Ever since Mr. Tyrrel had been last with us, I had observed an unusual
seriousness in the countenance of Sir John Belfield, though accompanied
with his natural complacency. His mind seemed intent on something he
wished to communicate. The first time we were both alone in the library
with Mr. Stanley, Sir John said: "Stanley, the conversations we have
lately had, and especially the last, in which you bore so considerable a
part, have furnished me with matter for reflection. I hope the pleasure
will not be quite destitute of profit."
"My dear Sir John," replied Mr. Stanley, "in conversing with Mr. Tyrrel,
I labor under a disadvantage common to every man, who, when he is called
to defend some important principle which he thinks attacked or
undervalued, is brought into danger of being suspected to undervalue
others, which, if they in their turn were assailed, he would defend with
equal zeal. When points of the last importance are slighted as
insignificant in order exclusively to magnify one darling opinion, I am
driven to appear as if I opposed that important tenet, which, if I may
so speak, seems pitted against the others. Those who do not previously
know my principles, might almost suspect me of being an opposer of that
prime doctrine, which I really consider as the leading principle of
Christianity."
"Allow me to say," returned Sir John, "that my surprise has been equal
to my satisfaction. Those very doctrines which you maintained, I had
been assured, were the very tenets you rejected. Many of our
acquaintance, who do not come near enough to judge, or who would not be
competent to judge if they did, ascribe the strictness of your practice
to some unfounded peculiarities of opinion, and suspect that the
doctrines of Tyrrel, though somewhat modified, a little more rationally
conceived, and more ably expressed, are the doctrines held by you, and
by every man who rises above the ordinary standard of what the world
calls religious men. And what is a little absurd and inconsistent, they
ascribe to these supposed dangerous doctrines, his abstinence from the
diversions, and his disapprobation of the manners and maxims of the
world. _Your_ opinions, however, I always suspected could not be very
pernicious, the effects of which, from the whole tenor of your life, I
knew to be so salutary.
"I now find upon full proof that there is nothing in your sentiments but
what a man of sense may approve; nothing but what if he be really a man
of sense, he will without scruple adopt. May I be enabled more fully,
more practically, to adopt them! You shall point out to me such a course
of reading as may not only clear up my remaining difficulties, but, what
is infinitely more momentous than the solution of any abstract question,
may help to awaken me to a more deep and lively sense of my own
individual interest in this great concern!"
Mr. Stanley's benevolent countenance was lighted up with more than its
wonted animation. He did not attempt to conceal the deep satisfaction
with which his heart was penetrated. He modestly referred his friend to
Dr. Barlow, as a far more able casuist, though not a more cordial
friend. For my own part, I felt my heart expand toward Sir John with new
sympathies and an enlarged affection. I felt noble motives of
attachment, an attachment which I hoped would be perpetuated beyond the
narrow bounds of this perishable world.
"My dear Sir John," said Mr. Stanley, "it is among the daily but
comparatively petty trials of every man who is deeply in earnest to
secure his immortal interests, to be classed with low and wild
enthusiasts whom his judgment condemns, with hypocrites against whom his
principles revolt, and with men, pious and conscientious I am most
willing to allow, but differing widely from his own views; with others
who evince a want of charity in some points, and a want of judgment in
most. To be identified, I say, with men so different from yourself,
because you hold in common some great truths, which all real Christians
have held in all ages, and because you agree with them in avoiding the
blamable excesses of dissipation, is among the sacrifices of reputation,
which a man must be contented to make who is earnest in the great object
of a Christian's pursuit. I trust, however, that, through divine grace,
I shall never renounce my integrity for the praise of men, who have so
little consistency, that though they pretend their quarrel is with your
faith, yet who would not care how extravagant your belief was if your
practice assimilated with their own. I trust, on the other hand, that I
shall always maintain my candor toward those with whom we are unfairly
involved; men, religious, though somewhat eccentric, devout, though
injudicious, and sincere, though mistaken; but who, with all their
errors, against which I protest, and with all their indiscretion, which
I lament, and with all their ill-judged, because irregular zeal, I shall
ever think--always excepting hypocrites and false pretenders--are better
men, and in a safer state than their revilers."
"I have often suspected," said I, "that under the plausible pretense of
objecting to your creed, men conceal their quarrel with the
commandments."
"My dear Stanley," said Sir John, "but for this visit, I might have
continued in the common error, that there was but one description of
religious professors; that a fanatical spirit, and a fierce adoption of
one or two particular doctrines, to the exclusion of all the rest, with
a total indifference to morality, and a sovereign contempt of prudence,
made up the character against which, I confess, I entertained a secret
disgust. Still, however, I loved _you_ too well, and had too high an
opinion of your understanding, to suspect that you would ever be drawn
into those practical errors, to which I had been told your theory
inevitably led. Yet I own I had an aversion to this dreaded enthusiasm
which drove me into the opposite extreme."
"How many men have I known," replied Mr. Stanley, smiling, "who, from
their dread of a burning zeal, have taken refuge in a freezing
indifference! As to the two extremes of heat and cold, neither of them
is the true climate of Christianity; yet the fear of each drives men of
opposite complexions into the other, instead of fixing them in the
temperate zone which lies between them, and which is the region of
genuine piety."
"The truth is, Sir John, _your_ society considers ardor in religion as
the fever of a distempered understanding, while in inferior concerns
they admire it as the indication of a powerful mind. Is zeal in politics
accounted the mark of a vulgar intellect? Did they consider the
unquenchable ardor of Pitt, did they regard the lofty enthusiasm of Fox,
as evidences of a feeble or a disordered mind? Yet I will venture to
assert, that ardor in religion is as much more noble than ardor in
politics, as the prize for which it contends is more exalted. It is
beyond all comparison superior to the highest human interests, the truth
and justice of which, after all, may possibly be mistaken, and the
objects of which, must infallibly have an end."
Dr. Barlow came in, and seeing us earnestly engaged, desired that he
might not interrupt the conversation. Sir John in a few words informed
him what had passed, and with a most graceful humility spoke of his own
share in it, and confessed how much he had been carried away by the
stream of popular prejudice, respecting men who had courage to make a
consistent profession of Christianity. "I now," added he, "begin to
think with Addison, that singularity in religion is heroic bravery,
'because it only leaves the species by soaring above it.'"
After some observations from Dr. Barlow, much in point, he went on to
remark that the difficulties of a clergyman were much increased by the
altered manners of the age. "The tone of religious writing," said he,
"but especially the tone of religious conversation, is much lowered. The
language of a Christian minister in discussing Christian topics will
naturally be consonant to that of Scripture. The Scripture speaks of a
man being _renewed in the spirit of his mind_, of his being _sanctified
by the grace of God_. Now how much circumlocution is necessary for us in
conversing with a man of the world, to convey the sense, without
adopting the expression; and what pains must we take to make our meaning
intelligible without giving disgust, and to be useful without causing
irritation!"
"But, my good Doctor," said Sir John, "is it not a little puritanical to
make use of such solemn expressions in company?"
"Sir," replied Dr. Barlow, "it is worse than puritanical, it is
hypocritical, where the principle itself does not exist, and even where
it does, it is highly inexpedient to introduce such phrases into general
company at all. But I am speaking of serious private conversation when,
if a minister is really in earnest, there is nothing absurd in his
prudent use of Scripture expressions. One great difficulty, and which
obstructs the usefulness of a clergyman, in conversation with many
persons of the higher class, who would be sorry not to be thought
religious, is, that they keep up so little acquaintance with the Bible,
that from their ignorance of its venerable phraseology, they are
offended at the introduction of a text, not because it is Scripture--for
that they maintain a kind of general reverence--but because from not
reading it, they do not know that it _is_ Scripture.
"I once lent a person of rank and talents an admirable sermon, written
by one of our first divines. Though deeply pious, it was composed with
uncommon spirit and elegance, and I thought it did not contain one
phrase which could offend the most fastidious critic. When he returned
it, he assured me that he liked it much on the whole, and should have
approved it altogether, but for one methodistical expression. To my
utter astonishment he pointed to the exceptionable passage, 'There is
now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after
the flesh but after the spirit.' The chapter and verse not being
mentioned, he never suspected it was a quotation from the Bible."
"This is one among many reasons," said Mr. Stanley, "why I so
strenuously insist that young persons should read the Scriptures,
unaltered, unmodernized, unmutilated, unabridged. If parents do not make
a point of this, the peculiarity of sacred language will become really
obsolete to the next generation."
In answer to some further remarks of Sir John, Mr. Stanley said,
smiling, "I have sometimes amused myself with making a collection of
certain things, which are now considered and held up by a pretty large
class of men as the infallible symptoms of methodism. Those which at
present occur to my recollection are the following: Going to church in
the afternoon, maintaining family prayer, not traveling, or giving great
dinners or other entertainments on Sundays, rejoicing in the abolition
of the slave-trade, promoting the religious instruction of the poor at
home, subscribing to the Bible Society, and contributing to establish
Christianity abroad. These, though the man attend no eccentric
clergyman, hold no one enthusiastic doctrine, associate with no fanatic,
is sober in his conversation, consistent in his practice, correct in his
whole deportment, will infallibly fix on him the charge of methodism.
Any _one_ of these will excite suspicion, but all united will not fail
absolutely to stigmatize him. The most devoted attachment to the
establishment will avail him nothing, if not accompanied with a fiery
intolerance toward all who differ. Without intolerance, his charity is
construed into unsoundness, and his candor into disaffection. He is
accused of assimilating with the principles of every weak brother whom,
though his judgment compels him to blame, his candor forbids him to
calumniate. Saint and hypocrite are now, in the scoffer's lexicon,
become convertible terms; the last being always implied where the first
is sneeringly used."
"It has often appeared to me," said I, "that the glory of a tried
Christian somewhat resembles that of a Roman victor, in whose solemn
processions, among the odes of gratulation, a mixture of abuse and
railing made part of the triumph."
"Happily," resumed Mr. Stanley, "a religious man knows the worst he is
likely to suffer. In the present established state of things he is not
called, as in the first ages of Christianity, to be made a spectacle to
the world, and to angels, and to men. But he must submit to be assailed
by three different descriptions of persons. From the first, he must be
contented to have principles imputed to him which he abhors, motives
which he disdains, and ends which he deprecates. He must submit to have
the energies of his well-regulated piety confounded with the follies of
the fanatic, and his temperate zeal blended with the ravings of the
insane. He must submit to be involved in the absurdities of the
extravagant, in the duplicity of the designing, and in the mischiefs of
the dangerous; to be reckoned among the disturbers of that church which
he would defend with his blood, and of that government which he is
perhaps supporting in every possible direction. Every means is devised
to shake his credit. From such determined assailants no prudence can
protect his character, no private integrity can defend it, no public
service rescue it."
"I have often wondered," said Sir John, "at the success of attacks which
seemed to have nothing but the badness of the cause to recommend them.
But the assailant, whose object it is to make good men ridiculous, well
knows that he has secured to himself a large patronage in the hearts of
all the envious, the malignant, and the irreligious, who, like other
levelers, find it more easy to establish the equality of mankind by
abasing the lofty, than by elevating the low."
"In my short experience of life," said I, when Sir John had done
speaking, "I have often observed it as a hardship, that a man must not
only submit to be condemned for doctrines he disowns, but also for
consequences which others may draw from the doctrines he maintains,
though he himself, both practically and speculatively, disavows any such
consequences."
"There is another class of enemies," resumed Mr. Stanley. "To do them
justice, it is not so much the individual Christian as Christianity
itself, which _they_ hope to discredit; _that_ Christianity which would
not only restrain the conduct, but would humble the heart; which strips
them of the pride of philosophy, and the arrogant plea of merit; which
would save, but will not flatter them. In this enlightened period,
however, for men who would preserve any character, it would be too gross
to attack religion itself, and they find they can wound her more deeply
and more creditably through the sides of her professors."
"I have observed," said I, "that the uncandid censurer always picks out
the worst man of a class, and then confidently produces him as being a
fair specimen of it."
"From our more thoughtless, but less uncharitable acquaintance, the gay
and the busy," resumed Mr. Stanley, "we have to sustain a gentler
warfare. A little reproach, a good deal of ridicule, a little suspicion
of our designs, and not a little compassion for our gloomy habits of
life, an implied contempt of our judgment, some friendly hints that we
carry things too far, an intimation that being righteous overmuch in the
practice has a tendency to produce derangement in the faculties. These
are the petty but daily trials of every man who is seriously in earnest;
and petty indeed they are to him whose prospects are well-grounded, and
whose hope is full of immortality."
"This hostility, which a real Christian is sure to experience," said I,
"is not without its uses. It quickens his vigilance over her own heart,
and enlarges his charity toward others, whom reproach perhaps may as
unjustly stigmatize. It teaches him to be on his guard, lest he should
really deserve the censure he incurs; and what I presume is of no small
importance, it teaches him to sit loose to human opinion; it weakens his
excessive tenderness for reputation, makes him more anxious to deserve,
and less solicitous to obtain it."
"It were well," said Dr. Barlow, "if the evil ended here. The
established Christian will evince himself to be such by not shrinking
from the attack. But the misfortune is, that the dread of this attack
keeps back well disposed but vacillating characters. They are
intimidated at the idea of partaking the censure, though they know it to
be false. When they hear the reputation of men of piety assailed, they
assume an indifference which they are far from feeling. They listen to
the reproaches cast on characters which they inwardly revere, without
daring to vindicate them. They hear the most attached subjects accused
of disaffection, and the most sober-minded churchmen of innovation,
without venturing to repel the charge, lest they should be suspected of
leaning to the party. They are afraid fully to avow that their own
principles are the same, lest they should be involved in the same
calumny. To efface this suspicion, they affect a coldness which they do
not feel, and treat with levity what they inwardly venerate. Very young
men, from this criminal timidity, are led to risk their eternal
happiness through the dread of a laugh. Though they know that they have
not only religion but reason on their side, yet it requires a hardy
virtue to repel a sneer, and an intrepid principle to confront a
sarcasm. Thus their own mind loses its firmness, religion loses their
support, the world loses the benefit which their example would afford,
and they themselves become liable to the awful charge which is denounced
against him who is ashamed of his Christian profession."
"Men of the world," said Sir John, "are extremely jealous of whatever
may be thought _particular_; they are frightened at every thing that has
not the sanction of public opinion, and the stamp of public applause.
They are impatient of the slightest suspicion of censure in what may be
supposed to affect the credit of their judgment, though often
indifferent enough as to any blame that may attach to their conduct.
They have been accustomed to consider strict religion as a thing which
militates against good taste, and to connect the idea of something
unclassical and inelegant, something awkward and unpopular, something
uncouth and ill-bred, with the peculiar doctrines of Christianity;
doctrines which, though there is no harm in believing, they think there
can be no good in avowing."
"It is a little hard," said Mr. Stanley, "that men of piety, who are
allowed to possess good sense on all other occasions, and whose judgment
is respected in all the ordinary concerns of life, should not have a
little credit given them in matters of religion, but that they should be
at once transformed into idiots or madmen in that very point which
affords the noblest exercise to the human faculties."
"A Christian, then," said I, "if human applause be his idol is of all
men most miserable. He forfeits his reputation every way. He is accused
by the men of the world of going too far; by the enthusiast of not going
far enough. While it is one of the best evidences of his being right,
that he is rejected by one party for excess, and by the other for
deficiency."
"What then is to be done?" said Dr. Barlow. "Must a discreet and pious
man give up a principle because it has been disfigured by the fanatic,
or abused by the hypocrite, or denied by the skeptic, or reprobated by
the formalist, or ridiculed by the men of the world? He should rather
support it with an earnestness proportioned to its value; he should
rescue it from the injuries it has sustained from its enemies; and the
discredit brought on it by its imprudent friends. He should redeem it
from the enthusiasm which misconceives, and from the ignorance or
malignity which misrepresents it. If the learned and the judicious are
silent in proportion as the illiterate and the vulgar are obtrusive and
loquacious, the most important truths will be abandoned by those who are
best able to unfold, and to defend them, while they will be embraced
exclusively by those who misunderstand, degrade, and debase them.
Because the unlettered are absurd, must the able cease to be religious?
If there is to be an abandonment of every Christian principle because it
has been unfairly, unskillfully, or inadequately treated, there would,
one by one, be an abandonment of every doctrine of the New Testament."
"I felt myself bound," said Mr. Stanley, "to act on this principle in
our late conversation with Mr. Tyrrel. I would not refuse to assert with
him the doctrines of grace, but I endeavored to let him see that I had
adopted them in a scriptural sense. I would not try to convince him that
he was wrong, by disowning a truth because he abused it. I would
cordially reject all the bad use he makes of any opinion, without
rejecting the opinion itself, if the Bible will bear me out in the
belief of it. But I would scrupulously reject all the other opinions
which he connects with it, and with which I am persuaded it has no
connection."
"The nominal Christian," said Dr. Barlow, "who insists that religion
resides in the understanding only, may contend that love to God,
gratitude to our Redeemer, and sorrow for our offenses, are enthusiastic
extravagances; and effectually repress, by ridicule and sarcasm, those
feelings which the devout heart recognizes, and which Scripture
sanctions. On the other hand, those very feelings are inflamed,
exaggerated, distorted, and misrepresented, as including the whole of
religion, by the intemperate enthusiast, who thinks reason has nothing
to do in the business; but who, trusting to tests not warranted in the
Scripture, is governed by fancies, feelings, and visions of his own.
"Between these pernicious extremes, what course is the sober Christian
to pursue? Must he discard from his heart all pious affections because
the fanatic abuses them, and the fastidious denies their existence! This
would be like insisting, that because one man happens to be sick of a
dead palsy, and another of a frenzy fever, there is therefore in the
human constitution no such temperate medium as sound health."