I have already remarked, there is nothing which continues in the same
state: the code of manners, habits of thinking, and of expression, modes
of living, articles of learning; the ways of acquiring wealth, or
knowledge; our dress, diet, recreations, &c. change in every age.
But why is there a change in religion? eternal truth, once fixed, is
everlastingly the same. Religion is purity, which, one would think,
admits of no change; if it changes, we should doubt whether it is
religion. But a little attention to facts will inform us, _there is
nothing more changable:_ nor need we wonder, because, man himself being
changable, every thing committed to his care will change with him. We
may plead his excuse, by observing, his sight is defective: he may be
deceived by viewing an object in one light, or attitude, to-day, and
another, to-morrow. This propensity to change might lead us to suspect
the authenticity of our own sentiments.
The apostles certainly formed the church of Rome; but she, having
undergone the variations of seventeen hundred years, St. Peter himself,
should he return to the earth, could not discover one linament in her
aspect; but would be apt to reject her as a changling.
The church of England has not only undergone a change since the
reformation, but wishes a greater.
We should suppose the puritan of 1583, and the dissenter of 1783, were
the same: but although substance and shadow exactly resemble each other,
no two things differ more.
When pride sends a man in quest of a religion, if he does not discover
something new, he might as well stay at home: nothing near the present
standard can take. Two requisites are necessary to found a religion,
capacity, and singularity: no fool ever succeeded. If his talents are
not above mediocrity, he will not be able to draw the crowd; and if his
doctrines are not singular, the crowd will not be drawn--novelty
pleases.
Having collected, and brightened up a set of doctrines, wide of every
other church, he fixes at a distance from all. But time, and unavoidable
intercourse with the world, promote a nearer approximation; and, mixing
with men, we act like men. Thus the Quaker under George III. shews but
little of the Quaker under George Fox.
In two congregations of the same profession, as in two twins of the same
family, though there is a striking likeness, the curious observer will
trace a considerable difference.
In a religion, as well as a man, _there is a time to be born, and a time
to die_. They both vary in aspect, according to the length of their
existence, carry the marks of decline, and sink into obscurity.
We are well informed how much the Romish religion has declined in this
country: three hundred years ago Birmingham did not produce one person
of another persuasion; but now, out of 50,000 people, we have not 300
of this.
The Roman Catholics formerly enjoyed a place for religious worship near
St. Bartholomew's-chapel, still called Masshouse-lane; but the rude
hands of irreligion destroyed it. There is now none nearer than
Edgbaston, two miles distant; yet the congregation is chiefly supplied
from Birmingham.
If the Roman Catholics are not so powerful as in the sixteenth century,
they seem as quiet, and as little addicted to knowledge; perhaps they
have not yet learned to see through any eyes but those of the
priest.--There appears, however, as much devotion in their public
worship, as among any denomination of christians.