THERE are two points of view in which every system may be regarded—its
external action, and its internal principle. We may examine either the
great effects of its machinery, its plans, its purposes, its advances,
and its perils; or we may trace its inner principle, and endeavour to
detect the secret spring by which the whole is set in motion. It must at
once be obvious that this latter inquiry is by far the more difficult;
for our attention is directed rather to the philosophy than the action of
the system; and we are called to examine the subtle tendencies of the
human heart, which, of course, are more difficult both of detection and
exhibition than the great, broad, startling facts which lie on the
surface of the world’s history. This difficulty I have seriously felt in
the preparation of the present lecture, the subject of which, is, “Popery
the accommodation of Christianity to the natural heart.” The subject
plainly requires that we should study the secret working of the natural
heart, and should also examine into the corresponding principles of
Popery, in order to discover their mutual accommodation, and to show how
the whole system of the one is dexterously fitted to allay the fears and
supply the cravings of the other. Throughout, therefore, we have to deal
more with principles than with facts. I must ask your forbearance,
therefore, if the lecture assumes a somewhat abstract form, and contains
but few of those startling statements which abound in the history of
Popery, and which are of the utmost importance in arousing the dormant
Protestantism of the land. But yet, as facts are but the development of
principles, I must ask the attention of thinking minds, and earnestly beg
the candid consideration of all those Christian friends, whose desire it
is to be established in the truth.
In its _outward dress_, then, and _external presentation_, we see at once
that Popery adapts itself to the natural man. The Bible presents the
Gospel to us in the most unmixed simplicity; the fruits of the Spirit are
its choicest ornament, and the humbling of the heart is its proudest
triumph. It goes to the unlettered cottager, places the Bible in his
hand, and gives him the saving promise, “Believe in the Saviour as there
revealed, and live.” In the external aspect of such a system there is
nothing to catch the natural eye; to the man who is not taught by the
Spirit, there is nothing peculiarly lovely in its fruits, and to the
person who is not influenced by his grace, as there is nothing to charm
the senses, so there is little to attract his favourable regard. But
Popery, in presenting a spurious Christianity, has dressed it up in all
the meretricious ornaments of sense. It has summoned to its aid all that
may allure the natural tastes, so that if it fail to win the heart, it
may at all events enlist the eye and ear in its behalf. Thus there is no
natural taste which is not pre-eminently gratified by Popery. The lover
of music and the fine arts will find his highest delight while he hears
the sounds of the well-sung anthem thrilling through the vaulted roofs of
a magnificent cathedral. The admirer of architecture will draw a
contrast unfavourable to truth when he compares the noble ruins of
Tintern Abbey with the simple church on the hill side that overhangs it.
The antiquarian is provided with an ample supply for the spirit of
research in the legends, the brasses, the ruins, and above all, in the
claim it sets forth of resting its pretensions on a far-gone antiquity:
while the ignorant and superstitious find all their wishes satisfied in
the relics, the charms, the pilgrimages, the holy coats, the miracles,
and the whole tissue of fanatical deception with which the system
abounds. The effect upon such minds is proved by the fact, that in those
countries where Popery prevails, there appears to be no room for all the
new schemes of quackery which abound in our own. The Church has secured
a complete monopoly, and finding that poor death-stricken man is ever
craving after some unnatural mitigation of his woe, has undertaken to
supply his utmost necessities, and to furnish a thousand charms and
remedies to hush his longings, if it cannot cure his ill.
But if this were the only manner in which Popery adapts itself to the
natural man, there would be comparatively little cause for complaint.
There is no sin in an attractive exhibition of the truth, nor is it wrong
to enlist the tastes in favour of the Redeemer’s kingdom, for the Apostle
to the Gentiles was himself “made all things to all men.” So soon,
however, as the truth itself is modified in order to suit the prejudices
or inclinations of those to whom it is addressed, the accommodation from
that moment becomes sinful in its character. Now it is impossible to
study the records of Romanism without perceiving that it is perpetually
guilty of this sinful modification. Thus in different countries it
assumes different external aspects. In catechisms for the Irish, for
example, it omits the second commandment, while in those for England it
generally inserts it, adapting itself in each case to what it considers
that the people’s mind can bear. In China the Jesuist missionaries
actually went so far as to omit from their teaching the great fact of the
crucifixion, because they considered that a truth so humbling would be
unwelcome to that proud and self-sufficient people. The foundation of
Christianity was removed in order to accommodate it to the pride of the
natural heart.
Thousands of other instances might be adduced to show the pliability of
the system. It is like the camelion, and varies its colour according to
the soil on which it treads. It will even preach justification by faith
in those parishes where the people have learned the value of that blessed
truth; while, at the very same moment, in the decrees of the Council of
Trent, it levels its anathemas against those who venture to maintain it.
In Protestant countries it will be foremost in its denunciations of
idolatry, while in others, where the people are prepared to bear them, it
will fill its churches with its idols. In all cases, it accommodates
itself to the existing bias of the mind addressed.
But these things are rather the dress of Popery than its essence; they
form the apparel with which she has arrayed herself in order to appear
before the world, but they do not constitute the real deep secret of her
strength. They are nothing more than the paint upon the cheek, the arts
which the system has assumed, but are not the source from which the
system itself has sprung.
To this _inner source_, then, we have now to turn our thoughts, and we
have to shew that Popery has founded itself upon the essential truths of
Christianity, but has so altered and perverted them by addition, by
subtraction, and by alteration, as to accommodate them to the wants of
unconverted men.
And here we must just remark, that Popery did not at any time appear
ready made on the world’s platform. It was not like Mahometanism, which
was constructed by one man, and brought out complete after a certain
retirement from the world; but it was like the growth of a little horn,
commencing with soft and unnoticed buddings, until, as time advanced, it
acquired length and strength, and hardness. In fact, the process has
been very much that which we see in dissolving views; you look at one
time at a given picture, and at the very time that you moat admire it,
certain lines become fainter, and others stronger, so that after a while
you discover that the whole landscape is completely changed. You have
had your attention fixed throughout, but the change has been so gradual,
the fading and brightening of the different parts so imperceptible, that
though you now see the lofty tower where a few moments back the cattle
were grazing in the meadow, you are at a loss to decide when the change
commenced, or what were the distinct steps of its accomplishment. Just
so it has been with Popery. Men began by looking at Christianity; they
beheld its beauty and admired it; but as they looked, a faintness
gradually crept over its outline; its finest touches began insensibly to
disappear; the lines of a new picture by degrees took their place, till
at length the whole scene became changed, and instead of Christianity we
found Popery; instead of Christ we saw Antichrist exalted in his room.
Our business to-night is to shew that this transformation is the work of
the natural heart when brought into contact with the Gospel: and in doing
this, there are a few general principles which it is important we should
clearly understand in the outset.
The first of these is, that every living man has a certain conviction of
God’s existence, combined with a sense of right and of wrong naturally
implanted in his heart. This may be deadened and perverted, but it is
implanted there at birth, and has remained amidst the wreck of our ruined
nature. We do not require revelation to assure us of the sin of murder,
nor could any doubt the duty of obedience to parents, even if there were
no sanction for it in the written word. Bishop Butler says, “Let any
plain, honest man, before he engages in any course of action, ask
himself,—Is this I am going about right, or is it wrong? Is it good, or
is it evil? I do not in the least doubt that the question would be
answered agreeably to truth and virtue.”
A second universal fact is, that every living man has sinned against this
natural law; that there never has been a single individual in the whole
race, who has not, in countless instances, done that which he by the
light of nature has known to be offensive to the mind of God.
A third fact is, that there is within every heart a certain faculty which
is termed conscience, which sits like a judge, and passes sentence on
every action we commit. Like a sensitive nerve, it feels the approach of
sin, and, unless it be completely seared as with an hot iron, it is ever
sounding within the heart the still small voice of just reproach. Thus
every man in a state of nature is uneasy; he may endeavour to palliate
sin, and discover excuses for its commission; but he cannot altogether
shake off the sense of it. A consciousness of insecurity hangs around
him. He is not ready to die; he has no joy in the prospect of the
advent; and, though he may have some undefined hope of mercy, he knows
nothing of the calm peace of the child of God.
A fourth remark is, that this uneasiness is increased just in proportion
as such a character is brought into contact with the Gospel.
There are thousands who feel the power of the Gospel, but who never know
its grace. It throws its light beyond the range of its salvation, and
just in proportion as that light breaks in upon a natural heart does it
quicken conscience, and revive the uneasiness of sin. When the revealed
word is never presented, the law of nature becomes gradually obscured,
and the voice of conscience gradually silenced, so that the uneasiness
begins to die away, and a fatal apathy by little and little creeps
insensibly over the soul. But when the revealed word reaches the mind,
even though the heart be never new-born by the Spirit, conscience regains
much of its power, the waters of the heart are stirred up and troubled,
and the sense of uneasiness rises afresh with renewed vigour in the soul.
Hence it follows that the sense of uneasiness is always strongest amongst
the unconverted members of the visible Church. By their outward
profession they are brought into the closest contact with the Gospel, and
therefore, if not saved by it, they above all others are rendered most
uneasy by its holiness. Whatever effects therefore are likely to result
from this uneasiness, those we should expect to find in greatest strength
within the limits of the visible Church. Accordingly, within those very
limits, we find that which I believe to be its great and chief result,
viz., Popery.
That men under such circumstances must seek out a remedy is perfectly
obvious, and that there is only one remedy provided by the Lord is
equally plain to the student of the Scriptures. That remedy is the free
grace of God in Christ Jesus. Let a man be really brought to believe in
Him, let him be taught by the Spirit to take home the blessed truth that
the whole burden of his blackest sin has been laid on Jesus, and that a
pardon, free, immediate, and complete, is granted to the guilty man who
stands in Christ, so that “now there is no condemnation to them that are
in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit,” and
that man being justified by faith has peace with God. But then he is
taken out of the rank of natural men, and, by the new birth, he is
separated unto the kingdom of his Lord; he ceases to be a natural man,
and all his peace now flows into his soul through grace.
But suppose this change does not take place, what then? The uneasiness
still remains, and the contact with the Gospel only quickens it. The
conscious heart therefore is forced back upon its own remedies, and these
remedies are of two kinds. The first is Infidelity. The heart struggles
to get free from the sense of condemnation by clearing itself if possible
from the sense of a God. When conscience convicts of sin, Infidelity
steps in and strives to hush its voice, saying, “Thou shall not surely
die;” and when the heart persuades the man that he is guilty, he strives
to find a refuge in the soothing voice of unbelief, which pretends to
teach that there is no God to judge him.
But such a remedy cannot satisfy. There is such a deep conviction of God
in the heart, and such unbounded and irresistible proofs of his presence
throughout creation, that no man can really rest in such a system. Even
Paine himself, when the vessel in which he was crossing to America was on
the point of sinking, cried out in his alarm, “Lord Jesus, save me.” And
Voltaire, with all his blasphemous daring, six weeks after he had said he
should die of glory, did die in all the agonies of despair. The nurse
who attended him refused many years afterwards to nurse a devoted
Christian Protestant, because she confounded a Protestant with an
Infidel, and declared that she never again dare witness such horrors as
she had seen in the chamber of Voltaire. So it is told of one who moved
not many years back in the centre of Infidel society, that on one
occasion, being seized with severe illness at midnight, and dreading the
near approach of death, the terror-stricken sufferer sent for an intimate
friend, and on his arrival, addressed him in words to this effect. “I
fear I am dying, and I am greatly alarmed; so I have sent for you to
remind me of the arguments which prove that there is no God.” A fearful
confirmation of a remark once made by a Unitarian to a beloved relative
of my own—“Our principles are very well while you live, but they won’t do
to die upon.”
Thus there is no real peace secured by Infidelity, as it cannot still the
conscience, and leaves the heart in as much uneasiness as ever. There
appears, therefore, no remedy left for the unconverted man. The Gospel
is presented to his view, and the effect is to fill his heart with fear.
If he were altogether to accept it, he would be at peace; or if he could
altogether reject it, then perchance, he might be at ease; but now there
is so much power in it, that he cannot altogether shake it off; while, at
the same time, there is so much opposed to all his will in it that he
will not by faith embrace it as his own. The only hope that remains in
such a case is to discover, if possible, some modification of the
Gospel—some system which will profess the grand principles so as not to
violate his deep and irresistible convictions, but which at the same time
will so modify those principles in their practical application, that it
may still the conscience without a change of heart, and give him
something that he may rest in as a substitute for peace, while, at the
same time, it leaves him still a natural man, with his heart unchanged,
and his will unsubdued by the grace that is in Christ Jesus.
Now Popery is neither more nor less than this modification of the Gospel.
It retains enough of its fundamental principles to satisfy the conviction
that it is the truth of God, while, at the same time, it so modifies and
alters them in their application to the individual as to still his
conscience, even in those cases where it fails to change the heart.
Let us take a few particulars in illustration of this modifying process,
and let us see how it suits the different phases of the character.