Modern Skepticism: A Journey Through the Land of Doubt and Back Again Part 29

It is, in one respect, an advantage to the converted unbeliever to be treated by the Church with shyness. It affords him an opportunity of proving his attachment to Christ and Christianity, in a way in which he could not prove it, if every one welcomed him with demonstrations of affection, and signs of joy. None are so slow to believe in the sincerity of a converted infidel as infidels themselves; and to be able to give to his old a.s.sociates a proof so decisive of the genuineness of his change, and of the value he puts on Christianity, will be regarded by the convert as a privilege of no light value. And it is fit and proper, as well as better for the convert, that he should be reminded of his former weakness, and incited to watchfulness and humility, by the pain of some kind of life-long disadvantage.

9. Let no one expect to get through the world without trouble. The thing is not possible. Nor is it desirable. We _need_ a little trouble now and then to keep us awake; and G.o.d will take care that we have it. We had better therefore look for it, and when it comes, bear it patiently. It is no use fretting or fuming; it only makes things worse. When we are restless under little troubles, G.o.d sends us greater ones; and if our impatience continues, he sends us greater still. And there is no remedy.

An eel may wriggle itself "out of the frying-pan, into the fire;" but it cannot wriggle itself back again out of the fire, even into the frying-pan. And so it is with us. We may wriggle ourselves out of one little trouble, into two greater ones; but we cannot wriggle ourselves back again out of the two greater ones, into the little one. The longer we resist the will of G.o.d, the worse we shall fare. We had better therefore bear the ills we have, than plunge into others that we know not of. It is best to submit at once. If we were wise we should say with the Redeemer, "The cup that My Father giveth me, shall I not drink it?"

G.o.d knows what is best for us, and He will never inflict on us a pang which He does not see to be necessary to our usefulness and welfare. It is not for His own pleasure that He afflicts us, but for our profit, that we may be partakers of His holiness.

And sorrow is the seed of joy. And pain adds to the sweetness of our pleasures. Hunger sweetens our food, and thirst our drink, and weariness our moments of rest; and "our light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

We are quite mistaken when we look at our trials as unmixed evils. They "are blessings in disguise." The dripping clouds which hide the sun, enrich the earth. The difficulties with which we have to contend, increase our strength. The tail of the kite, which seems to pull it down, helps it to rise. And the afflictions, which seem to press us to the ground, help to raise us to heaven.

Let us take our lot with meekness then, and learn in all things to say to our Heavenly Father, "Thy will be done."

10. Join the Church. The Church is an inst.i.tution of Heaven, and connection with it is necessary to your spiritual safety. Some think they can stand alone; but when they make the attempt, they fall. No one can stand, who does not use the means which G.o.d has given him for his support; and one of those means is fellows.h.i.+p with the Church. Without civil society men gradually sink into barbarism; and without religious society Christians sink into earthliness and impiety.

Some of the sweetest and most beautiful of our flowering shrubs, and some of the richest of our fruit-bearing trees, are unable to raise themselves from the ground without the a.s.sistance of their stronger kindred. This is the case with the honeysuckle, the ivy, and the grape vine. Left to themselves on the open plain, they sprawl upon the ground, choked with the gra.s.s, and cropped and trampled on by beasts, until at length they perish. But placed in woods or hedgerows, they clasp with their living tendrils, or embrace with their whole bodies, their vigorous neighbors, climb to the light and suns.h.i.+ne by their aid, display their blossoms, and bear their rich delicious fruit in full perfection. And we are like these trees. We must have support from others, or perish.

This is not all. Even the stoutest and strongest trees, such as the oak, the ash, and the sycamore, do best in company. Plant those trees in groves, and guard them from the crus.h.i.+ng steps and greedy maws of cattle, and they grow up tall, and straight, and smooth. They s.h.i.+eld each other from the stormy winds, and they show a sort of silent emulation, each raising its head as high as possible, to catch the freshest air and the fullest streams of light. But plant one of those trees alone in the open field, and leave it unfenced and unguarded, and the probability is, it will perish. If it should escape destruction, its growth will be r.e.t.a.r.ded, and its form will be disfigured. It will have neither size nor comeliness. It will be cropped by the cattle, and bent and twisted by the winds; it will be stunted and dwarfed, crooked and mis-shapen, knotted and gnarled, neither pleasant to the eye, nor good for timber. Not one in a thousand would ever become a tall, a straight, and a majestic tree.

Mr. Darwin says, that on some large tracts on which, while they were unenclosed and unprotected, there was not a tree to be seen, there soon appeared, after the land was enclosed by a fence, a countless mult.i.tude of fine Scotch firs. The seeds of these trees had been sown by some means, and they had germinated, and the embryo trees had sprung up; but the cattle had cropped the tender shoots, or crushed and trampled them down, and not one had been able to raise its head above the gra.s.s or heather. On looking down and searching carefully among the heather, he found in one square yard of ground, no fewer than thirty-two small trees, one of which had been vainly trying to raise its head above the heather for six and twenty years. After this tract of land had been enclosed for awhile, it was covered thick with a countless mult.i.tude of fine young trees. And so it is with Christians. Leave them in the open common of the world, and they gradually come down to a level with the tastes and manners of the world. Place them within the guarded enclosures of the Church, and they rise to the dignity and glory of saints. "He that walketh with wise men shall be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed." Hence "the Lord added to the Church daily such as should be saved."

When you get into the Church, stay there as long as you honestly can; and honor it by a truly Christian life; and aid it by your labors; and support it liberally with your money. The best spent money in the world is that which is employed in promoting the spread of Christianity. And try to live in peace both with your pastor and your fellow-members. Obey the rules. Do not dream of unlimited liberty; you cannot have it; and it would do you no good if you could, but harm. And unlimited liberty for one, would be slavery or martyrdom for the rest. Judge the Church and your pastors charitably, as you would like to be judged yourself. Expect to find imperfections in them, and make as much allowance for them as you can, that they may be led to make allowances for the imperfections they find in you. Look more at the good that is in your brethren than at the evil; it will cause you to love them the more, and make you feel happier in their company. If any of them be overtaken in a fault, try to restore them, in the spirit of meekness. And let the mishaps of your brethren remind you that _you_ too are exposed to temptation.

Calculate on meeting with trials or unpleasantnesses in the Church occasionally; for offences are sure to come. Churches are made up of men, and men are full of imperfections, so that misunderstandings, and even misdoings at times, are inevitable. You may be misjudged or undervalued. There will be differences of tastes and opinions, and even clas.h.i.+ngs of interest, between you and your brethren. And trials may come from quarters from which you could never have expected them, and of a kind that you could not possibly antic.i.p.ate. But make up your minds, by the help of G.o.d, to bear all patiently. Remember how G.o.d has borne with you; and consider what Jesus suffered from the weaknesses, the errors, and the sins of men; and how meekly and patiently He endured.

And understand that others may have to bear with as many unpleasantnesses from you, as you have to bear with from them. You may misunderstand or undervalue others, as much as they misunderstand or undervalue you. And others may be as much disappointed in you, as you are in them. And you may try their patience, as much as they try yours.

We know when we are hurt by others, but we do not always know when others are hurt by us. And we can see the defects of others, when we cannot see our own. And we should consider, that _they_ will know when they are hurt by us, when they may not know that we are hurt by them; and that _they_ will be able to see our imperfections, when they will be quite unconscious of their own. And if we would not have them to make too much of _our_ defects and blunders, we must not make too much of _theirs_. If they can bear with _us_, we must learn to bear with _them_, and think ourselves well off to have things settled so. If we could see ourselves as G.o.d sees us, we might be more astonished that others should be able to bear with us, than that we should be required to bear with them.

And the trials we meet with in the Church will do us good, if we look at them in a proper light, and receive them in a proper spirit. They will reveal to us the defects of our brethren, and draw us to labor for their improvement. And in laboring for the improvement of others, we shall improve ourselves.

And the unpleasant friction which takes place between us and our brethren, will only tend to smoothe the ruggedness of our temper, and rub off the unevennesses of our character, provided we can keep ourselves from impatience and resentment. In going along the course of a brook or a river, you sometimes come upon a bend, where you find a heap of smooth and nicely rounded pebble stones thrown up. Did you ever ask yourselves how these pebbles came to be so round and smooth? When broken off from their respective rocks, they were as irregular in form, they had as sharp corners, and as rough, and ragged, and jagged edges, and were altogether as ugly and unsightly things as any fragments of rocks you ever looked upon. But they got into the water, and the stream rolled them along, and rubbed them gently one against another, and this was the way they came to be so round and smooth. There is no doubt, that if the stones could have talked, and if they had had no more sense than we have, whenever they found that their neighbor stones were rubbing them, they would have screamed out, "Oh! how you scratch;" never dreaming that they were scratching the other stones just as much at the same time. But fortunately the stones could not talk; and though they had not so much sense as we have, they had less nonsense, and that served them as well--so they took their rubbing quietly; and hence the smoothness of their surface, and the beauty of their shape. Now here we are, living stones in the great stream of time, tumbled about and rubbed one against another. Let us take our rubbing patiently, and give ourselves a chance of getting rid of our unevennesses, and of being brought to a comely shape. Have patience, my friends. The trouble will not continue long.

When we have got our proper shape, G.o.d will remove us to our proper places in that living temple which He is building in the heavens, and our rubbing will be at an end for ever.

When I was first invited by the Primitive Methodists of Tunstall to preach in their chapel, one of the cla.s.s-leaders and local preachers in the circuit threw up his plan, and sent in his cla.s.s-book, saying he would not belong to a society that would allow Joseph Barker to preach in their pulpits. He was under a wrong impression with regard to my views. One of the Tunstall travelling preachers went to see him, and told him that he was laboring under a mistake, and advised him to take back his cla.s.s-book and plan. "Come," said he, "and have a little talk with Mr. Barker." He came, and found he had been mistaken. "Forgive me," said he. "I cannot," said I; "you have committed no offence. I will save my pardons till you do something really wicked." "Then let us pray," said he; and we knelt down, and prayed for one another, and we all felt better. He came that night to hear me lecture. The subject was THE CHURCH. I spoke of the unpleasantnesses with which we sometimes meet from our brethren, and while exhorting my hearers to take their trials patiently, I used the ill.u.s.tration I have given here. The old man sat on my left in the front of the gallery, and was much excited. He wept. At length, unable any longer to restrain his feelings, he cried aloud, "Glory; Hallelujah; I'll stop and be rubbed." He did stop. But he had not much more rubbing to endure. In less than twelve months, on retiring one night to rest, in his usual health, he pa.s.sed away suddenly, and peacefully, to his rest in heaven. Let us "stop and be rubbed." Better be rubbed in the Church, than thrown out into the broad highway of the world, and broken with the strong man's hammer.

11. And now with regard to reform. It is right that we should be reformers. There are plenty of evils both in the Church and the State, as well as in individuals, and it is our duty to do what we can to abate or cure them. But there is a right and a wrong way of going about the business, and if we would avoid doing mischief while we are trying to do good, we must proceed with care.

Reformers must learn to wait as well as to work. You cannot make churches, or states, or even individuals, all that you would like them to be, in a moment. You cannot make yourselves what you would like to be as quickly as you would wish. If you are like a man that I know, you will find the improvement of your own habits, and tempers, and manners, a task for life. And if the change for the better is so slow in yourselves, whom you have in your hands continually, and with whom you can take what liberties you please, what can you expect it to be in others? It is the law of G.o.d that things shall pa.s.s from bad to good, and from better to best, by slow and almost imperceptible gradations.

All the great and beneficent operations of Nature are silent and slow.

Nothing starts suddenly into being; nothing arrives instantly at perfection; nothing falls instantly into decay. The germination of the seed, the growth of the plant, the swelling of the bud, the opening of the flower, the ripening of the fruit, are all the results of slow and silent operations. Still slower is the growth of the majestic forest.

And the trees of greatest worth, which supply us with our choicest and most durable timber, have the slowest growth of all. And so it is with things that live and move. Their growth is silent as the grave. And man, the highest of created beings, advances to maturity most tardily of all.

Our development is so gradual, that the changes we undergo from day to day are imperceptible. And the development of our minds is as gradual as the growth of our bodies. We gather our knowledge a thought, a fact, a lesson at a time. We form our character, a line, a trace, a touch a day.

Society is subject to the same law. Churches and nations are collections of individuals, each changing slowly, and must therefore themselves change more slowly still. You cannot force the growth of a single plant or animal at pleasure; still less can you force at will the advancement or improvement of society. You may change a nation's laws and inst.i.tutions suddenly, but the change will be of no service, so long as the minds of the people remain unchanged.

All the great beneficent changes of Nature are gradual. How slowly the darkness of the night gives place to the morning dawn, and how slowly the grey dawn of the morning brightens into noon! How slowly the cold of winter gives place to the warmth of spring and summer. How slowly the seed deposited in the ground springs up, putting forth first the blade, then the ear, and then the full ripe corn in the ear. And how slowly we grow up from babyhood to manhood, and how slowly we pa.s.s on from early sprightly manhood, to the sobriety and wisdom of age. And how slowly the nations advance in science, in arts, and in commerce; in religion, and morals, and government. And so it is in all the works of G.o.d. Even the startling phenomena presented by the earth's surface, which earlier philosophers supposed to be the result of violent and sudden convulsions, are now regarded as the result of the slow and ordinary action of natural powers. Leisurely movement is the eternal and universal law. And it is no use complaining; you cannot alter it. You cannot make a hen hatch her eggs in less than three weeks, do what you will. You may crack the sh.e.l.ls, thinking to let the chickens out a little earlier; but you let death in, and the chickens never do come out at all. "The more haste the less speed." I have had proof of this more than once in my own experience. I once lived in a house terribly infested with rats, and I wanted to get rid of them as quick as I could, for they were a great nuisance. But, I was in too big a hurry to succeed. One night I heard a terrible splas.h.i.+ng in the water-tub in the cellar. "That's a rat," said I, "I'll dispatch that, anyhow:" and I took the lighted candle and poker, and hastened into the cellar, thinking to kill the creature at once. When the rat saw me with candle and poker, it made an extra spring, completely cleared the edge of the tub, and got safe away into its hole. I was in such a hurry to kill it, that I saved its life. When I got to it, it was drowning itself as nicely as it could do; and if I had had patience to wait, it would have been dead in ten minutes. But because I would not wait, and let it die quietly, it would not die at all. And it may be living now for anything I know, and may have bred a hundred other rats since then, and all because I would not give it time to die in peace. There are rats everywhere still. There are rats in the Church, rats in the State; rats in palaces, and rats in hovels. There are rats of despotism and tyranny, rats of slavery and war, rats of rebellion and anarchy. There are rats of superst.i.tion and idolatry, rats of heresy and infidelity, rats of intemperance and licentiousness. And it is right to try to kill them off. But we had better go to work carefully. We cannot put things right in an instant.

And when wicked laws, or vicious principles have received their death blow, we had better give them time to die in quiet. Haste and impatience may spoil all.

12. Though unbelief may not always be a sin, it is always a great calamity. As we have said, its tendency is always to immorality, and immorality always tends to misery and death. Byron perished in his prime, and his short life and his untimely death were both unhappy.

Unbelievers are seldom happy in their domestic relations. And in cutting themselves off from G.o.d, they reduce the n.o.blest affections of their souls to starvation. They have no suitable exercise or gratification for their natural instinctive grat.i.tude, their reverence, or their love.

They have nothing in which they can securely trust. Even their family and social affections often decline and die.

Many unbelievers are poor, and infidel poverty is always envious. The world is a very trying one to unbelievers: hardly anything pleases them; and nothing pleases them long. Rulers do not please them: they are despots and tyrants. Their fellow subjects do not please them: they are cowardly slaves. Their masters do not please them: they are extortioners. Their men do not please them: they are knaves. The rich do not please them: they are leeches, caterpillars, cormorants. The poor do not please them: they are mean, deceitful and dishonest. Religion does not please them; it is superst.i.tion: and philosophy does not please them; it is a bore and a sham. Priests do not please them; they are cheats: and the people do not please them; they are dupes. The climates do not suit them: they are too hot, or too cold; too damp, or too dry; and the seasons do not please them--they are always uncertain, and seldom right. The world at large disgusts them: it takes the part of their enemies. It favors the religious cla.s.ses, and mocks and tortures the infidel philosopher. Their bodies are not right; they are always ailing, and threatening to give way: and their minds are not right; they are never contented and at rest. There is nothing right in the present; and there is nothing promising in the future. They think themselves the wisest people in the world, yet people in general regard them as fools; and they themselves can see that their fancied wisdom does not prove their friend.

They can give no explanation of the mysteries of the universe. They cannot account for the facts which geology reveals with regard to the natural history of the globe. They cannot account for the mechanism of the heavens, or the chemistry of the earth. They cannot account for life, organization, or intelligence. They cannot account for instinct.

They cannot account for the marks of design which are everywhere visible in Nature, nor for the numberless wonders of special arrangement and adaptation manifest in her works. They cannot account for the difference between man and the lower animals. Animals can indulge themselves freely and take no harm; man cannot indulge himself freely without misery and ruin. Animals can be happy without self-denial; man cannot. Man excels in the gift of reason, yet commits mistakes, and perpetrates crimes, which we look for in vain among the beasts of the field. Man, with a thousand times more power than the brutes, and with immensely greater capacities and opportunities for happiness, is frequently the most miserable being on earth. On the supposition that man was made for a different end, and endowed with a different nature from the brutes--on the supposition that man was made for virtue, for piety, for rational, religious self-government, for voluntary obedience to G.o.d, for the joy of a good conscience, for heaven--in a word, on the supposition that the Scriptural and Christian doctrine about man is true, all this is explained; but on the infidel theory all is a torturing, maddening mystery.

And let infidels do what they will, and say what they please, the world at large will hold to the religious theory. Mahometans, Pagans, and Christians all insist that man is made for higher work, and meant for a higher destiny, than the lower animals. The Christian theory is accepted by the highest of our race. They regard it with the deepest reverence.

The books that unfold it they regard as divine. They read them in their families. They read them in their temples. They teach them in their schools. They publish them in every language; they send them round the globe. In England and America, the first of the nations, you see them everywhere. You meet with them in hotels, in boarding-houses, at railway stations, and on steam packets; in asylums and infirmaries; in barracks and in prisons; in poor-houses and in palaces; in the drawing-rooms of the wealthy, and in the hovels of the poor. The greatest scholars and rarest geniuses devote their lives to the diffusion of their doctrines; and there is no probability of a change. If Christianity be false, the world is mad: if it be true, the case of the infidel is deplorable in the extreme.

And that many portions of the Christian system _are_ true, is past doubt. They carry the evidence of their truth on their very face. And other portions admit of easy proof. The truth of many Christian doctrines can be proved by experience. And the rest are probable enough.

There is nothing absurd, nothing irrational in Christianity. The teachings of Christ are the perfection of goodness. They are the perfection of wisdom and beauty. Even Goethe could say, "The human race can never attain to anything higher than Christianity, as presented in the life and teachings of its Founder." And again he says, "How much soever spiritual culture may advance, the natural sciences broaden and deepen, and the human mind enlarge, the world will never get beyond the loftiness and moral culture of Christianity as it s.h.i.+nes and glistens in the Gospels."--_Farhenlehre_, iii. 37.

And nothing can be more true.

Look for a few moments at Christ and Christianity.

And, first, what is Christ as presented in the Gospels?

1. He is, first, holy, harmless, undefiled; a lamb without blemish and without spot. This is the lowest trait in His character. Yet it is a great thing for any one to remain innocent in a world like this, with a nature like ours.

2. But He was, second, an example of the highest moral and spiritual excellence. He was devout, pious, resigned, towards His Heavenly Father.

He was full of benevolence towards men. He did good. The happiness of mankind was the end, and doing good the business, of His life. He had no other object. He paid no regard to wealth, to power, to pleasure, or to fame. He was so fixed and single in His aim, that there is no room for mistake. To do good, to bless mankind, was His meat and drink.

3. And He did good to men's bodies as well as to their souls. While He taught the ignorant, and reformed the bad, and comforted the penitent, He healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, bread to the hungry, and life to the dead.

4. He enjoined the same way of life on His disciples. "Freely ye have received," said He, "freely give."

5. While He lived and labored for the good of all, He paid special attention to the poor.

6. Yet He never flattered the poor, nor pandered to their prejudices or pa.s.sions. He never taught them to envy the rich, or revile the great, or to throw the blame of their sorrows on others.

7. While kind to the poor, He was just and respectful to the rich. His conduct to Nicodemus, to Zaccheus, to the young man that came to question Him about the way to heaven, and to the Roman centurion, was courteous and comely to the last degree. He was faithful, but not harsh.

8. He was good to all cla.s.ses. He loved the Jews, yet He was just and kind to the Samaritans, to the Syro-phenician woman, and to the Roman soldier.

9. He was especially kind to women, even to the fallen ones. He showed none of that indifference or disdain for woman that the proud barbarian exhibits, or of that heartless contempt which the vicious sensualist manifests. He rose alike above the selfish pa.s.sions and the inveterate prejudices of his age, and conferred on the injured s.e.x the blessings of freedom and dignity, of purity and blessedness.

10. He showed the tenderest regard to children. "He took them in His arms and blessed them," and said, "Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

11. He was kind to the outcast. He was a friend of publicans and sinners. He went among the lowest, the most neglected, the most despised, the most hated and dreaded of mankind, and labored for their salvation. The parables of the Lost Sheep, and of the Prodigal Son, speak volumes in His praise.

12. He was always gentle, tolerant, and forgiving. He refused to bring down fire from heaven on the villagers that had slighted Him, saying "The Son of Man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them."

He commended the virtue of Samaritan heretics. He has nothing harsh even for the infidel Sadducee. He complies with the unreasonable wishes of the skeptical Thomas. He pardons Peter. He is severe with the Scribes and Pharisees only, who made void the law of righteousness by their traditions, and took the key of knowledge, and used it, not to open, but to keep shut the door of the kingdom of heaven.

13. As a reformer, He went to the root of social and political evils, and sought the reform of laws, inst.i.tutions, and governments, by laboring for the instruction and renovation of individuals.

14. He was patient as well as disinterested. He was willing to sow, and let others reap; to labor, and let others enjoy the fruits of his labors.