faith, but I do not think that they are correct; and as you have
requested me to give you my opinion, I will cheerfully do so.
They confound a plenary conviction of the truth of the Christian
scheme of salvation, with an assurance of a personal interest
in its invaluable blessings. This is the error into which they
have fallen, and on the eve of which you are now standing; but
it does not require much force of reasoning to show its fallacy.
Faith is an assent of the mind to some truth, or some system
of truth, which is established by satisfactory evidence. As
this assent becomes weaker or stronger, in proportion to the
clearness and force of the evidence by which it is produced, a
full assurance of faith is that high degree of it which admits
of no suspicion. Hence, you are convinced that Jesus Christ came
into this world--that he sojourned in the land of Judea--that
he performed the miracles which are ascribed to him--that he
died on the cross to expiate the guilt of sin--rose from the
dead--and is now seated on the right hand of the majesty on
high, receiving there the ascriptions of praise from the lips of
the redeemed.
"You want no miracle wrought in your presence to induce you to
believe this, because you believe it on the testimony of the
inspired writers; nor is it necessary that a voice should speak
to you from the celestial glory to confirm it. But though you
are fully convinced of these facts, yet you are not so fully
convinced that he died _for you_--or that he is gone to heaven
to prepare a mansion for you, in the house of his Father.
You believe that there is 'redemption through his blood, the
forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace;' but
you sometimes doubt whether _you_ are redeemed and forgiven. You
believe that 'he is able to save them to the uttermost that come
unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for
them;' but you are not fully persuaded that he is interceding
for you. You feel your need of such a Saviour; and you know that
'all that the Father giveth him shall come to him;' yet you
doubt whether the Father ever gave you to Christ, or whether
you have ever come unto him in a scriptural manner. You cannot
believe the truth of the gospel more firmly than you do believe
it--you cannot place a more entire dependence on Christ for
salvation than you do place--you cannot feel more disposed to
give him all the honour of your salvation than you do feel; and
yet, at times, you doubt your acceptance--your safety--and your
final blessedness. Does not this clearly prove that faith in
Christ, and an assurance of an interest in him, are essentially
distinct?
"Nor can we doubt the correctness of this assertion, if we
attend to the order of the Spirit's operations on our mind.
He inclines us to believe the truth which he exhibits; and he
enables us to do it. 'For he shall not speak of himself; but
whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew
you things to come. He shall glorify me: for he shall receive
of mine, and shall shew it unto you; all things that the Father
hath are mine: therefore said I, that he shall take of mine,
and shall shew it unto you.' This is his _first_ act; but it is
a _later_ act, to bear testimony with our spirit that we are
born of God; and as some space of time must necessarily elapse
after he has performed the first act, before he performs the
second, it is evident that faith may exist in its purity, and
in its power, even when there is no assurance of it. Hence it
follows, that a person who relies on the atonement of Christ for
salvation is as safe, though he live and die without any firm
persuasion of his future blessedness, as one who is enabled to
rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Indeed, my dear Louisa, I
should tremble to make the final happiness of my soul depend,
in the slightest degree, on my personal assurance of its safety.
This would be nothing less than intermingling a personal
attainment with the efficacy of the Saviour's death; and placing
my hope of a blissful immortality on the precarious basis of a
fluctuating feeling, rather than on that immoveable foundation
which God has laid in Zion. If you peruse the biographies of
some of the most eminent Christians, you will perceive that
during their pilgrimage on earth, they frequently complained
of that alternation of feeling which you now experience; and
some have been left for days, and for months, to walk in mental
darkness without the light of the Divine countenance. Your
favourite poet, Cowper, was a man eminently embued with the
spirit of Christ; and yet in what a dark and gloomy frame of
mind did he leave this world. His biographer says, that within
a few days of his decease, after a near relative had been
attempting to cheer him with the prospect of exchanging a world
of infirmity and sorrow, for a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory, he threw from him the words of peace, and
exclaimed, 'Oh, spare me! spare me! You know, you _know_ it to
be false.' Having given utterance to this despairing language,
he sunk into a state of apparent insensibility, in which state
he continued for twelve hours, and then expired without moving a
limb, or even uttering a moan. Thus terminated the mortal career
of one of the greatest poets that ever consecrated the powers
of his mind to the cause of Christ: entering death's dark vale
without a ray of light to cheer him in his lonely passage.
"But shall we say that he died without faith, because he
died without an assurance that he possessed it? Would not
such an opinion necessarily tend to destroy our confidence
in the sufficiency of the atonement of Christ, by making our
final happiness depend on the peculiar frame of our mind in
that solemn hour, when some latent physical cause may bring
over the spirit a gloom which no human effort can dispel? If
we _trust_ in Christ, we shall be saved; and though we may
sometimes doubt the genuine nature of our act of faith, yet
that circumstance will not endanger either our present safety
or our future blessedness. Indeed, I have known some most
exemplary Christians, who have trembled to speak with confidence
of attaining the recompense of reward. Removed at an equal
distance from the dread of perishing and an _assurance_ of being
saved, they have been enabled to cherish and display those
dispositions and principles which have satisfied their judgment
of their safety, without affording an entire relief to all their
anxieties.
"But though, my dear Louisa, an assurance of your interest in
Christ is not essential to your salvation, yet it is essential
to your happiness. You cannot doubt it, without feeling a deep
pang; and if you should habitually doubt it, you will live in a
state of perpetual dejection. I urge you, then, to attain it in
the spring-time of your experience; or you may accustom yourself
to feel more inclined to cherish, than to expel despondency.
'Wherefore,' says the apostle, 'give all diligence to make
your calling and election sure.' And that you may attain this
assurance of hope, which will be as an anchor of the soul
during the perils and conflicts of time, look up, by faith and
prayer, to the invisible Source of all consolation and joy; ever
remembering that 'the Spirit itself beareth witness with our
spirit, that we are the children of God: and if children, then
heirs; heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ' (Rom. viii. 16,
17). This witnessing testimony is as necessary to superinduce
this assurance, as the precious blood of Christ is necessary to
remove the guilt of sin. Never forget this.
"And if you should not immediately attain a full assurance
of your interest in Christ, do not suffer your mind to be
overwhelmed with anxiety; as this is an attainment which belongs
to the more advanced Christian, rather than to the young
disciple. It will not come at once by an overpowering force,
driving away every gloomy fear, and throwing open before you
a clear prospect of a blissful immortality, but gradually, at
intermitting seasons, weakening the strength of your doubts, and
strengthening the weakness of your faith; till at length the God
of hope will fill you with all joy and peace in believing. I was
much struck with a paragraph in a devotional treatise which I
recently perused, and which I here quote--'Great consolation
is often received at different seasons, even during the period
when our general feelings are intermingled with dark and painful
forebodings. Hence, the weakest believer sometimes returns from
the closet, and from the sanctuary, strong in faith, though he
may again relapse into his more stated frame of despondency.
The clouds occasionally separate, to enable him to view the Sun
of Righteousness, and feel the healing virtue of his presence,
though they may again unite to obscure his vision, and leave him
to grope on his 'darkling way.' These intermitting seasons of
darkness and light, of high enjoyment and deep dejection, have
a salutary effect, and serve to prepare him for that state of
settled assurance, which, in fact, they tend in some measure to
produce.'
"As I have so far exceeded the ordinary bounds of a letter, I
shall not enter on the other very important questions to which
you refer in your last; but will do it at some future period.
It gives us great pleasure to hear that you have such an
excellent minister near you, and though he preaches in a chapel
which does not belong to our Establishment, yet, if he preach
Christ and him crucified, I have no doubt you will enjoy his
labours. The feet of the messenger that publisheth peace, are
no less beautiful on the mountains, than in the city; and his
proclamation is as interesting to the self-condemned sinner,
when delivered in the unconsecrated chapel, as in the majestic
cathedral; and though we may retain our partialities to forms
and places, yet, if we ever suffer our prejudices to deprive us
of our spiritual privileges, we shall be guilty of a suicidal
act against both our peace and steadfastness in the faith.
"The account which you have given me of your sisters has
awakened an opposite class of feelings in my breast. Emma, I
fear, is under some fatal influence which you have not yet
detected, and will, unless subdued by the loving-kindness of God
our Saviour, devote herself to the pleasures of the world. Her
beauty has made her vain, and the versatility of her talents
is a snare to her. You must watch over her with great care,
and pray that He who called _you_ out of darkness into his
marvellous light, would be pleased to renew her in the spirit of
her mind. Jane is a lovely girl. She has an elegant mind, and if
the good work is begun in her heart, she will be an interesting
companion to you. Let me hear from you as soon as you can spare
a few moments from your numerous engagements, and believe me,
yours affectionately,
E. LOADER."
FAMILY SKETCHES.
In a large family we often find that some of the children discover
a peculiar aversion to the religious habits which prevail amongst
them. Though the primary cause of this hostility may be traced
up to the depravity of our nature, yet we ought not to overlook
the secondary causes which may have contributed to its growth and
manifestation. For though there is an innate propensity to evil
in the heart, and though that propensity is much stronger in some
than in others, yet it rarely breaks through the barriers which a
judicious course of instruction throws up, unless it is brought into
contact with strong temptations, which _might_ have been guarded
against. Hence most pious parents, when mourning over the impiety
of their children, have to reproach themselves for some omissions
or compliances which have directly or indirectly tended to produce
the evil, and which very naturally lead to a fatal indifference
or open hostility to the claims of religion, which no subsequent
remonstrances are able to correct or control.
This was the case in the family of the Holmes. Miss Emma was a
beautiful girl. Her manners were exceedingly graceful. She was
witty and satirical in her disposition, and from her childhood gave
unequivocal proofs that she required more than ordinary attention
in the cultivation of her mind and the formation of her character.
From the superior vivacity of her spirits, the playfulness of
her fancy, and her intellectual acuteness, she gained a powerful
ascendency over the affections of her parents, who, trusting too
much to the maturity of her judgment for the correction of budding
ills, paid less regard to the formation of her habits than they had
done with their other children. The partiality for dress, which she
discovered when a child, increased as she grew up, till at length
she lavished nearly the whole of her attention on her external
appearance. After having spent a few years in the establishment
where her elder sisters had finished their education, she was
sent, at the age of sixteen, to a fashionable boarding-school,
in which too much attention was paid to mere personal graces and
accomplishments. It was here that she formed an intimacy with the
daughter of Colonel Orme, who resided near the Elms, and which
proved a source of poignant sorrow to all the members of her family.
After leaving school, she was permitted by her unsuspecting parents
to exchange visits with her young friend, who was, by the influence
of her sentiments and example, gradually destroying that reverence
for the authority of religion, and that attachment to its practices,
which they were so anxious to cherish and to strengthen. Miss Holmes
saw with deep regret the fatal bias which her sister's mind was
receiving; and though she availed herself of every opportunity which
circumstances offered to check and subdue it, yet she constantly met
with determined resistance.
"Indeed," said Emma, after her sister had been urging her to return
some novels which her friend had sent for her perusal, "I shall not
do it till I have read them. They are amusing and interesting; and
if they contain any objectionable sentiments, I can easily reject
them."
"Yes, they may amuse and may interest, but they will not improve
your mind. They will give you false views of nature and the
world--imperceptibly reconcile you to sentiments and opinions at
which you would now shudder--induce such a love for the marvellous
and romantic that you will be dissatisfied with the dull uniformity
of life, and destroy all the religious impressions which our dear
parents have been so anxious to produce."
"When I feel the injury to which you allude I will give them up, but
till then you must permit me to follow my own inclination without
control. I am old enough to judge for myself."
Whether the varieties which are apparent in the human character are
to be traced up to the different methods employed in its formation,
or to some inherent peculiarity in the constitution of the mind, is
a much vexed question amongst philosophers. Education and example no
doubt exercise a most material influence, but they do not operate in
a uniform manner, as we have known the most opposite characters rise
out of the same family. To account for this, unless on the principle
that there is some inherent propensity in our nature, which gives
to each person an individuality of character, would be extremely
difficult, if not impossible, as we should naturally expect a
uniformity of result where the same means are taken to secure it,
unless there be some latent cause by which this is prevented. Hence
some of the most improved systems of education make provision
for a difference in the style of instruction, and in the mode of
treatment, to accord with the natural temper and inclination of the
pupil; supposing, that by such a judicious arrangement, his moral
and intellectual improvement may be more effectually advanced.
But how often does even this method fail of accomplishing its
intended effect; as we see the children of a large family
discovering a diversity in their taste--their disposition--and their
habits--no less striking than they would have done, if no wisdom
or discretion had been employed in their cultivation. Meekness
and irritability--an affable demeanour, and a proud hauteur--a
placidness and tenderness of disposition, and a violence and
resentment of spirit--a love of display, and a native modesty which
withdraws from public notice--a passion for some individual pursuit,
and a restlessness which no object can fix--are the moral lights and
shadows which often fall on the members of the same family, giving
that variety of hue and tinge which we discover in the aspect of the
natural world.
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, in their plan of domestic government,
endeavoured to do three things--to attach their children to their
own home; to encourage them to repose unlimited confidence in
their parents; and to train them to cultivate pure and ardent love
for each other. By the adoption of these maxims, they displayed
their good sense and parental regard; as it is uniformly found,
that when a child outgrows his love for his father's house, he has
lost the sheet-anchor of his safety; that if he have not free and
unrestricted access to his parents, he will become suspicious of,
and estranged from them; and that if he feel no peculiar pleasure in
the society and interest in the welfare of the other branches of the
family, he will cherish a jealous and envious disposition, not more
destructive of their happiness than of his own.
When speaking of the excellencies which so finely budded on the
opening character of some of their children, they often expressed
their regret at the unpromising appearances of others; yet indulged
the hope that they would outgrow their "flaws unseemly," and
ultimately display, not only the strength of reason, but the beauty
of virtue. As they advanced from childhood to youth, and from
youth to riper years, they gradually developed the peculiarities
of their tempers and dispositions, which were so dissimilar, that
no uniform mode of discipline could be adopted with any chance
of proving beneficial. Mr. Holmes was too much occupied in his
commercial affairs, to pay any great attention to his children
while they were young, and, therefore, the chief responsibility
of their education devolved on their mother, who, feeling anxious
to discharge the trust reposed in her, availed herself of all the
information which she could acquire. The following paragraph,
which she met with in a favourite author, gave her an insight into
the art of a judicious management. It inspired her with a good
hope respecting those who appeared the most unpromising, because
the most untractable:--"A discriminating teacher will appreciate
the individual character of each pupil, in order to appropriate
her management. We must strengthen the feeble, while we repel the
bold. We cannot educate by a _receipt_: for after studying the best
rules, and after digesting them into the best system, much must
depend on contingent circumstances; for that which is good may
be inapplicable. The cultivator of the human mind must, like the
gardener, study diversities of soil, or he may plant diligently,
and water faithfully, with little fruit. The skilful labourer knows
that, even when the surface is not particularly promising, there is
often a rough, strong ground, which will amply repay the trouble of
breaking it up; yet we are often most taken with a soft surface,
though it conceal a shallow depth, because it promises present
reward and little trouble. But strong and pertinacious tempers,
of which, perhaps, obstinacy is the leading vice, under skilful
management, often turn out steady and sterling characters; while,
from softer clay, a firm and vigorous virtue is but seldom produced.
Pertinacity is often principle, which wants nothing but to be led
to its true object; while the uniformly yielding, and universally
accommodating spirit, is not seldom the result of a feeble tone of
morals, of a temper eager for praise, and acting for reward."
It is often remarked, that children are men and women in
miniature; and as they grow up to their full stature, we often
see them exhibiting, in broader and more palpable development,
the excellencies and defects of their juvenile character; but
when they are subjected to the operation of extraordinary causes,
they sometimes undergo an entire transformation, and become new
creatures. The most hopeless turn out the most valuable--those who
have inflicted the most pungent sorrow ultimately become the source
of the purest delight--the prematurely promising have faded in the
spring-time vigour of their virtue--and those who have been endowed
with the greatest talents have brought down the gray hairs of their
parents with sorrow to the grave.
The eldest sons of this family, William and Edward, who succeeded
to the business when the father retired, had turned out everything
their parents could wish, but presented no prominent traits of
character, beyond that of well-conducted, pious young men. The
youngest son, John, who was devoted to the medical profession,
possessed more adroitness and vivacity than his brothers; but either
from the laxity of parental control, or the peculiar connections
which his pursuits in life led him to form, he disappointed the high
expectations which he had raised, and eventually became the source
of domestic grief. He was greatly attached to his sister Emma, whom
he most nearly resembled, not only in person, but in disposition;
and having imbibed sceptical notions on religious subjects, soon
after he commenced his professional studies, he infused them into
her mind, and thus did her great injury. There was an unobtrusive
modesty about Jane, which naturally induced her to retire from
public notice, and rendered her fully appreciated only by her more
intimate friends; while Emma's good qualities were unfortunately,
to a great extent, obscured by her inordinate vanity and desire of
admiration. The love of dress, as already mentioned, early took
possession of her mind, and her parents injudiciously nourished this
passion, by allowing her to do as she pleased in this respect, not
conceiving that by such a compliance she would sustain any moral
injury. But they lived to see and deplore their error.
"It is a just remark," says an excellent writer, "that objects
in their own nature innocent, and entitled to notice, may become
the sources of disadvantage and of guilt; when, being raised from
the rank of trifles to ideal importance, they occupy a share of
attention which they do not deserve; and then they are pursued
with an immoderate ardour, which at once indisposes the mind
to occupations of higher concern, and clouds it with malignant
emotions." Perhaps there is no subject which will more strikingly
illustrate the correctness of this remark, than that passion for
fashionable attire by which some are enslaved. "If, in addition
to that reasonable degree of regard to propriety of dress, which
insures the strictest neatness, and a modest conformity, in
unobjectionable points, to the authority of custom, a young woman
permits her thoughts to be frequently engaged by the subject of
exterior ornaments, occupations of moment will be proportionably
neglected. From the complacency natural to all human beings, when
employed in contemplating objects by means of which the flattering
hope of shining is presented to them, she will be in the most
imminent danger of contracting a distaste to serious reflection,
and of being at length absorbed in the delusions of vanity and
self-love. It is, undoubtedly, a matter of indifference, whether a
lady's ribands be green or blue; whether her head be decorated with
flowers or with feathers; whether her gown be composed of muslin
or of silk. But it is no matter of indifference, whether the time
which she devotes to the determination of any of these points is
to be reckoned by hours or by minutes; or whether, on discovering
the elevation of her bonnet to be an inch higher or lower, and
its tint a shade lighter or darker, than the model which prevails
among her acquaintance, she is overwhelmed with consternation and
disappointment, or bears the calamity with the apathy of a stoic."