. And yet
this must be the fate, and deserves to be the
fate, of all who rush towards work for which
nature has given them no special capacity. By
aiming beyond their power, they are likely to
fall short of the competency and success that, in
some more congenial form of work, might have
awaited them.

It seems so far, therefore, that there is a sufll-
ciently plain line of guidance as to the choice of
a profession. If your interest is not in study, if
your bent is not intellectual, then there is one
large class of professions for which yoti are not
destined. Ycu may be intellectual, highly so,
and yet you may not choose any of these profes-
sions ; circumstances may render this inadvan-
tageous : or, while your intellectual life is inqui-
sitive and powerful, your active ambition may be

miAT TO DO.

:I8

no less powerful, and may carry you away. But
at any rate, if you have not a lively interest in
intellectual pursuits, neither the Church, nor the
Bar, nor Medicine is your appropriate profes-
sional sphere. You can never be in any of these
a " workman needing not to be ashamed."

Nor let it be supposed that there is anything
derogatory in this lack of intellectual interest
in the sense in which we now mean. It by no
means implies intellectual ignorance or indispo-
sition to knowledge, but simply no predominat-
ing desire for study as a habit and mode of life.
It is not the book in the quiet room that interests
you so much as the busy ways of the world, the
commercial intercourse of men, or, it may be,
some mechanical craft to which your thoughts
are ever turning, and your hands inclining. How
constantly are such difterences observed in boys!
Scholastic tastes weary and stupefy some who
are all alert as soon as the unwelcome pressure
is lifted from their minds, and their enei^ies are
allowed their natural play. Their aptitude is lot
for classic lore ; their delight is not in lore at ail,
but in active work of some kind, the interest of
which is of an every-day practical character.

The simple rule in such a case is — follow your
bent. It may not shew itself so particularly as
in some cases we have already supposed ; but, at
least, it is so far manifest. It is clearly not in
certain dire':tions, and so far therefore the field

I ,

U HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

of your choice is limited. Probe a little deeper
and more carefully, and it may come more
plainly into view. And, remember, one bent is
really as honourable as another, although it may
not aim so high. The young merchant is just as
clearly "called" as the young clergyman, if he
feel the faculty of business stirring in him. And
who seem often more called than great mecha-
nicians, — men often with little general know-
ledge, and little intellectual taste and sympathy,
but who have a creatine faculty of design, as de-
terminate in its way as the art of the painter or
the poet t

These are special cases. But in ordinary youth
something of the same kind may be observed.
There are boys designed by nature for commer-
cial life ; there are others plainly designed for
mechanical employment. Nature has stamped
their destiny upon them in signs which shew
themselves, if sought after. Let not them and
their friends try to countersign the seal of nature.
This is always a grievous harm : a harm to the
individual, and a possible harm to the world.

Even where Nature's indications may be ob-
scure, there seems no other rule than to trace
and follow them. Some boys of healthy and
well-developed faculties, or, still more likely, of
weak and unemphatic qualities, may seem to
have no particular destiny in the world. Yet
thty have. Their place is prepared for them, if

WHAT TO DO.

they can find it. And their only hope of doing
so is to observe nature, and follow it. She may
not have written her lines broadly on their souls,
but she has put tracings there, which may be
found and followed. There are a few who may
seem to find their position in the world more
by accident than anything else. Circumstances
determine their lot, and without any thought of
theirs, they seem to get into the place qiost
fitting them. Yet even in such cases, circum-
stances are often less powerful than are supposed,
or, at least, they have wrought with nature, and
this unconscious conformity has proved the
strongest influence in fashioning such lives to
prosperity and success.

It remains to be added that, while the view
we have expressed of the worth of all honest
work is to be strongly maintained, there are, no
doubt, dift'erences in work which, in relation to
certain characters and temperaments, assume a
moral importance. There are professions which
have capacities of evil for certain natures, as
there are others which have in themselves
capacities of good, if rightly used. The saying
of Dr Arnold, as to the profession of the law,
may be remembered. It seemed to him a bad
profession, and he would not, he strongly pro-
tested, have any of his sons enter upon it. This
was a narrow, and even false, view. Dr Arnold,
great man as he was, was not exempt from ex-

■ I

!• ?;;

is )
t

4*.'

i:0W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

tr«mc prejudices, as this shews. Yet it pointr,,
like many extreme views, to a partial truth.
The law, grand and noble profession as it is in
its higher, and, indeed, in all its right relations,
presents, at the same time, peculiar possibilities
of evil to an unstable or unconscientious will. It
offers peculiar temptations. And there arc other
professions equally dangerous, if we may so say.
They are apt to bring into play the inferior, and
to hold in check the superior, elements of ouj-
nature. They put a constant strain upon the
moral life, which it requires very healthy or
unusual powers to withstand. Such professions
are not bad, but they are trying ; and it must be
a serious consideration with the young, and the
friends of the young, if they are fitted for such a
trial.

It would be needless to say, avoid such pro-
fessions ; because, in point of fact, they are not
to be avoided. They exist because the neces-
sities of society demand them, (of course. I am
not speaking of any but entirely honest profes-
sions which, in their conception, involve no viola
tion of moral principle) ; they flourish as these
same necessities become more complicated and
refined ; and while they do so, young men will
seek their career in them laudably and well. It
is vain and foolish, in such a matter, to broach
mere theories — to cry where none will follow.
But it is our duty to guide those who need

WHAT TO DO.

guidance ; to say that such a door is open for
some and not for others. For strong natures,
there is strong work ; for weak and less certain
natures, there h also work, but not of the same
kind. The back is fitted to the b'lrden in a
higher sense than is sometimes meant, if only
the back do not overtask its powers, and assume
^o carry weight that was never meant for it.

HOW TO DO IT.

UPPOSING a young man to have
chosen a profession and entered
upon it, his next aim must be ho\/
to do well in it. This must be a
thought inseparable from his choice, if it has
been freely and rightly conducted. The pro-
fession or work which we have selected to do
in the world, becomes the great channel of our
regular and every -day activity; and how we
shall order this activity in the best manner, so
as most effectually to secure its reward anrl
our own happiness, must be an anxiety to all
beginning life.

Bevond doubt, the first condition of succei<fc

HOW TO DO TT.

in every profession, is earnest devotion to its
acquirements and duties. This may seem so
obvious a remark, that it is scarcely worth mak-
ing. And yet, with all its obviousness, the thinj^
itself is often forgotten by the young. They
are frequently loath to admit the extent and
urgency of professional claims; and they try to
combine with these claims devotion to some
favourite and, even it may be, conflicting pur-
suit. This almost invariably fails. In rare cases
it may be practicable with men of varied and
remarkable powers. But, ordinarily, there is n(»
chance of success in professional life for any who
do not make the business of their profession,
whatever it may be, their great interest, to which
every other, save religion, must subordinate
itself

"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it
with thy might," is the motto of all industrial
activity. In such a time as ours, it is so more
than ever. If we do not do our work with
might, others will ; and they will outstrip us in
the race, and pluck the prize from our grasp.
"The race is not: always to the swift, nor the
battle to the strong," says the same wise man.
And this is true in various forms and illustra-
tions; but scarcely ever in the race of business,
or in the battle of industrial life. There the
swiftest wins the prize, and the strongest gaia.q
in the strife^

now TO SUCCEED TN LIFE,

As modern society is constituted, this clement
of strife is everywhere apparent. Competition,
as it is called, in its action and reaction, makef
up the great and ever-expanding circle of in-
dustrial civilisation. There may be many modi-
fications of this principle demanded, in order to
the complete and happy development of society.
It would seem as if such modifications must come
in the natural course of things, and with a grow-
ing consciousness of the moral conditions of
social progress. But whatever checks may await
the principle — however its operation may be re-
laxed and softened in various dircctions-^it will
always remain the essential spring of industrial
activity. It will always be the fly-wheel of the
world's business. And being so, it is clear that
this business must task the earnest and steady
devotion of all who engage in it. It will not
wait the delays and offputtings of the man who
gives it merely a share of his attention. While
he is dawdling with a clever rcatlessness, it may
be, it is passing from his hands into others* with
a stronger and more persistent hold. Strength
is everything in such a struggle — strength and
opportunity ! and the latter waits like a faith-
ful servitor upon the former.

It ought to be a first principle, then, in begin-
ning life, to do with earnestness what we have
got to do. If it is worth doing at all, it is worth
doing earnestly. If it is to be done well at all,

:;i !

J row TO DO IT,

ho
ilc

It must be done with purpose and devotion.
Whatever may be our profession, let us mark
all its bearings and details, its principles, its in-
struments, its applications. There is nothing
about it should escape our study. There is
nothinpj in it cither too high or too low for ou:
observation and knowledj^e. While we remain
ignorant of any part of it, wc are so far crippled
in its use ; we arc liable to be taken iit a disad-
vantage. This may be the very point tho know-
ledge of which is most needed in some crisis,
and those versed in it will take the lead, while
wc mu.st be content to follow at a distance.

Our business, in short, must be the main drain
of our intellectual activities day by day. It is
the channel wc have chosen for them ; they
must flow in it with a diffusive energy, filling
every nook and corner. This is a fair test of
professional earnestness. When we find our
thoughts running after our business, and fixing
themselves with a familiar fondness upon its de-
tails, we may be pretty sure of our way. When
we find them running elsewhere, and only resort-
ing with difficulty to the channel prepared for
them, we may be equally sure we have taken a
wrong turn. We cannot be earnest about any-
thing which docs not naturally and strongly
engage our thoughts.

It will be found everywhere that the men
who have succeeded in business have been the

83 H O W TO SU UCEED IN LIFE.

f !

men who have earnestly given themselves to it
Far more than mere talents or acquirements
enthusiasm and energy in work carry the day.
Everything yields before the strong and earnest
will. It grows by exercise. It excites con-
fidence in others, while it takes to itself the
lead. Difficulties before which mere cleverness
fails, and which leave the irresolute prostrate
and helpless, vanish before it. They not only
do not impede its progress, but it often makes
of them stepping-stones to a higher and more
enduring triumph.

There are few things more beautiful than the
calm and resolute progress of an earnest spirit.
The triumphs of genius may be more dazzling;
the chances of good fortune may be more excit-
ing; but neither are at all so interesting or sc
worthy as the achievements of a steady, faithful,
and fervent energy. The moral elements give
an infinitely higher value to the latter, while at
the same time they bring it comparatively within
the reach of all. Genius can be the lot of only
a few; good fortune may come to any, but it
would be the part of a fool to wait for it ; where-
as all may work with heartiness and might in
the work to which they have given themselves.
It is their simple duty to do this. It may seem
but a small thing to do. No one certainly is
entitled to any credit for doing it. Yet just be-
cause it is a duty it will be found bearing a rich

HOW TO DO IT.

reward. The labour of the faithful is never in
vain. The fruits will be found gathered into his
hand, while the hasty garlands of genius i^re
fading away, and the prizes of the merely for-
tunate are turned into vanity.

Where there is an adequately earnest devotion
to the duties of one profession, it is likely that all
the more ordinary business qualifications will
follow. It may be well, however, to specify a
few of these by way of impressing them upon
the youthful mind. They are usually associated
with the position and duties of the merchant and
the tradesman rather than the barrister or the
clergyman ; but, in point of fact, they are applic-
able to all professions. All require them, and all
suffer from the absence of them.

Among the most obvious and necessary of
these qualifications \?, punctiialiiy. Whatever we
have to do should be done at the right time. To
the busy man there is nothing more valuable
than time. Every hour and every moment be-
comes filled up with its appointed duties ; and
attention to these duties at the moment when
they fall to be performed is of the very essence
of a business character. It is marvellous how
comparatively easy the discharge of business
becomes when this simple rule is observed, and
how difficult and complicated it becomes when
it is disregarded. It may be safely said that no

31 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

man can rise to distinction as a merchant, a
barrister, or a physician, or indeed in any pro-
fession involving a complexity of work, without
a strict observance of punctuality. In some
professions, it may not be customary to exact
or expect the same regard to this rule ; but this
is entirely without any warrant in reason, or the
nature of the duties to which the indulgence
may be applied. For it is impossible to conceive
any duties, not absolutely accidental, beyond
the rule of pun'^tuality. Touch them with this
rule, and they will fall into order ; leave them
independent of it, and inextricable confusion
will be the result.

Look at the matter as it plainly appears on
reflection. If our time be filled up with profes-
sional duties, every one of these duties falls into
its own place. There is an appropriate time for
each — and punctuality is nothing else than at-
tention to»this. But the unpunctual man breaks
down at some point The duty remains undone,
and the time for doing it is past. The inevitable
result is that he more or less breaks down at
every subsequent point. It is* like the links of a
chain stretched to the full — every link in its own
place. But take out or abbreviate one link, and
all fall into confusion. If a given duty remains
undone at the proper point, it must encroach
upon the time of som^ other duty, or remamg
taidone altogether.

now TO DO IT.

ins

It might seem an easy thing to be punctual,
but it is not an easy thing. It does not come
to us naturally. No habits of order do, as may
be observed in the utter disorder that charac-
terises savage life, and low and untutored forms
of life among ourselves. Punctuality is some-
thing we have all to learn ; and of every profes-
sion — of all work — it is one of the first lessons —
a lesson not only indispensable to ourselves, but
due to others. How much so, every one knows
who has to do with the unpunctual man. All
is deranged by him ; the time of others is wasted
as well as his own. He becomes a nuisance in
society ; and men who have real work of their
own would rather do anything than do business
with him.

Every young man, therefore, should acquire
punctuality among his first professional acquire-
ments. Let him resolve to keep time, — to do
everything in its place. Let him not yield to the
delusion, conmion enough among the young, that
this is an unimportant matter, in the power of
any man, and which he can practise when he has
more real need for it than as yet he has. Vain
expectation ! If he begins by neglecting it, he
will almost aJjsuredly end by neglecting it. No-
thing is so hard ^o iDilcarn as a bad habit of this
kind. It cleaves to the will even after the reason
may strongly recojj^iise its selfishness and incon-
venience.

36 J 1 W T( > 6' UCCEED IN LIFE,

i\ II

Another business qualification, although not
so essential as the foregoing, is despatch. It is
less of a moral qualification — more of a mental
accomplishment. It is, however, in moet profes-
sions, a very important accomplishment. Bis
dai, qtii cito dat. And the same thing might be
said of work, when the quickness with which it
is done is not the quickness of perfunctory, and
therefore imperfect performance, but the quick-
ness of a skilful and ready accomplishment. It
is one of the great functions of a professional life
to form this accomplishment ; and every young
man should certainly aim to have it. First, in-
deed, he should learn to do his work thoroughly.
There is nothing can make up for the want of
thoroughness. If he aim at despatch irrespective
of this, he commits a fundamental mistake. He
is like a man sharpening his weapons without
testing their strength. And there are men who
seem to do this. They acquire a smart and facile
activity, which skims over a subject without lay-
ing hold of it. Despatch, in this sense, is not
to be studied, but avoided. For it is better to
do work thoroughly, however slowly or inter-
ruptedly, than to do work imperfectly, with what-
ever promptitude.

With this reserve it is well to cultivate
despatch in business — not to dally" over what
may be done at once and promptly. Every
one feels how much more satisfactory it is to

HOW TO DO IT.

have work done quickly, if also well. Nothing,
in fact, more makes the difference between the
really good workman in any department and the
inferior workman than the promptitude with
which he carries out any piece of business in-
trusted to him. The more complicated business
becomes, and the more it strains the energies,
the more wonderfully would it seem to call forth
these energies in many cases, so that a large
amount of work is done both better and more
promptly than a small amount in other cases.
It is the triumph of method. The genius of
arrangement overcomes the greatest difficulties,
and secures results that would have appeared
incredible without it.

The despatch that is. really desirable comes
in this way from a close attention to method.
Quickness itself should not be so much the aim,
because this may lead to summary and imper-
fect work; but quickness following from the per-
fection of a method which takes up everything
at the right time and applies to it the adequate
resources. This is the secret of a genuine promp-
titude. It is the issue of a right system more
than anything.

Every profession implies system'. There can
be no efficiency and no advance without it. The
meanest trade demands it, and would run to
waste without something of it. The perfection

38 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFH

of the most complicated business, is the perfec-
tion of the system with which it is conducted.
It is this that binds its complications together,
and gives a unity to all its energies. It is like a
hidden sense pervading it, responsive at every
point, and fitly meeting every demand. The
marvellous achievements of modern commerce,
stretching its relations over distant seas and
many lands, and gathering the materials of
every civilis.ition within its ample bosom, are,
more than anything, the result of an expand-
ing and victorious system, which shrinks at no
obstacles, and adapts itself to every emergency.
Accordingly, the professional, man places the
highest value upon system. However clever,
ingenious, or fruitful in expedients a youth may
be, if he is erratic and disorderly in his personal
or mental habits, he is thereby unfitted for many
kinds of work. The plodding and m.ethodical
youth will outstrip him, and leave him behind ;
and this not merely in the more mechanical pro-
fessions, but to a great extent also in the more
intellectual professions. Life itself, with all its
free and happy outgoings, is systematic. Order
reigns everywhere. And in no business of life
can this great principle be neglected with im-
punity. Even on those who seem to obey it
least externally, it operates. The very force
that sustains them, and which, in its apparently
irregular action, might seem to be defiant of

rTOW TO DO TT.

all law, is only preserved at all by some en-
veloping although undefined order.

The young must keep before them this neces-
sity of all business. They may hear it some-
times spoken of among their fellows with indif-
ference or scorn. " Red tape" has passed into
a byword of contempt ; and " red tape," in the
sense of a mere dead and unintelligent routine,
has deserved many hard things to* be said of it
A man of routine, and nothing else, is a poor
creature. System, which ceases to be a means,
and becomes in itself — apart from the very ob-
ject for which it was originally designed — an
end, proves itself, in this very fact, a nuisance,
to be swept away — the sooner the better. But
the abuse of a thing is no argument against its
use ; and it is childish not to see this in any
case. Routine, in and for itself, has no value ;
and the mind that settles on the mere outside
of work, forgetful of its inner meaning and real
aim, is necessarily a mind of feeble and narrow
energies ; but routine, as an organ of energetic
thought and action — of a living, comprehensive
intelligence, which sees the end from the means
— is one of the most powerful instruments of
human accomplishment. And there can be no
profession without its appropriate and effective
routiiic.

LeJ- every youthful aspirant carefully learn the
letter, without forgetting the spirit, of hh pro-

40 no W TO FiUCCEED IN L TFE.

fession. Let him subdue his energies to its sys-
tem, but not allow the system to swallow up his
energies. Let him be a man of routine, but let
him be something more. Let him be master of
its machinery, but capable of rising above it.
With the former he cannot dispense; without the
latter, he cannot be great or successful.*

But there is one qualification, in conclusion,
more important than all — conscientiousness.
Whatever be our profession, we should not only
learn its duties carefully, and devote ourselves
to them earnestly, but we should carry the light

* The following remarks on the importance of method in
business, by the author of •' Essays Written in the Intervals of
Business," veil deserve the attention of the young leader : —

** Our student is not intended to become a learned man, but
a man of business ; not a • full man,' but a * ready man.' He
must be taujjht to arrange and express what he knows. For
this purpose let him employ himself in making digests, arrang-
ing and classifying materials, writing narratives, and in deciding
upon conflicting evidence. All these exercises require method.
He must expect that his early attempts will l)e clumsy j he be-
gins, perhaps, by dividing his subject in any way that occurs to
him, with no other view than that of treating separate portio'is
of it separately ; he does not perceive, at first, what things arc
of one kind, and what of another, and what should be the
logical order of those following. But from such rude beginnings
method is developed ; and there is hardly any degree of toil
for which he would not be compensated by such a result. He
will have a sure reward in the clearness of his own views, and
in the facility of explaining them to others. People bring their
attention to the man who gives them most profit for it ; and tJis
will be one who is a master of method. "

no w TO no it.

and guidance of conscience with us into all its
details and relations. Why should we par-
ticularise this ? Conscience, of course, should
animate and guide our whole life, and our busi-
ness neither more nor less than other aspects
of our life. Exactly so. This is the very thing
we desire to shew. And it requires particular
mention, just because it is the very thing we are
apt to forget, practically, in the midst of profes-
sional activity, notwithstanding that it seems so
obvious. Every profession has its peculiar temp-
tations — its guiles calculated to lay conscience
to sleep. Some have more than others ; but
none can be said to be free from such snares.
Is it wrong to do this, or allow that ? May cer-
tain things not be done in the way of business
that would scarcely be justifiable in private life ?
May not a professional position be fairly used
for such and such ends ? Such puzzles for con-
science beset every profession ; and notoriously
they often receive solutions in consonance neither
with religion nor morality.

Yet the true dictate of conscience every-
where must be, that there is nothing right or
lawful in business that would not be so in the
relations of private life. There cannot be two
codes of honour or honesty. I cannot be an
honest man, and not shrink from dishonesty In
every shape. I cannot use my profession for
any purpose which, apart from my profession, it

42 no W TO SUCCEED TN L TFE.

would be evil in me to compass. In everything
— in the competitions of business, in the conflicts
of ambition, in the rivalries of trade — Christian
principle must be my guide. Never with im-
punity can the light of conscience be obscured,
nor its scruples overbalanced.

Let the young take with them this principle
into the entanglements of the world's affairs.
Conscience may not always serve them us a
positive guide. There may be intricacies which
it cannot unravel. But at least it will always
serve them as a negative warning. When con-
science clearly pronounces against any practice
of business, they must shun it. They must not
tamper with it. They must be able to court
the light of day in all they do. It is a sorry
and pitiable shift when it becomes desirable to
hide from scrutiny the inner mechanism of any
profession.

The business which bases itself on conscience
is stronger in this very 'i"act than in the most
skilful trade manoeuvres. It is fair, and nothing
tells in the end so well as fairness. The feeling of
responsibility and the love of truth give not only
strength, but " endow with diligence, accuracy,
and discreetness, those commonplace requisites
for a good man of business, without which all
the rest may never come to be ' translated into
action.* " * The gilding wears off the most in-

* Essays Written in the Intervals of Business, p. 98.

HOW TO DO TT.

4»

gcnious devices; tlie novelty fades away; the
pretence appears below the mask; but the true
gold of principle shines the more brightly the
more »t is tested, and endurei as fresh as evpf
after all changes.

HOW TO READ.

HE busiest professional life has its
moments of leisure. It is the im-
pulse and duty of every right-minded
man to secure time for himself and
his personal culture, as well as time for his
business. This js something quite different
from allowing any favourite or distracting pur-
suit to interfere with business. The one course,
all men who would succeed in their profession
will shun. The other course, all men who would
not be mere professional machines will follow.

And what never ceases to be more or less a
duty throughout life, is an imperative duty to
the young. Their hours of leisure recur regu-

46 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

•!

1 :l

larly, their professional work has its formal limits
of time ; and beyond these limits, they have
comparatively few cares or anxieties. Their
minds arc yet fresh and vigorous, athirst for
knowledge, if no* ruined by self-indulgence or
spoiled by early education. To them those hours
still in the morning of life which they can devote
to self-culture, are among the most precious of
all their life. •' Is it possible," it has been asked,
" to oven ate the preciousness of the intervals of
leisure, which afford a temporary release from
the daily task, and restore the mind to its self-
possession, and to the consciousness of its noblest
powers and its highest aims. To one who is ca-
pable of appr-cciating its uses, every such pause
is an emerging out of the grosser element, in
which one Ir. carried on blindly by the current,
into the pure air and clear light, where the feet
find a firm usting-place. It is an indispensable
condition of every large outlook on the world
without, and of all true insight into the world
within. A condition ; it is that, but nothing
more. A golden opportunity ; but one which
may prove worse than useless." The young
have this opportunity in their own hands. It
may be wasted to their hurt, or even their ruin,
but it may also be improved to their highest
advantage.

The education of school is the mere portal to
the higher education which every one may give

HOW TO READ.

to himself. In many cases, in fact, it may be
said that education does not begin till we leave
school. The mental energies are disciplined and
brought into activity, the capacity is formed ;
but the real life of thought is seldom awakened
till those years of early manhood when most
men have ceased to be under tutors and gover-
nors. It is sometimes strange how high mere
scholastic training may go, and yet leave the
general intellectual life dull and feeble. In all,
save very rare cases, it seems to require that
contact with reality which comes from inter-
course with the world to quicken and fully
develop the intellect. And it is only after this
quickening has begun, that our higher and
enduring education may be said to proceed.
No doubt, there are certain elements of edu-
cation which, if not acquired at school, can
scarcely ever afterwards be acquired. It is hard
to learn certain things, after the first freshness
and tenacity of memory are gone. It is impos-
sible, perhaps, to learn them thoroughly. No
man, probably, ever made himself a first-rate
.scholar who had not mastered the peculiarities
of the ancient classical languages while yet,
comparatively, a boy. But valuable as such an
acquisition in every point of view is, it is nothing
more, strictly speaking, than an instrument of
education. It is a charmed key to unlock
treasures of Intellectual knowledge that must

48 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

Ill

ill

1 1 J

I I

remain closed, or nearly so, to those who cannot
use it. This capacity of use has not been got
without mental stimulus and strengthening. Yet
it is only after the years of reflection and critical
appreciation have arrived, that even so valuable
a power can be said to become a living and
genuine education.

This must come in all cases from spontaneous
rather than from forced impulse, from the free
movement of the awakened mind rather than
from the constrained and tutored guidance of
the merely awakening mind. In the stage of
scholastic pupilage many influences move the
young, apart from the real desire of knowledge
— emulation, ambition, the desire to stand well
in the judgment of others — motives, " no doubt,
fair, and liberal, and full of promise, but yet
entirely distinct from an interest in study itself,
and quite consistent with a real indifference and
even distaste for it. It is only when all such
motives are withdrawn, when the youth is sub-
ject to no attraction but of the pursuit itself,
(disengaged from those which had been com-
bined with it, if they did not supply its place,)
only when his exertions are animated by this
purely spontaneous and truly philosophical mo-
tive, can it be known either by himself or others
what is really in him. How often has it hap-
pened that those who had won the most bril-
liant distinction in a competitive career have

HOW TO BEAD.

sunk into inaction and obscurity, when the im-
mediate object was attained ; while noiseless
steps, sustained by the pure love of knowledge,
and in the face of the greatest difficulties and
discouragements, have unheedingly and almost
unconsciously gained a summit of admiring
fame ! " *

Of this higher self-education, everything that
a man meets with in this world — all that he ob-
serves, and all that he does — may be the instru-
ments. His profession, the accidents which sur-
round it, the interest which it creates and pro-
motes, have the effect of sharpening his mind
to a keener and more real, or of opening it to a
wider, view of things. While still at school, the
world aopears to us in vague and shadowy out-
line. We move only on the circumference of
it. Its exciting realities are at a distance, both
by reason of our imperfect comprehension of
them, and the close family life which veils them
from our gaze. This is the blessing of youth,
that the dawning intelligence should abide, as it
were, in a secluded nest of love till it receive
wings to soar away. But when ^he time of its
flight comes, there is a great world of knowledge
opened to it. Things which it only saw dimly
and far off before are now brought near to it

* Bishop of St David's Address to the Members of the Ediii'
burgh FhiLosophical Institution.

! ■

50 no W TO SUCCEED IN L TFE.

} '

Life, with its intense interests and conflicts, is
felt to be a reality in which it mingles and has
its part. Such intellectual experiences spring up
at every stage of its first progress, and to all who
improve these experiences there n. ly be in them
an education of the highest kind.

In one point of view, no doubt, this knowledge
of the world is fraught with extreme danger
to the young. It proves to many of them ^n
every succeeding generation little more than the
" opening of their eyes " to know good and evil ;
yet as the change is inevitable, it is useless to
regret it on this score. It must come, and while
it brings with it its chances of hurt, it is also a
great opportunity of intellectual enlargement to
those who rightly use it. It is something like
the flight of the young birds from the parent
nest. The experiment is one of trial, but it
must be made, and amid its perils there is the
secret joy of power and of acquisition. The
world is no longer the roof-tree of branches,
the warm "contiguity of shade" which has
hitherto sheltered them, but the wide expanse
of heaven, and the multiplied and glorious
forms of nature, in whose never-ceasing activity
they find the strength and happiness of theii
being.

The world must be to all a constant and in-
sensible education. To many it is the most real
and earnest education they ever receive. The

now TO READ.

days of school may never have been to such, of
have faded away from their memory. The days
of spontaneous culture from direct intellectual
sources may never have come to them ; but their
intercourse with the world has given forth a
continued intellecLual influence under which
their powers have been excited and sometimes
nurtured into rare gifts. It is not such remark-
able cases indeed that we are now contem-
plating. But the existence of such cases serves
to prove to what extent mere converse with life
and its experiences may be the means not
merely of making us n^orc clever and skilful,
but of really developing and enriching our
mental resources — of cultivating within us a
ripe and sympathetic faculty of wisdom which
is one of the highest results of knowledge.

And if the world of human life be thus educa-
tive, the world of nature is equally or still more
so. It is a constant school of high thoughts to
all who love and study it. Who has not felt the
singular awakening of intelligence that some-
times comes in early manhood from a mere walk
into the quiet country in the fre -h morning or
the still evening ! It is difficult to say how it is —
but at such times the soul seems to take a start
— to receive a new insight — to come forth in new
and more sensitive vigour. Limits which have
hitherto bound it fall aA^ay. Shadows with

11
• II

ty, HOW TO SUCCEED TN LIFE.

I T.

which it has been fighting fly off", and it escapes
into an atmosphere of divine reality. This is
the secret of its sudden expansion. It is in some
measure the same process, although arising from
a difierent cause, and wholly free from all evil
admixt ire, as that which takes place when the
youth enters into his first free contact with the
world. The great face of living fact in either
case evokes the forces of his being as they have
not been evoked before. The soul leaps from its
boyhood trance to meet the vast life outside of
it, as it circulates in human hearts, or in the com-
mon responsive heart of nature.

Communion with nature is apt to lose its
freshness with the advance of life. There are
few in whom it oreserves the vivid educative
fervour with which it moved them in yDuth or
early manhood. Unless fed by constant cul-
ture from other sources, it is especially likely
to fail and exhaust itself. There may be those
so imperfect in endowment as never to realise
the educative influences which it so richly pro-
vides. But with others, it continues a never-
failing and fresh source of intellectual quicken-
ing. As they turn ever anew to it, they read
new meanings in it — they find a new impulse in
its contemplation ; its sweet influences bind into
unity or flush with light the knowledge they
have been painfully gathering from other quar*
ters. The young, if they know their own happi-

I <*

HOW TO READ.

ness, will carefully cherish this love of nature,
not as a mere pastime, nor as a mere sensuous
delight, but as a constant source of intellectual
life and illumination. Let them go forth into
its open face with the problems that torment
them, with the books that puzzle them, with the
thoughts that are often a weariness and distrac-
tion ; and it is wonderful what a quiet radiance
will often steal into their hearts — how burdens
will be lifted up, and the vision of a comprehen-
sive Faith dawn upon them in glimpses, if not
in perfect outline.

But more directly still than Life or Nature
must Books be the means of the self-culture
demanded of the young. Or rather, these must
co-operate to make the culture of the former
what it should be. Life, save in rare cases, will
cease to be a living school, and nature also ;
both will fail to furnish fresh intellectual expe-
rience, where the mind is not fed by study in
the common and more limited sense of the word.
The love of books — the love of reading — there-
fore, is the most requisite, the most efficient in-
strument of self-education. Where this is not
found in young or in old, all intellectual life
soon dies out — rather, it may be said never to
have been quickened. This is the distinction, as
much as anything, between a mere sensuous life,
whose only care is what it sh^U eat and what it

i I

.!('

1 1

54 now TO FirrCEED TN LIFE.

shall drink, and wherewithal it shall be clothed,
and an intelligent life which looks " before and
after."

A literary taste, apart from its higher uses, is
among the most pure and enduring of earthly
enjoyments. It brings its possessor into ever-
renewing communion with all that is highest and
best in the thought and sentiment of the past.
The garnered wisdom of the ages is its daily
food. Whatever is dign.fied and lofty in specu-
lation, or refined or elevated in feeling, or wise,
quaint, or humorous in suggestion, or soaring or
tender in imagination, is accessible to the lover
of books. He can command the wittiest or the
wisest of companions at his pleasure. He can re-
tire and hold converse with philosophers, states-
men, and poets ; he can regale himself with their
richest and deepest thoughts, with their most
exquisite felicities of expression. His favourite
books are a world to him. He lives with their
characters ; he is animated by their senti-
ments ; he is moved by their principles. And
when the outer world is a burden to him —
when its ambitions fret him, or its cares worry
him — he finds refuge in this calmer world of
the past, and soothes his resentment and
stimulates his languor in peaceful sympathy
with it.

Especially dpes this love of literature rise
into enjoyment, when other and more active

i'u

TOW TO READ.

enjoyments begin to fade away. When the
senses lose their freshness, and the limbs their
activity, the man who has leiirned to love books
has a constant and ever-growing interest. When
the summit of professional life has been attained,
and wealth secured, and the excitements of busi-
ness yield to the desire for retirement, such a
man has a happy resource in himself; and the
taste which he cultivated at intervals, and some-
times almost by stealth, amidst the pressure of
business avocations, becomes to him at once an
ornament and a blessing. It is impossible to
overrate the comparative dignity, as well as
enjoyment, of a life thus well spent, which has
preserved an intellectual feeling amidst commer-
cial ventures or sordid distractions, and brightens
at last into an evening of intellectual wisdom
and calm.

It becomes a matter of great importance,
therefore, to young men, how best to cultivate
this intellectual taste or love for literature.
How shall they best order their studies ? Read-
ing, with occasional lectures, must be the great
instrument of all spontaneous education. How
shall they read to the best advantage ?

It must be obvious at once that mere desul-
tory reading cannot be the best thing. Whether
it be liable to all the objections that have been
urged against it, we need not inquire. Probably

5C no W TO SUCCEED TN L TF K.

it is not. There have been those who have
found in desultory reading a mental stimulus,
which has not only proved a high culture for
themselves, but has carried them to heights ot
intellectual fame. Sir Walter Scott is a notable
example. He indulged, when a youth, in the
most indiscriminate and desultory course of
reading. Whatever came to hand in the shape
of tale, romance, history, poetry, he devoured
with a large and unregulated appetite. But
nothing can be made of such rare instances for
general guidance. An intellect of such capacity
as Scott's was, in a measure, independent of
common discipline. The strength of the crav-
ing itself may be truly said, in his case, to
have more than " compensated the absence of
any outward rule. It fastened instinctively on
that which was suited to its tastes. It converted
everything it touched into the nourishment it
required. Nothing was wasted ; all was digest-
ed and assimilated, and passed into the life-
blood of his intellectual system." But what was
the appropriate aliment of such an intellect as
Scott's might prove the hurt and even the poison
of a common mind. Assuredly, it can no more
be the best thing to read in a desultory manner,
than to do anything else in a desultory manner.
No more than our industrial life could prosper
if we merely did what came to hand, can our
iiitcllectuaj life prosper if we merely read what

HOW TO r?:a n.

oomes to hand. The very idea of intellectual
discipline implies the application of some rule
to our studies.

But if the absence of rule be absurd a'.id hurt-
ful, it is not less so — often it is more so — to en-
deavour to order our reading by too strict and
formal a rule. It is to be feared many young
men make shipwreck of their plans by too am-
bitious aims in this direction. For it is a great
mistake to suppose that the young, and young
men in particular, have a natural aversion to
rules. Boys, perhaps, have. But there ic a time of
life when a young man begins to be thoughtful,
and to project schemes for his self-improve-
ment, when he is really in more danger of yield-
ing to an over-formality in his studies than any-
thing else. And this danger has been prob-
ably increased by the influence of '* Young Men's
Associations," and the other institutions by
which society seeks to help and promote this
laudable impulse. The field of intellectual
labour is mapped out by the young man, and
he gives so much time to this department,
and so much time to another department. He
thinks it necessary to read certain books, and
to make digests of them, although, after all, he
feels very little interest in their contents, and is
conscious that he gets but little intellectual be-
nefit from them. He sets a scheme of study
before him, and he labours at it with an unde-

; I

! !

:!! ! !

I :ii

j8 how to SUdCEED IN TilFK.

viatinjT rcfrularity and devotion, which, man}
years after, he will look back upon with incre
dulous amazement.

Now there is something noble, beyond doubt,
in such conduct. There is a seed of self-disci-
pline in it which may bear fruit many days after,
even if the .scheme of self-imposed study should
break down and fail of its ends. But it is a
serious misfortune — it may prove a ruinous re-
sult — that it should break down, as such a scheme
almost certainly will. In its nature it cannot
last. It will fall to pieces of its own weight.
For beyond a certain age the intellectual activi-
ties cannot be drilled after this manner. They
will not work by mere rule. Especially they
become impatient of overdone and exaggerated
rules. Everybody who has tried it, I think, will
confess that there is nothing so hard as to carry
on mere routine studies beyond the age of early
manhood. The will shifts off the irksomencss of
the duty in every possible manner. Keener intel-
lectual interests are constantly supplanting those
which lie to order before us. And the result
sooner or later always is, that it is the study
which really interests us that carries the day. All
others fall aside, and are taken up at always wider
intervals, till they drop out of sight altogether.

The truth is, that the man cannot work after
the same methods as the boy. Spontaneous edu-
cation cannot proceed on the same principle.**

i 1 1

now TO READ.

Af)

and rules as sclKtlastict-ducatioti. The latter has
its chief support in external rules. It is under
authority. Jiut the former must he sustained hy
a constant outflow of the internal sympathy in
which it takes its rise. A man will only continue
to study that in which he feels a real interest and
pleasure, constantly prompting him to mental ac-
tivity. It will not be the books that others may
suppose to be the right thing for him, but the
l)ooks that he likes, the books that have an af-
finity with his intellectual predilections, that lu:
will read, and that will truly profit him.*

So far, therefore, it may be concluded, in an-
swer to the question, IIovv a young man shall read
to the best advantage ? — that he .should select
some particular department of knowledge which
he feels interesting, and that within this depart-
ment he should read carefully and studiously.
If he on\" once make this selection, and make it
rightly, other things will adjust themselves. HPe
will not need very definite rules, nor will he
need to concern himself about strict conformity
with what rules he may have. The varied and
desultory reading in which he may indulge will
adapt itself in various ways to the main intel-
lectual interest of his life. It will appropriate
to its purpose the most stray information, while

* "No profit grows where i., no p!ca<;ure la'cn ;
In brief, sir, study -w/iat you most aJFcct " -

JBthe oompendious advice of our great drumatic Poci;

60 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

! M;

I ; 1 I

again the vivid central fire of his intellectual
being will cast a light and meaning often around
the most desultory particulars.

It may not seem easy to make such a choice ;
but every one more or less unconsciously makes
it. The important matter is to recognise it to
yourselves, and to build up your intellectual
education upon it ; because it can be really
built up in no other manner. It is only by
studying some particular subject with a view
to mastering it, or some parts of it, that you can
ever acquire a really studious insight and power.
Nothing will enable you to realise your mental
gifts, and to feel yourselves in the free and use-
ful possession of them, like the triumph of bring-
ing within your power and making your own
some special subject, so that you can look from
the height of an accomplished difficulty, and ad-
vance from the fulness of a successful faculty.
• The advantage of such a central subject of in-
tellectual interest is not only that it gives a unity
to all your other reading, but that it preserves
the idea of study — of steady and patient v*^ork
in your mind. This is the best cure for desul-
tory and self-indulgent literary habits. You
feel that you have got something to do — that
you are making progress in a definite direction
— that you are rising to a clearer height of
mental illumination over some pathway that
you desire to explore. This is not only plea-

trow TO READ.

aant, but it costs you pains, and it is all the
more pleasant, certainly all the more improv-
ing, that it does cost pains. For this is a con-
dition of all genuine education, that it call foith
a deliberate, anxious, and persistent mental
action. It may not be a great subject that
engages your interest, but it is not necessary
that it should be so in order that you may gain
great advantages from a studious attention to it ;
for here, as in many cases, the " chase is better
than the game." The power of mental discern-
ment, the capacity of inductive inference, of
sifting confused facts or statements, and pene-
trating to the life of truth beneath them, are
the highest gifts to be got. Definite results
of knowledge are comparatively unimportant;
for such gifts are, so to speak, the sinews of all
knowledge. And when once you have mastered,
or done what you can by strenuous energy to
master, any one thing, you are prepared to enter
on a wide increase of intellectual possessions.
To plant your foot on any single spot of know-
ledge, and make it your own by reading about
it — by studying it in the light of whatever helps
you can command — is to brace your mental
vigour, and to secure it a free and powerful play
in whatever direction it may be turned.

Study, accordingly, should be definite. It is
only some aim in view that can give to your
intellectual employment the character of study.

i^ i

! !

19; '!

68 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

Reading should neither be desultory nor rou-
tine — but select. It is only some principle of
selection that can impart continuity and life to
your thoughts. What this principle of selection
should be in each case, it is impossible to deter-
mine. Every one must be the best judge for
himself in such a matter. And if he do not
force nature, or give it too much licence, he will
have little difficulty in finding what lies closest
to his interest. To every young man we com-
mend the wise and weighty words of Bacon in
his famous Essay on Studies. There is a pi-
quancy and richness of exaggeration in them,
here and there, that leave them above any mere
imitation, but that serve to impress them all the
more vividly upon the mind.

" Studies," he says, " serve for delight, for
ornament, and ability. Their chief use for de-
light is in privateness and retiring ; for orna-
ment, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the

judgment and disposition of business

They perfect nature, and are perfected by ex-
perience : for natural abilities are like natural
plants that need pruning by study; and studies
themselves do give forth directions too much at
large, except they be bounded in by experience.
Crafty men contemn studies ; simple men admire
them ; and wise men use them ; for they teach
not their own use ; but that is a wisdom with-
out them and above them, won by observatioa

if! ■|;f

HO \V TO RE A D.

r:,

Read not to contradict and confute ; nor to be-
lieve and take for granted ; nor to find talk and
discourse ; but to weigh and consider. Some
books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed,
and some few to be chewed and digested ; that
is, some books are to be read only in parts ;
others to be read, but not cursorily ; and some
few to be read wholly, and with diligence and
attention. Some books also may be read by
deputy, and extracts made of them by others ;
but that would be only in the less important
arguments, and the meaner sort of books ; also
distilled books are like conmion distilled waters,
flashy things. Reading makcth a full man ;
conference a ready man; and writing an exact
man. And, therefore, if a man write little, he
had need have a great memory; if he confer
little, he had need have a present wit; and if lie
read little, he had need have much cunning to
seem to have that he doth not. Histories make
men wise ; poets, witty ; the mathematics, subtle ;
natural philosophy, deep ; morals, grave ; logic
and rhetoric, able to contend : " Abeunt studia
in mores." Nay, there is no stond or impedi-
ment in the wit but may be wrought out by fit
studies ; like as diseases of the body may have
appropriate exercises ; bowling is good for the
stone and reins ; shooting for the lungs and
breast ; gentle walking for the stomach ; riding
for the head ; and the like. So, if a man's wit

64 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

be wandering, let him study the mathematics ;
for, in demonstrations, if his wit be called away
never so little, he must begin again ; if his wit
be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let
him study the schoolmen ; if he be not apt to
beat over matters, and to call up one thing to
prove or illustrate another, let him study the
lawyer cases ; so every defect of the mind may
have a special receipt"

n 1

natics ;
1 away
his wit
:es, let
apt to
ing to
iy the
i may

BOOKS— WHAT TO READ.

OME books are to be tasted, others
to be swallowed, and some few to
be chewed and digested." If this
was true in Lord Bacon's time, how
much more so is it in a time like ours, when
books have multiplied beyond all precedent in
the world's history. It has become, in fact, a
task beyond the power of any man to keep up, as
it is paid, with the rapidly-accumulating produc-
tions of literature, in all its branches. To enter
a vast library, or even one of comparatively mo-
dest dimensions, such as all our large towns may
boast, and survey the closely-packed shelves —
the octavos rising above quartos, and duodecimos

' !

;

ill It

G6 HOW TO flUCCEED IN LIFE.

above both — is apt to fill the mind with a sense
of oppression at the mere physical impossi-
bility of ever coming in contact with such mul-
tiplied sources of knowledge. The old thought,
Ars longUy vita hrvis, comes home with a sort of
sigh to the mind. Many lives would be wasted
in the vain attempt. The inspection of a large
library certainly cannot be recommended to in-
spire literary ambition. The names that shine
in the horizon of fame are but specks amid the
innumerable unknown that look down from the
same eminence of repose.

Yet this thought of incapacity— and of the
vanity as well as the glory of literature — in the
contemplation of a large library, is rather the
thought of the ideal scholar than of common
sense. The latter sees in a great collection of
books the simple and efficient means of diffusing
intellectual life through innumerable channels;
and literary and political history, too, is pregnant
with examples of the benefits which have sprung
from mere vicinity to a well-stored library. It
is not merely that genius has been excited,
and the aspiration for fame kindled in some
hearts where it might have otherwise lain torpid;
but it is that hundreds have owned a happier
intellectual, and often also a happier moral
stimulus from such an advantage. Lord Mac-
aulay has spoken of what he himself knew in
this respect, and especially of an "eminent
soldier and distin«fuished diplomatist who has

WHAT TO READ.

a sense
mpossi-
ch mul-
hought,
I sort of
: wasted
a large
d to in-
at shine
imid the
rorp the

1 of the
— in the
ther the
common
xtion of
diffusing
lannels ;
)regnant
sprung
ary. It
excited,
n some
torpid ;
happier
moral
d Mac-
knew in
eminent
Bvho has

enjoyed the confidence of the first geneials and
statesmen which Europe has produced in our
day," and who confessed that his success in life
was mainly owing to his advantageous position
//hen a young man in the vicinity of a library.
' When I asked to what he owed his accom-
plishments and success, he said to me. When I
served when a young man in India — when it
was the turning-point in my life — when it was a
mere chance whether I should become a mere
card-playing, hooka-smoking lounger — I was
fortunately quartered for two years in the
neighbourhood of an excellent library which
was made accessible to me."

The influence of books at a certain stage of
life is more than can be well estimated. The
principles which they inculcate, the lessons
which they exhibit, the ideals of life and char-
acter which they portray, root themselves in
the thoughts and imaginations of young men.
They seize them with a force which to after
years appears scarcely possible. And when
their faculties in mere restlessness might con-
sunie themselves in riotous frivolity and self-
indulgence, they often receive in communion
with bome true and earnest book a right Tm-
pulse which turns them to safety, happiness,
and honour.

The task of selection perhaps might be fairly
left to individual taste and judgment. Every

t\,

\ t

'■

68 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

mind has an eclectic quality which inclines to
its own proper mental food, and the choice of
books must in the end mainly depend upon this.
It may be very doubtful whether the choice is
like 7 tr be according to the exalted advice of
Bac . Lo that " every defect of the mind may
have . spec a) receipt," This is too reflective a
standard. It is only applicable after all within
certain limits. To try to nourish the mind on
what would be mainly medicine to it, would be
no more possible than to nourish the body after
a sin:ilar manner. A healthy appetite for what
is fitti ig and congenial must be the main guide
and unconsciously selective instrument of nutri-
ment in both cases.

Undoubtedly this appetite is feeble, and in
many cases perverted. Nature, it may be said,
does not set the same safeguard around it in the
mental as in the physical world. The stomach
rejects unwholesome food, but the minds of the
young often feed on garbage, and even poison.
There is some truth in this, but also some ex-
aggeration. A healthy intellect which goes in
search of its own intellectual food must be the
basis of all spontaneous education. The cases
in which this interest assumes a perverted crav-
ing are not so much cases for advice as for defi-
nite curative treatment of some kind. Our chief
aim must be to ofTer some remarks which may
serve to guide the healthy faculty for know-

WHAT TO READ,

ledge. These remarks may be in the shape of
warning as well as advice ; but the desire after
self-improvement and intellectual discipline must
be assumed in all who are likely to derive any
benefit from them.

While books have multiplied in such numbers,
it may be truly said that good books are by no
means oppressively numerous. They have not
grown certainly in proportion to ti? eneral
increase of literary productions. Ai. 1 there are
those who delight to reckon up how few really
first-rate authors they would be pleased to take
with them into studious and coi Mited retire-
ment. Shall we say that the young man should
select a few such authors, and confine himself to
their diligent and recurring study ? How ad-
mirably would they mould his principles and
refine his taste, and inspire and chasten his whole
intellectual life I But this is really what the
young man will never do, or almost never. Such
schemes of studious devotion to a few great
authors are rather the dreams of elder ease, and
an over-curious culture, than ideas that ever
enter into the heads of the young. They re-
main dreams for the most part even with those
who delight to court them. In conformity with
their source, moreover, they are generally con-
fined to authors of an older time, when thought
seemed riper, and wit brighter, and poetry
flushed with a richer imajjination than in these

'^t

1i'

70 lion TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

last times. The intellectual Epicurean who would
feed only on a few choice authors is generally also
the laudator tonporis acti, and this of itself is
enough to place his recipes for inte'lectual im-
provement beyond the sympathy or imitation of
the young. For if there is one law more sure
than another in mental development, it is that
the young must take their start in thought and
in taste from the models of their own time — ^the
men whose fame has not yet become a tradition,
but is ringing in clear and loud notes in the
ocial atmosphere around him.

Such very ideal schemes of study, therefore,
will not do for young men. They will read the
authors of their time, and find their chief inte-
rest in these authors. It requires a culture
which as yet they are only in search of to find
equal or even a higher interest in older forms of
literature, and in the great masterpieces of the
past.

Books may be classified conveniently enough
for our purpose in four divisions : —

1. Philosophical and Theological.

2. Historical.
3.. Scientific.

4. Books of Poetry and Fiction.

The bare enumeration suggests visions of im-
possible attainment. Even with such general
divisions of the field of study before him, every

WirJT TO UEAD.

young man must feel how far it exceeds his
compass. He must choose, if he would do any
good, some definite portion of the field ; and even
confine himself mainly to some share of this, if
he would turn his reading into an instrument of
real education. The utmost we can hope to do
is to indicate for his guidance some of the most
characteristic features of these divisions, and
some of the books in each that claim the atten
tion of all that would be students in it.

I. The first of these divisions may seem less
*n the way of young men seeking a general cul-
ture rather than a definite intellectual discipline.
But, as we have already explained, it is only
through some special study that any intellectual
mastery can be gained ; and we commonly find
that books in philosophy and theology are at
once amongst the most attractive and the most
effective sources of such study. The young man
in the full flush of his opening powers is naturally
drawn to the examination and discussion of the
highest problems that concern his being and
happiness. There is a sanguine daring of spe-
culation in the fresh and inexperienced mind
which dashes at questions before which the
veteran philosopher, warned by many defeats,
sadly recoils. It may be often very useless iu
its results this youthful speculation, but, if not
altogether misdirected, it may prove the most

I <

t !

ill

;i
I

72 now TO SUCCEED TN LTFK

precious training. The mind rises, from its very
defeats in such service, more vigorous and more
elastic.

The philosophical literature of our country is,
if not the most erudite and lofty, the richest, the
most varied, and (not excepting that of France)
the most intelligible philosophical literature of
the world. It has the great virtue of keeping
close to life and fact. And so there are few
even of its masterpieces which may not be read
and understood by the general reader. The
great work of Locke on tlie ** Human Under-
standing " may be said to be typical of it in this
rrspect. No doubt there are schools of philo-
sophy among ourselves, as well as in Germany,
that profess to look down upon such empirical
philosophy as that of Locke ; but we do not
now enter into any such questions. The more
spiritual philosophy may have the advantage ;
for ourselves we think that it has ; but there is
nevertheless something peculiarly British in
the manly and straightforward simplicities of
Locke's mind, and the intelligible, unpretentious
character of his philosophy. Every young man
who has a love for speculation, ought to study
his works. He should try to master the great
work we have just mentioned. At any rate, he
should master his small work on the " Conduct
of the Understanding;" and to make even this
little treatise his own thoroughly, and enter into

WHAT TO RIAD.

not

age;

ere is

all its meaning, he will find a most bracing and
wholesome mental exercise.

The writings of Dr Reid, the great master, if
not the father of the Scottish philosophy, par-
take of the same vigorous and homely qualities
as those of Locke, if of inferior range and grasp.
The student will have recourse at least to the
early work of this philosopher — "An Inquiry
into the Human Mind " — as marking an im-
portant epoch in British thought, and as cha-
racterised by some of its most significant and
instructive features. If he is really a student of
philosophy, he will not be content with this,
but he will delight to trace the developments
of the Scottish school of thought, from its be-
ginnings in Hutcheson's " System of Moral
Philosophy," on through the writings of Reid,
of Smith, of Stewart, of Brown, and of Hamil-
ton. The great work of Smith, on the
" Moral Sentiments," would of itself prove a
most valuable discipline to any young phil-
osopher.

These are merely hints : of course they can be
nothing more. There are other names equally
ii not more important. There is the great name
of Coleridge, who, from his deeper speculative
sympathies, and richer culture, is more likely
than any we have mentioned to draw the ad-
miration of young students. TJiey could not
come in contact with a liigher and more stimu-

. . '

■\:i

: I

74 HO W TO SUVOEED IN LIFE.

lating mind in many respects. The "Aids to
Reflection " has been to thoughtful young men
for two generations, perhaps, more of a handbook
of speculation than any other book in the lan-
guage, and much high-minded and noble seri-
ousness has sprung from its study. It would be
difficult to say that, taking all things into con-
sideration, any book of the kind has higher
claims upon the attention o^ the young. The
great matter to bear in mind is, that variety of
acquaintance with philosophical literature ought
not so much to be the object as familiar ac-
quaintance with and mastery of some particular
work. The former is the part of the professed
philosopher — the latter is the proper part of the
student, to which the other may be added —
should opportunity permit.

The same thing is especially true in regard to
Theological books. A knowledge of theological
literature is the business of the professed theo-
logian. It can only be possible to others in
rare circumstances. But every thinking man
should know something of theology, and there
are young minds that will by an irresistible im-
pulse seek their main intellectual discipline in
the reading of theological authors. To such
minds a few great books in our English theo-
logical literature would be the appropriate and
the highest aliment. But who shall venture to
point out these } If the task is difficult in other

j* !

^.ll

WHAT TO READ.

departments, it becomes in this almost hopelessly
embarrassed.

Men fight for sides in theology as they figlit
for nothing else. The polemics of philosophy
are sometimes keen, but the polemics of theology
tear society asunder. They are felt to involve
matters of life and death ; and every passion thiit
makes life dear, and every int rest that makes
death an anxiety, combine to intensify the
struggle between rival theological systems.
Peaceful and meditative spirits may sigh over
this state of things, but probably it will last a.s
long as the world lasts, and men are but dim
searchers for truth amid the shadows of eai liiiy
existence.

It arises from this state of things that youn^
men have less freedom and openness of view
in theology than in almost any other dei)artment
of knowledge. They belong, so to speak, to a
side which guards them jealously, and will let
them see only one class of books. They are
often taught to think that there is nothing good
or excellent beyond these. This is an unhappy
attempt — unhappy whether it succeeds or whe-
ther it fails. For, in the one case, a narrow
sectarianism, which does not so much care for
truth as for party, is likely to be the result.
And, in the other case, the mind is likely, when

ith it,

pia}-!Pg v

it finds that a game has been

and that thcie are mteresting tracks ol thcolo-

\\\

ii'

lii

:t;l

•irrr-

I '

I
I

i - 1 If.

i i

1 1

■1

■ !

76 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

gical inquiry of which it has been kept ignor-
ant, to take a rebound to an opposite extreme,
and run to wildness.

It is better, however difficult it may be, to try
to direct a spirit of inquiry in the young. To
reject authority in this, any more than in any
other department of knowledge, is a simple
absurdity. From the very nature of the in-
quiry, authority must be here especially valu-
able. Yet at the same time to abandon free-
dom, is to abdicate one's right of reason and of
conscience, from which no good can ever come.

But who is to assume the office of director.-*
In reference to our existing theological litera-
ture it may be safely said, that it would not be
wise for any one to assume this function save
in a most general manner. To adjudicate be-
tween different schools of theological cpinion,
some of which are only in progress of develop-
ment, all of which have living representatives,
would be an invidious and ungrateful ta.sk. U
there are any minds can get satisfaction from
the clever analysis that may be made of some
of these schools with a view to warning off the
young from them, the writer's mind is not of thiy
class'. The unhappy thing is, that such warnings
are more apt to point forwards than backwards,
and this not through any moral perversity in
the young, but from the mere insatiable desire
of knowledge. There is a love in all hearts, and

WHAT TO READ.

In the young theological heart more than all
others, for the dangerous. If any book is labelled
dangerous, there is a rush of curiosity towards it
which no remonstrances can deter.

Then there is this special difficulty. One
constantly feels that he may be more in affinity
with the spirit of an author whose views he
might hesitate to recommend to the young,
than with many authors whose views are of a
more orthodox character. Who has not felt, for
example, the charm of Robertson of Brighton's
sermons, which have circulated so much among
the young in our day.? There is a life in these
sermons which sermons but rarely have — an
energy of fresh, and genial, and loving earnest-
ness which move the heart and search the
springs of all religious feeling in the inquiring
and thoughtful. Yet there are here and there
rash and exaggerated utterances in them. One
must take the evil with the good. And surely
he would be a prejudiced father who would not
rejoice to see his son moved by such sermons,
his soul awakened, and life made more earnest
to him, because they may contain some views
of doctrine from which he may wish to guard
his son. The wise parent would accept the good
and try to avert the evil. He would do this
by quiet and reasonable counsel, and not by
mere dogmatism or angry argument.

Passing from our current or recent theological

i! 1

V. \

-■:

•]

l;!t

now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

literature, there are three great writers, each
marking a century, we may say, of our past
Enf;-lish theology, that may be very confidently
recommended to the study of young men.
These writers are Butler, Leighton, and Hooker.
— Butler, a master of theological argument,
strong in logic, calm in spirit, comprehensive in
aim. — Leighton, like Pascal, a genius in re-
ligious m^itation, deep, reflective, yet quick,
sensitive, and tender — the bcau-id4al of a Chris-
tian muser ; never losing hold of the most prac-
tical duties in the most ethereal flights of
his quaint and holy imagination. — Hooker, a
thinker of transcending compass, sweeping in
the range of his imperial mind the whole cir-
cumference of Christian speculatioii — rising \, ith
the wings of boldness to the heights of the Divine
government, and yet folding them with the sweet-
est reverence ' ';fore the ; ij:iOne.

There are many other -^i^At names in English
theological literature, but there are none greater
than these. There are none upon the whole
that will form so admirable a discipline for the
young. Some may prefer the passionate and
majestic pages of Jeremy Taylor — the quaint
spiritualising felicities of Hall — the didactic
stately arguments of Pearson — the fervid and
pleading pathos of Baxter ; but these, and
many other writers, are more professional, so to
Rp^Mk, in their interest. They do not command
•iiich vide sympathies as the others do. They

Mi^''

\^H.\

WIT AT TO JiFJAD.

/"O

rire less likely to attract, therefore, and les<^ likely
to influence the minds of the young.

> ti

Before passing from this class of books, it may
be proper to say a special word or two as to the
necessity of studying the Book of books— the
Bible. A feeling of reverence almost prevents
us from mentioning it in connexion with other
books, as if it merely claimed its siiare of atten-
tion along with them. It is implied, on the
contrary, in the whole conception of there chap-
ters, that its study must lie at the foundation oi
all education. Every aspect of life and duty
has been viewed by us in the light of the
Divine Revelation of which the Bible is the
record. And clearly, therefore, its reading must
occupy a quite peculiar place. It is demanded
of us in a sense in which the reading of no other
book is demanded. They may or may not be
read, but the Bible must be read by us as
Chri.stians. We neglect a plain and bounden
duty, and virtually disclaim the Chiistian char-
acter, if we neglect to read it.

Do young men sufficiently realise, even those
of them who are thoughtful and well-intentioned,
this necessity of reading the Scriptures .-* They
read them, we shall suppose, at church and else-
where — on Sunday, and other times too ; but
are they at pains to understand what they
read.** Do they make the Scriptu'cs a study?
We fear that by young ns by old the Bible in

ilj

I •■ ri

^rr"

i'.

80 now TO SUCCEED TN LIFE.

often read in a very imperfect and unintelligent
nvanner. Not even the same trouble and in-
quiry are given to it as to other books. And yet,
more than any book for general perusal, it may
be said to need such trouble and inquiry. It is
marvellously adapted, indeed, to the unlearned
as well as the learned. " He that runneth "
may " read, mark, and inwardly digest " its
simple truths ; but it also rewards and calls for
the most patient, earnest, and critical devotion
of mind. Its pages are fitted for the capacity of
a child, yet they shew depths which the highest
intellect cannot fathom. They contain "line
upon line, here a little and there a little," for
every docile, however untutored, Christian ; yet
they also claim, in order to be adequately
known, the most devoted powers of application
and reflection.

Every young man, therefore, should give his
earnest attention to the reading of Scripture.
Let him not suppose that he can easily know all
that it contains. Let him not be contented to
read a chapter now and then, rather as a duty
than viS a living interest and education. No
reading siiould be so interesting to him ; none,
certaluiy, can form to him so high an education.
It is not only his Christian intelligence and
sensibHity that will be everywhere drawn forth
in the perusal of its blessed pages, but his taste,
his imagination, and reason will be exercisecl

i :

! i i

WHAT TO READ.

and regaled in the highest degree. Its poetry
is, beyond all other poetry, incomparable, not
only in the height of its Divine arguments, as
Milton suggests, but in "the very critical art ot
composition." Its narratives arc models of sim-
plicity and grapliic life. It abounds in almost
every species of htcrary excellence and intel-
lectual sublimity. It is, above all, the inspired
Word of God — the .source of all spiritual truth
and illumination. Whatever you read, therefore,
do not forget to read the Bible. Let it be as
the " man of your counsel, and the guide of your
right hand," as a "light to your feet, and a
lantern to your path." "The law of the Lord
is perfect, converting the soul ; the testimony of
the Lord is sure, making wise the simple ; the
statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the
heart ; the commandment of the Lord is pure,
enlightening the eyes." " Wherewithal shall a
young man cleanse his way } By taking heed
thereto according to thy word."

2. If we proceed now to Historical books, the
task of selection becomes a less diffjrult one.
Never, certainly, was an age richer in great his-
torical works than our own. And not only so,
but, what is more important still, the spirit of a
higher historical method has penetrated many
departments of inquiry, and is woiking out great
results. It is the essence of this spirit to search

82 IiOW TO SVCCEED Ii\ LIFE,

reputed facts to the bottom — to explore berjeath
the accumulations of tradition and the glosses
either of glory or of scandal with whi\:h great
characters have been overlaid ; and although it
may have in some instances run riot in mere
opposition to popular and long-standing pre-
judices, beyond doubt it has cleared up many
of the outlines of the past, and made it nearer
and more real to us than it had ever been before.
Older histories, notwithstanding the fascination
of their style, and the epic proportions of their
detailf -rounded rather to suit imaginary precon-
ceptions of the subject than its actual exigences —
have been superseded, and new ones have taken
their place. Hume, always charming by his
graceful and flowing narralive. is no longer an
authority. He was not even a very trustworthy
reporter of what he read ; and others have read
far more deeply than he ever did, and turned up
facts of which he was wholly ignorant. The
schoolboy fancy of many still living lingers with
a fond and pleasing regret around the pages of
Goldsmith's " History of Rome," and his graphic
portraitures of Roman character ; but Rom.an
history has been revolutionised in its very con-
ception since Goldsmith's days.

The spirit of this nev/ historical method is of
grfri,,t importance to the young. It lies near to
the root of all genuine education. The mind
acquires from it the capacity of looking for the

Wrur TO READ.

truth — of sifting the essential from the .-wzciden-
tal — the iivinc^ from the conventional — and pierc-
ing below the incrustcd dogma of popular nar-
rative or description to the direct face of facts.
It learns an instinct of fairness — a tact of discern
ment not easily seduced by arts of rhetoric or
by any cleverness of special pleading. And
there is no gain of education greater and none
more rare than this power of critical and inde-
pendent j udgment, which cares for what is right
and true in the face of all partisanship and lies.
Of the many great historical works which our
age has produced, there are some so popular and
universally read that it is needless to recommend
them. Macaulay's wonderful volumes, as they
successively appeared, carried captive the minds
of old and young. The magic flow of his periods
— the brilliant and dashing colours of his portraits
— his illuminating comprehension of his subject,
and the flush of radiance which he poured on
certain parts of it — his rich political wisdom and
magnanimous spirit of patriotism — all served to
give to his " History of England " an attraction
which has been seldom paralleled, and which
only a very rare genius could have wielded and
sustained. While the young read such a history
with delighted enthusiasm, they should remem-
ber that they must return to it and ponder it
well before they can really get from it the mental
strengthening and elevation it is fitted to afford.

ii I

11 ;''

84 II O W TO S UCCKED IN LIFE,

The works of Hallam, of Thirlwall and Grote,
of Milinan and Prescott, of Froudc and of
Motley, shew in their mere enumeration what a
field lies before the student here. The careful
study of any one of these histories is an educa-
tion in itself ; and there is no mental task could
be recommended as more appropriate and more
valuable to the youn;^ man. Take Dean Mil-
man's " History of Latin Christianity," for
example, as covering the widest field of facts.
What a quickening, bracing, and informing study
would such a book make — all the more perhaps
that it cannot be read like Macaulay's volumes,
under the continued pressure of a high-wrought
interest. In some respects, indeed, it is very
hard and painful reading, in the old sense of the
latter word. It costs pains — it strains the faculty
of attention — it tasks and wearies the memory.
All great histories, even Macaulay's, more or
less do this. To read them as a whole is never
an easy matter ; and it will be found, in point of
fact, they are but rarely read and studied so com-
pletely as they ought to be. The young man
cannot brace himself to any higher effort, or one
more likely to tell upon his whole intellectual
life. The study of such works as we have men-
tioned, or of many others that might be men-
tioned — Clarendon's graphic pages — Gibbon's
magnificent drama — may serve to date an epoch
in his educational development. Many can recall
how the perusal of such a masterpiece as Gib-

IVHAT TO READ.

rib-

boil's "Decline and I'^all of the Roman I'jnpire"
served to raise the conception of wliat tiki
human miiid could do, and left an indelible
impress on the intellectual character.

In studyinf^ such works the aim should be to
master them, and' if possible their subject, so tho-
roughly as to be able to exercise a free judi;ment
as to what you read. To read merely that you
may repeat the views of the historian, or perhaps
imbibe his prejudices, is a poor and even an in-
jurious result. You must read rather that you
may understand his subject ; and if he is really
a great historian, he will tniable you to do this
to some extent independently of his own repre-
sentations. Using his pages, you must yet look
through them, and endeavour to realise the
course of facts for yourself. Especially aim, by
an active sympathy and intelligent perception of
what is going on around you, — of the history tlu t
is being daily wrought out under your eyes and
in your own experience, — to get somelivingappre-
hension of the past, some real understanding of
its great events and characters, its social man-
ners, its laws, institutions, and modes of govern-
ment, the condition of the people in their difife-
rent ranks and relations, the interior of their
family life, their diet, their industry, and their
amusements. It is but recently that historians
have recognised the necessity of treating some
of these topics, but it is becoming more and
more evident that it is such topics, and not

i»l'i

! I

i'
i,

II ■

, fjt

Av^<

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

11.25

m m

■ 2.2

tyub

140

2.0

U 11.6

-►

Hiotographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WIST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. USSO

(716) 872-4S03

'«v:V^

'\^:^
^4^

86 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

the mere details of battles or of royal doings,
that form the real staple of history. What-
ever contributes to unveil the past, to make it
an intelligible reality and not a mere shadowy
picture, is the right material of history; and
its highest use is to give such an insight into
the past as may happily guide and influence
the future.

According to the old definition, "history is
philosophy teaching by examples;" and the
constant instruction which it presents to the
student is certainly among its greatest advan-
tages. While calling into strenuous exercise so
many faculties of the understanding — attention,
memory, comprehension — and filling the ima-
gination with its grand outlines, it ministers no
less to the moral reason and judgment. It is
everywhere a drama of moral retribution. And
so it is that soni^thing of the same lofty feeling
— half-pleasure, half-awe — that comes from the
perusal of a great tragedy, comes also from the
perusal of a great history. The realities of a
higher Divine order, everywhere traversing the
complications of human intrigue — the confusions
of earthly politics — shew themselves in unmis-
takeable radiance. They come forth like the
handwriting on the wall, stamping themselves
in silent characters amid all the excitements of
human conflict, and the promiscuous uproar of
human passion.

WHAT TO READ.

The student, therefore, if he learn anything,
should learn political and moral wisdom in the
school of history. Such volumes as Macaulay's
and Motley's must teach him how political suc-
cess can only be effectually grounded on fair-
ness, rectitude, and truth. Manoeuvre may suc-
ceed, and falsehood triumph for a while, but
their end is shame and discomfiture. Of the
many excellences of Mr Motley's historical
labours, one of the chief is the clearness with
which he has seized the moral element in his-
tory, and wrought it into the fabric of his narra-
tive, not by way of dogmatic obtrusion, but
simply as a natural part of his subject. The
reader is not merely thrilled with a vivid story,
and the life-like delineations of one of the most
powerful pencils that ever sketched human cha-
racter and action ; but he is, moreover, touched
at every point by the unfolding lessons of u
^reat moral spectacle.

3. Of Scientific books it is scarcely for one to
speak who has not given some special attention
to the subject. Our age, however, is more rife
in such books as may help the young in culti-
vating scientific inclinations than any other age
has been. Of all departments of knowledge,
indeed, that of popular science may be said to
be making the most advance. And the most
competent judges will allow that much real pro-

Ill

^S HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

gress may be made in scientific attainment by
the mere energy of attention, by experiment,
and careful observation of phenomena, without
the qualifications of the higher mathematics,
which fall to the lot of but a few. Certainly
much of the intellectual discipline of scientific
study may be got by independent and self-
directed efforts. Some of the most distinguished
names in science have been self-taught students.
Among the departments of knowledge there
are those who claim for science the very highest
function in education. And without entering
into any polemic on the subject, there can be
no doubt that it aftbrds educational advantagt-s
of the noblest kind. It is impossible to study
the great laws of nature, the wonderful compli-
cations of its phenomena, and the beautiful rela-
tions which link and harmonise them, without
having our mental and our moral faculties
equally stimulated. The mechanism of the
heavens — the structure of the earth, and its
countless living objects — the structure of our
own bodies- -the composition of the air we
breathe — the light whereby we see — the dust
on which we tread — are all subjects equally
fitted to discipHne and delight our minds. And
he can scarcely claim, in any sense, to be an
educated man, who remains entirely ignorant of
such subjects. It is true that man long remained
ignorant of them, and that tlie intellectual civi-

WHAT TO READ.

lisation of the ancient nations was based but in
a small degree on any accurate knowledge ol
physical phenomena. But this can be no excuse
for modern ignorance of the same phenomena.
It is the mark of a small and contracted mind
to shun any department of knowledge, and one
especially of such intense interest and import-
ance.

Why, indeed, should there be any conflict
between one department and another.-* Why
should the advocates of classical and of "useful"
knowledge hold high contention, and vex the
educational atmosphere with their din ^ Both
are excellent in their place. The former never
could perish 3ut of human culture without ruinous
loss. The latter must advance as the very con-
dition of human progress. To some minds the
former will prove the fitting discipline — to others
the latter. For the classicist to abuse natural
studies, or the physicist to abuse classical studies,
is equally absurd.

Assuredly the study of nature is no mere dry
and " useful " study. It is instinct with poetry
and thought at every point ; and in our own day
many writers have clothed the truths of science
in the most elevated and attractive diction. Sir
John Herschel, Sir David Brewster, Hugh Mil-
ler, Mr Lewes, Mr Hunt, and others have all
written of science so as to interest any but the
most indifferent minds. And the young student

00 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

who would follow out such studies will find in
the writings of these well-known authors at once
their plainest and their highest guides. Such
works as those of Hugh Miller on geology, and
Mr Lewes's " Sea-side Studies," and Professoi
Johnston's " Chemistry of Common Life," and
Mr Faraday's " Lectures for the Young," not to
mention others, shew how numerously books lie
to his hand in this department of study ; and
many of these books are marked by the highest
qualities of thought and expression, with which
no young mind can come in contact without the
utmost good.

In such studies let it be your aim not marely
to accumulate facts, nor store your memories
with details, but also to grasp principles. It is
from lack of doing this that many minds turr
away in weariness from scientific pursuits. They
are repelled by needless particulars, whose inter-
dependence and relation they fail to perceive.
Most of the writers we have mentioned will help
the student to a higher point of view than this.
Most of them, moreover, will inspire him with
the poetry as well as the utility of his subject.
And this is a great gain. For youthful study
advances under a spur of poetic enthusiasm
more than anything else. Carry- this enthusiasm
with you into the study of nature. • Learn to
appreciate its beauties, to admire its harmonies.
as you explore its secrets. This is surely the

WTJAT TO READ.

natural result that should follow an increased
acquaintance with scientific facts. The more
nature is studied, the more should all its poetry
appear.

As one has asked, who has defended somewhat
extravagantly, but also eloquently and forcibly,
the value of scientific education,* " Think you
that a drop of water, which to the vulgar eye
is but a drop of water, loses anything in the eye
of the physicist, who knows that its elements
are held together by a forc6 which, if suddenly
liberated, would produce a flash of lightning?
Think you that what is carelessly looked upon
by the uninitiated as a mere snow-flake does not
suggest higher associations to one who has seen
through a microscope the wondrously - varied
and elegant forms of snow crystals? Think
you that the rounded rock, marked with parallel
scratches, calls up as much poetry in an ignor-
ant mind as in the mind of a geologist, who
knows that on this rock a glacier slid a million
years ago ? The truth is, that those who have
never entered upon scientific pursuits are blind
to most of the poetry by which they are sur-
rounded. Whoever has not in youth collected
plants and insects knows not half the halo of
interest which lanes and hedgerows can assume.
Whoever has not sought for fossils has little idea
of the poetical associations that surround the
* Mr Herbert Spencer— Education, p. 45.

ill

n HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

places where embedded treasures were found.
Whoever at the sea-side has not had a micro-
scope and aquarium have yet to learn what the
highest pleasures of the sea-side are."

4. Books of Poetry and Fiction are the last
class that wc have enunciated. In many respects
they are the most important. To some, indeed,
it may seem that such books cannot compete
in an educational point of view with the graver
compositions of philosophy, history, and of
science, of which we have been speaking. But
this would be a narrow judgment. In every
generation it will be found, on the contrary, that
the works of what have been called belles lettrcs
have exercised over the young a wide and more
stimulating influence than almost any others.
And naturally so. For it is the special aim of
such works to idealise all that is most attractive
in nature or in life to the young, to paint in the
most vivid experiences the passions, feelings, and
aspirations that animate and please them.

It becomes, therefore, so far as the young are
concerned, a most important consideration of
what quality the poetic and fictitious literature
of their time may be. They will read it. It is
needless to declaim against novel-reading, or try
to thwart it. All such attempts betray a narrow
ignorance of human nature, and, above all, of
youthful human nature. The nursery talc, and

WHAT TO READ.

the fascinated fireside that draws around it, mifjht
teach such ignorant moralists a higher lesson.
The truth is, that the mind of the child — of the
boy — of the youth — craves as one of its most na-
tural interests fictitious or ideal representations
of human life and character, of events in intricate
and marvellous combination. Holding as yet
but slackly to reality, and imperfectly compre-
hending the entangled panorama of the social
world around, it is a true education as well as a
delightful amusement for it to study human
nature in the mimic scenes of the novelist or the
poet.

It can never, therefore, avail to indulge in
polemic, religious or otherwise, against novel-
reading. In excess or misdirected, such reading
is hurtful, and even dangerous, to moral principle,
as well as intellectual strength ; but any other
sort of reading would be also more or less hurt-
ful if excessive and ill directed. The cure for
this is not abstinence, but regulation. Fiction
will be always an important and exciting ele-
ment of education — to the young especially so ;
and the great matter here and everywhere should
be to guide their taste, and not vainly to try to
e^ttinguish it

To every Christian parent and teacher it
should be a source of 'infcigned congratulation
that our modern light literature is of such an
improved character. It may not only be read

94 £lOW to succeed IN L lEE.

for the most part with impunity by the young,
but is fitted in many respects to form a high
and valuable discipline for them. If any one
wishes to measure the change that has taken
place in it, he has only to turn to the most cha-
racteristic fiction and poetry of the last century,
and see what a different spirit animates them.
It is not only that we miss in them the same
positive character of good, but that we meet
everywhere with positive elements of evil. The
moral spirit is not only not pure, but is some-
times corrupted to an extent that makes us
shrink from contact with works which in the rare
power and charm of their genius have become
immortal. Notwithstanding their varied excel-
lences, their vigour and robustness of thought,
the grace, felicity, and finish of their style, their
bright and ingenious wit, and sparkling, easy-
hearted gaiety, there are many of the most not-
able of these works seriously not fit for youthful
perusal — so deeply poisoned are they with the
taint of grossness and defiling insinuation. And
even where this is not the case, there is little
that is morally elevating or noble in the fictitious
writings of the last century. Life as a whole —
in its complete conception of a moral reality,
struggling with difficulties and beset by tempta-
tions, and victorious by principle — is but feebly
represented. The main struggle is that of pas-
sion — the main interest that of intrigue — al)

WHAT TO READ.

centred round a narrow and comparatively low
conception of life. The Clarissas and Lovelaces,
the Leonoras and Horatios, the crowd ©f Bel-
indas, Celindas, and Eugenias, and even the
hearty and courteous pleasantry of Sir Roger
de Coverley, and- the well-meant fun of Isaac
BickcrstafT, Esq., are but one-sided and inade-
quate representations. Piquant and interesting
as they may be, no one would say the young
could get much good of any kind from the study
of them. It is in the main fashionable comedy
or the mere tragedy of lower passion.

Our present literature presents a marked con-
trast to these characteristics. It is informed
with a dci per feeling, and altogether a more
sacred, a hi' ' cr idea of life. It is, in fact,
matter for icism that our fiction has tres-
passed too oi-'viously on ethical and religious
grounds, and sought to point its moral too ob-
trusively, instead of merely "holding up the
mirror " to all that is most beautiful and earnest
in human faith and life. This is a casual excess
— the recoil of the spring after having been
depressed unduly. The advantage is unequi-
vocal in a moral, whatever it may be in an
artistic, point of view. All that is most charac-
teristic and excellent in our present fiction wc
unhesitatingly commend to the perusal of the
young. There is a pervading presence of good
m it — the reflection of a spirit that loves the

*)6 no W TO FfUCCEED IN L TFE.

good and hates the evil. The foHi'es and vices
of society are exposed by a Thackeray with
a pencil which borrows none of its powers or
piquancy from contact with the degradation
which it paints. The kindly spirit, warning to
what is noble and self-sacrificing, rejoicing in
what is tender and true, everywhere looks from
beneath the caustic touches of the satirist, or the
dark colours of the artist* In our most familiar
sketches and caricatures there may be sometimes
feebleness, but there is never pruriency ; a free,
yet delicate handling pervades them, exciting
laughter without folly, and warranting their in-
troduction into families without fear of starting
a blush on the most modest cheek, or exciting
the least questionable emotion.

Looking to the moral effect of our modern
poetry and fiction upon the young, there is
nothing more deserving of commendation than
the increased spirit of human sympathy for
which they are remarkable. The literature of
the last age was especially defective in this
respect. It lacked genial tenderness or earnest
sympathy for human suffering and wrong.
Its very pathos was hard and artificial. It
wept over imaginary sorrows ; it rejoiced in
merely sentimental triumphs. In contrast
to this, the poetry and fiction of our time

* This, we are sorry to say, is scarcely true of some of Ml
Thackeray's recent delineations — such as " Lovel the Widower,*

WHAT TO READ.

concern themselves closely with the common
sorrows and joys of the human heart. The
pages of Dickens and Kingsley, and Miss Mu-
lock and Mrs Gaskell, and Mrs Oliphant and
George Kliot, are all intensely realistic. A
deep-thoughted tenderness for human miseries,
and a high aspiration after human improvement,
animate all of them. It is impossible to read
their novels without having our moral senti-
ments acutely touched and drawn forth. The
same is eminently true of the poetry of Mr
Tennyson, Mrs Browning, and others. It is
almost more than anything characterised by a
spirit of impassioned philanthropy, of intense
yearning over worldly wrong and error, •' ancient
forms of party strife," and of lofty longing after a
higher good than the world has yet known —

"Sweeter manners, purer laws,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand."

It is impossible for the young to love such
poetry and to study it without a kindling in
them of something of the same affectionate
interest in human welfare and aspiration after
human improvement.

In both our fiction and poetry, life is pre-
sented if not in its fully sacred reality, yet as
an earnest conflict with actual toils and duties
and trials — a varied movement, neither of
frivolity nor profligacy, (as in so much of our
older imaginative literature,) but of work and

r ■ 1

■ ■ ]

u ,;

V. \

98 HOW TO SVCCEED IN LIFE,

passion, of mirth and sorrow, of pure affection
and every-day trial. The picture is realised
by all as true and kindred. It comes home to
us, moving us with a deeper indignation at
wrong, or a holier tenderness for suffering, or a
higher admiration of those simple virtues of
gentleness, and love, and long-suffering, which,
more than all heroic deeds, make life beautiful,
and purify and brighten home. A literature thus
true to the highest interests of humanity — seek-
ing its worthiest inspiration and most touching
pictures in the common life we all live — in the
darkness and the ligh*^ there are in all human
hearts, the wrongs and sufferings, the joys and.
griefs, tlu: struggles and heroisms that are every-
where around us ; — ^sucli a literatuiv. has a seed
of untold good in it, and, forming as it does the
chief mental food of thousands of young men, it
must help to develop virtue, and strengthen true,
and generous, and Christian principle. It is
such a literature, although in still grander and
more sacred proportions, that Milton pictured to
hiuLsclf in one of his splendid passages : — " These
abilities, wheresoever they be found, are the
inspired gift of God, rarely bestowed, but
yet to some (though most obscure) in every
nation ; and are of power, beside the office of a
pulpit, to inbreed and cherish in a great people
the seeds of virtue and public civility; to allay
the perturbations of the mind, and to set tho

WHAT TO READ,

affections on a right tune ; to celebrate in glori-
ous and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of
God's almightiness, and what He works and
what He suffers to be wrought with high provi-
dence in His Church; to sing victorious agonies
of martyrs and saints ; the deeds and triumphs
of just and pious nation^, doing valiantly
through faith against the enemies of Christ; to
deplore the general relapses of kingdoms and
states from justice and God's true worship.
Whatsoever in religion is holy and sublime, in
virtue amiable or grave, whatsoever hath pas-
sion or admiration in all the changes of that
which is called fiction from without, or the only
subtleties and reflexes of man's thought from
within — all these things with a solid and tract-
able smoothness to point out and describe —
teaching over the whole book of sanctity,
through all the instances of example, with such
delight to those especially of soft and delicious
temper, who will not so much as look upon truth
herself unless they see her elegantly dressed :
that whereas the paths of honesty and good life
appear now rugged and difiicult, though they
indeed be easy and pleasant, they will then
appear to all men both easy and pleasant,
though they were rugged and difficult indeed."

It is unnecessary for us to try to point out
further those works in our modern poetry and
fiction which deserve the attention of young

'i\

100 ffO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE

men. Of course, they will read what is most
popular and interesting. There is one writer,
however, neither a poet nor a novelist, and yet
in some respects both, whom we feel urged
to commend to their study — the author of
"Friends in Council," "Essays written in the
Intervals of Business," and " Companions of my
Solitude," &c. These volumes are charming, at
once for their literary finish, their genial earnest-
ness, and their thoughtful, ethical spirit. A
vivid sense of the sacred power of duty ; a
quiet, glancing humour, which lights up every
topic with grace and variety ; a shrewd know-
ledge of the ^"orld and its ways, tinged with
sadness, pervade Ihcm, and are fitted to render
them eminently impressive and improving to
the young and book-loving. They invite by
their easy, genial, and attractive style ; they
inform, instruct, and discipline by their broad
and observant wisdom, and the wide intelligence
and keen love of truth with which they discuss
many important questions.

We should further urge upon young men
the necessity of extending their studies in the
lighter depariments of literature beyond their
own age. They must and will read mainly, as
we have supposed, the fiction and poetry of
their time, but in order to get any adequate
culture from this sort of reading they must do
something more. They must study English

WHAT ",'() ::i:ad

101

iOSt

iter,
yet
•gcd
r of

the .
f my
g>at
nest-
A
y; a
every
cnow-

with
cnder

g to

e by
they
Ibroad
tence

■o

liscuss

men
in the

their
ily, as
Iry of
Iquate

ist do
^iglisli

poetry in its successive epochs, ascending by
such stages as are represented by the great
names of Wordsworth, and Cowper, and Dry-
den, and Milton, and Shakspeare, and Spenser.
To study thoroughly the great works of any
of these poets, especially of Wordsworth, or
Milton, or Shakspeare, or Spenser, is a last
ing educational gain. Any youth who spends
his leisure over the pages of the " Excursion,"
or the " Paradise Lost," or tlie " Fairy Queen,"
or the higher dramas of Shakspeare, is engaged
in an important course of intellectual discipline.
And if you would wish to know the charms of
Kterary delight in their full freedom and ac-
quisition, you must have often recourse to these
great lights of literature, and seek to kindle your
love for "whatsoever hath passion or admira-
tion " at the flame of their genius.

Altogether it is evident what a wide field o^
study is before every young man who loves
books, and would seek to improve himself by
their study. The field is only too wide and
varied, were it not that different tastes will seek
different parts of it, and leave the rest compara-
tively alone. Whatever part you may select,
devote yourself to it If history, or science, or
belles lettres be your delight, read with a view
not merely to pass the time, but really to culti-
vate and advance your intellectual life. The

1 oo HOW TO SUCCEED TN LIFE.

mere dilettante will never come to anything.
Read whatever you read with enthusiasm, with
a f^cnerous yet critical sympathy. Make it
your own. Take it up by lively and intelligent
application at every point into your own mental
system, and assimilate it. This is not to be
done without pains. Many never attain to it.
And so they read, and continue to read, and
find no good. They are no wiser nor better
after than before, simply because they read
mechanically. They have a sense of duty in
the matter which prescribes the allotted task,
but they do not take care that the task be
interesting as well as imperative. An active
interest, however, is a condition of all mental
impfo/ement. The mind only expands or
strengthens when it is fairly awakened. Give
to all your reading an awakened attention, a
mind alive and hungering after knowledge, and
whether you read history, or poetry, or science,
or theology, or even fiction of a worthy kind, it
will prove to you a mental discipline, and bring
you increase of wisdom.

HOW TO ENJOY.

VERY life that is at all hcakhy and
happy must have its enjoyments as
well as its duties. It cannot bear
the constant strain of grave occupa-
tion without losing something of its vitality and
sinking into feebleness. Asceticism may have
construed life as an unceasing routine of duty
— of work done for some grave or solemn pur-
pose. But asceticism has neither produced the
best work nor the noblest lives of which our
world can boast. In its effort to elevate human
nature, it has risen at the highest to a barren
grandeur. It has too often relapsed into moral
weakness or • perversity. Human nature, as a

104 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

prime condition of health, must recreate itself—
must have its moments of unconscious play,
when it throws off the burden of work, and
rejoices in the mere sensation of itii own free
activity.

And youth must especially have such oppor-
tunities of recreation. It thirsts for them — it is
all on the alert to catch them ; and if denied to
it, it dwindles from its proper strength, or pur-
sues illegitimate and hurtful gratifications. A
young man without the love of amusement is an
unnatural phenomenon ; and an education that
does not provide for recreation as well as study
would fail of lit higher end from the very ex-
clusiveness with which it aims to reach it.

Yet it must be admitted that the subject of
recreation is one attended with peculiar diffi-
culties. Not, indeed, so long .s youth remains
at school, and under the guidance of external
authority. It is then little more than a matter
of games and healthy exercise, in which the
animal spirits are chafed into pleasant excite-
ment, and the physical frame hardened into
healthy vigour. The proportion which such
school recreation should bear to school work —
the best modes of it — the games which are best
fitted for youth in its different stages — and
the organisation necessary to give them their
happiest effect — are all points which may re-
quire attention, or involve some discussion. But

I-

now TO ENJOY.

105

the peculiar difficulties of the subject do not
emerge so far. It is only when youth has out-
grown the bcholastic age, and begun life on its
K >wn account — when it has tasted the freedom
and the power of opening manhood — that re-
creation is felt to run closely alongside of
temptation, and that the modes and measures
in which it should be indulged are found to
involve considerations of a very complex and
delicate character.

Neither here nor anywhere is it the intention
of the writer to lay down formal rules, but rather
to suggest principles. Nothing, probably, less
admits of definite and unvarying rules than
amusement. Its very nature is to be somewhat
free from rule. It is the gratification of^an
impulse, and not the following out of a plan.
To lay down plans of amusement is to contra-
dict the very instinct out of which it springs,
and to convert recreation into work. No man,
certainly, can be kept safe from harm by enclos-
ing himself in a palisade of rules, and allowing
himself to enjoy this, and refusing to enjoy that.
Moral confusion, and, consequently, weakness,
is more likely to come from such a course as
this than anything else. The best and the only
effectual guide we can have is that of a rightly-
constituted heart, which can look innocently
abroad upon life, and which, fixed in its main
principles and tendencies, is comparatively heed-

■s «

,; I

^' i:

100 now TO Fii'rnEED jn ltfe.

less of details. It is from within, and not from
without — from conscience, and not from law,
that our highest monition must come. Young
men must seek freedom from temptation
in the strength of a Divine communion that
guards them from evil. This is primary. Se-
condarily, there are certain outward occasions
of temptations which it may be incumbent
upon them to avoid, and to which we shall give
a few words in another chapter.

Primarily and essentially, the heart must be
rightly fixed in order to innocent enjoyment.
Nothing else will avail "Whether ye eat or
drink, or whatsoever ye do," says the apostle,
" do all to the glory of God." There is a pro-
found significance in this text. Our lives, not
merely in some points or relations, but in all
points and relations, must be near to God, Not
merely in our solemn moods, or our grave occu-
pations, but in our ordinary actions, our mo-
ments of enjoyment, our eating and drinking,
(the emblematic acts of enjoyment,) must we
recognise and own the presence of God. The
grand idea of the glory of God, and the most
common aspects of life, are in immediate rela-
tion to one another.

And this points to an essential and distin-
guishing characteristic of Christianity. It is no
mere religion of seasons or places ; it is no mere

now TO KX.iOY

107

acries of things to be believed, noi of duties tci
be done ; it rests upon the one, and prescribes
the other ; but it is more characteristically than
either a new spirit and life pervading the whole
moral and mental activities, and colouring and
directing them at every point. The Christian
is brought within the blessed sphere of a Divine
communion that animates all his being. From
the happy centre of reconciliation with God,
there goes forth in him a life — it may be very
imperfect, answering but feebly to its own as-
pirations, yet a life touched in all its energies
with a Divine quickening, and bearing on all a
Divine impress. In such a life there is and can
be nothing unrelated to God. Awful thought
as the glory of God is, so soon as the soul is
turned into the light of the Divine love, that
glory is ever near at hand, and not afar off to it.
There is nothing common nor unclean to the
Christian. He cannot lead two lives ; he can-
not serve the world with the flesh, and serve
God with the spirit. He may often do this in
point of fact. The law in his members may
prove too strong for the better law of his mind,
and bring him into captivity to the law of sin
and death in his members. But all this is in
contradiction to the ideal of the Christian life ;
it is in no respect reconcileable with it. In its
conception, it is a whole and not a part — a whole
consecrated to God — a living, breathing, har-

• u

? ;-^|

.08

I r.'-* »-ir f.

TO SUCCEKD IN LIFE,

Dionioiis reality, all whose aspirations are God-
ward.

It is clear that to such a Christian the question
of enjoyment will not present itself so much in
detail as in principle. His first concern will be not
what he should do or not do — whether he should
court this amusement or reject it, take this liberty
or deny himself it ; but what he is — whether he
is indeed within the sphere of Divine communion
and sharing in its blessing. He will not seek
to mould his life from the outside, but to give
free play and scope to the Divine Spirit strong
within him, that it may animate every phase of
his activity, and sanctify all that he does.

If any young man asks, how he is to enjoy
himself, in what way he may yield to those
instincts of his nature which crave for amuse-
ment, he must first ask himself the serious ques-
tion. Whether he is right at heart.? Has he
chosen the good.? Unless there is a settlement
of this previous question, the other can scarcely
be said to have any place. For if God is not in
all his life, it must be of little practical conse-
quence to him whether one enjoyment be more
or less dangerous than another. Everything is
dangerous, because undivine to him. He sees
God nowhere. The light of the Divine glory
rests on nothing to him ; and the most noble
work, therefore, no less than the most trivial
amusement, may serve to harden his heart and

now TO ENJOY,

ion

leave him more godless than before. But again,
if he has settled this prime question, and chosen
the good, then he will carry with him into all
his indulgences the Spirit of the good. That
Spirit will ward off evil from him, and guard him
in temptation, and guide him in difficulty. He
will not be scrupulous or afraid of this or that ;
but he will take enjoyment as it comes, and as
his right. He will feel it to bdia little thing to
be judged of man's judgment, and yet he wiH be
careful not to offend his brother. All things
may be lawful to him, but all things will not be
expedient. He will use a wise discretion — re-
fraining where he might indulge, using his liberty
without abusing it, eating whatsoever is set
before him, asking no questions ; and yet when
questions are started, obviously sincere, and
arising out of moral scruples, he will abstain
rather than give offence. He will have, in short,
a wise discernment of good and evil, a tact of
judgment which will guide him far better than
any mere outward rules.

The question, How to enjoy? is therefore in its
right sense always a secondary, never a primary
question. It comes after the question of duty,
and never before it ; and where the main ques-
tion is rightly resolved, the secondary one be-
comes comparatively easy of solution. Principle
first : Play afterwards. And if there be the root
of right principle in us, we will not, need not,

1 10 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

trouble ourselves minutely as to modes of amuse-
ment. We will take enjoyment with a free and
ample hand, if it be granted to us. We will
know how to want it, if it be denied to us. We
will know both how to be abased and how to
abound; and in whatever state we aro, therein
learn, like the great apostle, to be content.

Of one thing we may be sure. Enjoyment in
•tsclf is meant to be a right and blessing, and
not a snare. This is a very important truth for
the young to understand. Life is open to them;
anmsement is free to them. They are entitled
to live freely and trustfully, and enjoy all — if
only the sense of duty and of God remain with
them — if only they do nut forget that for all
these things God will bring them into judgment.
Under this proviso they may taste of enjoyment
as liberally as their natures crave, and their
opportunities offer. To preach anything else to
the young, is neither true in itself nor can pos-
sibly be good to them. To teach them to be
afraid of enjoyment, is to make them doubtful
of their own natural and healthy instincts ; and
as these instincts remain, nevertheless, and con-
stantly reassert their power, it is to introduce an
element of hurtful perplexity into their life. They
are urged on by nature; they are held back by
authority. And if the rein of the outward law
imposed upon tlicni once break, they arc plungci

llOyy TO ENJOY.

Ill

into darkness. They have no guide. It is vain
to enter into this struggle with nature : it is cruel
and wrong to do it. Nature must have play,
and is to be kept within bounds by its own wise
training, and the development of a higher spirit
within, and not by mere dictation and arbitrary
compulsion from without.

There is no point, perhaps, upon which edu-
cation of every kind more frequently fails than
upon this very point — the education which we
give ourselves, as well as that which others give
us, in youth. For it is a mistake to suppose,
as we have hinted in a former chapter, that the
sole or perhaps the chief danger of young men
is, that they are too indulgent to themselves.
Muny are so. Many unthinking youths may so
give the rein to nature in its lower sense that
every high and pure impulse is destroyed in
them. Ikit of those who are capable of thought,
and who aim at self-culture, not a few are more
likely to break down in their aims from striving
after too much than too little. They are apt
to gird themselves with rules, and to lay artifi-
cial yokes upon the free development of their
nature, rather than to yield too much to its own
elastic impulses. They become very stern
theorists some of these young men, and they
look on life with a hard and dogmatic assur-
ance, parcelling out with a formal and ignorant
hand the good and evil in it. They are wist:

If!

112 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

; I

as to the kinds of enjoyment, and rigidly carry
out their own maxims, as well as seek to enforce
them upon others.

This is not the spirit from which there ever
groweth a fine and noble character in a young
man. It lacks the first essential of all youthful
nobleness — modesty — the freshness of a trustful
docility. The chance is that it breaks down
altogether in its theoretic confidence, as ex-
perience proves too strong for it ; or that it
matures into a narrow fanaticism which misin-
terprets both life and religion, and proves at
once a misery to itself and a nuisance to others.
Ascetic formality is the refuge of a weak moral
nature, or the wretchedness of a strong one.
How far even a noble mind may sink under it,
— to what depths of despairing imbecility and
almost impiety it may reach, — we have only to
study the austerities of Pascal to see. We are
told that " Pascal would not permit himself to
be conscious of the relish of his food ; he pro-
hibited all seasonings and spices, however much
he might wish for and need them ; and he
actually died because he forced the diseased
stomach to receive at each meal a certain
amount of aliment, neither more nor less,
whatever might be his appetite at the time,
or his utter want of appetite He wore a girdle
armed with iron spikes, which he was accus-
tomed to drive in upon his body (his tleshless

now TO ENJOY.

113

ribs) as often as he thought himself in need ol
such admonition. He was annoyed and offended
if any in his hearing might chance to say that
they had just seen a beautiful woman. He re-
buked a mother who permitted her own children
to give her their kisses. Towards a loving sister,
who devoted herself to his comfort, he assumed
an artificial harshness of manner for the express
purpose^ as he acknowledged, of revolting her
sisterly affection."

And all this sprung from the simple principle
that earthly enjoyment was inconsistent with
religion. Once admit this principle, and there ih
no limit to the abject and unhappy consequences
that may be drawn from it. The mind, thrown
ofT any dependence upon its own instincts, is
cast into the arms of .some blind authority or
dogmatism which tyrannises over it, reducing it
more frequently to weakness than bracing it up
to endurance and heroism.

No doubt it will be the impulse of every
Christian man, and it ought no less to be so of
every Christian youth, to "rejoice with trem-
bling." While he hears the voice saying to him,
on the one hand, " Rejoice, O young man, in thy
youth, and let thy heart cht cr thee in the days
of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine
heart, and in the sight of thine eyes ; " he will not
forget the voice that says to him, on the other

■'■!

;■

114 HOW TO S UCCEED IN LIFE.

hand, " But know thou, that for all these things
God will bring thee into judgment." The voices
are one, in fact ; and if he is wise he will ac-
knowledge their unity, and be sober in his very
mirth, and temper the hour of cheerfulness with
the thought of responsibility. There is some-
thing in the heart itself, even in the heart of
the young, that intimates this as the true mean.
There is often a monition of warning in the
very moment of mirth. The joy is well. It is the
natural expression of a healthy and well-ordered
frame ; it leaps up to meet the opportunity as
the lark to greet the morn. The movement of
nature is as clear in the one case as in the other ;
yet there is a background of moral conscious-
ness lying behind the human instinct, and always
ready to cast the shadows of thought— of reflec-
tive responsibility over it. Rejoice, it says ; but
rejoice like one who is a moral being, and whose
primary law, therefore, is not enjoyment, but
duty.

Moreover, there is that which immediately re-
minds us of the same truth in the result which
follows all excess of enjoyment. The tide of
feeling, when it rises to an unwonted height
of joyful elation — certainly when it allows itself
to be carried away by mere thoughtless and
boisterous impulse — almost invariably returns
upon itself, collapses in reaction and exhaustion.
Our constitution contains within itself^ a check

How TO ENJOY.

115

ings
>ices

ac-
very
with
3me-
ft of
nean.
a the
is the
dered
ity as
ent of
other ;
cious-

ways
reflec-
but
whose

t, but

ly re-
which
ide of
height

itself
is and
eturns
lustion.

check

to all undue excitement. This check is, no
doubt, often ineffectual, but it is so at the
expense of the constitution, and the very
capacity of enjoyment which may overtask it-
self. This capacity wastes by excessive use.
Of nothing may the young man be more sure
than this. If he will rejoi c without thought
and without care in the days of his youth, he
will leave but little power of enjoyment for his
manhood or old age. If he keep the flame ot
passion burning, and plunge into excitement
after excitement in his heyday, there will be
nothing but feebleness and exhaustion in his
maturity. He cannot spend his strength, and
have it too. He cannot drink of every source
of pleasure, and have his taste uncloyed, and his
thirst fresh as at the first.

There is need here of a special caution in a
time like ours. There are young men who
now-a-days exhaust pleasure in their youth.
The comparative freedom of modern Irfe en-
courages an earlier entrance into the world,
and an earlier assumption of manly manners
and hafbits than was wont to be. Pleasure is
cheaper and more accessible — the pleasure of
travel, pleasure of many kinds ; and it is no
uncommon thing to find yuung men who have
run the round of manly pleasure before they
have well attained to man's estate, and who
are dlas4 with the world before the time that

;i*iH

5lii .5

:.i

1 16 HO W TO StJCCEEb tN LIFR

their fathers had really entered into it. There
may not be many of those for whom these
pages are chiefly written of this class ; but some-
thing of the same tendency exists among all
classes of the young. They all attain sooner
to the rights of manhood, and the premature
use of these rights becomes an abuse. To men-
tion nothing else, the prevalence of smoking
among the young is an illustration of what we
mean. Even should it be admitted that this
habit can be practised in moderation with im-
punity, and as a legitimate source of pleasure
by the full-grown man, it must be held to be
altogether inappropriate to the young. The
youthful frame can stand in no need of any
stimulating or sedative influence it may impart.
The overworked brain or the overtasked physi-
cal system may receive no injury, or may even
receive some benefit — we do not profess to give
any opinion on the subject — from an indulgence
which is absolutely pernicious to the fresh,
healthy, and still developing constitution. And
that smoking is an indulgence of this class can-
not be doubted. Granting it to be a permissible
enjoyment, it is not so to the young. So far as
they are concerned, it involves in its very nature
the idea of excess. Their physical constitution
should contain within itself the abundant ele-
ments of enjoyment. If healthy and unabused, it
no doubt does so ; and the application of a nar-

^W!m:,

lere

lese
me-
all
Dner
turc
nen-
king
Lt we
this
I im-
asure
to be
The
f any
npart.
hysi-
even
give
gence
fresh,
And
s can-
lissible
far as
ature
tution
t ele-
sed, it
a nar-

HOW TO ENJOY,

117

cotic like tobacco is nothing else than a violent
interference with its free and natural action.

The avoidance of all exjcess is a golden rule
in enjoyment. It may be a hard, and in certain
cases an impossible rule to the young. In the
abundance of life there is a tendency to over-
flow ; and when the young heart is big with
excited emotion it seems vain to speak of mode-
ration. Every one, probably, will be able to
recall hours when, amid the competitive glad-
ness of school or college companions the im-
pulses of enjoyment seemed to burst all bounds,
and ran into the most riotous excitement ; and
in the reminiscences of such hours there may
be the charm as of a long-lost pleasure never to
be felt again ; but if the memory be fairly in-
terrogated, it will be found that even then there
was a drawback — some latent dissatisfaction and
weariness, or something worse, that grew out of
the very height or overplus of that rapturous
enjoyment As a great humorist* has said —

" E'en the bright extremes of joy
Bring on conclusions of disgust**

Assuredly the most durable and the best plea-
sures are all tranquil pleasures. And it is just
one of the lessons which change the sanguine
anticipations of youth into the sober experience
of manhood that the true essence of attainable
enjoyment is not in bursts of excitement, but in

• Thomas Hood.

Illl^

! '.i

•I

. :

11-8 HOW JO .SUCCEED W LlJb K

the moderate flow of healthy and happy, be-
cause well-ordered, emotion.

As we set out by saying, it is impossible to
regard this or any other element of life apart
from religion. To many no doubt it seems
widely separated from it. The very name of re-
creation calls up to them ideas with which they
would think it an absurdity or even an impiety
to associate religion. The latter is a solemnity
— ^the former is a frivolity, or festivity — and each
is to be kept in its proper place. To speak of
religion having anything to do with the amuse-
ments or enjoyments of the young would appear
to such to be the wildest absurdity. Yet it is a
true, and, from a right point of view only, the
most sober, judgment, that the spirit of religion
must pervade every aspect of life — ^that there is
no part of our activity can be fully separated
from it. We must be Christian in our enjoy-
ments as in everything. The young man must
carry with him into his recreations not merely
feelings of honour, but the feelings of justice,
purity, truth, and tenderness that become the ,
gospel. He must do this, if he be a Christian
at all. At least, in so far as he does not do this,
he does discredit to his Christian profession.
He fails to realise and exemplify it in its full
meaning.

It is this upon which we must fall back here

HOW TO ENJOY.

1H»

and everywhere. It is the spirit ot the gospel
to rejoice, and yet to do so with sobriety ; to
rejoice where God fills the heart with gladness —
where opportunity and companionship invite to
mirth and cheerfulness ; and yet to be sober
when we think how fleeting all joy is — how soon
the clouds and darkness follow the glad sunshine
— how many are dwelling in the "house of mourn-
ing" — what a shadow of death and of judgment
encompasses all human life. To be cheerful and
yet to be sober-minded — to laugh when it is a
time for laughter — to have no gloom in our heart,
and yet to have no wantonness in it — but to be
•* pitiful and courteous" towards others' sorrow,
should God spare ourselves from it, — this is the
right spirit, truly Christian — truly human, (the
latter because it is the former.) It may seem
sufficiently simple of attainment ; but its very
simplicity makes its difficulty. There is nothing
notable in it — only the harmony of a healthy,
Christian soul. It is by no means easy of reach,
but by God's help it may in some measure be
the portion of all who will humbly learn His
truth and follow Ris will.

II.

WHAT TO ENJOY.

OUTH must have its recreations. En-
joyment must mingle largely in the
life of every healthy young man —
enjoyment liberal yet temperate.
The general proposition does not admit of rea-
sonable dispute ; but when we descend to details,
{ind consider the particular forms of enjoyment
which the world ofters to young men, we find
ourselves very soon surrounded with difficulties
Recreation becomes a complex question, in
which good is greatly mingled with evil ; and
some of its most familiar forms have long been,
and probably will long remain subjects of vehe-
ment argument

WHAT TO ENJOY.

r:?i

Kspecially docs arfjument arise in reference to
the very period of life which \vc are contemplat-
ing. In younger years, or again in older years,
the difiiculty is less urgent, or at least it solves
itself more readily. The inexperience of mere
boyhood protects it from the evil that may be se-
ductive to the young man ; and again the expe-
rience of mature years is so far a preservative
from the same evil. The boy has not yet
reached the age of action or of self-choice in
the matter; the man of experience has already
formed his practical philosophy of life, and
taken the direction of his conduct into his own
hands beyond the control of advice from any
other. The difficulty lies in .he main before
the young man who is forming his philosophy
of life : how he shall act in reference to certain
forms of worldly enjoyment — how far these
are consistent with a Christian character — how
far the element of temptation mingled up in
them should deter him from participation in
them — how far the element of good in them may
claim the recognition of his free reason and in-
dependent judgment.

Before passing to the consideration of this
difficulty, however, there are certain forms of
recreation so obviously and undeniably legiti-
mate as to claim from us a few words of recom-
mendation.

The active sports of boyhood may be, and as

II \

1 ?2 HOW TO SUCCEED IN L TFE,

far as possible should be, carried into early
manhood. Cricket, or foot-ball, or golf, or what-
ever game carries the young man into the open
air, braces his muscles, and strengthens his
health, and procures the merry-hearted com-
panionship of his fellows, should be indulged
in without stint, so far as his opportunities
will permit, and the proper claims of business
or of study justify. The primary claims of
both of these are of course everywhere pre-
sumed by us. We have only in view those whc
purs'je such games as recreations. Those who
pursue them to the neglect or disadvantage of
higher claims upon their time, may of course
turn them, as they may turn all things, into
occasions of evil.

Our meaning simply is, that viewing such
games in their proper character, as sources of
enjoyment for the leisure hours of youth, they
are of an absolutely innocent and beneficial
character. They subserve in he highest degree
the purposes of enjoyment by exercising pleasur-
ably the physical system, stimulating the animal
spirits, and calling forth the feelings of fair and
honourable rivalry, of earnest and unconceding
yet courteous competition.

The healthy enjoyment of these sports might
be the subject of extended description, but thip
fvould lead us away from our task. Those who
prize and enjoy them, do not need any such

WHAT TO ENJOY.

description, and others would not be much
the better of it. It cannot be too strongly
borne in mind that this enjoyment is to some
extent a moral as well as a physical gain.
Moral and physical health, especially in youth,
are intimately connected; and whatever raises
the animal spirits without artificially exciting
them, and stimulates the nervous energy with-
out wasting it, is preservative of virtue, as well
as conducive to bodily strength. The happy
abandonment of cricket or foot-ball, the more
steady yet equally keen excitement of golf, leave
their traces in the higher as well as in the lower
nature; and, if well used, they are really instru-
ments of education as well as amusement.

There is another class of amusements to
which young men may freely betake themselves
as they have opportunity — shooting and fishing.
Both are time-honoured, and both, if not free
from temptation — as nothing is — are yet so sur-
rounded with healthful associations as to claim
almost unqualified approval. There are, no
doubt, questions — and questions not very easy of
answer — that may be raised in reference to both
these modes of recreation. It seems strange,
and in certain moods of our moral conscious-
ness indefensible, that man should seek and
find enjoyment in the destruction of innocent
and happy life around him. It is strange

fi ^

124 ffOW TO SUCCBBD IN LIFE

and puzzling that it should be so; and if
think merely of the end of such sports, and try
reflectively to reah'se them, we arc not aware of
any satisfactory trains of argument by which
I hey can be clearly defended. But the truth is,
there are tiot a few things in life which con-
science practically allows, and sense justifies; yet
which s.re scarcely capable of reflective vindica-
tion. They are not subjects of argument, and
argument only becomes ridiculous and futile
when applied therein. They answer to strong
and healthy instincts in us — instincts given us
by God, and which therefore justify their objects
vvhen legitimately sought. But the objects
looked at by themselves have little or nothing
to commend them to the reason or moral judg-
ment. The destruction of animal life in sport
seems to be such an object. Viewed by itself it
has nothing ^o commend it; it seems almost
shocking to speak of sport in connexion with it ;
yet instinct and sense not only justify such
sport, but approve of it as among the healthiest
recreations that we can pursue. Any man who
would argue against either shooting or fishing
because of the cruelty they seem to involve, is
regarded as an amiable enthusiast to whom it is
useless to make any reply. Supposing he has
all the argument on his side from his point of
view, sportsmen see the thing from an entirely
different point of view, and while they do nql

WHAT TO ENJOY.

13o

care to dispute the argument, they go theii
way quite unimpressed by it, and strong in the
fceUng that their way is in the highest degree
justifiable.

It is not the destruction of animal life which
they directly contemplate. On the contrary,,
when this destruction is secured and made easy,
as sometimes happens, it is rightly said that
there is no sport. It is the healthful exercise,
the ready skill, the risks, the adventure, the
" chase," in short, rather than the " game " that
they regard. The sportsman, as he sets out,
thinks of the breezy morn, or the open day —
the crisp and bracing air — the walk through the
fields or by the stream — the excitement of the
search — the happy adventures with which he will
attain his object — the pleasure of success — the
pleasure even should he fail. His mind dwells
upon every pleasing accessory, and the idea of
pain to the destroyed animals seldom or never
occurs to him.

It is a singular enough fact that angling,
which to the reflective imagination can certainly
vindicate itself as little as shooting, has come to
be esteemed as a peculiarly gentle and innocent
amusement. Anglers are all of a " gentle craft,"
and a quiet, pensive, peaceful, harmless, happy
air — breathed from the spirit of old Izaak Wal-
ton, and long before he lived to symbolise it — is
supposed to rest upon their pursuit Nothing

Mi ill

< H

126 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

can shew more strikingly how completely it isth<
accessories, and not the end, of this amusemeni
that common sense and traditionary feeling con-
template. It were vain to say that common
sense and traditionary feeling are wrong. Be-
yond doubt they are right on such a subject.
The subject is one which belongs to their pro-
vince, and not to the province of logic. And
even if the logician should find himself driven
to argue it from an opposite point of view, he
would probably be found in his practice, and
certainly in his ordinary moods of feeling, con-
tradicting his own argument.

In addition to such out-door amusements,
there are various forms of in-door amusement
which claim some notice. It is more difficult to
find in-door amusements for young men, for the
simple reason that healthy and happy exercise
is the idea which is chiefly associated with, and
chiefly legitimates recreation on their part. And
the open air is the natural place for such exercise.
Vet in-door amusements must also be found.
Music is one of the chief of these amusements,
and certainly one of the most innocent and ele-
vating.

Of all delights, to those who have the gift or
taste for it, music is the most exquisite. To
affix the term amusement to it is perhaps
scarcely fair. It is always more than this when

WHAT TO ENJOY,

127

iluly appreciated. Luther ranked it as a science
next in order to theology. " Whoever despises
music/' he said, " as is the case with all fanatics,
with him I can never agree ; for music is a gift
of God, and not a discovery of man. It keeps
Satan at a distance ; and, by making a man
happy, lio loses all anger, pride, and every other
vice. After theology, I give music the second
rank and highest honour ; and we see how David,
together with all the saints, have expressed their
thoughts in verse, in rhyme, and in song. Most
of all, I approve these two recreations and
amusements — namely, music, and chivalrous ex-
ercises, with fencing, wrestling, &c. ; the first
chasing away the cares of the heart and melan-
choly thoughts, the other beneficial in exercis-
ing and improving the limbs, and keeping the
body in health." -" .

So Luther, with that manly and healthy in-
stinct which always characterises him. He loved
music himself, and always found a solace in it ;
and every sympathetic, and tender, and beauti-
ful nature will do the same. It is a charm not
only in itself, but a charm to keep us from idle
and frivolous amusements. While stealing the
senses by its soft witchery, or stirring them by
its brilliant mystery, it awakens, at the same
time, the most hidden fountains of intellectual
feeling, so that under its spell, more than at any
other time, we feel

i:-\

i!
Ill

128 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

•* Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that ininioital sea
Which brought us hither ; —
Can in a moment travel thither —
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore."

There is no other recreation, if this be the proper
name for it at all, which is so purely intellectual.
Other amusements, many games, may exercise
the intellect, and even largely draw forth its
powers of forethought, of decision and readi-
ness ; but music appeals to the soul in those
deeper springs which lie close to spiritual and
moral feeling. It lifts it out of the present and
visible into the future and invisible. Even in
its gayer and lighter strains it often does this,
as well as in its more solemn and sacred clvints.
The simple lilt of a song which we have heard
in youth, or which reminds us of home and
country — some fragment of melody slight in
meaning, yet exquisitely touching in sweet or
pathetic wildness — will carry the soul into a
higher region, and make a man feel kindred
with the immortals.

** O joy ! that in our embers
Is something that doth live ;
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive ! "

A joy so precious as this, and which may min-
ister to such high ends, is one which we are
bound to cultivate in every manner, and for

WHAT TO ENJOY,

120

which we are warranted in seeking the fullest
indulgence. The concert, the oratorio, the opera,
are all, from this point of view, to be commended.
It appears impossible to make any absolute dis-
tinction between these forms of musical enter-
tainment, and to say that the concert and per-
haps the oratorio are commendable, but not so
the opera. Such distinctions have their root in
the same confusion of ideas in which many cur-
rent moral and religious commonplaces take
their rise. The pieces of music performed at
the concert are nothing else in great part but
detached fragments from the great operatic
masterpieces. And what is the opera but the
attempt to realise in a more complete form the
dramatic and lyric play of passion, in which all
song and music have their origin > While the
opera is thus defensible in its essential charac-
ter, it is at the same time — on account of the
high and expensive art which it always involves
— free from the degrading accessories which too
often surround the theatre. The fact of operatic
performances occurring in a place called a
theatre is not, we presume, a consideration
which can affect any sensible mind.

The oratorio stands somewhat by itself It
is in its very profession sacred music ; and
many who would shrink from all contact with
the opera, are delighted to go to the oratorio,
and to find at once their taste indulged, and

130 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

their conscience soothed, in listening to its so-
lemn and majestic, or pensive and pathetic
music. Others, again, have gone the length o<
recognising a peculiar offence in the very re-
ligious character of the oratorio. That such
music should be performed by those who have
no religious character — that it should be sought
mainly as an amusement, under the same im-
pulse that any other public entertainment is
sought — are points that some clergymen have
not scrupled to urge in condemnation of ora-
torios. All that need be said in reply to such
views is, that they are not more illogical than
they are unfair, and therefore unchristian. The
very same views might be urged against religious
worship. This worship is, no doubt, sometimes
conducted by those who have no true religious
character; and there are those who join in it
from no higher motive than to distract the time,
and because they have nothing else to do. The
truth is, that all such judgments, where we can
have no means of ascertaining the real state of
the case, are grossly uncharitable. They savour
of a spirit the very opposite of His who said,
" Judge not, and ye shall not be judged." We
have nothing to do with such things. The
music which thrills with its awful earnest-
ness — its tone.^ of adoration or of deprecation
— may proceed from a dead or cold, or from
\ deeply-touched or pious heart. We cannot

WHAT TO ENJOY,

tell ; no more than we can tell whether the elo-
quent preacher of " righteousness, temperance,
and judgment to come," speaks from the fuhiess
of a faithful, or the mere readiness of a fluent,
tongue. It is our business to look to our own
hearts, and see what good we get from such
opportunities of good. Such music is truly, as
Luther says, " a gift of God to us, and not a dis-
covery of man." Let us improve the gift, and
be thankful to the Giver.

As to the in-door amusements of which the
game of billiards may be taken as the type, and
the other class of amusements that follow, we
feel at once that we are by no means on such
secure ground as we have been treading. And
yet it is not because we have passed into a dif-
ferent region of fact — because there is any-
thing in such a game as billiards that is immoral,
or in any sense illegitimate. On the contrary,
it is impossible to conceive any game in itself
qiore innocent. It admits of exquisite skill,
calls forth subtle ingenuities of head and hand,
and promotes free movement and exercise. Yet
it is no less the case that we would not consider
it a good but a bad sign of any young man that
he spent his time in billiard-rooms. We do not
even excuse the same devotion to billiards, or
any such game, as we do to any of those out-
door and more invigorating sports of which wo

■ f.

f I

I I

I ■

133 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

have spoken. We would infinitely rather see a
young man fond of fishing, or shooting, or boat-
ing, or golf, or cricket, or any such sport, than
we would see him fond of billiards. And yet
billiard-playing is certainly in itself quite as
innocent as any of these sports. Another proof,
if any were needed, that the common sense and
judgment take in not merely the essential cha-
racter of any game or amusement, but its whole
accessories, and these often more prominently
a. J determinately than anything else. A devo-
tion to billiard-playing in a young man is rightly
held to imply an idle and luxurious nature, and to
expose to chances of evil companionship, which
may prove of fatal consequence. We cannot say
to any young man, Do not play billiards — it is
wrong to do so ; because we have no warrant to
make such a statement — no one has. To affirm
that to be wrong, which is not in itself wrong,
which may be practised with the most perfect
innocence — with the most warrantable enjoy-
ment—is a dogmatism of the worst kind, which
can only breed that moral confusion in the minds
of the young to which we have more than once
adverted. And moral confusion is a direct
parent of vice. When once the moral vision is
clouded, and sees* only in a maze, there is no
security for right principle or consistent conduct.
We do not venture to say this therefore. But
we venture to say to every young man, It is not

^yiiA'i lo JUisjok,

luj

)oy-
lich

good for you to indulge much in such an amuse-
sncnt. You can only do this at the expense of
higher considerations. Many other amusements
are better, more healthful in themselves, and
more free from dangerous associations.

The love of play of any kind in the shape of
billiards or cards, or anything else, is a hazard-
ous, and may prove before you are well aware
of it, a fatal passion. Whenever it begins to
develop, you have passed the bounds of amuse-
ment ; and to indulge in any games but for
amusement is at once an infatuation and temp-
tation of the worst kind. It is only the idea of
amusement that sanctions such games. Disso-
ciated from this idea, they become instruments
of evil passion, to be repudiated by every good
man. If you use them at all then, never abuse
them. And use other games rather. They are
better in themselves ; they are safer in their
effects.

In reference tc the last class of amusements
to which we pass — the theatre, dancing, and fes-
tive parties among yourselves — all we can say
is very much of the same character as we have
now said. These things are not necessarily evil,
and we cannot take it upon us to say that they
are. Yet they often lead to evil ; and it is im-
possible, in the case of the theatre especially, as
it has always existed and is likely to continue

II-

184 HO [y TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

to exist among us, not to feci t'^at the young
man who seeks his amusement there is courting
dangers of the most seductive and fatal character.
Why so ? Not certainly that there is anything
vicious in the representation of human passion
and action upon the stage. Not surely that the
drama is essentially vicious in its tendency, or
sheds from it an immoral influence. On the con-
trary, the drama is in its idea noble and exalting
— one of the most natural, and therefore most
effective expressions of literary art. Who may
not be made wiser and better by the study of
Shakspeare's wonderful creations } In what hu-
man compositions rather than in his plays would
a young man seek for the stimulus of high
thoughts, and the excitement of lofty and heroic
or gentle and graceful virtues } The stage in its
true conception is a school of morals as well as
of manners, in which the things that are ex-
cellent should commend themselves, and the
things that are low and bad shew their own
disgrace. There is no species of entertainment
that can, according to its true idea, more com-
pletely vindicate itself than the theatre.

Luther felt this, and has dwelt upon it with
his usual heartiness. " Plays," he says, " are to
be allowed, because they arc written in beau-
tiful poetry, and characters are portrayed and
represented by which the people are instructed,
and every m?.n is reminded and admonished of

tVIIAT TO ENJOY.

135

his rank and office, what is becoming in a ser-
vant or due to a master, and an old man, and
the station each should assume in society ; nay,
here is exhibited, as in a mirror, the splendour
of dignities and offices, the responsibility of our
duties, and how each one should conduct him-
self in his station and general behaviour. At
the same time, the cunning artifices and decep-
tions of unprincipled villains are described and
held up to view ; likewise the duty of parents to
their children, how they should educate their
young people, and persuade them to marry at
a proper time ; and how the children should
shew obedience to their parents. Circumstances
are exhibited in plays the knowledge of which
is generally useful — as for instance the interior
government of a family, which can be learned
only in or by representation of a married life.
And Christians ought not to throw comedies
aside, because there sometimes occur expressions
not proper for every ear ; for even the Bible it-
self might in this view be kept out of sight.
Those objections, therefore, which are brought
forward why Christians should be forbidden to
read or perform plays, are feeble and ground-
less."

Clear and honest words, as all Luther's are.
The argument is satisfactory and to the point
Dramatic representation is, in its idea, a compe-
tent minister of such high uses as he describes.

' r

I :

i I

lua now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

! il

M "I

Vet it remains no less true that the theatre is
not, in its actual accessories, as it exists among
us, a school of morals. Is it not too fre-
quently the reverse ? Conceive the case of a
young man, of good principles and unblem-
ished character, carried by some of his compa-
nions, for the first time, to the theatre. Would
the good or the evil influences be uppermost in
such a case } Would the associations of the
place — the late hours, the after entertainment —
not cast into the shade any happier efifects that
might flow from what he heard or saw ? Would
any Christian parent contemplate, without un-
easiness, a play-going fondne«:s in his son } In
point of fact, is such a fondness likely to lead to
any good ? Do the young men who most ex-
hibit it, develop into earnest, or excellent, or use-
ful characters } These questions, we fear, are too
easily answered in the negative. And, therefore,
while we think with Luther, we would add a
caution to his words. The performance of plays
is not to be reprobated — those who go this
length will be found to have a most inadequate
and narrow idea both of life and literature, and
to belong to the " fanatics " with whom the great
Reformer " could never agree ; " but attendance
upqn the theatre is to be practised with modera-
tion and caution. "All things are lawful for
me, but all things are not expedient : all things
are lawful for me, but all things edif)' not." If

yVlJAT 10 ENJOY,

anywhere this wise rule of St Paul's applies, it
is here. Young men may go to the theatre —
may lawfully and innocently do so;* but it is
not expedient that they do so often ; it is not
expedient that they go in groups of unguarded
fellowship. The enjoyment is not in itself to
be condemned ; but temptation lies everywhere
folded in its accessoriei,. Temptation is to be
shunned — the appearance of evil is to be avoided.
The most excellent way of doing this is to go,
when you do go to the theatre, with those whom
you love and respect — \w\i\\ the members of your
own family. In this manner all the accessory evils
of the enjoyment are most completely disarmed,
and all its highest good most effectually secured.

Dancing is to be indulged with the same limi-
tations. None but a fanatic of the most gloomy
description could impute any harm to the act of
dancing in itself. Here, also, the bright-hearted
Reformer (and yet he was often sad-hearted, too)
lays down the principle. " The inquiry is made,"
he says, "if dancing is to be reckoned a sin.
Whether among the Jews dancing was the cus-
tom, I do not indeed know ; but since among us

* These remarks have been the subject of a good deal of criticism.
We feel ourselves, aftci fi'H renection, unable to modify them.
We cannot conden^.n the mere fact cf attendance at the theatre,
in any circumsta-ices. And those who take up this iH)siliun can
only do so consistently on different principles from those whiob
underlie all our views on the subject of '* Kccication."

1 .IS no \V TO StTCCEED N LIFK.

it is customary to invite {guests to dine, to eat,
and be merry, and also to dance, I do not see
how this practice can be rejected. The abuse,
however, must be avoided. That wickedness
and sin are often the ccnsequenccs, is not attri-
butable to the act of dancing. If everything is
done with decorum, you will be able to dance
with your guests. Faith and love arc not ban-
ished by dancing." No, indeed. And whatever
natural amusement is consistent with the exer-
cise of these virtues, is not to be banned by
hard-hearted dogmatists. But abuse is to be
carefully guarded against. Dancing too readily
degenerates into dissipation — and innocent
gaiety passes into frivolity — and the flutter of
excited interest into the craving for artificial
passion. All such extremes arc evil — bad in
themselves, and hurtful in their consequences.

In the same manner festive parties among
yourselves, how light and genial and happy may
they be ! What feast of reason and flow of soul I
What flash of wit and cannonade of argument
may they call forth ! What radiant sparks, the
memory of which will never die out, but come
back in the easy and humorous moments of an
earnest and it may be a sad existence, and
brighten up the past with the momentary corus-
cations of a departed brilliancy 1 What deep,
hearty friendship may illuminate and beautify
them ! Yet we know that such gladsome mo-

WHAT TO KNJOY

139

inents are peculiarly akin to danger. Merrinien*
may pass into wantonness, and legitimate indul
gence into a riotous carouse. Moderation is the
diflficulty of youth in everything. Yet when the
bounds of moderation arc once passed, all the
enjoyment is gone — recreation ceases.

" Mirth and laughter, and the song, and the
dance, and the feast, and the wine-cup, with all
the jovial glee whic. circulates around the festive
board, are only proper to the soul at those seasons
when she is filled with extraordinary gladness,
and should wait until those seasons arrive in order
to be partaken of wholesomely and well ; but by
artificial means to make an artificial excitement
of the spirits is violently to change the law and
order of our nature, and to force it to that to
which it is not willingly inclined. Without such
high calls and occasions, to make mirth and
laughter is to belie nature, and misuse the ordi-
nance of God. It is a false glare, which doth but
shew the darkness and deepen the gloom. It is
to wear out and dissipate the oil of gladness, so
that, when gladness comcth, we have no\^ght of
joy within our souls, and look upon it with baleful
eyes. It is not a figure, but a truth, that those who
make those artificial merriments night after night
have no taste for natural mirth, and are gloomy
and morose until the revels of the table or the
lights of the saloon bring them to life again.
Nature is worsted by art — artificial fire is stolen,

140 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

but not from heaven, to quicken the pulse of life,
and the pulse of life runs on with fevered speed,
and tho strength of man is prostrated in a few
brief years, and old age comes over the heart when
life should yet be in its prime. And not only is
heaven made shipwreck of, but the world is
made shipwreck of — not only the spiritual man
quenched, but the animal man quenched, by such
unseasonable and intemperate merrymakings."*
In all your enjoyments, therefore, be moderate.
The principle that leads and regulates you must
be from within. The more the subject of recrea-
tion is candidly and comprehensively looked at,
the more it is studied in a spirit of sense and rea-
son, the more difficult will it appear to lay down
dwy external rules that shall make out its charac-
ter and determine its indulgence. Everywhere
the difficulty appears extreme, and all wise men
will admit it to be so, when amusement is viewed
merely from the outside. Hut look within, and
set your heart right in the love of God and the
faith of Christ, and difficulties will disappear
Your recreation will fit in naturally to your life.
You will throw the evil from you, however near
you may sometimes come to it, and you will get
the good wliich few things in the world are with-
out. The inner life in you will assimilate to the
Divine everywhere, and return its own blessed
and consecrating influence to all your work and
all your amusements,

* Edwuid Irving.

i) :^l

IMPORTANCE OF RELTGION.

HE most important subject to a young
man, or to any man, is religion. What
is my position in the world ? Whence
have I come, and whither am I going ?
What is the meaning of life and of death ? What
is above and before me ? These are questions
from the burden of which no one escapes. The
most idle, the most selfish, the most self-con-
fident do not evade them. Those who care least
for religion, in any ordin-^-y sense, are found in-
venting their own solution of them. All experi-
ence proves that men cannot shut out the thought
of the Unseen and the Supreme, although they
may bani.sh from their minds the faith of their

142 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

childhood, and despise what they deem the
superstition of their neighbours. The void thus
created fills up with new materials of faith, often
far less interesting and unspeakably less worthy
than those which they superseded. Our age has
been rife in examples of this ; and men have
wondered — if, indeed, any aberration of human
intellect can well excite wonder — at the spec-
tacle of those who have professed that they
could not conceive of any notion of a Supreme
Being without emotions of ridicule, exhibiting a
faith in the supernatural, in comparison with
which the superstitions of a past age are pro-
bable and dignified. So strangely does violated
human nature take its revenges, and bring in at
the door what has been unhappily expelled at
the window.

The thought of the supernatural abides with
man, do what he will. It visits the most callous ;
it interests the most sceptical. For a time —
even for a long time — it may lie asleep in the
breast, either amidst the sordid despairs, or the
proud, rich, and young enjoyments of life ; but it
wakens up in curious inquiry, or dreadful anxiety.
In any case, it is a thought of which no man can
be reasonably independent. In so far as he
retains his reasonable being, and preserves the
consciousness of moral susceptibilities and re-
lations, in so far will this thought of a higher
world — of a Life enclosing and influencing his

IMPORTANCE OF RELIGION.

143

present life — ^be a powerful and practical thought
with him.

It becomes clearly, therefore, a subject of
urgent importance to every man how he thinks
of a higher world. What is it to him .? What
are its objects, — their relation to him, and his
relation to them } Suppose the case of a young
man entering upon life, with the sense of duty
beginning to form in him, or at least working
itself clear and firm in his mind, how directly
must all his views of the near and the present
be affected by his thought of the Supreme and
the future } It may not be that he has any dis-
tinct consciousness of moulding his views of the
one by the other. But not the less surely will
the "life that now is" to him be moulded by
the character of the life that he believes to be
above him and before him. The lower will take
its colour from the higher — the " near " from the
" heavenly horizon." There will be a light or a
darkness shed around his present patli in pro-
portion as his faith opens a steady or a hesitat-
ing — a comprehensive or a partial — gaze into the
future and unseen.

It may seem, on a mere superficial view, that
this is an overstatement. The young grow up
and go into the world, and take their places
there often with little feeling of another world,
and how they stand in relation to it. Their
characters are formed as it might seem by chanoei

t w

144 HO r TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

and the tastes and opinions of the accidental
society into which they are thrown. And no
doubt such influences are very potent. They
are the envelopin'.^ atmosphere of character,
silently feeding and rounding the outlines of its
growth. But withal, its true springs are deeper
— " Out of the heart are the issues of life." The
soul within is the germ of the u folding man, no
less than the seed is that of the plant, fashioned
and fed as it may be by the outer air. And the
essential form of character will be found in every
case to depend upon the nature of the inner
life from which it springs. Whether this be dull
and torpid, or quick and powerful, will very
soon shew itself in the outward fashion of the
man.

The mere surface of many lives may look
equally fair, but there will be found to be a
great difference, according as some hold to a
higher life, and draw their most central and en-
during qualities thence ; and as others are found
to have no higher attachment — no living spring
of Divine righteousness and strength. What is
deepest in every man, and most influential, how-
ever little at times it may seem so, is, after all,
his relation to God and the Unseen. The genuine
root of character is here, as trial soon proves.
How a man believes concerning God and the
higher world — how his soul is — will shew itself
in his whole life. From this inner source^ its

IMPORTANCE OF RELIGION.

145

essential and determining qualities will run. On
this foundation its structure rests.

The religious belief of young men, therefore,
is a subject of the most vital moment for them-
selves, and for all. Whatever tends to afifect it"
is pregnant with incalculable consequences. To
weaken or lose it, is to impair' the -very life of
society. To deepen and exparnl it is to add
strength to character and durability to virtue.
The present must be held to be a time of trial,
so far as the faith of the young and the faith
of all are concerned. Questions touching the
worth and the authority of Christianity are
widely mooted and openly canvassed. There
may be something to alarm — there is certainly
much to excite serious thought in this prevail-
ing bias of religious discussion. Of one thing
we may be sure, that it is neither possible to
avert this course of discussion, nor desirable to
do so. It must have free course. The thought
of many hearts must be spoken out — otherwise
it will eat witiiin, and the last state will be worse
than the first. It may be perilous to have the
faith of our youth tried as by fire ; but it would
be still more pei.ious to discountenance or stifle
free inquiry. Christianity has nothing to fear
from the freest discussion. Its own motto is,
'* Prove all things — hold fast that which is
good."

It seems a very hopeless thing, now-a-days,

: V4

116 now TO iSUCCA'Ii!D IN LIFE,

to try to hold any minds by the mere bonds
of authority. The intellectual air all anound
is too astir for this. There is no system of
mental seclusion can well shut out the young
from opinions the most opposite to those to
which they have been accustomed. The old
safeguards, which were wont to enclose the re-
ligious life as wkh a sacred charm, n*^ longer
do so. Even those who rest within the shade
of authority, do so, in many cases, from choice
rathe.' than from habit. They know not what
else to do. They have gone in quest of truth,
and have not found it ; and so they have been
glad to throw themselves into arms which pro-
fess an infallible shelter, and seek repose there.
This is not remedy for doubt, but despair of
reason. And no good can come in this way.

The young can only be led in the way of
trrth, not by stifling, but by enlightening and
strengthening all reasonable impulses within
them. Religion must approve itself to them as
thoroughly reasonable — in a right sense — as
well as authoritative. It must be the highest
truth in the light of judgment, and history, and
conssience.

' •''!

II.

OBJECT OF RELIGION.

rHE fundamental point in religious in-
quiry must be the character of the
Supreme Existence. That there is a
Supreme Existence or Power operat-
ing in the world can scarcely be said to be denied
by any. The Pantheist does not deny the reality
of such a Power. The Positivist does not dispute
it. Both fall back upon something higher, some-
thing general, in which lower and particular ex-
istences take their rise. The Atheist or the abso-
lute sceptic of existence superior to his own is
not to be found, or, at least, need not be argued
with ; for it is not possible to find any common
ground of argument with him. and all contro-

■i

148 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

vcrsy must suppose some common ground from
which to start. The pure atheistic position is
so utterly irrational as to be beyond the pale
of discussion. Everywhere in the range of mo-
dern speculation and modern science, it is con-
ceded, or, rather, it may be said to be implied
as a rational datum, without which neithei' phi-
losophy nor science would be intelligible, that
there is ;v universal principle pervading exist-
ence, and in some sense controlling it.

What ffinciple? and in what sense superior
and controlling ? It is here that all the contro-
v^crsy lies, and has long lain ; and in our time
especially, the inquirer is met here at once with
seductive theories, which, while they' serve to
exercise his rational instinct, and seem to fall
in with the advancing results of scientific in-
vestigation, are in their very nature destitute of
all religious and moral value.

The Pantheist tells him that the universal
principle is nothing else than the spirit of na-
ture, or the collective life, animating all its parts,
and ever taking new shapes of order and beauty
in its endless mutations. The Positivist speaks
to him of the laws of nature, or the great scheme
in wfiich these laws unite, regulating and go-
verning all things. By both the universal prin-
ciple is held to be a principle within nature.
Whether it be regarded as a Pantheistic spirit-
life, or a material law or force — the conclusion

OBJECT OF RELiaWN.

140

IS the same, that it is only nature itself in some
modification or another which is the ultimate
spring of existence, and the great arranger of
it. There is no room left in either view for an
Existence transcending nature, and acting inde-
pendently of it.

It may seem that this is a very old delusion ;
and so it is. There is no creed of human origin
older than that which deifies jature. There is
no speculation more ancient than Pantheism,
Yet there is none also younger — none more
powerful over many minds at the present day.

Is nature a self-subsistent, ever-unfolding pro-
cess, containing all its energies within itself.?
and are life and intelligence mere develop-
ments from its fertile bosom } Or is mind the
primary directing power of which nature is but
the expression and symbol } Is there a life
higher than any mere nature-life — a rational
and moral Will, transcending and guiding all
the processes of nature, — in nothing governed
by, in everything governing them } This is the
issue, more pertinently and urgently than ever,
in the present crisis of speculative and religious
inquiry.

'):) I

How deeply this question goes into the whole
subject of religion and morality must be obvious
to any reflection. If once the doubt insinuates
itself, and begins to hold the mind as to whether

l'«

160 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

there is a higher Will than our own instructing
and guiding us, to which wo arc responsible,
and whose law should be our rule, it is plain
that the ve^y spring of divine obedience must
be slackened, if not destroyed. Men cannot
habitually hold themselves free from a sense of
duty and yet be dutiful — cannot deliberately
cherish views at variance with all feeling of re-
verence for a higher Power and yet be pious.
When the mind comes to dwell familiarly on
the idea of nature rather than of God, on that
of development rather than of responsibility, on
that of harmony rather than of authority, there
gradually follows a marked change in the point
of view from which life, and all its relations
and interests, are regarded. There springs up
an insensible and subtle selfishness, all the more
powerful that it proceeds not from the grosser
impulses, but from a diffused reflective feeling
that nothing as it were can be helped, that
" the great soul of the world is j ust ; " and that
every man accordingly is to take the good pro-
vided for him, and make the most of it for his
own happiness, unmindful of the happiness or
the misery of others.

There is plenty of this selfishness, no doubt, in
the world under every variety of opinion, plenty
of it, alas ! in the very heart of the Christian
Church ; but a system of thought which con-
templates the world as its own end, and life, at

OBJECT OF RELIGION,

151

the very best, as a mere process of culture, which,
by rcjcctinf:^ a higher Will, deliberately rejects
a moral ideal, tends directly to enc(nira<;e and
educate such a comprehensive spirit of self-in-
dulgence as the only guide of conduct. " Our
appetites, being as much a portion of ourselves
as any other quality we possess, ought to be
indulged, otherwise the whole individual is not
developed." This becomes the obvious canon of
a philosophy which looks no higher than nature,
[t consecrates passion, and hallows the pleasures
)f the world as sources of experience and cul-
ture.

Such views may easily prove seductive to
young minds. There is a novelty and appnrent
grandeur and comprehensiveness about them
that steal the imagination as well as minister to
the senses. Especially is this apt to prove the
case where the fair claims of nature may have
been made to yield to the arbitrary exercise of
religious authority. When the bow has been bent
too far in one direction, it will recoil in the
other. Religion is sometimes enforced to the
neglect and even the defiance of nature. Nature
takes its revenge when it wakens up, and finds
itself strong in the consciousness of neglected
rights. Authority sometimes holds the reins
upon conscience too tightly and pretentiously.
And conscience takes its play when it i? able to
look its master in the face and finds how ill sup-

.1!

I II

»52 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

ported arc its assertions, and liow imaginary
many of its terrors. ^

/ifhe question before us is one of fair argu-
ment and deduction, from the facts of nature
and the characteristics of human life and his-
tory. If the theory which regards nature in
some form or another as the Highest, fits into
the facts of the world, and adequately accounts
for them — if it be satisfactory to the demands
of reason and conscience, and furnish an ade-
quate solution of the great realities of history —
then it would certainly make out a strong case.
But if it break down in every one of these par-
ticulars — if it fail to meet the demands of reason,
or conscience, or history — then it has no pretence
on which to claim our assent. It is convicted of
falsehood, and sent away.

The special difficulty of the question consists
in fairly grappling with our adversary. How
are we to meet him } And what weapons of
controversy will he accept } The two sides koop
pitched against one another, like opposite camps
of thought, without directly meeting. They do
not come forth into some chosen field and fight
out their differences. The spiritualist appeals to
internal experience — to the testimony of " con-
sciousness," as it is called ; but the Positivist re-
jects this appeal, and calls for statistics as the only
trustworthy ground regarding human nature

OTIJECT OF RELWJQN.

\\r

The one says, " I feci and know in my inmo<rt
experience that I am not merely a part of nature
— that there is that in me which asserts its supe-
riority to nature, and its independence of the
natural law of cause and effect ;" the other treats
the internal feeling as merely a delusive play of
consciousness, without any logical value, and
says, " Take all men in the aggregate, and their
conduct is foimd regulated by invariable law.
Over a certain area of population the same moral
facts will be found to repeat themselves ; a cer-
tain proportion will be found who commit suicide,
who are guilty of theft, and who poison their
neighbours. All this proves the mere natural
necessity that governs human affairs."

The tables of the statistician are undeniable.
Beyond doubt there is a fixed ratio in moral
facts. There is nothing arbitrary nor unregu-
lated in human conduct. The phenomena of in-
tellectual and moral life, in all their subtle and
complex combinations, obey the same order that
is everywhere discovered in external nature.

But this is nothing to the point. For the
question is not as to the character of these phe-
nomena, but as to the source of them. There is
no intelligent Theist will claim that human con-
duct be exempted from the law of serial de-
velopment. But he refuses to admit what the
Positivist seems to think a necessary inference
from this — that this character of order in human

'if!

? I 'U '

154 /TOTF 7^0 SUCCEED IF LIFE.

aflfairs arises from the same immutable necessity
as it does in nature. In the latter, the whole
process is physically conditioned. The links in
the chain of succession may be all exposed.
But in the evolution of mental phenomena this
is admitted to be impossible.* The inductive
logician allows as much as this. The Theist
goes further, and maintains that, in the last re-
sort, there is an internal power or self which
cannot be brought within the law of natural
sequence — nay, which, in its essence, defies this
law, and places itself over against it.

According to this view, man is under law;
but he is also more than any mere natural law.
The raws which regulate phenomena apply to
his conduct, but they do not exhaust his being.
He has a spirit and life of his own which tran-
scend nature-conditions, and are not contained
by them. Above the system of these conditions
there is a higher system of being, and man, in
his innermost life, belongs to this higher system.
It is his peculiar glory that he does so — that,
amid ceaseless movements of matter, before
which he is apparently so weak, he is conscious of
a.i existence higher than all matter, and which
would survive its wildest crash. He knows
//tmsf/f, and that is what nature does not do.
There is no play of conscious life in its mighty
mutations. But man is characteristically a con-

* Mill's I-ogic, iL 4«i.

OBJECT OF RELIGION.

15r.

scious being. According to the frequently-
quoted saying of Pascal — " Man is but a reed,
the feeblest thing in nature ; but he is a reed
that thinks, {im roseau pcnsant') It needs not
that the universe arm itself to crush him. Ar
exhalation, a drop of water, suffices to destroy
him. But were the universe to crush him, man
is yet nobler than the universe, for he knows
that he dies ; and the universe, even in prevail-
ing against him, knows not its power."

" Man is yet nobler than the universe." He
is characteristically a self-conscious, thinking
soul, higher than all nature, and which no subtle
development of mere natural conditions can ever
expiain. This is the eternal basis of Christian
Theism, and of all religion that is not a mere
consecration of earthly energies and passions.
This is the only spring of a genuine morality that
can survey man as under some higher law of
voluntary obedience, and not a mere law of har-
mony and growth.

And if our appeal to internal experience is not
accepted, let us carry our appeal into the open
world of history. If consciousness may cheat
us, surely the voice of collective humanity can-
not deceive us. The Positivist at least cannot
refuse an appeal to the course of civilisation.

Now, of two theories of human progress, the
one of which regards history as a mere develop-

i i

15G now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

ment of natural laws, and the other of whicli,
while admitting the operation of such laws, yet
recognises everywhere a higher Divine agency
fxprcssed in them — we affirm, confidently, that
the latter theory is not only more consistent with
the dignity of humanity, but is the only one
capable of explaining its development. Once
recognise the spiritual character of man, the
power of free will and moral action in him,
allying him to a higher system of things ; and
history becomes a grand and intelligible drama
with a clear meaning. Notwithstanding all it?
retrogressions and perplexities, the higher is stiH.
seen overcoming the lower, and the tide of im-
provement swelling forwatd, not merely under
natural changes, but an advancing force of moral
intelligence.

That this force is the special spring of human
progress is everywhere apparent. At every great
turn of man's course, it has been a new moral
life — some breathing of a higher spirit — and not
any mere combinations of material, nor even of
intellectual agencies, which has saved civilisation
from what seemed impending dissolution, and
driven its wheels forward with a fresh impetus.
Taking man in any point of view, it is the
reality of this higher life, however caricatured
and debased, that more than anything else strikes
us. All speculation implies it — all religion wit-
nesses to it. It is the liglit shining amid all
the natural grossness of his career, and guiding

f'll

OBJECT OF RELIGION.

157

it onward amid all its entanglements. All the
noblest deeds of heroism spring from it. All the
highest expressions of thought radiate it. To the
Positivist these are puzzles to be accounted for
on his theory. To the Theist they are only the
glancing expressions of his own faith in a Divine
origin of humanity — the brightening evidence of
a higher spirit in it claiming affinity uith a higher
system of things — a Divine order below which
man has fallen, but towards which he still tends.
Can any one, after all, seriously believe that
human history is a mere play of natural forces,
and man the half-conscious player — the creature
not of a higher intelligent guidance, but rather
of dumb nature-conditions and the brain-power
which they generate } When the conclusion is
thus nakedly put, it contains within itself its own
refutation. It would indeed be a contradiction
of all progress, and a lie to all civilisation, to
affirm that this was the climax of both — the dis-
covery in which they were destined to culminate.
No ; all consciousness and all history prove — if
it is possible to prove anything — that man is a
spiritual being, with convictions, and hopes, and
aspirations above the world, which no natural
good merely can satisfy, and which are in truth
the motion of the Divinity within him. He is
•nature, and yet spirit. " He is man, and yet more
than man," as Pascal has it. There is a divine
element of conscious reason in him which asserts
its superiority over the whole sphere of nature.

158 tlOiy^ TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

While in one point of view we feci called upon
to say with the same great thinker, "What is
man in the scale of infinitude ? — he is n6thing in
comparison ;" yet, in another point of view, '• He
is everything in comparison." His very greatness
is deducible from his weakness. A mere point
in creation, he is yet its interpreter, and in a true
sense its master. ** He is the prophet of the
otherwise dumb oracle — the voice of the other-
wise silent symbol." First humbly learning he
can then rule its recrets, and apply them to his
purposes and pleasure. He is thus the centre,
if not the " measure of things " — the conscious
life within the vast circumference and variety of
unconscious being, who gives all its highest
beauty and meaning to the latter. " In natufe
there is nothing great but man ; in man there
is nothing great but mind."

Such a view as this at once carries us beyond
nature. It is of the very essence of a free and
intelligent will that it is allied to a higher order.
It comes from above. It has its true being in a
region of freedom below which nature lies.

It is of great importance to apprehend this,
because there has been a recent way of speaking
which strongly insists upon the manifestation of
reason in nature, and yet refuses to allow the
former an independent existence. The cosmical
order is nothing but a display of Divine wisdom

OBJECT OF RELIGION.

159

and power, yet we must not conceive of this
wisdom and power as possibly expressing them-
selves in any other order. Nature not only mani-
fests them, but embeds and fixes them. Take
away the sign, and there is nothing behind.

Now, it is clearly of no consequence whether
we say "law" or "mind" if, in the last recourse,
've mean by the latter nothing more than by
the former. If we do not recognise something
behind the cosmical order higher than itself, and
whose subsistence is not merely in the order,
then we need not trouble ourselves to go beyond
the latter. If the mind that speaks to me in
nature be absolutely invariable — if there be no
living power beneath its "recondite dependen-
cies" which is capable of setting them aside, if
it will — if the mind, in short, which it is admitted
nature essentially manifests, be not a person —
nothing but "order" — then I need trouble my-
self but little with its investigation and study.
A balder Theism than this it is scarcely possible
to conceive. The position of the Positivist is
more consistent and intelligible. He generalises
facts, and gathers them into unities of law, and
says he knows nothing more. There is nothing
more, he pretends, than natural facts, and the law
or order in which they shew themselves. Even he,
indeed, is not quite consistent in saying so much,
for the very idea of law only exists to him be-
cause there is something more than outward facts.

-!, !

m-J

IGO 110 )V TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

There is a rational and spiritual clement already
asserted in the very apprehension of law. But
at least, he is somewhat more consistent than
the professed Theist who speaks of mind in na-
ture, and means merely, like the ancient poet,
a mens inftisa per artiis — an immanent necessity
of reason incapable of action apart from nature
— inseparably bound up in its evolutions.*

For on what ground do we discern " mind" or
"law" in nature at all } Abstract the " we," the
discerning agent, the light is gon:: — the vision
disappears; admit the "we," the vision is there.
The mind is not in the facts. But the nwnd in
us reads a mind in nature :

" In our life alone docs nature live."

Not that we make nature living and intelligent,
but that the face of nature answers intelligently
to our intelligence. There is everywhere the smile
of recognition on its great outlines; mind responds
to mind as in a glass. But what sort of mind }
Mind merely immanent in natu'-e, and forming a
part of W. Not in the least. We do not identify
the mirror and its revelation. The Mind which we
contemplate is free and moral like our own, in^
habiting nature, yet also dwelling in the high
and lofty sphere beyond ; acting by law, yet re-
joicing in the plenitude of its own freedom — a

• Of even the modern poet —

" A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought.
And rolls throng] i all thtn£:8."

OBJECT OF RELIGION.

101

living Personality, communicating with us in
the medium of His own creation.

To adopt and extend an illustration furnished
to our hand by the writer whom we are combat-
ing,* — " If we read a book which it requires
thought and exercise of reason to understand,
but which we find discloses more and more truth
and reason as we proceed in the study, we pro-
perly say that thought and reason exist in that
hook. Such a book confessedly exists, and is
ever open to us in the natural world." True,
but not all the truth. The supposed book is in
itself a mere arrangement of dead characters.
The thought and reason are not in it, except by
a well-understood convention of language. They
really exist only in the mind of the author ; and
the really living facts before us are the mind oj
the author and the mind of ilie reader meeting in
the pages of the book.

Such a book is nature, revealing to all who can
read an intelligent Author. When we study it,
the conclusion to which we come is, not that it
is itself mind, or merely that mind exists in it,
but that it reveals mind. It is the record of the
thoughts of another mind which has freely chosen
this mode of communication with us. We re-
joice in the communication, but we conceive of
the Mind as still higher than its communication.
We are thankful for the volume; but we think
of the Author as yet greater than His volume.

III.

THE SUPERNATURAL.

^ ^ ^ EASON and history, then, carry us
beyond nature. We may refuse to
listen to both, and wrap ourselves
in the conceit of " general laws," as
all that we can know. But all our better in-
stincts rebel against this pseudo-intellectualism ;
and in our moments of highest knowledge, as
well as of lowliest reverence, we delight to con-
template in nature an Author, and not merely
a Presence — an intelligent Will, and not merely
a comprehensive Order.

But if this be so, there is at least an opening
left for the supernatural. If there bo an intelli-
gent Author of the world — a n)oral Power sq-

6'iti

TJIE SfU'ERNATURAL,

1C3

us
to

ves
as
in-
m;
as
on-
ely
ely

ling

elli-

su-

perior to it — it is conceivable iliat this Being
may manifest Himself in other ways than those
which we call natural.

Farther than this we need not go at present.
We say nothing of the probability or likelihood
of a supernatural revelation. Paley has put
this supposition with his usual shrewd inge-
nuity ; but 'vher considerations besides that of
the mere e.iisv nee of a higher Power are re-
quired to ^VQ jnect to it. The question before
us at present is simply as to the possibility of a
supernatural, revelation. And our position is —
Let a s ireme Author of nature be once re-
cognised — in other words, let a theistic basis of
speculation be once accepted — and the question
as to the possibility of revelation is thereby
settled in the affirmative.

It is of some importance to see this clearly.
The comprehensive spirit of modern specu-
lation has, at least, been useful in clearing
away many entanglements of tliought and argu-
ment in which the opponents and defenders
alike of the Christian faith were wont to
lose themselves. Men see the bearing of
principles better than they did. The specu-
lative arena may be covered with as many
combatants as ever; but the speculative atmo-
sphere has cleared somewhat, and enabled the
combatants to see more plainly where they
stancl.

f!|

104 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

Supposing, then, wc stand on a thcistic basis
— that, on grounds of reason, and history, and
faith we have accepted such a basis, we are no
longer in a position to :^ispute the very idea of
miracle. We may argue as to the meaning of
it, and the fact or occurrence in any particulai
case ; but we cannot repudiate the possibility
of it. For where there is a supreme Will above
nature, and ruling it, beyond all question this
Will may subordinate nature to its special pur-
poses — may, in other words, if it please, inter-
fere in its ordinary operations.* Shut out this
possibility, and you destroy the speculative basis
on which you profess to rest. Deny that nature
can be interfered with, and you leave nothing
higher than nature. You make it supreme and
self-contained. You shift your fundamental
ground.

Supposing on the other hand — as Hume virtu-
ally did — you take your stand on a mere nature-
basis — fix yourself on the phenomenal, incre-
dulous of all existence beyond — then, quite
legitimately, you would argue with him and
others, that there can be no such thing as a
miracle. If nature " round our life," and there
be nothing else, oi, at least, nothing higher than
its sequences, then the question of testimony is

* This is the very principle laid down by Newton. The laws
©f nature are inviolable, except 7uhe7i it in ^qood to the Divine wiU
fff act ot':c)-7oise— nisi ubi aliter ai^cre bonum est.

TUB SUPERNATURAL.

105

out of accuuiit altogether. There can be no
miracle. The matter is foregone and coneluded
on a speculative basis, which shuts out the idea
of miracle altogether, and Iciives no room for
discussion regarding it.

That this was virtually Hume's position is
apparent to all who examine it. A " uniform
experience against every miraculous event" is
nothing else than the assertion of a nature-basis.
Law or sequence is in such a view invariable.
There is nothing else. It is of little consequence
to argue about the relative value of testimony
and experience, where experience is erected into
a uniformity which cannot be overturned. This
position has been avowedly laid down by modern
unbelief. The grand principle of law is pervad-
ing and universal. It is impo.ssible to conceive
any conflict with it. And miracle being in its
very conception at variance with it, must be
rejected. This has been declared by a whole
host of writers in our day. The young can
scarcely take up a Review in which the position
is not asserted or combated.

It was very natural, perhaps, that this conflict
should arise between law and miracle. There
is something so captivating in the idea of a great
cosmical order, that it is apt to carry away the
scientific mind, and shut out all other ideas
from it. The idea is not only captivating, but
illuminating. It gives light to the reason and

) i

166

110 W TO SUCCEED IN LIFIJ.

peace to the conscience, when rightly appre-
hended. The theologian assuredly need not try
to fight with it — he will only blunt his weapons
and injure his cause — he must adopt and expand
it, as was long ago hinted by one of the greatest
of theological thinkers.

This, Christian thought has not failed to do in
our day. As the idea of law has ascended to its
present dominance over the higher intelligence,
it has been able to shew that the idea, rightly
conceived, is not at all at variance with the
Christian miracles.

Supposing it be admitted that law is universal,
that the world is founded on it, and is otherwise
unintelligible to the reason. What then } This
fundamental law or order is not necessarily iden-
tical with any existing series of natural pheno-
mena. These express it, but they do not measure
it. You can only maintain that they do so by
placing nature above mind — by denying the idea
of a Supreme Will guiding and controlling the
world — by denying, in short, the Theistic basis
on which we profess to argue. It is not only not
inconsistent with this basis to conceive of the
Supreme Mind under the idea of law, but, in point
of fact, this idea is essentially involved in every
enlightened doctrine of Theism. God is eminently
a God of order. Everj'^ manifestation of the Su-
preme Will must assume to our minds the form
of order. Arbitrariness, or caprice, or even in

♦

THE SUPERNAWRAL.

107

tcrfcrcncc, in the petty use of that term, is entirely
at variance with every enh'ghtened conception of
Deity.

So far, therefore, there is no quarrel between
the upholders of law and the advocates of a
Theistic interpretation of nature. Only the last
word of the one may be hnv ; while the last
word of the other is " God." But further, if the
action of the Supreme Reason is not to be mea-
sured byanyexistingorder of natural phenomena,
then we open room at once for a higher order of
phenomena taking the pl-ace of the present,
should this semi right and ivise to the Supreme
Reason. The question is not one of " interfer-
ence," but of higher and lower action. The
Divine order may take a new start, and issue in
new forms for the accomplishment of its own
beneficent ends. The Scripture miracle is the
expression of the Divine order in such new shapes
— " the law of a greater freedom," as one has
said,* " swallowing up the law of a lesser."

But this, it may be said — and has been by some
said, not without the vehemence chiracteristic
of old opinions — is something very different from
the old idea of a miracle, which was understood
to involve a " temporary susperision of the known
laws of nature " — " a deviation from the establisl led
constitution and fixed order of the universe."

♦ Dean T;. ; h.

1G8 JWli' TO ;SC'CCA'£n IN LIFE.

\-\

• IF

Such definitions, be it observed, on one side or
another, arc in no degree scriptural. The scrip-
tural facts simply announce themselves ; they
nowhere tell us what we are to think of them.
We may think of them in the one or the other
of these ways, and yet be equally just to their
Christian significance and value.

Is there really, after all, much difference be-
tween the views when we analyse and look
closely at the terms in which they are conveyed ?
A " miracle," some will have us say, is a " sus-
pension," a " violation of known laws of nature."
This is language carelessly Hung in the face of
scientific induction ; but what, after all, must it
mean to any enlightened Theist ? The " known
laws ot nature" of which it speaks, are and can
be nothing more than some section or series of
natural phenomena, and the supposed miracle
nothing more than the temporary arrest or re-
versal of these phenomena. Certain conditions
of disease ordinarily cause death ; the progress
of the disease is stopped, and the patient healed.
The inevitable sequences of dissolution are ar-
rested, and the dead man is restored to life again.
These are sufficiently impressive illustrations
of "suspension" or "violation" of natural laws.
But are they not also very good illustrations of
lower laws giving place to higher — the laws of
disease to the laws of health — the laws of death
to tliose of life ? We may use what terms we

TUE SUPERNATURAL.

lOD

like, but the fact is we know nothing of the mode
of miraculous operation, and rather reveal our
ignorance than anything else, by our definitions
in this as in many other matters. All that we
really apprehend is a change of natural condi-
tions under some supernatural impulse. What
appears "reversal" or "violation" to us, may
seem anything but this to a more comprehen-
sive vision than ours.

The stoutest advocate of interference can mean
nothing more than that the Supreme Will has so
moved the hidden springs of nature, that a new
issue arises on given circumstances. The ordi-
nary issue is supplanted by a higher issue. This
seems an appropriate Way of expressing the char-
acter of the change wrought. But in any case,
the essential facts before us are a certain set of
phenomena, and a higher Will moving them.
How moving them ? is a question for human
definition, but the answer to which does not,
and cannot, affect the Divine meaning of the
change. Yet when we reflect that this higher
Will is everywhere reason or wisdom, it seems a
juster, as well as a more comprehensive view, to
regard it as operating by subordination and evo-
lution rather than by "'interference" or "viola-
tion." We know but a little way. It is not for
us to measure our knowledge against God's plans,
but rather to take these plans as the interpreters
and guides of our knowledge. And seeing how

:.(r

,u;.

B- 1

It'

170 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

far His " miraculous interpositions" have entered
into human history, and constituted its most
powcriul elements in the education of the hu-
man race, it seems certainly the humble as well
as the wise inference which is suggested in But-
ler's guarded words, that these interpositions may
have been all along in like manner (as God's
common providential interpositions) "by gei. -
ral laws of wisdom."

According to this view the idea of law is so
far from being contravened by the Christian
miracles, that it is taken up by them and made
their very basis. They are the expression of
a higher Law working out its wise ends among
the lower and ordinary sequences of life and his-
tory. These ordinary sequences represent nature
— nature, however, not as an immutable fate, but
a plastic medium through which a higher Voice
and Will are ever addressing us, and which there-
fore may be wrought into new issues when the
voice has a new message, and the will a special
purpose for us.

The advantage of such a view is not only that it
fits better into the conclusions of modern thought,
but that it really purifies the idea of miracle, and
sets it before us in its only true light and im-
portance. It is not a mere prodigy or wonder
which we cannot explain, but it is everywhere a
"revelation" or sign — the manifestation of a be-
neficent or wise purpose, and not a mere arbi-

THE SVPERNATUHAL.

171

trary exercise of power. It is the in Jication of
a higher kingdom of life and righteousness
subordinating the lower for its good, bringing
it into obedience to its own improvement and
blessing. There is a higher kingdom and a
lower kingdom — a kingdom of nature and physi-
cal sequences, and a kingdom of spirit and free
agency. " And this free agency, straight out o!
the ultimate springs of the Spirit, seems to give,"
it has been said, " the true conception of the
supernatural. Nature is the sphere and system
of God's self-prescribed method of reliable evo-
lution of phenomena ; but above and beyond
nature He is spirit, including nature, indeed, as
part of its expression, but, instead of being all
committed to nature, transcending it on every
side, and opening a life of communion with the
spirits that can reflect Himself. All is thus His
agency ; nature His fixed will — spirit His free
will." And the miracle emerges when the latter
is seen to traverse the former, when the higher
kingdom is seen to witness itself among the
ordinarily unchanging phenomena of the lower.

Miracle is, therefore, truly a revelation of
character as well as an exhibition of power. It
is the Divine Will coming forth to the imme-
diate gaze of man, pushing back, as it were,
the intervolved folds of the physical, so that
we may see there is a moral spring behind it,

«i^?*x -..■»-■ ''^'•'.

■.*>■ : •'.

I«

li >

K t

14'

173 //or TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

and making known some hii^h purpose in doing
so. The idea of interference for the mere sake
of interference, or even of the mere assertion
of might to subdue or overawe the mind, is
not that suggested. Rather it is the idea of a
higher plan and truth unfolding themselves, of
a Will which, while leaving nature, as a whole,
to its established course, must yet witness to
its If as above nature, and shew its glory in the
instruction and redemption of creatures that are
more than nature, although, liaving their present
being amidst its activities.*

t '

1 li

* "The one grand and essential distinction l»et\\ccn tlic niir-
•cicles of Scripture and the operations of so-called laws is the
personal and sensible interpcsitioi; v.!' the Supreme Creator evi-
dencing to man His supremacy over nature, and His providential
care of man by such manifestations of direct power as none but the
Supreme ' icator could possess. This is what Christianity must
maintiiJ.f ; ail other questions may be set aside. Nature is that
course o.' -, .rations ir vhe v/orld before us in which the Divine
Will is workhig continually and perpetually, but to us secretly^
and, as science will ass( rt, uniformly, immutably. Besides that
there is another course very deeply entwined with it, in which the
hand and the presence o( (jod are made known to us by a dis-
tinct series of rare and extraordinary operations. Yet they both
make up one whole, aie both as much parts of one c.-nsistenl
and harmonious system as the grand ellipses of the moon, and
its occasional mutations and deflectionsj are features of one pie*
ilctcruimcd oibit'* -^^a/'/tr/v AVxvVic', Odohcr iS6i.

.• ^^*''

■J'''%i,'-^

IV.

REVELATION.

HEN we turn f^ contemplate the
historical rev. L.tion of the super-
natural in Scripture we find that
it answers tv> th<^ idea already
suggested. T*^ is not a scrios ul isolated won-
ders, but a coherent manitcstation of Divine
purpose, culminating in a Divine Personality,
who came to bear witness of a highoi" kingdom
and truth.

What is the scriptural repr-^sentation ? Be-
ginning with the fall of God's free and intelli-
gent creation from an estate of holiness and
happiness to an estate of sin and misery, it un-
folds, at firs{ in faint and vague outline, bat wjth

■:r

'"'4

■n?

■ 5
'■'\M

■^ll

1 ■

' . *"■> i^

{.'■ f :

• ^ ,

174 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

an increasing particularity and brightness as
time passes on, a remedial or redeeming purpose
towards the fallen. The evolution of this pur-
pose, in adaptation to the varying necessities of
human nature, is the great function of Scripture.
Passing through the forms of what have been
called the patriarchal, the Mosaic, the propheti-
cal dispensations, the purpose brightens on us as
we descend the course of sacred tradition. What-
ever is specially miraculous in Scripture gathers
round it, and receives its highest meaning from
it. To detach such events, and look at them as
mere isolated manifestations of supernatural
power, at once destroys their moral significance,
and increases their historical difficulty. But let
them be regarded as parts of a great whole — as
successive manifestations of an increasing pur-
pose running through the ages — as special utter-
ances of the great thought and love of God for
His creatures, of which no history is without
trace, but of which the Jewish history is a con-
tinuous and exceptional witness ; and then,
while we never lose hold of the moral aim, we
will find that the very perception of this aim
helps to solve difficulties, and to impart a con-
sistency and intelligibility to many details.

The general form of the supernatural in the
Old Testament Scriptures is that of direct com-
munication between God and man. Adam hears
the vaice of God speaking to him in the garden,

REVELATION,

175

" The Lord God" is represented as callinjr unto
Adam and his wife, and enunciating articu
lately the first promise of a Deliverer or Re-
deemer. In the same manner God speaks unto
Abraham, to go forth from his native land, and
promises to make of him a great nation. Jacob
sees God face to face, and speaks with Him.
The Angel of God speaks to him in a dream,
saying, " I am the God of Bethel." The same
Divine Personality, "the Angel of the Lord,"
appears to Moses " in a flame of fire out of the
midst of a bush," and calls to him out of the
bush, saying, " I am the God of thy father, the
God of Abraham, the God of Lsaac, and the God
of Jacob."

It is needless to multiply examples. This
form of the supernatural runs throughout the
whole of the Old Testament, and is, as it were,
the great framework on which it is constructed.
It is a revelation of God to man, in which God
personally deals with man, instructing, directing,
correcting, blessing him. One great thought,
from first to last, animates the revelation —
the thought of deliverance — of a salvation not
come, but coming. Evil was not to triumph,
although it had gained a temporary victory.
The seed of the woman would yet ' bruise the
head of the serpent." In Abraham all the
families of the earth v/ere to be blessed. By
Moses a great deliverance was to be effected.

1-: ' I

\
i

l:i

170

now TO {SUCCEED IN LIFE.

" I will send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou may-
est bring forth my people." Joshua was a " sav-
iour." Samuel was the prophet of good which
was nowhere realised. David constantly pointed
to a salvation higher than earth — to a rest which
was not that of Canaan, otherwise " he would not
have spoken of another day." And in the later
prophetic time, this idea of a future good, of a
spiritual kingdom, rises into clear prominence.
It is the dawning light which colours with its up-
ward streaks the darkest horizon of prophecy.

This promise of a higher Messianic kingdom
and glory, more than anything else, binds to-
gether the supernatural texture of the Old Testa-
ment. Its fulfilment in Jesus Christ is the life
and substance of the New Testament. He is the
long-promised Messiah — " He that should come
to redeem Israel." He is the realisation of the
continued thought of God for His creatures, that
"they should not perish in their sins, but have
everlasting life." He is the etnbodiment ^sA
completion of the Divine purpose, which Abra-
ham saw afar off and was glad, of which David
sung and Isaiah prophesied. All the threads
of the supernatural, accordingly, are gathered
up in Him, in whom are seen the " treasures
of the Godhead bodily." God is no longer
found merely speaking to men from heaven, or
in dreams, or appearing to them in momentarj*

REVELATION.

177

forms ; but He has become a man, Hvinjr with
men, teaching them, healing them, saving them.
" The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among
us ; and we beheld his glory as the glory of the
only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and
truth."

The Supernatural is thus a living presence,
runninc^ through the ages — a<i unfolding power,
witnessing to itself as type, and oracle, and pro-
phecy, till it culminated in Christ, who gathers
to Himself all its meaning, who is its sum and
explanation. The idea of a higher order cross-
ing a lower and fallen order that it might restore
and purify it, is exactly the idea which it sug-
gests. And when we have seized this idea, we
see nothing incongruous in the special miracles
of Scripture. They fall, we might say, natu-
rally into their place. Especially the Christian
miracles cluster around the person of Christ as
its appropriate manifestation. They are only
the expressions of the higher will which abode
in Him, and which sought its native and direct
action in the works of healing and lifc-givinp
blessing which it wrought

THE CHRISTIAN EVIDENCES.

iHAT are called the " Evidences of
Christianity" form a varied and
complex argument, many parts
of which can only be adequately
appreciated by the fully-informed and critical
student of history. The last age, perhaps,
placed too much dependence on certain branches
of these evidences. The present age, probably,
places too little dependence on the same
branches. Such oscillations of opinion are not
matters either of congratulation or abuse, as
they are sometimes made. They are facts in
the history of opinion to be carefully studied
and made such good use of as we can.

THE CHRISTIAN EVIDENCES. ITl)

It will scarcely be denied by any one who
really knows the subject, that the school of Sher-
lock, and Watson, and Paley, made too much of
what was called the " external evidence " of
Christianity. They looked at its Divine charac-
ter somewhat too exclusively in the li^ht of a
judicial problem to be settled by cross-examina-
tion. They treated of various points quite con-
fidently, which modern criticism has shewn can-
not stand the test of scrutiny. They thought they
could argue out their thesis irrespectively of the
relation of Christianity to the spiritual conscious-
ness of mankind, and even exhibit its Divine
origin in defiance of the witness of this conscious-
ness regarding it.* In our day, on the con-
trary, this self-witness, or " internal evidence" of
Christianity, is like to supplant the consideration
of the external evidence altogether. Christianity
is not only examine \ and tested by the inner
witness, but often judged by it and placed out of
court on the most arbitrary pretences. The last
was an objective age, at whose cool assumptions
we have learned to smile ; the present is a sub-
jective and critical age, at whose rash denials the
next will no less probably .smile.

Christianity, as being equally a fact of history

* Dr Chalmers (in many of his habits of mind a strong dis-
oiple of the Paleyan school) went th's length in his early Essay
on Christianity. Afterwards, how:;ver, he laid special strcsi'
upon the internal evidence.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3}

1.0

I.I

Ut llU 12.2

:^ 1^ 12.0

'^ i '-^ i^

►

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

73 WeST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO

(716) 872-4503

v..

180 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

and a truth addressed to the conscience, must be
able to substantiate itself alike on historical and
on moral grounds. It must be able to stand the
most critical inquest into its supposed origin ;
and it must be able, as St Paul never doubted it
was, " by manifestation of the truth to commend
itself to every man's conscience in the sight of
God." They are no friends of it who shrink from
the most fearless inquiry and discussion in every
direction.

I. As an historical phenomenon Christianity
has to be accounted for, if not on the supernatural
hypothesis, on some other hypothesis. • What
has modern critical inquiry to say regarding it }
Is it able to furnish any natural explanation of
it ? It has settled, or nearly so, the genesis of
all other religions. It can trace and discrimi-
nate the various sources of Mohammedanism —
take the student into the historical laboratory
where it was compounded, and shew him, or near-
ly so, the secrets of its composition. Can it do
anything of this sort with Christianity ? Can it
tell from what schools the various elements of its
marvellous doctrine came.? — from what sources its
life germinated "i The character of Mohammed,
truly great and wonderful as it is, is a perfectly
natural character, formed under influences and
moulded by conditions which we can observe
and understand. The character of Christ — can

THE iNDlliECl WITNESS

181

we explain it in any natural manner ? Can we
unfold its development, and shew how it grew
up?

It is perfectly fair to ask such questions,
and to insist upon an answer to them. If we
cannot get a satisfactory answer, we have, at
least, cleared the way for the explanation which
Christianity offers of itself.

II. What is this explanation.? What are the
claims of the gospel ? It professes to be a
supernatural revelation — a direct and special
communication from God in the person and
teaching of Josus of Nazareth, and in the in-
spired teaching of His apostles. In attestation
of these claims it presents a series of miraculous
facts attending its announcement — especially
the great miraculous fact of the resurrection of
Jesus from the dead. Are these facts.? This
might seem a simple question ; yet, in reality, it
is a very difficult and complicated one, as will
afterwards appear, when we examine the steps
which its discussion involves.

III. But Christianity must not only vindicate
its Divine origin in history. It must, moreover,
shew its Divine power in the soul and life of
man. It must vindicate itself as the highest
truth — as the only comprehensive philosophy.

18^

llO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

It is of its very essence thus to prove its Divine
origin by its Divine grandeur and efficacy.

The Christian evidences, therefore, may be
reckoned and named as follows : —

I. The Indirect Witness.
II. The Direct Witness — Miracles *
III. The Internal Witness.

Each of these lines of argument will claim
from us a brief chapter. No one will suppose
that we make any pretensions to treat them ex-
haustively, or, in any sense, completely. This
is quite beyond our present scope— quite beside
our present purpose. We wish merely to set
up a few guide-posts for the inquiring. The
thoughts of young men must be often turned in
this direction, and we should like to point them
where they may find some clear and satisfactory
issue to their thoughts.

• The argument from prophecy opens up a far too extended
beld of discussion, nor is it at all necessary for our purpose.

VI.

THE INDIRECT WITNESS.

HE question of the origin of Chris-
tianity is one of grand interest in
a purely histoiical point of view.
What do we make of it? If we
refuse to accept its supernatural origin, of what
explanation does it admit ?

Modern rationalistic inquiry has done some-
thing to simplify this question. The picture
given in the Gospels is now acknowledged on all
hands to represent, if not a reality, yet a true
growth of ideas. All notion of vulgar impos-
ture has long since vanished. Whether or not
the Christ of the Gospels lived and died as there
described, the conception was not invented by

184 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

priests to deceive men. It is a genuine product
of history. This is the very lowest ground from
which we are required to set out. The Christ
of the Gospels is a phenomenon to be explained,
and not a fiction to be sneered at. The in-
fidelity which sneered, rather than argued, is
no more, or, at least, needs no attention here.
Down from the dawn of our era there shines a
light which has enlightened the world. The
radiance which streams from it has touched with
its glory every eminence of human thought, and
every heroism of cultivated affection. We can-
not get quit of the questions, Whence and what
is it?

Naturalism is not without its answer to these
questions. Let us hear what it has to say.
According to it, Christianity must be regarded
in the main as a mere development of Judaism.
The Gospel of St Matthew is its primitive ex-
pression, and the Sermon on the Mount its proper
type. Jesus of Nazareth was merely a Jew of
distinguished wisdom, who had the penetration
to discern the moral truth that lay concealed in
the official and popular faith of the Jews, and
who had the courage to unveil and proclaim
this truth. All of the miraculous which sur-
rounds Him was merely the idealising dream of
his followers after His death — the apotheosis
which their fond faith and devotional enthu-
siasm accorded to Him. The Christianity of the

THE INDIRECT WITNESS.

185

Church since its organisation is to be attributed
to St Paul, rather than to Christ. It was not
fully developed till the middle of the second
century, when the Gospel of St John came forth
(so they say) to crown the religious structure,
which had been long rearing amid the conten-
tions of opposing teachers.

Such is something like the famous Tubin-
gen theory of the origin of Christianity, which
Strauss first enunciated, and which Baur, with
the most wonderful misapplication of genius, has
sought in various forms to elaborate and ex-
pound, It has appeared with slight modifica-
tions in our own country. It may be found as-
serted or implied in Reviews that circulate in our
families, and are much in the hands of young
men. Whatever be the modifications with which
it is argued, the meaning is very much the same.
Christianity is but a development of Judaism,
appearing in its first form in the Sermon on the
Mount, and worked up into something of a theo-
logical system by the learning of St Paul, and
the theosophic imagination of the writer of the
fourth Gospel. Traditionary Judaism, rabbinical
culture, and Alexandrian platonism, or pseudo-
platonism, were the ingredients which went to
make the composite gospel that was destined to
subdue the world.

The sources indicated are at least the only
possible sources out of which Christianity could

,1 1

186 //6> rr r6> succeed t^ it Ft:,

have sprung. And the advantage of this dar-
ing speculation is, that it fixes us down to certain
facts. It tries to take us up to the opening Hfe
of Christianity ; and, refusing to own the Divine
fountain whence it flows, points to certain rills
trickling from older fountains of thought, which
may have grown into it. Let us see whether
they could.

Setting out with the Gospel of St Matthew as
the expression of primitive Christian doctrine,
does it warrant the interpretation put upon it }
Granted, for the sake of argument, that this
Gospel is the first rudimentary form of Christi-
anity, does it seem to come naturally out of
Judaism .^ Could any mere process of purifying
distillation have brought the Sermon on the
Mount out of the traditional ethics of the Jews ?
This sermon is at least in the face of Pharisees
and Sadducees alike ; it could not have been
learned in any of their schools. It does not
read as if it had been learned in any school ; but
as the voice of One speaking with authority. A
new spirit breathes in it — a new light and power
emanate from it. It has none of the tentative
air of a mere enlightened teacher of morals ; it
does not flash with mere gleams of genius ; it
shews no mistakes and no confusions ; but from
first to last it is a high and solemn announce-
ment; clear, calm, penetrating, and compact

THE INDIRECT WITNESS.

187

throughout. It is the speech of One who felt
Himself abiding in a central light of truth, from
which all human duty, in its multiplied rela-
tions, seems plain and consistent. There is a
confidence of tone therefore, and a strength of
language here and there, which may excite cavil,
but which challenge the keenest inquiry. A
peculiarly divine Spirit seems to compass it all,
nnd bind it into a perfect expression of truth.

But, farther, it is not merely the Sermon on
the Mount, and such morality as it unfolds, that
we find in St Matthew's Gospel. Do we not as
well find there, although not in so striking a
shape as in the Gospel of St John, all the charac-
teristic elements of evangelical doctrine } Like
all the other Gospels, it attributes to Christ the
forgiveness of sins, and puts in His mouth lan-
guage,* which, from a mere Jewish point of view,
could be considered nothing else than blas-
phemy ; nay, which was so esteemed by the
Jews when He appeared before the tribunal of
Caiaphas.f It is impvossible to accept the first
Gospel as a trustworthy record of primitive
Christianity, and not to recognise the meaning of
those sayings, in which He calls Himself the
Son of Man, and asserts a relationship with the
Father, which only His divinity can adequately
explain. This Gospel, moreover, surrounds His
death and resurrect' an with the same mystery

* Matt X. 3a, 33, xL a/t xxiL 45.

t Matt xxviu 63-65.

1 i

188 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

and Divine grandeur as the others, and seems to
claim for them an equal dogmatic value. It is
well to speak of a Hebrew Gospel, and a Hebrew
Christianity ; and there are no doubt distinctions
of great interest and moment between the vari-
ous Gospels ; but it is to carry such distinctions
to a quite unwarranted and arbitrary extent, to
assert that the Christ of St Matthew is not sub-
stantially the same as the Christ of St Luke,
and even of St John. He is seen in somewhat
diverse aspects in all the four Gospels ; more as
the Messiah and King of Israel in St Matthew ;
more as the Teacher and Friend in St Luke and
St Mark ; more as the Divine Word in St John ;
but in all He is " declared to be the Son of God
with power, according to the Spirit of holiness, by
the resurrection from the dead." This He is no
less really in St Matthew than in St John ; and
even, if we were granted nothing more than
this primitive Gospel, we would find it utterly
impossible to reconcile it with a mere natural
development of the character and doctrine of
Christ

But what of Alexandria, and the peculiar form
of speculative Judaism that there sprang up }
Could this not have been the soil of the gospel ?
Could the seed which has grown into the tree of
life not have started here } It is the only sup-
position which can claim a moment's attention

THE INDIRECT WITNESS.

ISO

Yel it is utterly incapable of shewing face when
really looked at. We know what Alexandria was,
and what Alexandrian religious speculation in the
hands of the Jews was at the time of our Lord,
as well as, or rather better than, we know what
Jerusalem and its religious parties were at the
same time. Philo, the great and comprehensive
representative of Alexandrian Jewish speculation,
was the contemporary of Jesus of Nazareth. He
might have met, and even spoken with our Lord
in a visit to the temple of Jerusalem which he
L escribes. There are surface analogies between
his doctrine and certain aspects of Christianity.
Yet it is impossible to conceive anything in
reality more different. The one is speculative,
the other \ ractical ; the one is ideal, the other
real ; the or a philosophy, or system of know-
ledge, the . '' is a religion, or " rule of life."
Philo is in everything the philosopher, only
working on certain inherited data of religious
thought. As one has said, who will not be sup-
posed to overrate the distinctions that separate
him from the gospel : "Aristotle, Plato the
sceptic, the Pythagorean, the Stoic, are Philo's
real masters, from whom he derives his form
of thought, his methodical arrangement, his
rhetorical diction, and many of his moral les-
sons." His is " the spirit which puts knowledge
in the place of truth, which confounds moral
with physical purity, which seeks to attain the

190 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

perfection of the soul in abstraction and separa-
tion from matter, which attempts to account foi
evil by removing it to a distance from God, let-
ting it drop by a scries of descents from heaven
to earth, which regards religion as an initiation
into a mystery." Of all this there is not a trace
in the Gospels. Of the abhorrence of matter,
which pervaded every form of Oriental specula-
tion, we find nothing.

"Another aspect," observes the same writer* —
and we prefer putting the matter in words which
cannot be supposed unduly urged — '* Another
aspect in which the religion of Philo differs from
the religion of the gospel is, that the one is the
religion of the few and the other of the many.
The refined mysticism which Philo taught as
the essence of religion is impossible for the poor.
That the slave, ignorant as the brute, was equally
with hjmself an object of solicitude to the God of
Moses, would have been incredible to the great
Jewish teacher of Alexandria. Neither had he
any idea of a scheme of providence reaching to all
men everywhere. Once or twice he holds up the
Gentile as a reproof to the Jew ; nothing was less
natural to his thoughts than that the Gentiles
were the true Israel. His gospel is not that of
humanity, but of philosophers and of ascetics.
Instead of converting the world, he would have
men retreat from the world. . » . In another

♦ Profeiisor JowCvl —Epistles of St Paul, vol. I, $o9.

THE INDIRECT WITNESS,

191

way, also, the narrowness of Philo nviy be con-
trasted with the first Christian teaching. The
object of the gospel is real, present, substantial,
and the truths which are taught are very near to
human nature — truths which meet its wants and
soothe its sorrows. But in Philo the object is
shadowy, distant, indistinct — whether an idea or
a fact, we scarcely know — one which is in no
degree commensurate with the wants of mankind
in general, or even with those of a particular indi-
vidual. As we approach, it vanishes away; if we
analyse and criticise, it will dissolve in our hands ;
taken without criticism, it cannot exert much
influence over the mind and conduct."

It is true that Philo speaks of the Logos or
Word of God. This is to him, as to St John, the
Revelation of God, and he might even use the
apostle's words, " In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God, and the Word was
God." But that which is above all characteristic
of the gospel — the incarnation of the Word in
the person of Jesus of Nazareth — is wholly
foreign to his mode of thought. He would have
shrunk from the idea of the Logos being one
whom " our eyes have seen and our hands have
handled." "He would have turned away from
the death of Christ."

From such a system as this how could the
gospel spring, or even the idea of Christ's life
and death } ** It was mystical and dialectical,

102 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

not moral or spiritual ; for the few, not for the
many ; for the Jewish Therapeute, not for all man-
kind. It was a literature, not a life ; instead of
a few short sayings, * mighty to the pulling down
of strongholds,* luxuriating in a profusion of
rhetoric. It spoke of a Holy Ghost, of a Lord,
of a Divine man, of a first and second Adam, of
the faith of Abraham, of broad which came down
from heaven ; but knew nothing of the God who
made of one blood all nations of the earth, of
the victory over sin and death, of the cross of
Christ. It was a picture, a shadow, a surface, a
cloud above catching the rising light as he ap-
peared. It was the reflection of a former world,
not the birth of a new one."

Where, then, shall we look for any natural
origin of Christianity } In what soil of previous
thought or moral culture can we trace its roots }
We dig and turn up every soil of the old world
with the same result. It is not there. Antici-
pation and preparation we can trace everywhere
— in Hellenism, in Alexandrianism, in Orien-
talism — above all, in the old Hebrew literature,
which fed the souls of such as Simeon and
Anna, " waiting for the Consolation of Israel."
But nowhere can we find the germs which,
without further divine planting, could have
grown up into the tree of life. Nowhere can
we trace the " root springing out of the dry

1 '

<i >

THE INDIRECT WITNESS.

193

ground;" and yet we know it did. Nowhere
do we see spiritual forces in operation which
could conceivably have generated such a cha-
racter and such a doctrine as those of Christ, and
yet we know that that character and doctrine
came forth as a "light of the world." While
Jerusalem was sunk in formalisk;., or sensuality,
or fanatical bigotry, and Alexandria was lost
in theosophic dreams, and Athens in eclectic
idolatry or curious inquiry, and Rome in lust of
dominion or mere literary pride, this Light arose.
Amid a despised and unmoral people there sud-
denly sprang up a moral power, which has
proved itself the niost exalted, the most vivi-
fying, the most freshly enduring the world has
ever seen. Arising in the East, it has proved
peculiarly the strength and life of western civi-
lisation — adapting itself to every emergency of
human opinion and every crisis of human his-
tory ; and, when seeming to be worn out in
the long conflict with human folly, ignorance,
and crime, rising into new vigour, clothing itself
with fresh powers, and taking to itself nobler
victories.

But why, it may be asked, should not a great
moral genius have arisen in Judea 1800 years
ago .•* Why should not a teacher of transcendent
worth have sprung from the decaying stock of
the old Hebrew culture, although Pharisee and
Sadducee alike disowned Himi and no school can

194 no IV TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

s !

claim the credit of Him : a Teacher who was

•

capable, by His own natural powers, of reading a
new meaning into old truths, and inspiring them
with a new spirit and life ? Why not ? This is
the question put in the most favourable mannei
for the Rationalist, and which we are by no means
bound to accept. For it is his business to prove
the affirmative, rather than ours to shew the
negative. Yet, taking it up from this point, we
answer, because there are no symptoms what-
ever of the rising of such a genius. The growth
of moral ideas, like every other growth, can be
traced first in " the bud, then in the ear, then in
the full corn in the ear." We can trace the rise
of Socrates, and the rise of Mohammed, to take
two widely-different illustrations, in antecedent
moral and social conditions, which did not indeed
make them, but which explain them. All this
historical connexion fails us with Jesus of Naza-
reth. We see no hints of such a phenomenon
in the antecedent tendencies of the Jewish mind.
The very capacity of appreciating moral truth
had well-nigh perished in this mind, still more
the capacity of originating it, and clothing it in
a creative form, which should be the seed of a
new life ^or humanity.

The Christ of the Gospels stands alone. As a
moral portrait. He is without prototype or paral-
lel — coming out from the dimness of the past a
sudden and perfect creation. We look around,

TUB INDIRECT WITNESS,

195

mannei

and in all the gallery of history there is no like-
ness to Him. " So nicck, so mild, so pitiful, yet
Sv) sublime, so terrible in His perfect sanctity."
There are noble and magnanimous counte-
nances — but none such as His. There are
splendid characters — but they are pale beside
the lustre of His purity and beneficence. The
quaint rectitude of a Socrates, and the hardy
virtue of a Confucius, are dim and poor and im-
perfect beside the holy sympathy, the loving
sacrifice, the magnanimous wisdom, that shone
forth in Jesus of Nazareth. To suppose such a
character to be a natural development of Juda-
ism seems among the wildest of dreams.

But shall we, then, suppose that such a char-
acter never really existed, save in the imagina-
tion of the followers of Jesus ? Docs this free us
of the difficulty .? If it be hard, nay, impossible
to conceive the natural development of such a
character in point of fact, is it not still more im-
possible to conceive the ideal of such a character
forming itself in the imagination of a few poor
and ignorant Jews } Where were they to gather
its elements } — from their dreams of a Messianic
kingdom and glory i* — from theii broken and ex-
piring traditions.'' — from their own wild hopes
and vague enthusiasm ? There tvere no other
sources from which the ideal could come ; there
are no others suggested. Surely there never was

^.!

I'l

106 UOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

a beautiful creation, an ideal more perfect than
poet has ever formed, or philosophy conceived,
ascribed to so strange a parentage. To believe
in such a possibility of divinely-harmonious ima-
gination in four writers widely separated from
one another, with no remarkable peculiarities
of genius, with common , peculiarities of weak-
ness, according to the supposition, (for they all
equally believe in the miracles they describe,)
is harder than any belief that orthodoxy de-
mands of us. One writer might be conceived
inventing a lofty ideal, but that four such writers
should unconsciously combine to form the ideal
of the Gospels is utterly inconceivable.

Then look at the age. It is the most unro-
niantic and unmythical of ages — critical and
speculative in Philo and in Plutarch — stern and
denunciatory in Tacitus and in Juvenal — didac-
tic and descriptive in Josephus and Pliny —
everywhere ingenious and clever in its wicked-
ness, but nowhere imaginative — utterly without
creative ideality. Could three unknown writers
have given us the portrait of the synoptic Gos-
pels in such an age } Could the marvellous ideal
of the fourth Gospel, higher than, yet perfectly
consonant with the others, have come from a
mere teacher at Ephesus in the first or second
century .? We know what sort of religious lite-
rature the second century produced — nay, what
sort of religious romance it produced. Can any-

THE JNDUIKCT WITNESS,

197

thing be more unlike the Gospel of St John than
the " Shepherd of Hermas ?"

;-,fa

'4\

What is our conclusion, then ? We are shut
up to the Divine origin of Christianity. We
search everywhere for its natural fountain-
head, and cannot find it. We turn to theo-
ries of unbelief, and find them dissolve to our
touch. What is left, but that we listen to the
gospel itself? If it did not spring from older
streams of human thought, it must have sprung
immediately from the great Fountain of Divine
thought. If not natural, it must have been
supernatural. There is a dignus vi/ndicc nodus.
and we call in the Viitdcx.

;■,!,■

III!

11!

1 I

VIT.
THE DIRECT WITNESS.

HE special evidence for the Divine
origin of Christianity, however, must
always lie in an ap*' ^al to the mira-
culous facts which lie at its basis.
Whatever may be the difficulties surrounding
these facts to modern contemplation, it is per-
fectly evident that they are not to be got over.
They are not to be explained away either by any
sleight of naturalism, or any ingenious system of
ideology. They cannot be relegated to some
vague domain of faith, and held in the mid-air o£
a religious reverie which does not know what to
make of them. They must either be accepted or
denied as facts. Their proof, as such, is either

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

109

e Divine

vet, must
the mira-
its basis
rounding
it is per-
a^ot over,
r by any
ystem of
to some
lid-air of
what to
epted or
is eitlier

sufficient or insufficient. They are cither parts
of authentic history, or they are not.

We have already seen that they cannot be set
asiceon any presumption of impossibility. It
is r )t competent to do this without denyiiv.^
altogether a Theistic interpretation of nature and
history; and this interpretation is what our rea-
son and our moral being alike demand. Sup-
posing that there is a Supreme Power distinct
from nature, and ruling it and all things, then
beyond question this Power may interrupt the
sequences which Himself has established for
any wise and good purpose. The question is
cleared of preconception, and remains one of
fact. It was peculiarly necessary to look at it
in the former point of view to begin with, be-
cause it is to this point of view that the question
will always run back, and find its chief interest
for the reason. In our time, discussion has more
than ever centred here. But it is now neces-
sary to look at it in the latter point of view as
a question of fact, and to see upon what basis
of distinct historical evidence the Christian
miracles rest.

It is of the very nature of such an inquiry as
this to run into an accumulation of details, and
minute questions of the balance of evidence, and
the weight to be given to special circumstances
as they come before us. The strength of the
historical evidence for the Christian miracles

'i(?k

1^1

200 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

unquestionably lies in the combination of par-
ticulars which point to one conclusion, and leaves
the mind at length satisfied that there can be no
other conclusion. It would be altogether beside
our purpose, however, to make any attempt to
set forth these particulars here. It is doubtful,
indeed, how far any mere book of evidences can
do this. Such a task, rightly viewed, is one for
the student to enter upon himself and sift to the
bottom, irrespective of summary representations
on one side or the other. All we can do here is
to indicate the broad lines or issues of the evi-
dence, and especially the scheme of argument
into which the facts form themselves, and by
which they bear upon our credit and assent.

Whether or not the Christian miracles must
be accepted as facts, is plainly a question of
testimony. This the apostles themselves con-
stantly felt. They continu Uly put the case in
this way ; and particularly appeal to the great
miracle of the resurrection as the express ground
of their mission — the authoritative warrant of
their preaching. ** This Jesus hath God raised
up," says St Peter, in his Pentecostal sermon,
* whereof we all are witnessesr Again, with im
unhesitating allusion to facts known to them
as v/ell as to him — the air of reality breathing
, in every word — " The God of Abraham, and
of Isaac, and of Jacobs the God of our fathers,

TUE Dinner witness.

201

11 tin
hem

hath glorified his Son Jesus ; whom ye de-
livered up, and denied him in the presence of
Pilate, when he was determined to let him go.
But ye denied the Holy One and the Just, and
desired a murderer to be granted unto you ;
and killed the Prince of life, whom God hath
rai'sed up from the dead ; whereof we are wit-
nesses!' Equally so in his address to Cornelius
— " And we are witnesses of all things which
he did both in the land of the Jews and in
Jerusalem." The same ground is virtually oc-
cupied by St Paul and all the apostles. They
appeal to facts which they themselves knew, and
to which they testified, especially to the great
fact of the resurrection. It is quite evident
that, in their opinion, the claims of Christianity
hang upon the admission of these facts. If not
admitted — if the alleged facts could not sub-
stantiate themselves — their cause seemed a hope-
less one. " If there be no resurrection of the
dead, then is Christ not risen. And if Christ be
not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your
faith is also vain."

The Christian miracles, therefore, are facts to
be proved, and the proof offered is the personal
witness or testimony of the apostles. This testi-
mony must be examined and sifted like any
other testimony. What is it worth } What are
its elements of trustworthiness or veracity } Sup-
pose you find men come fonvard to bear witness

203 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

to any remarkable fact or scries of facts, you
inquire int character of the men, their

possible motives — disinterested or not — their
personal relation to the fact — immediate or not.
In short, all testimony must be thoroughly ex-
amined and weighed, and is valid or not accord-
ing to certain principles of sense and reason,
which, however difficult to define, are intelligible
by all. In this respect the evidence for the
Christian miracles is on the level of all other
evidence. From the very remarkable character
of the facts, it must, in truth, be criticised with
a special keenness, and judged with a special
severity.

But in the case of the evidence for the Chris-
tian miracles, as in the case of all historical testi-
mony, there is a presumption of an important
kind. The testimony is not immediately before
us. It survives only by tradition. The living
witnesses are long since gone ; we cannot call
them into court and put their veracity to the
proof by cross question of their reports, and ex-
amination of their personal look and manner.
We have only the affidavits, so to speak, which
they left behind, and which have been handed
down to us. First of all, therefore, it is plain
we must prove these affidavits. We must shew
that the statements which they left were really
their own statements. In other words, the genu-

Till: DIRECT WITNESS.

203

inencss of the cvanfjclical testimony must be
settled before we investigate the value and force
of it. If any doubt rest upon this preliminary
point, the conclusions we draw would be vitiated
from the foundation. Supposing a witness in
an important case to have died, and his dying
declaration to have been put in in evidence, it
is plain that this declaration must be proved to
have really proceeded from him, before it can
be held to be evidence at all. In the same man-
ner, the Gospel of St John — shall we say, for
it gives force to select a particular example —
must be shewn to be really his testimony, to
have proceeded from him, and truly to represent
him or his age. It professes to do so in the most
solemn manner. " This is the disciple," it says
at the close, " which testifieth of these things,
and wrote these things, and we believe that his
testimony is true." This profession of author-
ship must be substantiated by reasonable evi-
dence before the substance of the testimony
claims our notice.

The question of the genuineness of the evan-
gelical testimony, therefore, must be determined
as a prime condition of the validity of that
testimony. This question, in fact, very much
involves the whole subject, as it nov/ stands in
the light of higher and more comprehensive
methods of historical investigation than those
which prevailed in the last century. There is

t \

? ll

f ,

i;!

204 BOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

now no longer any dispute as to the character of
the apostles. The talk of imposture, as we for-
merly said, has died away, or only survives in
obscure corners of infidelity, from which all
rational investigation is banished. There is no
'listorical student doubts that the men who
planted Christianity in the world were men of
noble and honest character, and of self-denying
zeal and labours — men who profoundly believed
their own testimony, and lived and died to shew
their faith in it — men, to use the words of Paley's
well-known thesis, who " professing to be original
witnesses of the Christian miracles, passed their
lives in labours, dangers, and sufferings, volun-
*^arily undergone, in attestation of the accounts
which they delivered, and solely in consequence
of their belief in these accounts ; and who also
submitted, from the same motives, to new rules
of conduct." All this may be said to be beyond
dispute. So far the "trial of the witnesses" is
unnecessary. And to this extent, perhaps, some
ridicule of the Christian apologies of the past
century may be excused. It was the thought
of a hard, superficial, and unhistorical age, — un-
historical in spirit, notwithstanding the one or
two great histories which it produced, — to con-
ceive of the possibility of Christianity being an
imposture, and the apostles being the impostors.
A truer, more correct, and more comprehensive
spirit of historical inquiry has dissipated every

%..Jl^

•-Il

THE DUiECT WITNE^SS,

206

such thought. It is universally recognised that
it would be impossible to account for any great
movement in hunian history on such principles.
The very conception of the movement, and the
undeniable character of it throughout, iiiiplies
principles of a totally different kind.

The real, and well-nigh the whole inquiry,
therefore, has come to be, not as to the character
of the apostles, but as to their genuine historical
position ; not what they were, but who they
were, and how far we truly possess the ac-
counts of what they said and did. These are
the only, points of inquiry that really divide
those that are entitled to have any opinion on
the subject.

This will be more apparent in carrying out
the argument to a conclusion. In the meantime,
let us turn to the important point which it in-
volves as to the genuineness of the Gospels.

I. — Genuineness of the Gospels.

This is really the essential point ; and modern
unbelief has sufficiently recognised th s by direct-
ing its main attacks in this quarter. It has been
the pride of German criticism to analyse with
the most rigid severity all the particulars of
evidence for the genuineness of the Gospels, and
to expose every weakness that they may seem
to shew. It has certainly done its worst in this

i :

306 HO ir TO SUCCEED IN LtFE.

respect, and with a skill which can never be
rivalled.

It must be granted — every one who knows
the subject will grant that the inquiry into the
genuineness of the Gospels is not without its
difficulties. It is by no means the easy-going
question that it appears in some popular sum -
maries. It has its elements of uncertainty, and
presents many nice points of criticism which
cannot be discussed here. But it also presents
certain main features which may be plainly set
forth. The nature of the question will be ap-
parent, and the conclusive force of the evidence
upon which the Christian affirmation rests will
abundantly shew itself — making every allow-
ance for difficulties.

The inquiry, in its direct form, is to this
effect — What is the evidence that the Gospels
were really the productions of their professed
authors? Technically, a book is said to be
genuine when it was really written by the
author whose name it bears. Certain plays of
Shakspeare are universally admitted to be
genuine. The evidence that he himself really
composed them is satisfactory to every mind.
Others, such as the three parts of ' Henry VI.,*
'Titus Andronicus,' and * Pericles* are of doubt-
ful genuineness — that is to say, it remains,
in some degree, a question whether Jie was
really their author, or at least their sole authoi.

|l! 1

.^!i

TUE DIRECT WITNK^^.

^01

Again, there are eight books of the ' Laws of
Kcclesiastical PoHty ' attributed to Hooker, live
of which are beyond question genuine. They
were published under his name in circumstances
which leave no doubt that they really came
from his pen. The remaining three books were
published after his death, and in circumstances
which led to suspicions of their having been
tampered with. It remains a question whether
these three books, and especially the sixth,
really represent Hooker's opinions, although no
one can doubt that he was, in a general sense,
the author of them, as well as of the five pub-
lished in his life. These two illustrations may
serve to shew something of what is meant when
it is proposed to inquire into the genuineness of
a book. Genuineness may be vitiated either
by a lack of evidence connecting it with the
supposed author, or by corruption of what the
author has really written. This is the question,
strictly so-called, and these cases serve very well
to illustrate it.

But the question in regard to the Gospels is
substantially broader, and not exactly met by
these illustrations. For example, whatever may
be the doubts as to Shakspeare having been the
author of three parts of * Henry VI.,' there can
be no doubt that they belong to the Shaksperian
age. They represent the same epoch in our lite-
rature as his early pla\ s ; they are expressions

20S

HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

of the same phase of our national intellectual
life. There can be no question as to this. In
the same manner, there can be no question
that all the books of Hooker's Polity belong
to the same age, whether or not he was really
in a strict sense the author of them all. Now,
it is this broader rather than the narrower
view which may be said to cover the case of
the Gospels.

If the Gospels can be carried back to the
first century, the direct authorship in every
case is not absolutely vital. "Whether the
existing Gospel of St Matthew, for example,
is really the direct production of the apostle,
or the translation of an original Hebrew
Gospel of the apostle by some friend or
associate, or possibly even a composite Gospel
partly from the hand of St Matthew and
partly from some later hand, would not really
affect the conclusion at issue. There it is ! —
a record of what happened in the knowledge
and experience of the apostles, and of the
apostolic churches, by one or more who
professed to know of the events, and whose
veracity is to be tested according to all the
circumstances of the case. This is the very
profession of St Luke. It seemed "good to
him" (although not an apostle himself),
" having had a^erfect understanding of all
things from the first," to write them in order

I'i

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

209

to his friend Theophilus, that he might " know
the certainty of those things wherein he had
been instructed." The real question here is
whether this profession be a genuine pro-
fession on the part of a Christian writer of
the first age, or, in other words, whether the
document which it opens, or its main sub-
stance, can be traced up to the first century,
rather than the more technical inquiry as to
whether the writer was St Luke, the com-
panion of St Paul, or some other. Even in
the case of the fourth Gospel, the fact of its
existence in the end of the apostolic age is
really the chief question. Supposing this
settled, its authorship — whether by St John,
or partly by St John and partly by some
Christian writer of his school — would net
have an important bearing on our subject.

The nature of the evidence, then, which
must be sought to establish the genuineness of
the Gospels, is obvious. We must get traces
of their existence in the first Christian age.
They profess to tell us what Christ taught and
did. Their testimony is by no means the
only testimony to our Lord's miracles, espe-
cially to the great miracle of His resurrection ;
but hitherto the credibility of these miracles
has chiefly been rested on the credibility of
the four narratives which profess to give us
an account of them. If the credibility of these

:Ji i

210 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

narratives were seriously impaired — if it were
true, as recently maintained, that there is no
** trace even of the existence of our Gospels
for a century and a half after the events they
record," * and " no evidence of any value con-
necting these works with the writers to whom
they are popularly attributed," then the evi-
dence for the divine origin of Christianity
would seriously suffer. Even in such a case
it would by no means be destroyed, as we
shall afterwards particularly point out. The
conclusion of the same writer, that in such an
event " the claims of Christianity to be con-
sidered a Divine Revelation must necessarily
be disallowed," f would not necessarily follow.
Certain elements of evidence would remain of
a very insurmountable character, save to one
who is prepared to admit anything rather than
the possibility of the supernatural. Yet it
cannot be denied that the supposed originality
of the substantive narrative of the Gospels is a
vital element in what are commonly known
as the "Christian Evidences," r^nd that it is
of the utmost importance that we should be
able to trace their existence onwards to the
apostolic age, or reasonably near to the
origin of Christianity itself. The question
presents difficulties which will sufficiently
appear in the sequel ; but a fair statement of

* Supernatural Religion, ii. 481-2. t Ib.^ii. ^2.

■•n»V'I/--

■'ir.

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

211

it will be found, beyond any doubt, to leave
the balance of probability not on the nega'itve,
but on the positive side.

Up to a certain point there is of course no
question. It is unnecessary to collect evidence
for the existence of the Gospels from writers
such as Origen (d. 254) in the third century.
No one doubts, or can doubt, that the four
Gospels not only existed in the time of Origen,
but were held by the Church then in th*^ fame
veneration as nov/. He speaks of them in a
passage preserved by Eusebius* as "the four
Gospels, which and which alone are accepted
without question by the Church of God under
Heaven," and he proceeds in the same pas-
sage to particularise each Gospel in succes-
sion. Elsewhere he speaks of them still
more definitely, and enlarges upon their pecu-
liarities, and especially upon the divine excel-
lency of St John's Gospel.f The mere fact
that Origen wrote commentaries and homilies
on the Gospels, and prepared a text of them
as of other parts of Scripture, places their
general acceptance in the Church in his time
beyond all controversy.

In ascending the course of Christian his-
tory to the age immediately preceding that of
Origen, or the last quarter of the second cen-

• Hist. Eccles., vi. 25.

t Comment, on John, t. fv. p. 4.

212 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

lillH

tury, we have no less satisfactory evidence
that the four Gospels, under the names of their
reputed authors, were then universally ac-
cepted by the Church. All the notable Chris-
tian writers of the time refer to them with-
out hesitation as authoritative documents.
Irenseus not only mentions the four, and
quotes from each repeatedly, especially in the
third book of his famous treatise * Against
Heresies,* but he gives a special account oi
their origin in the beginning of the same
book. He says that " Matthew, among the
Hebrews, published a written Gospel in their
own language, whilst Peter and Paul were
preaching at Rome, and founding the Church
there ; and after their departure, Mark, the dis-
ciple and interpreter of Peter, delivered to us
in writing the things preached by Peter ; and
Luke, the companion of Paul, put down in a
book the Gospel preached by hi m . Afterwards,
John, the disciple of the Lord, who leaned upon
His breast, likewise published a Gospel while
he dwelt at Ephesus in Asia." * Again he tells
us that " the Gospels can be neither more nor
fewer in number than they are . . . that the
Logos, the framer of all things, having mani-
fested Himself to men, gave us the Gospel
fourfold in form, but bound together by one
spirit."! There is more of the same sort as to
* Jren., iii. i. f lb., iii. i|,

TUE DIRECT WITNEi^S,

213

the necessarily quadriform or fourfold character
of the Gospel, a mode of argument more in-
genious than satisfactory ; but the very inge-
nuity of which only brings more prominently
into relief the idea of four Gospels, such as we
have now, and four Gospels alone, being at
this time universally accepted by the Church.

The testimony of Irenseus is strongly cor-
roborated by that of Clement of Alexandria.
In a passage preserved by Eusebius* it is
distinctly stated by this great teacher, that
" the Gospels containing the genealogies were
written first;" that the Gospel of Mark was
written while Peter was publicly preaching
the Word at Rome ; and that " John, last of all
. . being urged by his friends and divinely
moved by the Spirit, composed a spiritual
Gospel." Further, the same father, in one of
his extant writings, discriminates betwixt an
apocryphal Gospel "to the Egyptians" and
" the four Gospels delivered to us." f

The evidence of Tertullian, if less explicit,
is hardly less satisfactory. In his treatise
against Marcion, J he speaks of the authors of
the Gospels as partly "apostles " and partly
"apostolic men." Among the former, he
says, "John and Matthew inspire us with

• Hist. Eccl., lib. vi. c. 14.
f Stromata, 1. iii. § 13.
X L. iv. c. 2.

'ill

'jf

iiti

214 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

fai.tli; " among the latter, "Luke and Mark
renew it." The Gospel is to him, as to
Irenaeus, under its fourfold form a recog-
nised document or deed of authority for the
Church.* The fact of the Churches having
received the Gospels and held them sacred, is
an evidence of their having been delivered by
the apostles. The genuine Gospel of Luke is
contrasted with the mutilated Gospel of the
same name used by Marcion, as having been
received by all the Churches founded by the
apostles, and those in fellowship with them,
"from its first publication." "The same autho-
rity," he adds, "of the Apostolic Churches
will support the other Gospels, which in like
manner we have from them and according to
their copies." f

In order to discern the full force of this
evidence, it is necessary to notice the position
and representative character of the men who
gave it. Irenaeus was a native of Asia Minor,
probably of Smyrna, and was born certainly
not later than the year 140. He had been, he
himself tells us in a fragment of a letter pre-
served by Eusebius,:}: a pupil of Polycarp, who

• *« Evangelicum Instrumentum," Adv. Marc, iv. S. It is to
be remembered that iTertulliau was a rhetor, or professional
lawyer.

t "Per illas et secundum illas" (ecdesias), Adv. Marc^
I. iv. § 5.

t Hist. EccL, lib. v. c. ao.

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

2\')

was, again, a pupil of St John. Those early
days he recalled, he says, "more vividly than
things which had lately happened . . . how
the blessed Polycarp used to sit and discourse,
and his going forth and his coming in, and
the fashion of his life and appearance of his
person, and the discourses which he used to
make to the congregation, and how he used
to tell of his conversation with St John and
with the rest of those who had seen the
Lord ; and how he used to relate from
memory their sayings, and what those things
were which he had heard from them con-
cerning the Lord and concerning His miracles
and teaching." Thus trained in the school
of Polyc:arp, Irenseus passed to the south of
Gaul, thence to Rome, where he seems to
have remained some time, and again back to
Lyons as bishop, after the martyrdom there of
the venerable Pothinus. Who could have
known better as to the Gospels, or had better
opportunities of judging as to their reception ?
Can we suppose that what was so venerated
by him in his maturity — say about 190, the
latest date to which even the author of * Su-
pernatural Religion* would carry back the
treatise * Against Heresies' — ^was unknown to
him in his youth, or known only as produc-
tions that had recently come into vogue ?
Can we imagine that Polycarp knew nothing

i^rs

i ]\

410 IIOJV TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

of Gospels which were held in such sacred
respect by his pupil ? Where, except from
his master, could Irenaeus have learned this
respect?

Clement of Alexandria no more stands alone
than Irenaeus. He is supposed to have been
a native of Athens, and after many travels in
search of wisdom and learning, to have settled
at Alexandria before 190, as teacher in the
school of catechumens there. He was at least
the second teacher in this school, having been
preceded by Pantasnus. Is it possible to
doubt that the manner in which Clement
speaks of the Gospels was already a tradition
in the Alexandrian School ? And can we
imagine such a tradition to have grown up
within thirty or forty years ?

The position of Tertullian is equal!}' signifi-
cant. He virtually speaks not only foi.* him-
self, but for the Carthaginian Church. He
speaks, moreover, as one v/ho looks back to
an authoritative tradition, to an •• Evangelical
Instrument " capable of being produced in
evidence of the facts which it contains. The
very ground on which he concludes against
the GovSpel of Marcion is its recent inven-
tion, in contrast to the unmutilated Gospel
of St Luke as universally received by the
Churches. Is it for a moment credible,
then, that this Gospel was after all a recent

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

217

discovery or fabrication — in other words,
that there was 7to trace of its existence for
a century and a half after the events it
records ?

The evidence even 90 far as now presented
appears fatal to this astounding statement.
Every one of the writers whom we have quoted
speak of the four Gospels not merely with
respect, but with a respect engendered by tra-
ditional habit. They betray no questioning,
and enter into no argument in proof of what
they say. They are already the dogmatists
of a new era, and the four Gospels are to them
an authoritative ** canon " beyond which there
is no appeal. This is the tone alike of all, at
such widely separated centres of Christian
civilisation as Asia Minor, Alexandria, Car-
thage, Southern Gaul. Is it possible to con-
ceive the growth of such a widespread Chris-
tian tradition within the course of a single
generation ? One hundred and fifty years after
the events recorded in the Gospels would carry
us down at least to a time when Irenseus was
thirty-five or forty years of age — when he had
left Asia Minor, and was about to become
Bishop of Lyons.* About the same time
Clement was completing his spiritual and
theological education, and in the course of

• One hundred and seventy-seven is the commonly asikiguud
liate of his appointment to the bishopric.

J318 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

i' i;

his travels collecting evidence of that uni-
versal tradition as to the Gospels, which ho
afterwards relates. Tertullian, if he had not
become known as a rhetor and a lawyer,
must have been well advanced in his legal
studies, for by the end of the century he had
been some time married,* and had written
many of his treatises, amongst others his
* Apology.' In the face of an accumulated
testimony of this kind, gathered from such
diverse sources, and representing the voice of
the Church from such widespread centres, it
is simply incredible that our Gospels could
have come into existence during the earlier
years of these men, or even in the generation
which preceded them.

This seems the very least conclusion to
which the foregoing evidence binds us. What
had become an accepted tradition in the age
of Irenaeus, CI nent, and Tertullian, could not
possibly have originated in their youth. We
might go further, and maintain that it could
not even have originated in the youth of
Polycarp, the teacher of Irenaeus. But it is
unnecessary to go so far as this in the mean-
time. All that is urged, and it appears to us
irrefragably urged, is that the universal ad-

• See the commencement of the treatise addressed * To his
wire,' one of his pre-Montanist writings. Tertullian became a
Monlanist, it is supposed, about 202.

."* M

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

210

.nission in tho end of the second century, that
there Were fouty and only four Gospehy as ai
present, attribu ted respectively to the same authors
as at present, is quite inconsistent with the
idea that these Gospels were unknown, oi
not even in existence, about the middle ol
the century. The manner in which they are
spoken of, the respect aad authority which
had gathered around them, presuppose on the
contrary a long anterior existence. For such
veneration is only the growth of years, and
such authority the slow acquisition of com-
mon habit and belief. In short, the amount
and character of the testimony cited reflect
the force of the testimony far beyond its own
age, and enable us to advance to the next
period in our upward ascent of the course
of Christian history with firmness and con-
fidence.

Carrying with us, then, this advantage, we
make our next step to what is known as the
" age of the Apologists," or specially the age
of Justin Martyr ( 1 20- 1 70). Justin is the really
significant figure of the time, and it is unneces-
sary for our purpose to consider the fragments
of evidence associated with other names com-
monly grouped around him — Tatian (his pupil),
Quadratus and Aristides of Athens, Athena-
goras, and Theophilus of Antioch. Our aim
must be to get traces of the four Gospels, or

> V.

r ; ■

' 1

LkJ

230 IIO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

of any of them, along the middle and early
period of the century represented by Justin
and his contemporaries.

It is obvious, however, that the further we
ascend, the traces for which we search are
likely to become less definite. The Canon of
the New Testament, no less than that of the
Jewish Scriptures, required time for develop-
ment. The four Gospels, as we have seen, were
all alike acknowledged, and their respective
character appreciated, in the last quarter of the
second century. It has been fairly argued that
this implies a long anterior existence. But as
we draw nearer to their origin, it cannot be ex-
pected that we should find these four Gospels
standing forth together in the same clear and
authentic light. As they originated from
diverse sources, some earlier and some later,
and represented diverse sections of the Church,
they will be naturally heard of and quoted in
very different quarters, — some in this quarter
and some in that, and some more clearly and
definitely than others. And especially is this
to be expected when we take into account
the circumstances of the time we have now
reached.

During the middle and early part of the
second century, the history of the Church is
involved in great obscurity. It was, as we
hfive said, the " age of the Apologists," when

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

221

Christianity was on its defence for a bare
existence. It was, moreover, the age of the
Catacombs, when the Church in many places
was barely seen above ground — although
growing powerfully in secret. Great spiritual
forces were everywhere at work, but nowhere
clearly set n in their true character and conflict
with one another. How little, for example, do
we know of Gnosticism, which was yet plainly
a powerful influence in the intellectual world
— how little also of Ebionism, or that ancient
Unitarianism, which was so prominent a
feature of the Jewish Churches ! Onwards, in
fact, from the death of St Paul, in 65 or 69 at
latest, the Church is only seen at uncertain
intervals, slowly emerging from the darkness,
and taking its place as a distinct institution
in the world, apart from the Judaism in which
it had been cradled, and the great systems of
oriental speculation, which had sought to imi-
tate much of its language, and a certain side
of its thought. There cannot be said to have
been, on the part of the Roman world, any
clear recognition of Christians as distinct from
Jews, before the well-known letter of the
younger Pliny to the Emperor Trajan, in the
year no. And it was probably not till some
time later, namely, the disastrous termina-
tion of the second Jewish revolt, under Bar-
Cochab, about 135, that this distinction was

iMl

?23

HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

r I

liii

definitely established, and impressed both
upon the general consciousness and the con-
sciousness of the Church itself. Little is known
of the history of this revolt, but the fact of it,
and its lecisive influence upon the fortunes of
the Christian Church, are beyond question.
It was a purely Jewish outbreak, from which
the Christians everywhere kept aloof, and
when the tumult cleared away, and the ven-
geance of the Imperial armies were glutted
in the slaughter, it is said, of nearly 600,000
Jews, the line of Christian history is seen for
the first time fully disentangled from Judaism,
and running distinct by itself.

It must never be forgotten how scanty is
the literature of the Church during all this
time, and that even such literature as survives
has little bearing upon our subject. A few
letters and treatises comprise it all. Even of
the Apologists, save Justin Martyr, we have
only scanty remains. The Apologies of
Quadratus and Aristides of Athens have
both perished. Melito, Bishop of Sardis,
wrote numerous works, but nothing remains
save an oration preserved in a Syriac trans-
lation. Hegesippus, about the middle of the
century, or immediately subsequent, compiled
five books or memoirs of the history of the
Church, which, according to Jerome, gave a
complete account of it, from the death of our

■; !•'

vy^

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

223

Lord to his own time ; but all are lost with
the exception of a few detached passages
pj-eserved by Eusebius. Papias, in the earlier
part of the century, composed an * Exposition
of the Oracles of the Lord ; * but, with the ex-
ception of a single passage, afterwards to be
considered, we know nothing of it. Two or
three small volumes sum up the whole
Christian literature of this truly dark age of
the Church. It is this obscurity which has
given such scope to endless theories as to the
formation of the New Testament canon, but
it is also a fair inference that the scantiness
of sources of Christian information may have
.deprived us of much evidence that would have
strengthened our position.

The evidence as to the origin and reception
of the Gospels has suffered from a further cause.
These several narratives represented diiferent
sides of the early Church. They mirror its
manifold view of Christ, and were identified
with the preaching of different teachers, who
did not always see things in the same light.
There can be no question of such distinctions
in the Church of the first and second centu-
ries, however little we may be disposed to
allow the conclusions which the Tubingen
critics have based upon them. Nor can there
be any question of the real rivalries that to
some extent underlay these distinctions, and

■

I'll

"\'i

' .'>;

224 /rOTf rO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

especially of the antagonism that prevailed,
often violently, betwixt the Jewish and Hel-
lenic parties. The Church of Jerusalem never
fully understood St Paul, and notwithstanding
his great labours, it probably retained its
pre-eminence for many years. To it belonged
the glory of the original Twelve, and all the
prestige of inherited privilege, with which
it parted most reluctantly. The Hellenic
party, in addition to the great name of the
Apostle of the Gentiles, had the advantage
everywhere in culture, liberality, and intelli-
gence. The march of events, moreover, was
on its side. But during a lengthened period
the two parties were probably more closely
balanced than we are apt to suppose, and
continued to regard each other with unabated
jealousy. This jealousy naturally extended to
the books or scriptures received by each. The
Hebrew Gospel was mainly, if not exclusively,
recognised within the circle of the Hebrew
Churches ; the Gospel of St Luke, again,
within the circle of the Pauline Churches.
In short, it is to be remembered that the
period was one not merely of formation, but
of ferment, and in some degree of conflict
wdthin the Church, as well as of oppression
and darkness without. All was as yet un-
settled. The New Testament Scriptures,
and the Gospels amongst them, were only

TUE DIRECT WITNESS.

225

growing towards catholic recognition. It
would be absurd, therefore, to expect such
testimonies regarding them as we have
hitherto found. On the contrary, it follows
almost as a matter of course, that the allu-
sions to the Gospels in this indefinite and
uncertain age of Christian history, should
be less definite and satisfactory than be-
fore.

This is the true key, we apprehend, to the
change in the character of the Evidence thai
now awaits us, and the comparative l-ack of
the distinct mention of the four Gospels by
name in the earlier writers of the second
century. Let us, with this explanation, turn
to examine the language of Justin Martyr in
its bearing on our subject.

Justin was of Greek descent, but bom in
Syria, at Flavia Neapolis, a Roman colony
founded by Vespasian near the site of the
ancient Sichem. His birth was probably as
early as the commencement of the century.
He perished as a martyr in Rome about i66.
Originally a heathen, he became a convert to
Christianity after studying the prevailing sects
of philosophy, the Stoics, Peripatetics, Pytha
goreans, and Platonists. Platonism seemed
for a time to satisfy his longings after truth ;
but meeting, as he himself describes,* an aged

* Dial. c. Trypho, iii.

'ii

} \

!J : .

22ij no »r TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

man of meek and venerable appearance, he
was exhorted by him to turn from self-reflec-
tion and philosophic cogitation, to the study
of the prophets and the Revelation made
known in Jesus Christ. ** Pray," said the
venerable figure, that "above all things the
gates of light may be opened to you."
Straightway a fire was kindled in his soul,
and he became possessed with ** a love of the
prophets, and of those men who were friends
of Christ ; '* and revolving in his mind the
woi cis that he had heard, he found at length
in the Christian Revelation the satisfaction
and peace that he desired. So he became a
Christian philosopher, and travelled far and
wide disseminating his new convictions. It
is at Ephesus, in the public walk or xystus,
that he narrates to Trypho, the Jew, this ac-
count of his conversion, and the Dialogue
which he held on the occasion remains
amongst the most interesting of his writings,
two Apologies, in addition to this Dialogue,
may be said to complete his genuine writings,
the first and longer one, which is alone of
much importance, being addressed to Anto-
ninus Pius, and the second addressed to the
Roman Senate. Considerable diversity of opi-
nion exists as to the exact dates to be assigned
to these writings; but the larger Apology
is not supposed to be later than 145 or 147,

TUM DIRECT WITNESS.

827

and the Dialogue a few years subsequent to
this time. Even the author of 'Supernatural
Religion ' does not suggest a later date than
147 for the Apology, and Bunsen carries
it up as far as 139, the year in which the title
" Pius " was first acceded to Antoninus.

Both in the Apology and in the Dialogue,
Justin makes numerous references to the facts
of Christ's life, and quotes numerous sayings
ascribed to Him. In the former there are
fifty, and in the latter seventy direct allusions
to the Gospel history; and three chapters espe-
cially of the first Apology, the fifteenth, six-
teenth, and seventeenth, are composed almost
exclusively of passages answering generally
to passages in the Gospels of St Matthew, St
Mark, and St Luke. These and other passages
appear to be quoted; and elsewhere — twice
in the Apology (c. 66, 67), and no fewer than
fifteen times in the Dialogue — he clearly
indicates, as the definite source of his inform-
ation and teaching regarding the life of our
Lord, certain * Memoirs of the Apostles.* *
Generally he uses the full expression ' Me-
moirs of the Apostles,' or 'Memoirs composed
by them,' ue. the apostles ; in a few instances
simply the expression * Memoirs.' f Once he

* 'Airofivtifiovivfiara tCjv diroaTokiav.

t Twelve times the fuller expreb^ion ; five times in the
Dialogue the simple expression.

22S HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

says that these * Memoirs ' were ** called Gos-
pels " (Apol., c. 66), and once hj speaks of a
saying of Christ as being " in the Gospel "
(Dial., c. loo). In another place (Dial., c. io6)
he seems to speak specially of the Memoirs of
St Peter ; but it may be doubtful there whether
the singular pronoun refers to St Peter or to
Christ, and it has even been suggested that
the singular is a corruption for the plural pro-
noun,* and that the reference is therefore
general, as in other cases. In still another
significant passage f he states that the Me-
moirs "were composed by Christ's apostles,
and men who followed them." Moreover, he
says expressly,^ that the * Memoirs of the
Apostles ' were read in the Sunday assem-
blies of the Christians, together with " the
writings of the prophets,"' ** as long as time
permits."

Such is a simple statement of the main facts
in Justin's testimony. The question of course
is as to the identity of Justin's Memoirs with
our present Gospels. It has been argued by
the author of * Supernatural Religion ' and
by others, that the passages quoted by Justin
present so much verbal discrepancy from the
corresponding passages in the Synoptic Gos-
pels, that they cannot be supposed to be taken

* Otto in loc.

X ApoLf c« 67.

t Dial., c. loj.

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

220

from thom. It is further maintained that facts
are mentioned by Justin, in the life of ou
Lord, which are not found in our Gospels, anc
that it must be consequently concluded that
he possessed other and distinct sources of in-
formation — and that in short the * Memoirs '
to which he appeals were not our Gospels, at
least in their present form. It is obvious hdw
difficult it must be to settle beyond conuo-
versy such a question as this. But the fol-
lowing considerations may serve to show
beyond reasonable doubt, that the balance
of evidence is strongly in favour of the con-
clusion that the * Memoirs ' referred to by
Justin could have been no other than our
Gospels.

I. It must be admitted that the passages
quoted by Justin fail in verbal coincidence
with the text of our Gospels. It is impos-
sible to exhibit here the differences in detail ;
this can only be appreciated by a comparison
of the passages in the original language.
But the following specimen, taken from the
list of parallel sentences selected by the
author of * Supernatural Religion,* may give
the general reader some ide'a of the extent
to which they differ. Our Lord, for example,
is represented in St Matthew, v. 28, as
saying, " But I say unto you. That every one
that looketh on a woman to lust after her

I lii **

230 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

hath committed adultery with her already
in his heart." Justin * opens a long
cluster of sayings which he attributes to
Jesus as follows : ** He (Jesus) then spoke of
chastity. * Whosoever way have gazed on a
woman to lust after her, hath committed
adultery already in the heart before God' "
Again, in the same chaj^ter of St Matthew,
in the following verse we read, **If thy right
eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from
thee." Justin has simply,t " If thy right eye
offend thee, cut it otit." Again, Matthew xvi.
26, "For what shall a man be profited if he
shall gain the whole wor^.d but lose his
soul ? or what shall a man give in exchange
for his soul ?" Justin has,:}: "For what is a man
profited if he shall gain the whole world but
destroy his soul ? or v/hat shall he give in
exchange for it ? " It is needless to multiply
examples. It is sufficiently evident that if
Justin quotes from St Matthew, he does not
quote with verbal accuracy. But then it is
equally evident that he does not profess to
do so. His object is to set before the heathen
emperor the substance of our Lord's teaching.
In doing so it was natural that he should
refer to his sources of information under the
general name of 'Memoirs,' rather than the
special name of * Gospels.' His language
* I Apol., 15. t lb. I lb.

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

231

implies that this latter name was already
familiar amongst Christians ; but the former
designation would be the more intelligible to
the emperor ami the Gentile world at large.
He quotes apparently in many cases not
from a manuscript before him, but from
memory. This is clear from the fact that
his quotations of the same passage differ,
and that he interweaves 'vords found in
d liferent parts of the Gospels, as well as
condenses and adapts passages to suit his
special purpose. Moreover, it is found in
reference to the Old Testament, in the case
of which his quotations are confessedly taken
from manuscripts, that he quotes with much
of the same degree of verbal incorrectness.
He mixes up sentences from the same prophet,
and sometimes from different prophets, and he
compresses and rearranges words very much at
his pleasure, in order to bring out more fully
his meaning. It cannot be expected that he
would quote the Gospels with more respect
to literal accuracy than the prophetic writings
of the Old Testament.

Then, as to the few discrepancies of
which so much has been made, they have
been summed up by a most impartial writer,*

* Dr Donaldson, * Fist, of Christian Literature and Doctrine
from t1)c Death of tiie Apostles to the Nicene Council,* voL
ii. 330.

233 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

in the few following sentoncos : — " Justin
quotes a saying of Christ, * In whatsoever I
find you in that I will judge you,' which is
not found in our Gospels. He makes the
voice from Heaven at the baptism say, * Thou
art my Son, this day have I begotten Thee.'
He also says that fire was lighted in the
Jordan on that occasion. And he mentions
that Christ made yokes and ploughs. The
first passage is supposed by some to be taken
from the Gospel of the Hebrews, but it is as
likely to have been handed down by tradi-
tion. The second passage is found in some
manuscripts of the New Testament, though
not in the oldest, and is recognised by some
other Christian writers. It was found, ac-
cording to Epiphanius, in the Gospel accord-
ing to the Hebrews. Of the third, Justin
does not expressly say that it was in the
Gospels. And the last, though found in the
Gospel of Thomas, may have been a true
tradition handed down and believed in the
Church. These then," Dr Donaldson adds,
** are not sufficient proofs that Justin used
any other Gospel."

2. Add to these considerations the diffi-
culties of the contrary opinion. Suppose that
the * Memoirs ' quoted by Justin were not our
Synoptic Gospels, or did not embrace them,
it is yet quite evident that they were sacred

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

233

and authoritative writinpfs. Thoy wore rrad
along with the writing's of tho prophets in
the assemblies of the Christians every Sun-
day. They were written by apostles and " by
men who followed them." They contained an
ample narrative of the facts contained in our
Gospels. They were called * Gospels,' and yet
also spoken of as *' the Gospel." What could
have become of writings thus distinct from
our Gospels and yet acknowledged by the
Church, known to Justin, and yet mentioned
by no one but him ? How can we conceive
Irenaeus, within twenty years of Justin, taking
no account of them, and apparently entirely
ignorant of them ? Everything seems against
such a supposition. It has been suggested,*
indeed, that the * Memoirs * of Justin were
identical with the Gospel according to the
Hebrews, which plays such a frequent part
in the literature of the second century ; and a
certain affinity is admitted to have existed
betwixt this Gospel and our St Matthew,
although their identity is denied.

It is impossible to enter into the special
discussion as to a Hebrew Gospel and its
relation to our canonical Gospels; and it is
quite unnecessary for our purpose to do so.
It may be only noted in passing that, accord-
ing to such an admission, there is at least

^ By the author of ' Supernatural Religion,' as by others.

■i

I ?! 1

III'!

Ill;

^34 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE

one Gospel stretching back to the original
Jewish Church, whether this Gospel be our
St Matthew, or the original of our St
Matthew (according to the opinion of the
early Church), or a separate Gospel which
has perished, and that this Hebrew Gospel,
supposing it to have been that which Justin
used, must have contained the same, or almost
the same, miraculous facts as our present
Gospels. If this be so, we have at least one
continuous thread of evangelical testimony
to those facts.

But the language of Justin seems plainly
inconsistent with such a view. For he ap-
peals not only to one, but to several apostolic
sources ; he speaks expressly not only of a
Gospel but of Gospels — of * Memoirs * proceed-
ing not merely from one apostle, but from
apostles and others who followed them.
Many of the passages, moreover, cited by bim
correspond more closely with the language of
St Luke than that of St Matthew, or the
supposed Gospel according to the Hebrews.
And some of the fairest critics of the extreme
school* even admit that his language in
certain places cannot be explained without
recognising his acquaintance with the Gospel
of St John, no less than of the Synoptic
Gospels. Altogether, the evidence seems

* Kcim and Hilgenfeld.

THE DTUECT WITNESS!.

235

abundantly convincing that the * Memoirs
of Justin must have been identical with
our Gospels ; or, at least, as Dr Donaldson
says,* " must have embraced the Gospels
of Matthew and Luke, and, we may add,
Mark."

Let us, then, consider tho force of this
evidence, and how far it carries us. The
Gospels of Justin were obviously not merely
accepted, but sacred records. They had
acquired such authority in the Church as to
be read regularly at the solemn meetings of
the Christian congregations. They could
hardly have attained such authority if they
had come into existence during any period of
Justin's life. But the early limit of his career
may be said to carry us to the verge of the
apostolic age. There is every presumption,
therefore, that the apostolic memoirs which
Justin heard read on Sunday, and whose con-
tents were so familiar to him, must have been
no less familiar to his older contemporaries,
Papias and Polycarp, and even to Ignatius,
Barnabas, and the Roman Clement of a still
preceding generation.

Of these men, with one exception, it is
unnecessary to speak particularly. Both
Polycarp and Ignatius are supposed to have
been disciples of St John, and Clement and

• Hist, of Christian Literature, 11. 330.

I ii

ifil

■Hi

236 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

': :S|

lil

Barnabas come within the Apostolic Age
itself. The letters of Ignatius are themselves
unfortunately so much a subject of dispute,
that their evidence is of little weight, even
were it more important than it is. But the
truth is, that such sayings of our Lord as
occur in these earlier fathers can hardly be
called evidence of the existence of the Gospels.
They may have been taken from the Gospels ;
and most candid readers would allow that at
least in the letter of Polycarp to the Philip-
pian Church, and that of Clement to the
Church of Corinth, there are to be found
quotations both from St Matthew and St
Luke. But from the very nature of the case
this cannot be clearly established. These
men were themselves so near to the Evan-
gelical testimony, that they probably knew it
by heart rather than by book. They may have
written, therefore, as they spoke, out of the
fulness of their own knowledge communicated
to them orally by the Apostles or their
companions, rather than with reference to
any written documents which merely em-
bodied what was already familiar to them.
It was not so much any record of Christ's
sayings to which their thoughts turned, as
the sayings and doings themselves surviving
in the Christian consciousness of the time,
and which they had learned at the feet oi

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

237

those who directly reported the one and were
witnesses of the other.

Of Papias, however, the contemporary of
Polycarp, a single passage has been preserved
which is of unique significance in regard to
our subject, and which therefore claims a few
«vords of special attention.

Papias, there is good reason to believe,
was grown up to youth or early manhood
before the close of the first century. He was
greatly interested in traditions concerning
our Lord, and whenever he had opportunity
made diligent inquiry regarding them — "what
Andrew or Peter or Philip said^ or James or
John or Matthew, or any other of the Lord's
disciples ; and also," he adds, *' as to what
Aristion and the Presbyter John, the Lord's
disciples, say.'** It has been pointed outf
that this statement implies a distinction be-
twixt the older disciples (who were probably
dead at the time Papias was writing) and
two others, Aristion and John the Presbyter,
still living, with whom personally Papias had
held communication. At the utmost, there-
fore, there is but a single link betwixt this
fat!ier and the Apostolic Age. If not a dis-
ciple of St John (which has been disputed), he
was certainly a companion of those who had

• Euseb. H. E., iii, 39.

-f Westcult, Hist, ul Canon, 69.

!■!

; ■

:i,

■ 1

. %

fflBlS^I

i
\

Jjas How TO StlCCBEl) IN LIFE,

lived with the apostles or heard them preach
The passage which has been preserved from
his lost work entitled, " An Exposition of
Oracles of the Lord/** is cited by Eusebiui
in the third book o his history, and is
as follows : ** John the Presbyter used to
say, * Mark, being the interpreter of Peter,
wrote accurately whatsoever things he re-
membered, although not [recordi g] in order
the things said or done by Christ ; for
he neither heard the Lord nor followed
Him ; but subsequently, as I said, was with
Peter, who adapted his teaching to the
wants of those who heard him, but not as
making a connected narrative of the Lord's
discourses.* . . . And concerning Matthew he
said this : * Matthew composed the Oracles in
the Hebrew dialect, and each one interpreted
them as he was able/ *'

It is needless to say that these statements
oj" Papias have been the subject of much
criticism, and that their supposed reference
to our two first Gospels is vehemently con-
tested. It is said that the manner in which
Mark is spoken of as writing down his remi-
niscences of St Peter's preaching is incon-
sistent with the character of our second
Gospel, which is not specially deficient in
connection or order. And further, that the

THE DIRECT WITNESS,

339

expression logtay or " oracles/* does not
properly apply to our present Gospel of St
Matthew, but rather to a mere collection of
our Lord's discourses. There appears to be
more ingenuity than force in such arguments,
and most unprejudiced minds will see in the
language of Papias an undoubted reference to
our Gospel of St Mark, as well as to an
original Hebrew Gospel. The second evan-
gelist does not profess any more than the
others to give a complete or chronologically
connected account of our Lord's life or dis-
courses. The language cited from John the
Presbyter seems, therefore, fairly applicable
to our present Gospel of St. Mark. And, on
the other hand, it is held by many that the
expression logta may be understood in the
general sense of ** Scriptures," * and that, in
iact, it does not properly bear the exclusive
meaning of " discourses.'*

But, supposing that there were more force
in such objections than there really is, it is to
be observed th:it they do not vitally aftect
our conclusion. Let it be admitted that St
Mark's record of St Peter's preaching, as
known to Papias, .v as not in all respects the

ill

flii

:{|!

I f 1

* "This use of the word," says Mr. Wes'cott (Hist, of
Canon, p. 73), " is fully established ; and I am not aware," he
ftdUs, **tliat \6yuM. can be used in the sense of X^yM, "dis-

couraes.

\V\

;340 110 W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

1 I

i ^1

same as our present Gospel under his name,
or that the "oracles" composed by St
Matthew in Hebrew cannot be held to be
identical with our present first Gospel, it is
yet impossible to doubt that these earlier
records must have contained the same
main facts and doctrines. The Gospels of
Papias may not have been exactly the same
as our Gospels, but the supernatural story
which the one contains must have been in
the other. There may, in short, be uncer-
tainties as to how far the literary form of the
Gospels has varied. There may have been
even addition to their substance or contents
as they passed from Church to Church, and
.gathered in more fully the sacred traditions
which had come doyv'n from the several
apastles. The language of St Luke, in the
op<^ning of his Gospel, implies not merely that
there was a floating mass of oral belief, but
that many had undertaken to put it in
writing. Such an accumulation of apostolical
tradition, oral and written, may very well
have passed only gradually into the com-
pleted form of our present Gospels. Possibly
they may not even have received their final
touches of revision and arrangement from
apostolic . hands. Let this be granted. The
unity of their respective authorship would be
affected, but the originality of their main

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

substance would not be destroyed. From
first to last, through whatever change oi
form or additions of material, they certainly
embraced the same outline of supernatural
incident. It is impossible to doubt this in
the face of the facts of Christian history, the
undoubted writings of St Paul, and the lives
of such men as Barnabas, the Roman
Clement, and Ignatius, and Papias himseli
connecting the apostolic with the subsequent
Christian age. The work and character of
these men are unintelligible save in the view
o{i\iQ facts contained in the Gospels.

It is of great importance to fix atten-
tion upon this point, because two questions
essentially distinct are apt to be confounded
in the controversy which has raged around
the Gospels — the questions, namely, of in-
tegrity of form and of originality of sub-
stance. A narrative may have been amplified
and modified in form ; narratives like the
Gospels could hardly, up to a certain period
when the life of personal tradition had
died out, escape such a process of accre-
tion and development. But this is some-
thing entirely different from the process
of invention which is supposed in all the
Tubingen criticisms. The motif oi this school,
more than anything else, is the idea that the
presence of miracle everywhere implies later

242 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

\ ;'■■

invention. The Gospels are brought down in
their origin to the middle of the second
century in order that room may be given for
the growth of the miraculous stories which
they embody. It is no mere question of
literary growth which is involved, but a
question really of forgery or of blind cre-
dulity in the interests of the Church. But,
apart from all other reasons against such a
view, there is not the slightest evidence that
men like Papias or the Roman Clement, or
still more, St Paul (whose four great epistles
all admit to be genuine), believed less in the
supernatural story of the Gospels than the
men of the latter part of the second century.
There is not only no evidence of a growth of
legend regarding the supernatural character
of Christ, but the case of St Paul alone settles
definitely such a thing. There is no doubt of
his historical position, of his width of know-
ledge, of his intelligence and culture, and yet
he is plainly as great a supernaturalist as
St Matthew or St Peter, as represented by
St Mark.

In fine, whatever doubts may exist as to
the precise origin of our present Gospels
and the manner in which they have taken
their present form, no doubt can reasonably
be held that in their earliest as well as
their latest form they told substantially

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

243

the same story; and that, if not neces-
sarily in all things, yet in the main they
bring- us abreast of the first age of the
Church. They run up the thread of Christian
history to its source, although there might be
doubts of their entirety as original documents
complete from the hands of the apostles or
those who were companions of the apostles.
These doubts have been greatly exaggerated
by modern criticism ; but even sh aid there be
any force in them, the substance of the evan-
gelical history, not merely in one but in a
manifold line, may be traced back to the
apostolic age and firmly rooted in it.

II. — Worth of the Apostolic Testimony.

Supposing this to be the case, what is the
position occupied by the inquirer ? He stands
face to face with the apostolic age. In the
first Gospel he is carried into the midst of the
early Jewish Churches. In the second he is
placed beside St. Peter, and listens to the sub-
stance of the Gospel which he delivered in
his later years at Rome or elsewhere. In the
third we have a digest by the companion of
St. Paul, who says also that he himself had
" perfect understanding," or had carefully
traced " all things from the first,*' and that on
this account it seems good to him to write of

■ Fl

ill

2U 110 W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

them "in order'* to his friend Theophilus,
that he might "know the certainty of those
things wherein he had been instructed.** And
in the fourth Gospel we have the direct testi-
mony of ona who professes to have been an
eye-witness of what he describes.

Important as the subject of the fourth Gos-
pel is by itself, we have not thought it necessary
in such a sketch as this to treat the subject
separately, and mainly for the reason already
indicated in dealing with the Gospels as a
whole. In this Gospel, as in the others, there
is plainly a nucleus of original narrative,
whatever opinion we may form of its com-
position as a whole. So sceptical a critic as
Dr Matthew Arnold has admitted this as
beyond question ; and it is only possible to
deny it by regarding the Gospel throughout
as not merely an ingenious but unworthy for-
gery. The writer professes himself to have
been in the midst of the scenes that he de-
scribes. Along with others his own eyes
" beheld the glory as of the only begotten of
the Father." * The wound in the side of
Jesus was seen by him, and " he that saw it
bare record, and his record is true; and he
knoweth that he saith true." f And again in the
first Epistle, which is allowed on all hands to
be by the same writer, the same personal wit-

♦* John i. 14. •\ John xix. 35.

THE DIRECT WJTNE^SS.

345

neBS-bearing is asserted in the most solemn
manner.

Not only so, but the Gospel everywhere
confessedly bears the stamp of personal and
local knowledg-e. There are numerous touches
that can only be explained by reference to
the personality of the writer, such as the con-
cluding clause of the fourteenth chapter
("Arise, let us gohenje*'). Everywhere, as
Luthardt says, "we find perfectly defined lines
and clear bright colours. The memory invo-
luntarily throws into the picture certain con-
crete features. Notice, for example, the names
given which do not occur in the other Gospels,
as that of Malchus (xviii. lo), and Nathanael,
and Nicodemus ; and again the mention of
the value of the ointment of spikenard tliat
Mary of Bethany poured over our Lord. Such
little hints best betray the eye-witness." The
sketch of localities is no less vivid and minute.
Jesus " comes back and forth over the lake of
Galilee, from the shore to the height, and then
to the synagogue at Capernaum. He knows that
one can get there by boat or by land. He knows
how far off the shores are.* He sketches for us
in a few words the valley of Sichem, between
Mounts Gerizini and Ebal, with Jacob's well
and the memory of the days of the patriarch.f
As to the localities at Jerusalem — the Sheep-

* John vi. t John iv. 5, ci seq,

:AU

! '<

246 //Oiy TO i^UCCEED JJV LIFE,

gate, the Temple with the treasury in the court
of the women, Solomon's Porch, the Valley
of Kedron, and the Mount of Olives, the
rooms in the lli^^h Priest's Palace, and the
1i!».e* — his familiarity with them is that of
a man who has seen them all with his own
eyes." f

In short, the evidence of an original
narrative element in this Gospel is over-
whelming, even if we were forced to enter-
tain doubts as to the later character of
some of the lengthened discourses which it
embodies. Here, as in the other Gospels,
and still more even than in them, there is a
substantive thread of history running direct
into the heart of early Christianity, and
bringing before us in fresh and powerful
colours the Supernatural Life which they all
depict.

What then, we again ask, is the position of
the inquirer ? Supposing, for the sake of
illustration, we take the writer of the transpa-
rently original narrative of the fourth Gospel.
A single case will serve to give point Jo our
argument and to bring it to a focus. Here,
then, the inquirer finds himself in contact with
one of the most apparently truthful and noble
personalities that live in the page of history.

• John V. 2 ; viii. 20 ; x. 23 ; xviii. I, 15. ,

t LuUiardt, St John, I74<5.

THE DlttKCr mTiVSSS.

■n7

He Hiuls hirnselt in communion with a miiid
pmlouncl yd cletir-sighted, faithful and enli^dit-
enetl, rational and observant, with an opcMi
eye for the truth of life and fact, as well as an
inner eye for the truth of the spirit. "This is
the disciple which testifieth of these things." *
It is impossible to doubt the sincerity of such
an eye-witness. The facts, miraculous or
otherwise, which he describes, cannot possibly
have been doubtful to himself. The Super-
natural Life in whose light he dwelt, wliose
activity he daily witnessed, was beyond all
question to him a Supreme Reality. All
idea of falsehood or imposture flees from
contact with such a clear, direct, and earnest
presence.

But although there cannot bo falsehood,
may there not be delusion ? May not St John
and the other apostles have been mistaken ?
Certainly it is possible for the best and noblest
men to be mistaken. A highly truthful and
lofty nature is no guarantee against religious
delusion, as many examples prove. Let us look
carefully at this supposition and all that it in-
volves in the light of our preceding argument.
We have, as we believe, proved on sufficient
evidence that there is in all the four Gospels a
substantial narrative, connecting us with the
apostolic age. The great facts that compose the

* John xxi. 24.

n8 no ir to succeed in lue.

Supernatural Life of our Lord are there set
forth veritably as they appeared to the churches
of the first age — to the apostles who were His
companions. There is no evidence whatever of
a later growth of miracle — no indications that
men like Ignatius, or Papias, or Justin Martyr
believed in any respect a different story of the
origin of these facts from what St Matthew,
or St John, or vSt Paul believed. Jesus Christ
was undoubtedly the same Divine Lord and
Master to the one that He was to the other.
Further, there is no presumption of imposture
possible in either case. If ever men were
honest in the world, the early preachers and
founders of the Christian Church were. We
have spoken specially of vSt John, for the
sake of pointing our argument. But all that
has been said of him is no less true of the
others.

Is it then possible that, although honest, they
may have been mistaken ? May the facts, after
all, not have been such as they describe ? But,
bo take again special cases for illustration,
how could St Matthew iind St John have
hal better opportunities of knowing the facts
of which they speak ? They were both primary
witnesses of the Supernatural Life of our Lord.
They not merely tell us their own belief, or
affirm that certain miraculous acts were done
by Christ, but they recount at length how

THE DlIiECT WITNESS.

249

ere set

lurches
ere His
tever of
►ns that
Martyr
y of the
atthew,
> Christ
rd and
3 other,
posture
n were
ers and
e. We
for the
all that
I of the

3st, they
;ts, after
e? But,
jtration,
in have
he facts
primary
ur Lord,
elief, or
jre done
fth how

they and the other disciples were' associated
with Him in private and public for three
years, how, along with many others, they
were the witnesses of His great works. It is
no mere assertion of preternatural gifts se-
cretly exercised, it is no mere statement of
wonder done in a corner; but it is the detailed
picture of a Supernatural Activity, unresting in
its benevolent and holy zeal, seeking no oppor-
tunity of display, and yet shrinking from no
occasion of danger. Jesus ** went about all the
cities and villages, teaching in their syna-
gogues, and preaching the Gospel of the
kingdom, and healing every sickness and every
disease among the people." * Two blind men
follow Him into a house, and at His word
their eyes are opened. A dumb and pos-
sessed man is brought to Him, and the evil
spirit is cast out, and the dumb begins to
speak. These are merely a few incidents
selected from a cluster in one chapter of St.
Matthew.f All is done in the light of day,
not merely before the disciples, but before the
multitude, who marvel greatly, saying, "It
was never so seen in Israel." The same
direct and personal evidence is constantly
appealed to by St John. He himself beheld
the glory of Jesus and the works which
bore witness of Him. Along with the other

* Mallhew ix. 35. t lb. ix. 27-33.

• i

^1'
' It'

It!

Mil

i •

J /;

350

no rr to succeed in life.

disciples he saw the man who was born
blind restored to sight, and many, he says,
who knew the man from his youth were
forced to acknowledge the fact ; * he was one
of" those who gathered up the fragments from
the miraculous feast of the five thousand ; \
he was with his Master at the grave of Laza-
rus, and saw the dead man come forth, "bound
hand and foot with graveclothee, and his face
bound about with a napkin.'* X " And many
other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of
His disciples." § How then could they be
deceived in all this ? What better evidence
can there be of facts than that they were
done in the light of day, before the men
who report them, and whose veracity is unim-
peachable ?

And let it be remembered that in thus
stating the case in connexion with two of
the Evangelists cdone, we are greeitly under-
stating it. The evidence cf St Peter, as re-
ported by St Mark, is in all substantial points
identical. The evidence of St Luke, who says
he had "perfect understanding of all things
from the first," is to the same effect. The evi-
dence of St Paul to the great mir^icle of the
resurrection is as emphatic as that of any of
the Evangelists. Even if the evidence of the
Gospels failed us altogether, is it possible to

• John ix. t lb. vi. % ^^- ^'- 44* k ^^« **• i^*

' 'I

THE mUKCT WITJ^ESS,

^51

doubt the statements of the great Apostle of
the Gentiles, in the well-known fifteenth
chapter of his first Epistle to the Corinthians r
The most audacious criticism has not ven-
tured to impugn the genuineness of this Epis-
tle. The blindest scepticism cannot doubt
that it represents the true faith of St Paul,
and that his faith was so far identical with
that of St Matthew and St Peter and St
John. There was plainly no other faith. It
was not merely that one or two Evangelists
believed in our Lord's miracles and resurrec-
tion, but that all the apostles, and Paul and
Barnabas, and the seventy disciples, no less
believed in the same, and on the same grounds,
because " the Life was manifested and they
had seen it." From this faith and Tio other
did the panic-stricken followers of Jesus
gather fresh and sudden hope when their
cause seemed utterly lost. In this faith and
no other did they go forth into the world
" teaching all nations," and planting the
germs of a new order of righteousness and
purity and charity wherever they went.

Is it possible to believe that in all this they
were the victims of mere illusion ? They
were men of very different character and
susceptibilities. Is it likely that they should
have been all equally the subjects of the samo
illusion? Their personal relations were not

! i

''I

!''

1 .

352 JW ir TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

free from difficulty. St Paul especially was
distinguished in many respects from the
others. He had not been subjected to the
same personal influences ; his training was of
a different kind. He was a preacher of the
same truth, we may say, rather than an
adherent of the same party. Even in the
earliest times there were not merely distinctions
but rivalries in the apostolic circle. Can we
suppose that, notwithstanding these marked
differences, all the men were equally domi-
nated by the same illusion — that a movement
so complex and yet so powerful, drawing
within its circle such diverse and opposit ^
natures, rested on nothing save a conjecture
or a dream ? Such a supposition seems incon-
sistent with faith in human testimony or che
credibility of history.

Imposture out of the question, there are
only the alternatives of mere enthusiasm or a
genuine supernatural impulse. Enthusiasm
is, no doubt, a powerful factor in human
history. It has initiated and carried forward
many a great movement. But all enthusiasm
must have some basis. It must have a living
root in fact of some kind. The fact here was
the overpowering assurance that the Lord was
risen indeed. No one doubts this. Even the
great head of the Tubingen school was wont
to acknowledge that the assured fact of the

TUE DIRECT WITNESS.

253

resurrection of Christ in the consciousness
of the apostles was the only explanation of
Christianity. But what explanation of the
subjective fact can there be but the objective
reality? In other words, what could have
produced the faitn of the apostles but their
living contact with the Supernatural Life
in whose revived and continued presence
they believed? What save such a contact
with the Divine could have given energy and
triumph to a movement which was otherwise
the most hopeless that human being ever
imagined or attempted ? Think of the fisher-
men of Galilee, or even Saul of Tarsus,
engaging in the conversion of the world
on the strength of an illusion ! Whence could
it have come ? How soon would it have spent
itself? Unl'ess there had been a Spiritual
Power behind, and Divine Truth witnessing to
itself in all the events of our Lord's life and
death, the origin and the mission of Chris-
tianity alike seem unintelligible.

Look for a moment at the case which
perhaps always most readily occurs in con-
trast to the origin of Christianity — the case of
Mohammed, and the rise of Mohammedanism.
Mohammed, no doubt, succeeded in inspiring
his friends with a belief in his Divine Mission.
He professed to have special communication

ill

, I

! M!

I
I

354 now TO SUCCEED IF LIFE.

with God, and his followers credited his
profession. But who were his followers In
the first instance ? His wife, his nephew, his
freedman, and then his kinsmen or con-
nexions in various degrees. The devotion of
these disciples, indeed, is one of the most
marvellous facts of history. But it did not
claim to re^st on any personal cognisance of
the Divine communication which Mohammed
was supposed to have received. Neither
Kadijah, nor Ali, nor Zeid, nor Abu Beker
professed to be witnesses of the alleged visits
of the angel Gabriel to the prophet. Nay,
these visits were always made in circum-
stances of solitude, which excluded the pos-
sibility of any other evidence save that of
Mohammed himself. The belief which he
inspired was entirely personal. He made no
appeal to miracles. He could never have
said, " If ye believe not me, believe my works.
The works that I do bear v/itness of me."
There is an entire absence of reliance on the
testimony of others to his prophetic character
and pretensions. All of Divine that he arro-
gates is wrapped up in his own assertion,
and his wonderful confidence in his own
powers.

It is scarcely possible to conceive any
greater contrast to the evidence on which the
Divine origin of Christianity exists. The

^■i

THE DIRECT WITNESS.

255

appeal of Christ is grounded, not on secret
communications with God, but on works
openly wrought in the face of men. The
witnesses of these works, St Matthew and St
John, and the companions of those who were
witnesses, vSt Mark and St Luke, are the men
who record them, or to whom at least the
substance of the existing narratives are to be
primarily traced. They are witnesses not
merely for themselves, but for the churches
they represent. The Gospels, all the more
from the fact that they may be of composite
rather than of simple authorship, are repre-
sentative of a wide circle of testimony. vSt
Paul stands by himself as a witness for
the resurrection. It is possible to conceive
that one or other may have been mistaken ;
but that they should have been all together
mistaken, and in the same manner, baffles
conception. Supposing the men to have been
thoroughly honest — which is beyond question
— supposing, further, that we have in the Gos-
pels, as we have argued, the substantial story
which they told, the conclusion seems inevit-
able, upon all the grounds which determine
the validly of historical testimony, that the
Christ was the Supernatural Being that Ho is
represented, and that His Divine mission was
a fact. The appeal of vSt Peter on the day of
Pentecost is still an appeal cogent for us

25G HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

across the lapse of eighteen centuries—" Ye
men of Israel, hear these words : Jesus of
Nazarethy a man approved of God among you by
miracles arid wonders and signSy which God did
by him."

I f;,i

-« Ye

ms of
you by
jod did

^-^W^^

VIII.

THE INTERNAL WITNESS.

, UT Christianity is not merely an his-
toric fact. It is also a spiritual truth.
While appealing, therefore, to our
'w^*^'6*' riitional assent, it must also and
eminently appeal to our moral assent — our " con-
science in the sight of God." This internal wit-
ness of Christianity is " evidence " of its Divine
origin, and was felt to be so by the apostle Paul.
It was a sure strength to him in making known
the revelation of God in Christ. It made him
address with equal confidence the moralists of
Athens and the devout men of the synagogue
everywhere. The gospel which he preached he
felt to be " the manifestation of the truth."

l«

■I

I li

;

R >

;<Jdb UO ir TO iSUCCEED IN LIFE.

There is in man, as his history everywhere
shews, divine aspirations which give him no^cst
till they become fixed on objects fitted to satisfy
them. It is the profession of Christianity that
it meets these aspirations more thoroughly than
any other religion. It is its peculiar boast, that
it alone is adequate to meet the wants of the
awakened and inquiring soul. It is obvious that
the question comes to this. The mere satisfaction
that a religion gives to its votaries could never
be held as an evidence of its divinity. There
can be no question of evidence where there is
no inquiry. And every one knows that the
very absence of the spirit which prompts inquiry
betokens the most perfect satisfaction. There
are none so satisfied with their religion — be it
Romanism or Protestantism — be it Islamism, or
Brahminism, or Buddhism — as those who hav«
never once seriously inquired what its origin
was, or what constitute its evidences, or even its
meaning. They are what they are from the
uncontrollable influences of training and habit,
which have left them without any independent
will or capacity of reflective discernment. And
how large a proportion of the human race are
in this condition it is needless to say. There
can be no question as to true or false, so far as
their mere experience of religion goes. They
are satisfied, not because they have proved
and found the truth, but because the ques-

THE WTlJJRNAL WTTN'ESS.

250

tion, What is truth ? has never occurred to
them. They have never reached the stage of
reflection.

When it is said, therefore, that Christianity ap-
proves itself to the conscience, it is of course
meant that it does so to the educated and in-
quiring conscience. As a subject of reflection,
it stands where other systems fall. It is the only
divine philosophy. In Jesus Christ, and in Him
alone, as one has said, " all contradictions are
reconciled." The hints of truth which shine out
in other religions, darkening often rather than
illuminating by their cross-lights, are in Him
blended and harmonised. " lie is the true Light,
which lighteth every man that cometli into the
world."

This is plainly a question to be settled by a
fiair appeal to the facts of man's moral being.
Do these inner facts witness to the revealed facts
of the gospel .? Is there a true correspondence
between them of subject and object, of want
and supply, of necessity and remedy ^ There isy
many of the most profound moral thinkers that
the world has known have answered. They have
examined human nature, and laid bare its moral
characteristics, and here, in Christianity, they
have said, is its only satisfaction — its only true
wisdom and strength. This was the great idea
on which Pascal designed his work on behalf of

J ::,

5iC0 now TO iSUCCEED IN LIFE.

Christianity, the fragments of which are all that
survive in his well-known * Pcns6cs.' No one can
say, certainly, that Pascal shrinks from a full
inquiry, or that he was insensible to the varied
and complex aspects of human nature. It is his
very comprehension of these aspects, and the
manner in which he feels himself tossed from the
one to the other, unable to rest in any, seeing
the weak point in all, that drives him on to the
recognition of the divine truth of Christianity, as
alone meeting them and blending them into har-
mony. Man, he argues, is fallen and yet great
He is miserable, and yet he cherishes the in-
stincts of divine happiness. " His very miseries
prove his greatness. They are the miseries of a
lord — of a dethroned sovereign." Mere human
religions or philosophies have failed, or proved
their incapacity, in the manner in which they
have recognised the one without the other of
these moral features of humanity. Some have
appealed to man's sense of weakness, others to
his sense of greatness. The one has degraded
him unduly, the other has exalted him unduly.
With the one he has been little more than ani-
mal, with the other he has been as a God. " If,
on the one hand," he says, " they have recog-
nised the dignity of man, they have ignored his
corruption, and avoiding sloth, they have plunged
into pride. If, on the other hand, they have re-
cogni.sed the weakni^ss of his nature they have

THE INTERNAL WITNESS.

nc,{

all that
one can
1 a full
e varied
It is his
and the
Toni the
/, seeing
m to the
anity, as
into har-
et great
3 the in-
miserics
:rics of a
e human
)r proved
lich they
other of
)mc have
others to
degraded
I unduly,
than ani-
rod. " If,
ve recog-
rnored his
e plunged
y have re-
they have

ignored its dignity, and avoiding vanity, they
have plunged into despair."

The diverse sects of philosophers — Stoics and
Epicureans, Platonists and Pyrrhonists — appear
to have sprung from one or other of these half-
representations of humanity. Christianity alone
unites both halves. It alone answers to the es-
sential doubleness of man's nature ; and by its
living hold of both ideas of dignity and corrup-
tion, of excellence and sin, shews itself to be a
divine power of moral education for the race.

" Christianity can alone cure at once pride and
despair ; not by expelling the one by the other,
according to the wisdom of the world, but by
expelling both the one and the other by the
simplicity of the gospel. For it teaches the
good, that while it elevates them to be partakers
of the Divine nature, they yet carry with them,
in their elevation, the sense of that corruption
which renders them in life the victims of error,
misery, sin, and death ; while, at the same time,
it proclaims to the worst that they are capable
of the grace of redemption. Thus touching with
humility those whom it justifies, and with conso-
lation those whom it condemns, it tempers with
due measure fear and hope, through the two-
fold capacity in all of grace and sin. It abases
infinitely more than reason, yet without pro-
ducing despair ; it elevates more than mere natu-
ral pride, yet without producing i lat;on. Alone

262

no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

E i :

1 •

free from error, to it alone belongs the task of
instructing and disciplining men. Who then can
refuse to believe and adore its heavenly light ?"
Such is the singular adaptation of Christianity
to our moral necessities, as it appeared to a great
thinker, a man of keen and noble intellect as
well as deep and true affection. The thought
of such a man is not necessarily convincing to
others, but it claims our regard more than most
thoughts. When a man of profound reflective
capacity, and varied moral experience, in whom
the qualities of reason, imagination, and feeling
reach well-nigh the highest range of which they
are capable, tells us that he has found in Chris-
tianity what he has found nowhere else, what
all other systems only partially comprehend and
express, surely this is in some degree evidence
of the truth of Christianity. Such a man was
Pascal. His mind was of a rarely inquisitive
and even sceptical turn. He had studied Des-
cartes, and he had studied Montaigne. He had
tried Dogmatism and Pyrrhonism, as he styled
the systems of each respectively. He could find
rest in neither. " Nature confounds the Pyr-
rhonist," he said, "and reason the Dogmatist."
There is a truth both for the reason and faith,
but it lies not in demonstration. It is within us,
yet above us — the revelation of the Divine to
the human soul. This truth is found in Christi-
anity, and in it alone.

THE INTERNAL WITNESS.

The same wonderful skill of Christianity to
meet all the deeper needs of human nature
has been often proved. There have been few
greater spiritual intellects than Augustine ;
few more honest or more capable in their
search after Divine truth, with a larger
acquaintance with other systems of thought,
or a deeper knowledge of all sides of human
experience. Blessed with a pious and de-
voted mother, who early instructed him in
the faith and love of Jesus Christ, he yet long
resisted the solicitation of all her prayers and
example, and gave himself to the investigation
of the claims of the conflicting philosophies of
his day. He studied diligently in the schools
of rhetoric, and passed rapidly from one
phase of thought to another. For some time
Manicheism enthralled him. Its doctrine of
two principles, one of good and one of evil,
seemed to answer to the wild confusion of his
own heart, and the contact of higher and
lower impulses which raged within him. It
seemed to solve the mysteries which per-
plexed him in his own life and in the world.
But so soon as he began to test it, and came
in contact with its highest teachers, he found
its insufficiency. The study of Plato then
attracted him by its noble lessons, but still a
void remained in his heart. The mental rest
after which he sought did not come. "To-

f I'.

3C4 7/0 r 70 SUCCEED IN LIFE,

morrow," he said to himself, ** I shall find it ;
it will appear manifestly, and I shall grasp it.**
Happily Plato led him onwards to St Paul,
and Ambrose the bishop and great preacher
of Milan awoke by his powerful sermons the
deeper chords of his spiritual nature. Gra-
dually, as he studied the Pauline Epistles, the
unrest of his mind revealed its true character.
The thought of Divine purity struggled in
him with the love of the world, and the flesh,
and the glory of mere intellectual ambition,
till one day he sought refuge in prayer, and
with strong emotion and tears poured out his
heart before God. A voice was heard amidst
his emotion bidding him to read on, and as
he read the whole truth and reality of the
Divine life was flashed upon him in the words,
" Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make
not provision for the flesh to fulfil the lusts
thereof." He says, "I had neither desire
nor need to read further. As I finished the
sentence, as though the light of peace had
been poured into my heart, all the shadows of
doubt dispersed." . . He shut the volume, and
carried the joyful tidings to his mother, who
rejoiced in her turn. She had received more
than an answer to all her prayers. "For
Thou hadst converted me unto Thyself," he
adds, **so as no longer to seek for other hope
in the world." *

♦ Confess B, viii. 29, 30.

THE INTERNAL WITNESS,

205

ind it ;
isp it.
: Paul,
•eacher
3ns the
Gra-
les, the
iracter.
fled in
e flesh,
ibition,
er, and
out his
amidst
and as

of the
words,
I make
e lusts

desire
led the
ce had
lows of
ne, and
er, who
id more
'* For
nlf," he
:^r hope

Such a man, also, was Justin, in the second
century. He had gone abroad in search of
wisdom ; he had travelled to Egypt, and Greece,
and Rome ; he had sought instruction in every
philosophical school ; he had tried Stoics, and
Pythagoreans, and Platonists ; he had discussed
with Jews at Ephcsus, and gazed with amaze-
ment on the scat of the oracular Sibyl at Cumai.
And as the result of all his wandcrinnrs and

experiences, he tells us that he found in Chris-
tianity " the only sound and useful philosophy."
What other systems professed to give, he alone
found realised in the gospel. Such liave been
many men in every age, who have wandered
forth in search of the truth — earnest and pa-
tient seekers — and at length only found it at
the foot of the cross.

Is there any other religion that can boast of
such triumphs as Christianity.-* Is there any
other at whose altar have been laid so many
offerings, not merely of enthusiasm and of
simple faith, but of exercised thoughtful'iess and
of earnest reason 1 Is there any one has ever
entered, as it has done, into all the depths of
the soul } Is there any other religion whatever
caji claim man as iJic cJiild of reason ; and just
because he has reason, call upon him in the light
of day to examine and prove that it offers him
all he needs ? This is its peculiar distinction,

Hvl

366

irOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

!l;^'! :

" The gospel," says one,* who had learned much
from Pascal, " unites itself intimately vvith all
that is most profound and ineradi-^able in our
nature. It fills in it a void — it clears from it
darkness — it binds into harmony the broken ele-
ments, and creates unity. It makes itself not
only to be believed, but felt ; and when the soul
has thoroughly appropriated it, it blends indis-
tinguishably with all the primitive beliefs, and
the natural light (or reason) which every man
brings into the world."

i^ gain, the same author urges the correspond-
ence between the soul and the gospel in a
beautiful passage : — " You remember the custom
of ancient hospitality ; before parting with a
stranger, the father of the tamily, breaking a
piece of clay on which certain characters were
impressed; ^ave one half to the stranger, and
kept the ol^u^r himself Years after, these two
fragments brought together and rejoined, ac-
knowledged each other — so to speak, — formed a
bond of recognition between those presenting
them ; and in attesting old relations, became
at the same time the basis of new. So in the
book of our soul does the Divine revelation unite
itself to the old traces there. The soul does not
discover, but recognises the truth. It infers
tliat a reunion (irncofitrc) — impossible to chance,
impossible to calculation — can only be the work

♦ Vinct

TTIE INTERNAL WITNE.'^S.

d much
.vith all
: in ouf
from it
ken ele-
self not
the soul
s indis-
efs, and
jry man

espond-
el in a
; custom

with a
;aking a
ers were
^er, and
lese two
ned, ac-
"ormed a
esenting

became
lO in the
ion unite
does not
It infers
) chance,
the work

md secret of God ; and it is then really t t wc
believe, when the gospel has for us passea fiom
the rank of an external to the rank of an w-
teriial truth, and, if I might say so, of an instinct
— when, in short, it has become part and parcel
of our consciousness."

This internal evidence, of course, is in its
very nature dependent upon an honest, docile,
and (if we may say so without incurring the
charge of arguing in a circle) believing spirit.
A man who has lost the capacity of faith
through self-will, or pride of intellect, or any
other cause — of course there can be no such
witness of the Spirit to him. He has eyt s, but
he sees not, and ears, but he hears not. If a
man is not in search of truth, he annot ^'liid it.
"There is light enough for thos^^ w'lo n-c will-
ing, but darkness enough for th : who are of
an opposite disposition," says Pasc al. It is no
answer, therefore, to our argument to say that
there are many who nave no such xpenence of
Christianity. It may be so ; but have such any
spiritual experience } Have they had their
hearts stirred in them to know good and evil }
Have they longed after God, and sought to
know Him, and to find their happiness in know-
ing Him } If they have not — then they are out
of court in the present case. A spiritual faith
can only be known to those whose spiritual

I <]

T r

1 ; ^

ill 1

^1 i:

1:^ 1^

!i^

J I

JC8

7/0 ir TO SUCCEED IK LIFE.

susceptibilities are awake and in quest of the
truth. If they have — then so far their case must
stand in bar of our conclusion. We would not
say that there are not such cases. We would
not say that there may not be men of deep
sincerity, and even of spiritual earnestness, who
cannot find rest in Christianity in such a time
as ours. We have no right to say such a thing
But we have right to say that such cases are
rare, and are at the best of partial importance.
They must be taken into account in forming
our judgment ; but they are not entitled to set
aside Uic positive evidence with which they
seem to conflict. It must be always difficult to
estimate sich cases, and understand their true
importance.

The conclusior remains, that the awakened
spiritual intelligence of man, in its highest
and most developed forms, continues to find,
as it has found in past ages, its truest satis-
faction in the gospel. It finds here a revelation
of God, and a revelation of itself such as it finds
nowhere else — a witness of Perfection above
coming down to meet imperfection on earth,
and to raise it to its own blessed union and
strength. It finds here a power to quicken and
enlighten, to regenerate and sanctify — a power
which brings the alienated soul back to God,
and heals its anxieties, and kindles its torpor,
and, from the darkness of sin, raises it to the

of the
;c must
uld not

would

f deep
ss, who

a time
1 thing
ses arc
^rtancc.
"orming
d to set
h they
icult to
eir true

/akened
highest
to find,
;t satis-
velation

it finds
I above
1 earth,
ion and
ken and
a power
to God,

torpor,
: to the

THE INTERNAL WITNESS.

369

light of heaven. It is impossible that a religion
which thus leads to God should not come from
Him — that our spiritual being should be quick-
ened into life and righteousness by a falsehood.
"Suppose, after all, that you are told that liiis
religion is false ; but meanwhile it has restored
in you the image of God, re-established your
original connexion with that great 15eing, and
put you in a condition to enjoy the bliss ol
heaven ; by means of it you have become such
that it is impossible God should not recognise
you as His child, and own you at the last, and
make you partaker of His glory. You are
made fit for paradise, nay, paradise has begun in
you here — for you live. This religion has done
for you whv all religions propose, but what no
other has realised. Nevertheless, by this sup-
position, it is false — what more could it do if it
were true ^ Nay, do you not rather see that
this is a splendid proof of its truth } Do you
not see that a religion which thus leads to God
must come from God?" It has the witness in
itself- -" the Spirit of truth which proceedeth
from tHe Father, and which testilieLli of the
Soa*

IX.

WHAT TO BELIEVE.

r, T is necessary not only to be able
to render a reason for the faith that
is in us, but, moreover, clearly to
understand the objects presented
to our faith in Christianity. The two states
of mind are intimately connected. No one is
in a position to appreciate the " evidences "
of Christianity who does not understand what
Christianity clearly is, (and there are some
who argue on the subject in our day do not
really understand this ;) and no one can be
said to understand Christianity as a subject of
thought, who does not know something of its
evidences

mJAT TO nELIKVE.

271

) be able

faith that
clearly to

presented
two states
No one is
evidences "
tand what

are some
ay do not
le can be

subject of
ling of its

The very extent to which Christianity has
beer, made a subject of thought and argument
has a tendency to obscure its meaning to the
young inquirer. It has been so elaborately
systematised, and its various articles so minutely
controverted, that it is difficult, amid the mass
of speculation and discussion with which it has
been invested, to discern its simple meaning.
And yet, undoubtedly, its true meaning is very
simple, and capable of being apprehended, quite
irrespective of the controversies which have tra-
versed and complicated it. We have only to
transport ourselves in imagination to the apos-
tolic age, before any of these controversies had
arisen — before the ages of dogma had yet come —
' in order to feel how possible it must be to under-
stand Christianity fully, without plunging into
the perilous war of words that has long raged
around it. Do not all feel who have most studied
it, that this is especially what they have to do
— to read its simple meaning in the crossed
pcge of its history — to rise above its watchwords,
as they reach us across the ages, bearing many
confusing sounds, to the living heart of the
cause which they symbolised and were meant
to defend — instead of losing the reality in the
words, and becoming enslaved to names which
may have long lost their original strength antl
truthfulness.^

Beyond all question the objects presented to

272

no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

our faith in the gospel — what we are to believe
—are not primarily any set of propositions or
number of articles. Such propositions or articles
may be of the highest utility ; they may serve
admirably to express, in an expository form or
outline, our faith ; but, primarily, they are not
matters of faith. The primary object of C'tiris-
tian faith, as of all faith, is a Person. Trust in
me can only be created by character or claims
in another. I may assent to a proposition, but
I do not properly believe it till the element of
personality with which it is connected, or which
it represents, comes into play. Faith, like love,
is the appropriate exchange of one soul and
spirit with another, or with II im who is the
Father of spirits, in whose hand is the soul of
every living thing ; and the word is emptied of
its best meaning when (especially in religion) it
is used in any lower sense.

The great and comprehending object of Chris-
tian faith is Christ. As St Paul said to the
Philippian jailer, when, pressed with his sudden
burden of offence and danger, he cried out,
** What must I do to be saved } " " Believe on the
Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be javed." In
Jesus Christ is summed up all that we have to
believe — the revelation of the Father — the re-
deeming sacrifice of the Son — the sanctifying of
the Spirit, which proceedeth from the Father,
and testifieth of the Son. In Him, and in Him

I':;

WHAT TO BELIEVE.

27.1

believe
:ions or
articles
ly serve
form or
are not
if Cnris-
Trust ///
r claims
tion, but
:mcnt of
or which
ike love,
;oul and
o is the
; soul of
iptied of
ligion) it

of Chris-
d to the
sudden
ried out,
ve on the

ved." In

•

i have to
—the re-
tifying of
i Father,
d in Him

alone, we truly see our sin and misery— our
help and salvation — our death and our life — our
selfish unrighteousness, and the " righteousness
vvliich is of God by faith of Him."

I. — The Revelation of tiik Father.

In believing in Jesus Christ wc believe on
the Father, revealed in and by Him. He came
•* to bear witness of the Father," to reveal the
eternal government of the universe in a holy
and loving Will — " who made the world and all
things therein " — who is " God over all, blessed
for ever." This was what men had failed to find
out in all their religious searches, in all their
philosophic inquiries. The Supreme was con-
ceived of as a great power of fate, or as an arbi-
trary and capricious personality, or series of per-
sonalities. Men had generalised the aspects of
nature, and beheld Deity now in the soft sun-
shine and gentle spring-time, and now in the de-
vastating forms of heat and cold, of thunder and
storm. A creative, formative principle seemed
everywhere striving with a destructive principle
- -a power of light with a power of darkness —
a Baal-Adonis with a Baal-Moloch — an Osiris
with a Typhon — an Ormuzd with an .fVhriman
— Olympus with Hades. This dualism appears
in all nature - religions ; the reflection of the
brightness and gloom of nature — "The joy and

!|l|

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

^m u&

z mM 12.2

I.I

^ U& |2.0

1 ''^^

iiy4 iiiJ4

^V^j^"^^

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. US80

(716)872-4503

.V- .^

=11

^t!

I ■ '. 1

I \U

274 ffO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE

sorrow of life. It crops out alike in the toipid
Pantheism of the East, and in the active and
changing Polytheism of the West. Philosophy,
even when it seemed to penetrate to a unity of
substance and being beneath the multiplicity
of form and phenomena — as in Platonism — ^was
never entirely liberated from the same bond of
dualism. As Destiny was the dark background
of all the joyous activity of Olympus, so Ne-
cessity was the encompassing barrier of even
the Platonic Deity. Creation, in a free Theistic
sense, was unknown. It was '* God persuading
Necessity to become stable, harmonious, and
fashioned according to beauty," which was the
highest conception of Greek thought in this
direction.

If there were no other proof of our Lord's
divine mission, this, we think, were one — that
the son of a Galilean carpenter taught a higher
doctrine of God than all previous religion and
philosophy had done ; that He unveiled the
Supreme as an unconditionally free, and loving,
and holy Intelligence ; as a Being infinitely
exalted, and apart from all evil — " higher than
the very heavens " — " dwelling in the light which
no man can approach unto ; whom no man hath
seen nor can see " — and yet a Being " not far
from any one of us," "who numbereth the verj'
hairs of our head," and " suffereth not a sparrow
to fall to the ground without His permission"

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

275

1 ij I

Ff any one doubts what an advance this was on
all previous teaching, he has only to study the
Gnostic systems of the first Christian ages, and
see what difficulty the thought of the time had
in seizing the Christian idea of God even after it
was promulgated. These systems, one and all
of them, are nothing else than attempts of spe-
culation to reduce the Theistic idea to the old
dualistic bonds. A God infinitely above man —
absolute in power, goodness, and truth, and yet
near to man — in Christ "very man" — supreme*
and yet "our Father" — light, and yet love —
governing the world with personal solicitude for
His creatures, yet unmoved by their passions,
untouched by the darkness in their hearts ; — this
was beyond the speculative intellect then, as it
has been beyond the same intellect always when
divorced from spiritual insight and the light of
faith, which can alone pierce the darkness of
time.

This revelation of God as the absolute One
and yet a living Personality near to all, was only
fully made known in Christ. It appears, indeed,
in the Old-Testament writings ; the very lan-
guage we have used in characterising it shews
this; yet it was only in Christ it became clear
and perfect. The Jewish mind clung, according
to its narrow instincts, with a peculiar tenacity
to the narrower characteristics of the Divine char-
acter revealed to it, the tutelary attributes by

lir

.",!

f n

276

^OTT TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

wrhich He was signalised as the God of the Jews
—their national Deity — rather than the broader
attributes which revealed Him as the God of
humanity, the " Father of the Spirits of all flesh."
The higher prophetic minds among the Hebrews
saw onward to the full radiance of this revela-
tion, and "were glad;" but it never became a
living faith to the common Jewish mind. It
never planted itself as a living faith in man till
it was seen incarnated in Christ ; and we beheld
" His glory, as the glory of the only-begotten of
the Father, full of grace and truth."

This revelation of the Father is a primary
obj ect of Christian faith. Or rather, according to
what we have said, the Father revealed in Christ
is such an object. To believe in God as abso-
lutely true and good, as holy and loving, as '• of
purer eyes than to behold iniquity," and yet —
should we not rather say, and therefore — of in-
finite compassion towards the sinner, — this is
the spring of all genuine religion, as the want of
faith in God is the spring of all false religion.
It is wonderful how many miss this spring,
"this living fountain, and hew out unto them-
selves broken cisterns, that can hold no water."
It would seem the hardest thing of all for many
to trust in God — to realise for themselves that
God loves them, and seeks their good ; that for
this end Christ came into the world to shew tiie

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

277

love and the holiness of the Father ; not as two
things in conflict, but as one blessed Will that
would save us from our sins. As St Jofin has
taught in that marvellous text, the meaning of
which we can never exhaust — " God so loved
the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in him should not
perish, but have everlasting life."

iii

i I '! L

r 'I

iiiiji

II. — ^The Redeeming Sacrifice of the Son.

This was the redeeming sacrifice of the Son,
that the Father gave Him for us. " In this was
manifested the love of God toward us, because
that God sent his only-begotten Son into the
world, that we might live through him. Herein
is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved
us, aiid sent his Son to be the propitiation for
our sins." Such is the simple teaching of Scrip-
ture, in which we may find strength and peace,
although we are no theologians, and may be
unable to theorise regarding the means and
the extent of the atonement.

The great facts brought before us in such
statements, and many others, of Scripture, are
the loving will of the Father, and the voluntary
sacrifice of the Son in our behalf ; the latter as
the free outgoing or expression of the former.
Every mode of thought or manner of speech
which tends to dissever these two facts, and

III

■m

'•:\ I

• I

278 no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

to introduce any element of conflict into the
Divine mind regarding human redemption, is
carefully to be guarded against. It is perfectly
true, no doubt, and very important truth, that
the holiness and justice of God must hate and
repel our sins. God is revealed as a Sovereign
and Lawgiver, as well as a Father; and the
sinner as transgressor of Divine law, must lie
under its penalty. Those who push out of sight
the elements of law and justice, and leave only
those of love and pity, detract from the full
revelation of the character of God, as they wil-
fully ignore many facts of life. Everywhere
around us and in us there are traces of retri-
butive operation— of laws violated, and punish-
ment swiftly following the violation. There are
instincts of genuine alarm and danger in us,
which tremble before the Divine righteousness.
In one sense, therefore, it is right to say that the
justice of God claims our punishment, while the
love of God claims our salvation ; but these two
outgoings of the Divine will towards us are only
apparently, and not really in conflict. They do
not mean different things ; they mean the very
same thing. The Divine justice claims the pun-
ishment of our sins to the end that we may be
saved from them ; the Divine love claims our
salvation for no other end. Salvation is always
and everywhere, in its true meaning rescue
frmn sin. The Lord gave Himself for us thai

WHAT TO liEUEVE.

270

He " might redeem us irom all our iniquities, and
purify unto Himself a peculiar people zealous
Df gobd works."

The redeeming sacrifice of Christ, therefore,
is at once the expression of the Father's love
and an oblation to satisfy Divine justice. It
is both, for the very same reason that Christ
was the manifestation of the Father upon earth,
to do the Father's will. " Lo, I come ; in the
volume of the book it is written of me, I delight
to do thy will, O my God," is the memorial ex-
pression of the atonement. The will of the
Father in Christ was love to the sinner, and at
the same time hatred of the sinner's sin, or holi-
ness. The realisation of the Divine love in the
holy life, healing miracles, and bitter death of
Christ, was also the satisfaction of the Divine holi-
ness — the magnifying of the law, and making it
honourable. The very doing of the Father's loving
will was the propitiation of His offended justice.
He looked on Christ, and saw in Him the perfect
accomplishment of His thought towards man.
The voice from heaven was heard to say, " This
is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."

This sacrifice of Christ in His life and in His
death is the great object of Christian faith. " He
gave himself for us — the Just for the unjust — that
He might bring us unto God." Look clearly
and practically at this thought, and sec if you
do not realise its meanmg as living and true for

1 1

\, III

280 no IT TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

A I

you. Do you not feel that there is something
in you that answers to it? — nay, tkat there is
something in you that demands it? If your
spiritual life has been awakened, and you have
come to own yourself a creature of God, do you
not feel, at the same time, how difficult it is for
you to live near to God and to do His will ?
Do you not feel tltat His will to you must be a
will of condemnation and of punishment, if you
are to stand before Him and court His judg-
ment on yourself? The deepest spiritual natures
that the world has ever known have felt this--
St Paul, Augustine, Luther, Pascal. They all
felt that they had no hope in themselves b*^-
fore God. ** Their own heart condemned thr-:m."
** O wretched man that I am ! " exclaimed St
Paul ; ** who shall deliver me from the body of
this death?" "Oh, my sins, my sins!" cried
Luther. " It is in vain that I promise to God.
Sin is always too strong for me."

Is this or is it not a real moral experience ?
one under which every soul, really quickened to
life — really aroused to earnest spiritual thought-
i'ulness — passes ? It is surely a cruel, as well as
a useless mockery, to pass by such experiences,
and give them no response, while yet they cry
from every full heart, to which the sense* of
God has come in power and awe. Are they to
be thought only strange voices crying in the
wiklcrncGs, while the progress of rd^Moiis truth

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

28*

nces,

cry

■se of

y to

the

ruth

stveeps past them ? No. These suspiria de ptQ-
fundis 2J-. the most genuine utterances of reli-
gious truth. They are the living voice of God in
the soul, and no mere cry of exaggerated despair.
And if this be so, then — if it be a true feeling
in us that we cannot in ourselves stand before
God, that we cannot in ourselves render Him
obedience — who shall say that our rest in Christ,
and our hope in Him, contradict any instincts
of our spirit ? Is it not Help we need — some
one to unveil to us the face of God, and bring
Him near to us, and us to Him ? Is not media-
tion the necessary correlate of alienation? If
*he sinner cannot reach God — if his sins hold
him back — is it not some one to open up the
way to him, " new and living," and to bear his
sins, that he wants ? This question of mediation
and its necessity, is one which it is in vain for
any mere esoteric and refining theology to hope
to settle, by round assertions as to mediation
being in contradiction to our moral instincts.
Whei e is the evidence of this ? " Our moral in-
stincts," we presume, pre the higher instincts of
our common humanity, which connect us with
duty and with God. They cannot be the refine-
ments of a few philosophic natures, who have
gradually pared down their spiritual conscious-
ness, till it has lost all its rougher vitality. The
common heart seems nowhere to find any con-
tradiction in the idea of mediation. It is above

!il

■i! '-I

'46ii no W TO SUCCEED IX LIFE,

all the religious idea to which it everywhere
clings. If there be one thing more than another
for which the soul cries in its moments of reli-
gious distress and moral temptation, it is heip —
help not in ourselves, but in another "able to
save even to the uttermost." It is only when
this higher power is owned by us, lifting us out
of our sins, that we really rise above them, and
ftcl that their bondage falls away from us, and
that not merely the will, but the capacity to do
good is present with us.

It is true that this Idea of mediation, so dear
to the human heart, is extremely liable to cor-
ruption. There is a constant tendency in popular
religion, so to speak, to secularise it — to degrade
it from the sphere of the Divine to the sphere
of the human, and even of the material. Man
feels so deeply the need of help, that he is apt
to cling to any object to which his religious
affections may point when these are greatly
agitated. The elaborate mediatory system of
the Roman Catholic Church has its origin in
this deep-seated tendency, and, no less indeed,
some forms of Protestant faith. Whatever di.s-
scvcrs, even in thought, Christ from God, and
leaves the mind to rest on the sacrifice of Christ,
as anything apart from the will of God, and a
power moving it from without, rather than its
own expression andpoiver of love for our good^ is
so far of the very same character as the grosser
Roman Catholic error that Protestantism rejects.

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

283

Nothing must be allowed to hide the heart ifi>
mediately from God himself. It is God that
saves us in Christ, and not Christ that saves us
out of God. The Mediator whom the religiou.s
•instinct demands, and whom Christianity reveals,
is — Emmanuel, God with us. There is nothing
can come near to us with any right effect as a
thought of help in our hours of need save God
himself — God in Christ revealed in the gospel,
as loving us, and seeking our good. We have
only to preserve cltarly the unity of the will of
God and of Christ in redemption, the fact that
Christ IS God " manifest in the flesh," in order
to rid the idea of mediation o^ all possible con-
flict with our spiritual consciousp'^ss, on the one
hand, and of all materialising uption, on the
other hand. Everything that t ds to disturb
our clear perception of this unity — everything
that breaks down the full idea of the Incarna-
tion, and suggests the thought of any extraneous
power coming between us and God — serves at
once to degrade and contradict our highest sense
of religion. The soul can only find rest in God ;
it can only be really helped by Him. It has
been so helped. God has revealed Himself in
Christ as our Saviour. This is the great truth
of the Gospel, and, more than anything else, the
great truth which man ever needs.

Fix your hearts on this truth — that God is
your Saviour. It needs no special theological

284 now TO SUCCEED IN LIFh,

I >•

•«

.,;i

i !

knowledge to comprehend it ; and it remains
substantially unaffected by many perplexities
of dogmatic discussion. You need salvation. If
you are honest and earnest, you will feel that
there is a reality of evil in your lives from which .
you need to be delivered, and a reality of good
in your imagination to which you cannot attain.
God sent His Son into the world not merely to
shew you by contrast the hatefulness of this evil
and the beauty of this good. This indeed would
have been but a small matter — to quicken and
educate our moral sense, while we were left with
an unrelieved sense of guilt and a weakened and
perverted will : not so ; — but God sent His Son
into the world to take away our sins. The bur-
den of moral oflfence which our conscience owns
He took upon Himself — He was " bruised for
our iniquity." He so made Himself one with us
in every feeling of humanity, as to realise what
our sins were, and to atone for them before the
Father ; and having " thus made peace" and not
merely announced truth. He is able to save all
that come unto Him. The conscience finds peace
in the assurance of atonement ; the will finds
strength in the knowledge of a living Help. In
Him and through Him we are brought near to
God in a full assurance of faith that God loves
us, notwithstanding the offence of all our sins,
and has reconciled us unto Himself by His cross.
In Him we have redemption, even the forgive-

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

285

ns.

ness of our sins, according to the ricnes of His
grace. And nothing short of this — nothing short
of a new relation — of a true reconciliation esta-
blished between God and the sinner — seems to
give a firm foundation to the religious life, and a
genuine and growing vigour to it.

" Will any faith that is short of this faith,"
asks one who has written thoughtfully of this
and other kindred Christian topics,* " satisfy the
deepest needs and cravings of your souls ? You
may struggle against it with your understand-
ing, though I think very needlessly ; for it seems
to me to approve itself to the reason and the
conscience quite as much as to demand accept-
ance of our faith ; but you will crave it with
your inmost spirit. There are times when per-
haps nothing short of this will save you from a
hopeless despair. Let me imagine, for example,
one who, with many capacities for a nobler and
purer life, and many calls thereunto, has yet suf-
fered himself to be entangled in youthful lusts —
has stained himself with these ; and then, after a
while, awakens, or rather is awakened by the
good Spirit of God, to ask himself. What have
I done ? How fares it with him at the retrospect
then, when he, not wholly laid waste in spirit, is
made to possess (O fearful possession I) the sins
of his youth ? Like a stricken deer, though none
but himself may be conscious of his wound, he

* Peanlreuch*

i'.Vi

i i

I ■.\m

'.4

iff

?86 FO?r rO SUCCEED Ilf LIFE.

wanders away from his fellows ; or if with them
he is alone among them ; for he is brooding still
and ever on the awful mystery of evil which he
now too surely knows. And now, too, all purity,
the fearful innocence of children, the holy love
of sister and of mother, and the love which he
had once dreamed of as better even than these,
with all that is supremely fair in nature or in
art, comes to him with a shock of pain, is fraught
with an infinite sadness ; for it wakens up in
him, by contrast, a livelier sense of what be is,
and what, as it seems, he must for ever be ; it
reminds him of a paradise for ever lost, the angel
of God's anger guarding with a fiery sword its
entrance against him. He tries by a thousand
devices to still, or at least to deaden the undying
pain of his spirit. What is this word sin that it
should torment him so .^ He will tear away the
conscience of it, this poisonous shirt of Nessus
eating into his soul, which in a heedless moment
he has put on. But no ; he can tear away his
own flesh, but he cannot tear away that. Go
where he may, he still carries with him the barbed
shaft which has pierced him — hcsret lateri letalis
arundo. The arrow which drinks up his spirit,
there is no sovereign dittany which will cause it
to drop from his side — none, that is, which grows
on earth ; but there is which grows in heaven,
and in the Church of Christ, the heavenly en-
closure there. And you, too, may find your

WHAT -^0 BELIEVE.

287

peace, you will find it, when you learn to look
by faith on Him, * the Lamb of God that taketh
away the sin of the world.' You will carry, it
may be, the scars of those wounds which you
have inflicted upon yourself to your grave ; but
the wounds themselves He can heal them, and
heal them altogether. He can give you back
the years which the cankerworm has eaten, the
peace which your sin had chased away, and, as
it seemed to you, for ever. He can do so, and
will. * Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be
clean ; wash me, and 1 shall be whiter than snow.'
This will then be your prayer, and this your
prayer will be fulfilled. The blood of sprinkling
will purge you, and you will feel yourself clean.
Your sin will no longer be yourself ; you will be
able to look at it as separated from you, as laid
upon another ; upon One so strong, that He did
but for a moment stagger under the weight of a
world's sin, and then so bore, that bearing, He
has borne it away for ever."

in. — The Grace of the Holy Spirit.

The sanctifying of the Holy Spirit of God
stands as a truth in immediate connexion with
the redeeming sacrifice of the Son of God.
Pentecost followed Calvary. The outpouring of
the Spirit came through the shedding of the
blood upon the cross. And the two truths j^r^

! i

.88 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

not only united objectively, but in our inward
consciousness. As our spiritual alienation points
to the one, our moral helplessness points to the
other. It is the same need of help, only in dif-
ferent aspects, that demands atonement, and
demands the grace of sanctifying. And here,
too, it is important to seize clearly and keep in
view the unity of the Divine will. This will is
in all -espects good to us — in all respects power-
ful to bless us ; and as the sacrifice of Christ is
the expression of its love and favour for us in
one direction — so is the agency of the Holy
Spirit the expression of its love and favour for
us in a farther and completing direction. Re-
deemed by the sacrifice of the Son, brought
back from our alienation and wretched guiltiness
into love and favour, we are not merely placed,
as it were, on a new footing before God, but wc
are quickened with a new life ; we are made
partakers of His Spirit. We enter not only
into new relatiOlis with Him, but we become
new creatures. The change that is wrought in
us is always a moral, and in no sense merely a
formal change. It is a change from death to
life, from selfishness to self-sacrifice, from neglect
or worldliness, or at least indifference, to an
earnest and solemn communion with God. The
tendencies of our being point upwards, and no
longer downwards. " We are created anew unto
all good work§/'

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

289

The Divine Spirit is the constant and only
agent of this great change in us, and it is ab-
solutely necessary that we apprehend and be-
lieve in His influence. " In us, that is, in our
flesh, there dwelleth no good thing." No life,
no righteousness can subsist apart from God.
And if at any time we fall away from our con-
sciousness of Divine influence, and still more if
we lose our faith in it, we make shipwreck of a
good conscience, and become tempted of our
lusts. We must look not away from ourselves,
but beyond ourselves, higher than ourselves — to
Him "who performeth all things for us," and
who can alone work in us the works of faith
and of holiness with power. When we think ol
our pressing moral necessities, the weakness,
and fears, and darkness that so often beset us,
and the helpless wavering of our will when the
stain of temptation falls upon us, it might seem
that of all things we would be free to look be-
yond ourselves to the Holy Spirit of God, and
to make ourselves strong in Him and " in the
power of His might ; " but self-will and self-
reliance often drive out faith and humility from
our hearts. It is as these live, however, and
in their life cling to God and to the Spirit of
God, which He giveth to every one that asketh
Him, that we alone grow strong to do the will
of God, and to walk in a way well-pleasing
unto Him.

'fflnl

' ' '
'. f'

, 1

i »;

li!'.

;;J90 7/0 TT TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

The Three Aspects of Christian truth which we
have now presented form the main substance ol
Christian faith, practically considered. There
are many important points of faith besides, but
ihese are, more than anything else, the essential
substance upon which it lives. They are all
immediately connected with Christ himself. In
believing on Christ rightly, we believe in them
all. It is only in the life, miracles, and doc-
trines of Christ that the character of vJod is un-
veiled ; it is only through the death of Christ
and His ascension into heaven that the full
reality of the Spirit's influence is made known.
The love of God, the sacrifice of Christ, the
love and power of the Spirit, were no doubt all
present to the mind of St Paul when he said to
the Philippian jailer, " Believe in the Lord Jesus
Christ, and thou shalt be saved."

The case of the Philippian jailer was not one
for minute theological instruction. He did not
want to hav»e a system of thought set before
him. He wanted a living truth on which he
could rest — a living Saviour to whom he could
appeal. And the case of every one of us is
practically of the same character. We may not
be plunged into any sudden crisis of spiritual
torture such as he was ; we may not be over-
come by a fear which makes us cry out, whether
we will or not ; but wc are equally creatures ol

WHAT TO BELIEVE,

291

the same spiritual necessities with him, and our
only strength is where his lay. We can only be
saved from our sins, and the terror which thev
seldom fail to bring with them, as he was — we
must " believe in the Lord Jesus Christ."

Is it a hard thing to trust in God, and in
Christ, and in the Spirit of God and of Christ }
Yes, it is a hard thing, if we are either sunk in
self-gratification or self-delusion, in the pride of
pleasure or the pride of intellect. If we have
given up our hearts to vanities, and remember
not that " for all these things God will call us
into judgment" — or if we have given up our
souls to abstraction, and remember not that life
is more solemn than our theories of it, and death
more swift than our solutions of them, — ^then it is
hard to cherish a trust of which we do not feel the
need, for which we have left no room. But if we
are practically earnest about life and death, if our
hearts are moved to " seek first the kingdom of
God and His righteousness," to look beyond the
present and to prepare for the future, then the
faith of Christ will be found to meet our neces-
sities and aspirations more than anything else.
The thought of God's unfailing love, and of
Christ's atoning death, and of the Holy Spirit's
constant presence and power, will fit into the
course of our life, and the reality of Divine help
into which they combine will more nearly touch
us than all reality besides.

; 'A\h

WHAT TO AIM AT.

HE very conception of moral life im-
plies life under a rule, and directed
towards an end. It implies, in short,
an ideal element. It is higher in
thought and aim than it ever is in practice and
fact.

The pre^nce of this ideal element distin-
guishes the human from the mere animal life.
The latter is a constant outgoing, an incessant
activity, and nothing more. It has no interior
drama, no reflective pauses. The senses are its
only media and ministers ; impressions are being
constantly conveyed through them, and move-
ment is constantly given off as the result ; and

WHAT TO AIM AT.

298

this \? all. It would be shocking to think that
there was anything more, considering how we
use animal life — low recklessly we squander it
for our pleasure or our profit.

It is the distinction of moial life that it is
capable of "looking before and after," that it
can reflectively realise its own character and
purposes ; and it is supposed to rise the higher,
and become the nobler, the more completely it
is governed by law, and the more actively it ful-
fils it. Many, it must be confessed, but feebly
own this. Instinct and not principle, habit and
not reflection, guide and control their existence,
which, in its monotonous or exciting round of
sensations, can scarcely claim to be higher than
that of the lower animals. Nay, it may fall
lower, from the mere circumstance that it is in
its essence superior, and that it cannot, there-
fore, be absorbed in a mere sensational activity,
without losing itself and becoming corrupted.
We never feel this in regard to the lower ani-
mals. The constant play and free indulgence
of sensations in which their life consists, suggest
only a conformity with their nature ; and all
conformity with nature is beautiful. It is the
feeling that a mere sensational existence is not
in harmony with the true nature of man, that
he has a higher being, which is violated when it
does not receive exercise and scope, that makes
us lo^»k upon such an existence as unworthy of

2H no W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

!,(i';

man, and even degrading to him. In point of
fact, it always is degrading to him. For just
because he is essentially a higher being, he can-
not preserve his purity, his healthfulness, (as the
lower animals do,) in a mere life of sensation.

Every ethical theory, therefore, has sought tc
raise man above sense, and inspire him with the
idea of law, however vaguely and imperfectly,
in many cases. Even Epicureanism, which, in
popular language, has become identified with
mere sensual gratification, and a possible philo-
sophy' thereof, did not profess to regard man as
a mere animal, without intellectual or mor?.l
aspirations. It set before him, indeed, plcusure
as the highest good, but pleasure according to
his nature, not in disregard or contempt of it.
Otherwise the pleasure could not possibly be
his highest good, and a philosophy whirh in its
very conception contradicted itself would stand
in no need of refutation. We may find much to
disapprove of in Epicureanism, but we shall not
find such silliness and contradictoriness in any
great system of thought which has swayed the
minds of men.

Stoicism announced the idea of law as its great
principle. It set before its disciples a lofty but
stern and barren ideal. The law of which it
conceived was an •' immanent necessity of rea-
son," an unchanging impersonal order governing
the universe. To this all must submit, and find

WHAT TO AIM AT,

295

peace in submission. " The wise, man," says
Marcus Aurelius, " calmly looks on the game,
and surrenders with cheerfulness his individual
existence to the claims of the whole, to which
every individual as a part ought to be subser-
vient." This \vas, beyond doubt, a brave and
heroic doctrine for heroic creatures. In many
noble minds in the old Roman world it was a
spring of genuine greatness ; but a moral ideal
which could only appeal to the strength of man's
will, and which in its very conception excluded
every element of personal sympathy, was totally
unfitted for the race as a whole. It started from
a defective moral basis, and could only reach
even in the best, a defective moral standard.

It is the boast of Christianity that it sets be-
fore man the only perfect ideal of life ; an ideal
which at once bases itself on a true interpreta-
tion of his nature, and which works itself out by
a living Divine agency, alone fitted eft'ectually
to move and educate .him. It enunciates even
more faithfully than Stoicism the idea of law ;
but then it apprehends and represents this law,
not as a dead impersonal necessity, but as a liv-
ing and loving Will in converse with our feeble
wills, healing and helping their infirmities. It
merges iaiu, in short, in the holy and blessed
Will of Christ ; and the ideal which it paints is
neither a stern moral ism, which is always say-

■A

I L

1.(1 '-

'i:

200

7/0 IT rO SUCCEED IK LIFE,

iiijT to itself, " Courage, cou. .^ » whatever is, is
right ;" nor a poetic self-culture, which aims at
the fitting and joyous development of every *
natural faculty ; but a life in God, a life in com-
munion with the Highest; humble, and pure, and
self-denying, yet strong, cheerful, and heroic.
It starts, altogether unlike Stoicism, from the
recognition of human weakness, but instead of
holding out any soft palliations for this weak-
ness, it only reveals it — to cure it ; and from
the Divine strengthening of the " inner man," it
builds up the outer life into compact secmliness
and virtue.

*' All ifl, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye."

This is no inadequate expression of the Chris-
tian ideal. " For our conversation is in heaven,"
says St Paul, " from whence also we look for the
Saviour, the Lord Jesus." To have our lives
fixed in God and in Christ — ^to preserve a con-
sciousness of an unseen and higher life ever en-
compassing ours, and being near to us at once
as a presence of holiness and of help ; this is the
aim of the Christian. A true and noble life on
earth he believes can alone spring from com-
munion wi'h heaven. It can alone be main-
tained and grow up into the " measure of the
stature " of a perfect life from an increase of this
communion. All that is good on earth is merely
a reflection of the good that is above. " If then*

WUAT TO AIM AT.

297

be any virtue, and if there be any praise." God
is the source of them, and Christ the pattern of
them. " Whatsoever things are true, whatso*
ever things are honest, whatsoever tilings are
just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever
things are lovely, whatsoever things arc of good
report ;" these are prescribed in Christ as our
example. And the Spirit takes of the things of
Christ and imparts them to us. " Beholding as
in a glass the glory of the Lord, we are changed
into the same image, from glory to glory, as by
the Spirit of the Lord."

This Divine education, after the holy Example
of our Lord, is the Christian life. The ideal is to
be like unto Him who lived in constant commun-
ion with the Father — "who did no sin" — "who
went about continually doing good." How lofty,
and yet how attractive, an ideal ! higher than
any mere dream of inflexible law, yet conde-
scending to our weakness, in the loving sym-
pathy and help which it extends to us. This
element of character makes every difference.
It is not the mere voice of command that we
hear — not the mere claim of obedience that is
exacted from us : but the voice is that of a

friend and "elder Brother" — of One who "is
not untouched with the feeling of our infirmi-
ties, but who was in all poinds tempted like as
we are, yet without sin." The claim is the claim
of a Love which is ready to help us, which is

I s

:ii

298 JIOW TO SUCCEED 2m7 LIFE.

constantly helping us, and drawing us within
the secret folds of its own Divine communion.

Anything lower than this life of communion
with God in Christ, is repudiated by the Chris-
tian ideal as an imperfect and sinfil life. It
may possess much that the world calls virtue —
it may be honest, industrious, and self-sacrificing
— it may even shew a strength and consistent
manliness that some manifestations of the Chris-
tian life are found to fail in ; but, nevertheless,
it is of an inferior quality. It not merely comes
short of, but it does not really touch the Chris-
tian ideal ; for it is impossible to separate the
life of man /rom God without fatal injury to
that life. If God is, and if we are His creatures,
our being cannot grow into any healthy or per-
fect form while we remain divorced in spirit and
love from Him. Certain elements of character
may flourish in us, but certain other, and still
more important elements, must be wanting.
The rougher excellences of worldly virtue may
be found, but net the deeper and gentler traits
of pious aflfection. When the soul has not
turned into the light of Divine love, and known
to rest there amid the confusion and darkness
of the present, there cannot be the fulness of
sympathetic intelligence, and the strength and
patience of hope, out of which the highest cha-
racter grows. There may be much to admire,
or respect, or even to love, but there cannot be

WHAT TO MM AT,

200

the ** beauty of holiness," nor the excellence of
charity. These only live and flourish in the
soul which has been awakened to a conscious-
ness of Divine communion, and which, even in
moments when it may fall below this com-
munion, and forget its kindred with heaven, is
yet sustained by a living love, binding it with a
quiet embrace. Every other life, however ad-
mirable or lovely for a time, will sink and grow
dull when the flush of youth is gone, and the
canker of sorrow begins to prey on its early
promise.

This is, perhaps, more than anything, the test
of the Christian ideal, in comparison with all
other ideals of life. As time wears on, it grows
in distinctness, and brightens into a lovelier hue,
while the ideals of mere culture or worldly am-
bition grow dim and vanish. The progress of
years, more than anything, brings out radical
differences of character. In youth all are much
alike. The most beautiful youth certainly may
not appear the most religious — the captivation
of gay spirits, and of healthful development,
may carry off the palm ; but afterwards, when
there is a greater drain upon the springs of life,
and circumstances bring out more thoroughly
all that is in us, the attractions of the outward
cease, and the true character shines forth. Then
the life which has sought its strength in secret
converse with the Highest, bears fruit in chas-

!iJ

"i\

300

now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

tened affections and enduring virtues. It matures
into beauty and fruitfulness under the very same
process by which the merely natural life is im-
paired and worn out. As the vivid brightness
and genial happiness which give to the latter its
youthful bloom fade away, there comes forth m
the former a tempered strength of faith, and
hope, and charity, which shall never fade, which
has in it an incorruptible seed, springing up
into everlasting life. It is like the contrast of
the wine in the first miracle which our Lord did
at Cana of Galilee. Worldly ideals set before
us the best wine first, and "afterwards, when
men have well drunk, tlicn that which is worse;"
but in the Christian ideal, " the best wine is ever
kept until now ! " The last is always the best.
The character ripens as it is proved, until at
length it passes into the perfect form of that life
above, which is at once its consummation and
its source.

There is nothing more important for young
men than to keep steadily before them the
Christian ideal of life. Nothing lower should
satisfy them. Nothing less will bless them.
This may seem a hard saying. When we think
of what life for the most part is, and what the
life of the young too often is, it may appear
as a day-dream to set forth tnis ideal as its
aim and end — ^to have the " life hid with Christ

WHAT TO AIM AT,

301

atures
^same
is im-
htness
tter its
)rth io
li, and

which
ng up
rast of
)rd did

before
, when
vorse;"

is ever

e best.

ntil at
Ihat life

n and

young

;m the

should

them.

[e think

lat the

appear

as its

Christ

in God." Surely this is an awful and distant
reality for. us all now, here in this world of
daily toil, and trivial pleasures, of selfish busi-
ness, and sometimes as selfish .religion. It
may have done for St Paul to aspire to such
a life — he who " counted all things but loss for
the excellency of the knowledge of Christ" —
who burned to "fill up in his body what re-
mained of the sufiferings of Christ" — who was
crucified to the world, and " dead unto sin." It
was a present, a common truth to him that his
" conversation was in heaven." But shall we use
such language } it has been asked in our time,
as the feeling of reality has grown, and men
have shrunk from comparisons that seemed to
shame them, and to be far removed from them.
Yes, we are bound to use such language ; and
still more, to keep in view the ideal which it
suggests. The life of faith, and love, and holy
converse with God is no mere esoteric blessing.
It was not merely designed for St Paul, or the
holy men of old. They urged it constantly
as the common privilege and good of all (Chris-
tians ; and our wish should be, not to part
with the words which express it, but to strive
after the realisation of their blessed meaning.
It is ideal, no doubt, in its perfection, but it \'^
also real. Nay, it is the only reality worth
having. And. miserably as we may often come
short, we must on no account lose sight of it.

302

now TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

f^i

u.;

* ':'

We shall sink into utter worldliness if we do,
and the shadows of death shall cover us from
the light of heaven.

Let not the Divine ideal, therefore, ever perish
from your heafts. Quench it not by the dark-
ness of sinful passion, or the neglect of hardening
worldliness. Let it live brightly in your inner
being, amid all the cares and sorrows and doubts
of time. Whatever may be doubtful, this can-
not be so — this image of pur.ty and peace and
heaven. Does it not rise all the more vividly
against the shadowy background of earth's
confusions and miseries ? Limit it not by your
narrowness ; dim it not by your superstition or
your unbelief Far as you may be from it, still
lift your eye? toward it. And although, like the
weary traveller amid Alpine heights, who sees
before him the glory of the morning light, and
aims to stand within its moving splendours, which
vanish as he approaches, you may find it pass
from the fulness of your possession here, and
the unfulfilled vision may haunt your dying
dreame, yet fix steadily your heart upon it, for
it is yours, although not now and near — the
sure mark of the prize of the high calling of God
in Christ Jesus our Lord.

CONCLUSION.

T is well for the young man even in
entering upon life, to remember its
termination, and how swiftly and
suddenly the end may come. "Here
we have no continuing city." We
are " strangers and pilgrims, as all our fathers
were," and the road of life at its very opening may
pass from under us, and ere we have well enteied
upon the enjoyments and work of the present, we
may be launched into the invisible and future
world that awaits us. At the best life is but a
brief space. " It appeareth for a little moment,
and then vanisheth away." It is but a flash out
of darkness soon again to return into darkness

a04 HO W TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

Or, as the old Saxon imagination conceived, it
is like the swift flight of a bird from the night
without, through a lighted chamber, filled with
guests and warm with the breath of passion,
back into the cold night again* We stand, as
it were, on a narrow " strip of shore, waiting till
the tide, which has washed away hundreds of
millions of our fellows, shall wash us away also
into a country of which there are no charts, and
from which there is no return." The image may
be almost endlessly varied. The strange and
singular uncertainty of life is a stock theme of
pathos; but no descriptive sensibility can really
touch all the mournful tenderness which it ex-
cites.

It is not easy for a young man, nor indeed for
any man in high health and spirits, to realise the
transitoriness of life and all its ways. Nothing
would be less useful than to fill the mind with
gloomy images of death, and to torment the
present by apprehensions as to the future. Re-
ligion docs not require nor countenance any
such morbid anxiety ; yet it is good also to sober
the thoughts wiLh the consciousness of life's
frailty and death's certainty. It is good above
all to live every day as we would. wish to have
done when we come to die. We need not keep
the dread event before us, but we should do our
work and duty as if we were ever waiting for it

* Bede^ IL 13.

t,%Lt

COKCLUSION.

305

and ready to encounter it. "Whatsoever thy
hand findeth to do, do it with thy might : for
there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor
wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest."

Our work here should always be preparatory
for the end. Our enjoyments should be such as
shall not shame us when we stand face to face
with death. The young, and the old too, but
especially the young, are apt to forget this. In
youth we fail to realise the intimate dependency,
the moral coherency which binds life together
everywhere, and gives an awful meaning to every
part of it. We do not think of consequences as
we recklessly yield to passion, or stain the soul
by sinful indulgence. But the storm of passion
never fails to leave its waste, and the stain, al-
though it may have been washed by the tears of
penitence, and the blood of a Saviour, remains.
There is something different, something less
firm, less clear, honest, or consistent in our life
in consequence ; and the buried sin rises from
its grave in our sad moments, and haunts us with
its terror, or abashes us with its shame. As-
suredly it will find us out at last, if we lose not
all spiritual sensibility. When our feet begin
"to stumble on the dark mountains," and the
present loses its hold upon us, and the objects of
sense wax faint and dim, there is often a strangely
vivid light shed over our whole moral history.
Our life rises before us in its complete develop-

306

HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE.

ment, and with the scars and wounds of sin just
where we made them. The sorrow of an irre-
parable past comes upon us, and we are tortured
in vain by the thought of the good we have
thrown away, or of the evil we have made our
portion.

Let no young man imagine for a moment
that it can ever be unimportant whether he
yields to this or that sinful passion, or, as it
may appear to him at the time, venial indul-
gence. Let him not try to quiet his conscience
by the thought that at the worst he will outlive
the memory of his folly, and attain to a higher
life in the future. Many may seem to him to
have done this. Many of the greatest men have
been, he may think, wild in youth. They have
" sown their wild oats," as the saying is, and had
done with them ; and their future lives have
only appeared the more remarkable in the view
of the follies of their youth. A more mis-
chievous delusion could not possibly possess the
mind of any young man. For as surely as the
innermost law of the world is the law of moral
retribution, they who sow wild oats will reap,
in some shape or another, a sour and bitter
harvest. For "whatsoever a man soweth that
shall he also reap : he that soweth to the flesh,
shall of the flesh reap corruption ; he that sow-
eth to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life
everlasting."

CONCLUSION.

307

There is nothing more sure than this law of
moral connexion and retribution. Life, through
all its course, is a series of moral impulses and
consequences, each part of which bears the im-
press of all that goes before, and again com-
municates its impress to all that follows. And
it is with the character which is the sum of all
that we meet death, and enter on the life to
come. Every act of life — all our work, and
study, and enjoyment — our temptations, our sins,
our repentance, our faith, our virtue are pre-
paring us — whether we think it or not — for hap-
piness or misery hereafter. It is this more than
anything that gives such a solemn character to
the occupations of life. They are the lessons
for a higher life. They are an education — a
discipline for hereafter. This is their nighest
meaning.

Let young men remember tne essential bear-
ing of the present upon the future. Tn be-
ginning life let them remember thr end of it,
and how it will be at the end as it has been
throughout. All will be summed up to this
point; and the future and the eternal will take
their character from the present and the tem*
porary. "He that is unjust, let him be unjust
still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy
still : and he that -is righteous, let him be right-
eous still : and he that is holy, let him be holy
still." The threads of our moral history run

li,

808 HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE,

on in unbroken continuii^y. The shadow ol
death may cover them from the sight ; but they
emerge in the world beyond in like order as they
were here.

Make your present life therefore a prepara-
tion for death and the life to come. Make it
such by embracing now the light and love of
God your Father — ^by doing the work of Christ
your Saviour and Master — by using the world
without abusing it — by seeking in all your du-
ties, studies, and enjoyments, to become meet
for a "better country, that is, an heavenly.*'
To the youngest among you the time may be
short. The summons to depart may come in
"a day and an hour when you think not."
Happy then the young man whose Lord shall
find him waiting — working— looking even from
the portals of an opening life here to the gates
of that celestial inheritance " incorruptible and
undefiled, and that fadeth not away I"

ij r

low ol

it they
IS they

•epara-
ake it
ove of
Christ
world
>ur du-
'i meet
i^enly."
lay be
>me in
: not."
i shall
n from
i gates
le and