Memoir of William Ellery Channing, with extracts from his correspondence and manuscripts..

,,,.^tv^ <^^ ^^^^ ®'''""«'^"' ^%4,

^

%

PRINCETON, N. J.

' BX 9869 .C4 A3 1874 v. 2 ^
Channing, William Ellery,
1780-1842.
Shelf. Memoir of William Ellery
-— Channing _.

MEMOIR

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING

VOLUME II.

-y

"^-^^^

iT'^i:^ Cr_ ^r

y

M E MO I R
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING,

EXTRACTS FROM HIS CORRESPONDENCE
AND MANUSCRIPTS.

IN TH R K E VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

TENTH tt>ITIOK.

B OS T 0 N :
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.

1874.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by

William Henrt Channino,

fai the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Atassachuaetta.

CONTENTS

OF

VOLUME SECOND.

PART SECOND.

(continued.)

CHAPTER IV.

SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
JET. 34-42. 1814-1822.
Distaste for Controversy, 3. Section First, Religion, 4. Sec-
tion Second, Human Mature, 28. Section Third, Christ and
Christianity, 49. Section Fourth, Society, 63.

CHAPTER V.

MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
ffiT. 34-42. 1814-1822.
* Free Inquiry, 84. Relations to Opponents, 87. Arianism, 92.
German Writers, 94. Wordsworth, 95. Fall of Bonaparte, 98.
War with England, 102. Peace Movements, 109. The Seminole
W.ir, 116. Privateering, 117. Capital Punishment, 119. Missions,
120. Bible Society, 121. Theological School, 125. Harvard Uni-
versity, 129. Benevolence, 137. Vestry, 139. Growing Reputation,
145. Private Papers, 146. Invitation to Ntew York, 166. Family
Relations, 168. Death of his Brother, 169. Death of his Sister, 174.
His Marriage, 177. Children, 182. Baptism, 187. Illness, 189.

CHAPTER VI.

EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
«t. 42-43. 1822-1823.
Journey in New Hampshire and Vermont, 193. Parting Word«,

CONTENTS.

201. Ocean, 202. Tlie hakes, 208. Wordsworth, 216. Coleridge,
218. Switzerland, 220. Views of Society, 222. Education of his
Children, 229. Death of his youngest Son, 2'63. Return, 240.

PARTTHIRD.

CHAPTER I.

THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

Devotedness to liis Duties, 245. Views of the Ministry, 252. The-
ological Students, 230. Dr. Channing as a Preacher, 285. Debility,
294. Settlement of a Colleague, 297. Relations to Federal Street
Society, 302. Views of Pastoral Duties, 317. His Function, 322.
Dr. Channing as an Author, 323. His Literary Character, 335. Mis-
cellanies, 3;J8. Literary Correspondence, 343.

CHAPTER II.

RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

Plan of a Work on Man, 354. His Position of Thought, 357. Self-
/eliance, 3G4. Longing for Light, 372. " I am little of a Unitarian,'
381. Principles of Moral, Religious, and Political Science, 403. Cor
rcspondcncc on Religion and Philosophy, 408.

MEMOIR.

PART SECOND.

(continued.'^

VOL. II.

MEMOIR.
PART SECOND.

(continued.)

CHAPTER IV.

SPIRITUAL GEOWTH.
4:t. 34-42. 1814-1822.

Controversy was utterly uncongenial to Mr. Chan-
ning ; his temper, tastes, desires, habits, all conspired
to make it repugnant. He was discriminating in pro-
cesses of thought, instinctively repelled dogmas, how-
ever time-hallowed, which were abhorrent to the dictates
of his moral nature, made nice distinctions between
opinions resulting from accidental influences and truths
addressed to the reason of man universally in the creeds
transmitted by tradition, and was earnestly watching for
a brighter spiritual day to dawn ; but, while thus im-
pelled to join the ranks of the progress-party, and fitted
by eloquence to be a leader there, he yet appreciated
so justly what was good in the tendencies of established
bodies of believers, and so cordially sympathized with
the character displayed by Christians of every denomi-
nation, that he felt he was doing violence to his heart

4 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

by withdrawing from their communion. Above all, he
was so conscious of the darkness, ignorance, sophistry,
overspreading the tlieological world, and so fervently
longing for some full vision of Divine Wisdom, that a
position of sectarian dogmatism seemed to him as absurd
as it was presumptuous. He was chiefly desirous to
forget the things behind and to press on. It would be
treating him with great injustice, then, not to present
some more positive traces of his spiritual growth during
these years of painful dissension. How very small a
space controversy occupied in his mind is proved by
the fact, that, among his unpublished sermons and manu-
scripts of that period, there does not remain a single
controversial paper. He was seeking to reverence and
love God, to respect and sympathize with man, to form
himself and his fellows anew in Christ's image, to mould
society upon the pattern of Divine justice. This will
appear in the following extracts.

SECTION FIRST.
RELIGION.

Oct. 1814. Divine goodness and justice one. " I
would have you penetrated with the conviction that God is
most just ; but I would have you hold this truth in consis-
tency with that most interesting of all truths, that God de-
lights to do good, and that all his operations arc directed by
benevolence. Benevolence and justice are harmonious attri-
butes of God, to which all others may be reduced ; and the
true idea of justice is, that it is u branch or mode of exercise
of benevolence.

" This thought is so important, especially as giving us
the clearest view of the justice of God, that I shall proceed
to offer a few remarks in illustration of it. There is reason
to fear that this attribute has not always been placed in its

DlVIiNE JUSTICE. O

true light. Some persons, misled by confining their atten-
tion to a {'c\v passages of Scripture, have represented justice
as a distinct perfection from goodness, and as sometimes
clasliing with it, and opposing the wishes of Divijijs benevo-
lence. Such sentiments are dishonorable to God, and inju-
rious to true piety, by stripping his character of its chief
excellence, the infinity of goodness. Such representations
of justice have induced some to regard it as an attribute to
be dreaded rather than to be esteemed and loved ; and
many have wished to exclude it from their conception of
God. But an attention to the general scope of Scripture
will correct the error, and teach us that God's justice coin-
cides with goodness, and is even a branch of it, and that
it is therefore to be regarded with affectionate rever-
ence

" Divine justice is, m fact, an exercise of enlarged be-
nevolence, enjoining and enforcing by rewards and punish-
ments those dispositions and actions on which the peace,
order, improvement, and felicity of rational beings depend.
I repeat it, the principle of justice is lenevolence. It is
God's goodness which inclines and impels him to maintain
a moral government, or to treat beings according to their
characters ; for nothing has so much influence as character
on the happiness or misery of his universe. The more
benevolence a being possesses, the more he will honor, re-
ward, and encourage that spirit of universal love which is
the very soul of happiness, and the more he will discounte-
nance that selfish and ungrateful spirit which disorders, and
darkens, and desolates creation.

" God's justice, then, is a wise benevolence, employing
rewards and punishments to exalt intelligent creatures to
the most perfect and happy character, to a participation of
that love or moral goodness which forms his own felicity."

1816. Sensibility to sin. " 'I will arise and go to my
1 *

6 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against
heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be
called thy son.' There is no man, who knows himself, who
will not admit that the language of this text is an acknowl-
edgment which should often proceed from his own lips.
All, indeed, have not committed the same sins. The stain
of guilt is not equally broad and deep on every conscience.
Some, through the good providence of God, and the influ-
ences of a wise and pious education, have escaped the gross
vices into which the prodigal son was precipitated, and
some from their earliest years have been swayed by the
principles of piety. But none have advanced^in the path
of duty with a step which has never faltered. - No man has
been always true to God, and to the dictates of his own
mind. All have sinned. All have cause for humble ac-
knowledgment, and the sense of unworthiness before God
should form a part of every man's habitual tone of feeling, i

" I am aware that this duty of preserving a sensibility to
our sins has often been overstated, or enjoined in language
too unqualified or unguarded. Men have sometimes been
addressed as if they had nothing to do but to remember and
lament their sins, as if they could not speak of themselves
in language too full of abasement, and as if there were a
virtue in doubting their capacity for good, and denying
whatever improvements they may have made in holiness.

" Do not imagine for a moment that Christianity en-
courages an unnatural, morbid, extravagant mode of thought.
It calls you to other duties and services besides the recol-
lection of your sins ; and it teaches you, even when en-
gaged in these recollections, still to be just to yourselves, to
think soberly or judiciously, to charge on yourselves no
imaginary or exaggerated guilt, and to be sensible of virtues,
if you really possess them, as truly as of defects and trans-
gressions. True humility has its foundation in a correct
estimate of our characters. It is the virtue of an enlight-

REPENTANCE. 7

ened understanding. It is to be formed, not by fixing our
thoughts exclusively on the worst parts of our conduct, and
ascribing the guilt of these to our whole lives, but by ob-
serving our whole lives impartially, surveying tbe good and
the evil in our temper and general deportment, and in this
way learning to what degree we are influenced by the va-
rious dispositions and principles which enter into our char-
acter. Such discriminating attention to ourselves will make
the best of us humble ; but a humility thus formed will be
very difTerent from that vague feeling which some persons
cherish, that they have contracted enormous guilt. We
shall thus learn to know what are the particular defects and
sins which we ought to confess, what proportion they bear
to our whole character, and what methods may be most
successfully applied for their correction."

1820. Repentance. "We repent then, and then only,
•when, seeing a propensity to be evil, we resist it as such,
and bring it into subjection to the principle of duty. Re-
pentance is a revolution of mind which we resolve upon, in
which we are voluntarily active, and which is established
by our perseverance. The command to repent is founded
on the fact, that God has given us a power over our own
minds ; and until this power is exerted, until a change is
produced by our own deliberate efforts, we are not penitent.

" When I speak of power over our own minds, I do not
mean that a man can by a single act of his will, by the
effort of a moment, change his character, efface the impres-
sion of years, calm the violence of long-indulged anger,
cleanse imagination from impurities on which it has long sur-
feited, or raise to God a mind which has grown to the earth.
These miracles are not suddenly wrought in the mind, any
more than is the full-grown and fruitful tree made to spring
in an instant from the seed. The work of undoing evil
habits, of retracing wrong steps, of subduing passions which

8 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

in our folly we have allowed to become our masters, is
gradual and slow. But still, a man who acknowledges the
importance of such a change, who feels his responsibility,
and who expects to reap as he shall sow, has power given
him to accomplish it, — power to gain daily victories over
himself, — power to fly from situations which tempt him
too strongly and surely from his duty, — power to reflect on
those great truths respecting God and his mercy to the peni-
tent, and his inflexible purpose of punishing persevering
guilt, which weaken vice and build up holy resolutions, —
power to avail himself of virtuous companions, pious exam-
ples, and the counsel of good men, — power to examine
himself, and learn his particular danger, — and, above all,
power to pray to God, the original of all strength, success,
and purity. We are endowed with these powers, which, if
exerted, will certainly make us better, will change the frame
of our minds, and effect an amendment which, though it
may not be perceptible from day to day, becomes very ob-
vious when we compare distant periods of our lives. It i?
by the use of these powers that all true repentance is ac-
complished. Some, indeed, tell us that repentance is a
work done immediately for us by God, that we are trans-
formed, regenerated, renewed by a sudden and resistless
agency of the Divine Spirit. But why, then, are we called
to repent and renew ourselves ? Why is penitence assigned
as a duty, and the neglect of it punished as a crime ? True,
it is God who gives repentance. All good comes from
him, whether spiritual or natural ; but it comes through the
powers which he bestows, and through his blessing on the
faithful use of them. The character is never changed in a
moment, or without our own activity.

"Repentance, we have said, is a change of mind effected
by our own exertions. Another characteristic of repentance
is, that it is a universal change, a turning from sin, at lecisl
as far as the will is concerned. Repentance is a strong

REPENTANCE. 9

purpose to remove every thing evil from our character. I
excepts no form, mode, degree, of evil. It makes no com-
promise with sin, but wages against it an unsparing and ex-
terminating war. I do not repent, if to bribe .conscience I
sacrifice one evil desire or pleasure whilst others are toler-
ated, if I hope to atone by earnestness in some duties for
negligence in others, if particular virtues are used to weigh
down particular sins, and a general correctness is made a
substitute for efforts to improve. To repent is not to do
wrong with moderation and under certain restrictions. It
does not mean that we allow ourselves to wander only a
certain distance from our duty. To repent is to try to per-
form our whole duty, to mark every known departure from
it, and to aim at universal rectitude of heart and life. Re-
pentance is not, indeed, one with full perfection. It is a
state consistent with many failures and sins. But it is per-
fect in its seed and root, perfect in its aim and aspiration,
perfect in purpose and prospect. God accepts it because it
is a pledge of spotless purity, and an advancing step to-
wards it

" Some, when they speak of repentance, mean little more
than that they have grieved for transgression. Now sorrow
is, I admit, an entrance-way to repentance, a preparation
for it, a means of it ; but it is not the grace itself. The truth
is, we must toil and struggle, as well as lament ; and grief
does no good any farther than it leads to a habit of watch-
fulness, and of opposition to the first motion of guilty desire.
The common sorrow of men over their consciousness of
misconduct is no great virtue. To mourn for a past sin is
neither a rare nor a high attainment. The difiiculty is, to
hate the sin before it is committed, to look upon it in the
moment of strong temptation as we shall do when it is per-
formed, to resolve against it when it is yet in our power to
withhold our act, and not when it is completed and irrev-
ocable."

10 SPIKITUAL GROWTH.

1815. Spiritual influences. " There is another class
of Christians, who, whilst they believe that God constantly
operates on the human mind, and that without his operation
no fruits of goodness are produced, yet believe thai the
mode of his influence is essentially diflerent from that pre-
sented in the view just given. They believe that Divine
influence is not sudden and irresistible, but suited to the
nature of man as a free and accountable being ; that it is
habitual, gentle, persuasive, offering truth to the mind and
motives to the will, but leaving the individual at liberty to
comply with or reject it. They conceive that compulsion
or irresistible power would entirely destroy the virtue of
human actions, would reduce man to a machine, and would
thus entirely defeat God's end, which is to render us objects
of approbation and reward. They conceive that our whole
goodness is to be ascribed to God as its author, because he
gives us all our powers, our understanding, our consciences,
our knowledge of duty, our capacity of improvement, be-
cause he furnishes in • his gospel the most powerful mo-
tives to obedience, and because, by the silent influences of
his providence and spirit on the heart, he suggests good
thoughts, awakens desires of holiness, and furnishes all the
strength which we need to resist temptation. But they
believe that God's agency stops here, that he does not in
any manner compel men to follow the light and the mo-
tives which he presents, — does not force them to use the
strength which he bestows. It depends on themselves
whether they concur with or resist his grace, whether they
use well or neglect the powers which he gives, whether
ihey will serve God or disobey him."

1817. Walking with God. " It is the earnest desire
of the pious man, whose heart has been touched by God'.^
good spirit, to feel what he believes, that God is with him ;
and his attention is often withdrawn from all finite things,

THE DIGNITY OF PIET?. il

that he may bring home this thought with power co his
heart.

" The quickness of perception, the sensibility, to which
the mind, by use and time, may attain on these subjects, is
not easily believed by those who have made no progress in
religion. The pious man, whose mind is exercised on God,
comes to see him in a peculiar manner. He has a con-
sciousness of his presence which he cannot easily describe
or communicate to one who has lived wholly in the world.
In scenes which to others are blank and desolate, he feels
that he is not alone ; and in society where others see only
their fellow-beings, a higher presence is revered and per-
ceived. Even when thinking of outward things, there is,
if I may so speak, in the breast of a devout man, a latent
sense of God ; just as, when we are near or in sight of an
individual whom we respect, there is a consciousness of
him, and a reference to him, even though we are conversing
freely with other beings.

" The pious man finds in the whole of life, in its suc-
cesses or reverses, in the kindness of friends or the calum-
nies of foes, in the difficulties and trials of his state, calls
and motives to this seci'et converse with God, and life
becomes more and more interesting in proportion as it
strengthens this sacred intimacy. Often, when to those
around he seems to be living among things seen, and en-
gaged by human agencies, he is holding a high and pure
intercoui-se with the Father of his spirit. And this piety
brings its reward in the serenity and refinement which it
imparts to the whole spirit of him who thus walks with
God."

1813. The dignity of piety. " What is there which
gives such dignity to our nature as the capacity of knowing
and of loving the best of beings ? It is chiefly this capacity
of religion that lifts us above brutes, that allies us to su-

12 SriKITUAL GROWTH.

perloi orders of beings. You must at once acknowledge
that tlie mind is ennobled just in proportion to the grandeur
and sublimity of the objects on which it is employed.
Think, then, of the elevation of that mind which habitually
directs itself to God, of that heart in which this infinitely
great and good being is enthroned. We ought to consider
piety as the highest, most generous, and dignified attain-
ment which is placed within our reach, — in fact, as the
noblest characteristic which an intelligent creature can ex-
hibit.

" It is melancholy, that piety should not be associated
in every mind with the idea of dignity and honor. But, un-
happily, religion has been so often worn as a mask by the
unprincipled, it has so often been accompanied by mum-
mery and superstition, that some have associated with its
venerable name feelings of contempt and degradation.
They think that to be devout is to be weak. Of all delu-
sions there is none greater than this.

" We should feel that piety is the veiy spirit of heaven,
the very life of angels, a pure celestial flame, ever tending
to that world from which it descended, and aspiring towards
Him by whom it is enkindled. We should feel that piety
partakes the glory of God, who is its object, and assimilates
us to him ; that it gives warmth to benevolence, strength to
fortitude, firmness to integrity, and calmness and peace to
afllicted virtue. These are the venerable and attractive
attributes in which piety should be arrayed."

1816. Resemblance to God. " There is something most
alTccting in the thought of resembling God. It is a reflec-
tion which ought to fill and almost overwhelm our minds,
that we have a nature capable of bearing the image of
God's perfections. This single view of our nature throws
round it a lustre infinitely surpassing all the honors of the
world ; and this thought of resembling God is not a pre-

PIETY AND GOODNESS. 13

sumptuous one. The purity, the virtue, to which we are
called in the gospel, and which men have in a measure at-
tained, is the same in nature with that which constitutes the
glory of God. In particular, that disinterested Ijjuve, that dif-
fusive benevolence, to which Jesus Christ so emphatically
calls us, forms the highest glory of the Divine character.
The language of John on this subject is remarkable. " God
is love, and he that dwells in love dwells in God." Aston-
ishing thought ! By Christian goodness we are made par-
lakers of God's nature, we shine with a ray of his light, wc>
share his highest perfection, we become temples of the
Divinity, God dwells in us. This grand reality is too faintly
felt by us. We do not with sufficient force conceive the
intimate relation which we may sustain to God. We do
not heartily believe that Christian virtue constitutes us his
children, by making us like him. We do not bring it home
to ourselves, that in sinning we are extinguishing a ray of
Divinity within our souls, and that by every step in moral
progress we are ascending towards God, the Original and
End of all excellence and felicity."

1818. True piety one with active goodness. " Re-
ligion is a high degree of delight in all the perfections of
God, — in his wisdom, his rectitude, his benevolence ; and
what is the most acceptable expression of this veneration ?
Is it enough to admire and praise ? Do we not most effi-
ciently manifest our esteem by seeking to become what we
praise, by transcribing into our lives the perfections of God,
by copying his wisdom in the judicious pursuit of good ends,
his justice in the discharge of all our obligations, and his
benevolence in the diffijsion of all possible happiness around
us ? Then is our love of God the most exalted, when in our
several spheres we aim to be like him, to reflect his glory,
to act for the great end for which he is ever active, the im-
provement and happiness of every being within our influ-
ence.

VOL. II. 2

14 SPIRITUAL GROV.TH.

" I wish you to feel that religion, love to God, is in no
way at war with our relations and present state. It does
not take us out of the world. It is not inconsistent with any
of the useful pursuits of life, but unites them with itself, and
makes them oblations to God. He who feels the true in-
flueoce of religion does not relinquish his labor. On the
contrary, he becomes more industrious, labors with more
cheerfulness, is more contented with his lot, however diffi-
cult. Religion furnishes motives which give to existence a
dignity and animation such as he was unconscious of before.
Neither does he forsake society. On the contrary, his social
chamcter is improved. Taught by God''s goodness, he looks
round on his fellow-beings with new tenderness. A more
benignant smile lights up his countenance at sight of human
virtue and happiness, a more frequent pain is felt at sight of
human guilt and misery. He is more conscientious, more just
in his transactions, more faithful in all his relations, milder
in his temper, and more active in his charity. Neither does
he give up all his enjoyments. His religion cuts off no inno-
cent and healthy stream of pleasure. It heightens pleasure,
by making it more rational, more pui*e, more equable, more
consistent with all the duties of life. This, my friends, is the
nature and influence of true religion.

" In one word, religion is designed to refine and improve
our whole nature, to make us better in cveiy condition, to
awaken all our faculties, to render us active, intelligent, gen-
erous, pure, temperate, meek, contented, and serene. And
it is genuine just so far, and no farther, as these effects are
produced. This influence of religion over the whole life is
thj proper standard by which it should be measured."

1819. Piety and Morality. " What is it in God which
calls forth our veneration, gratitude, love, filial attachment ^
What attribute gives him a claim to these sentiments > On
this point there is little difierence of opinion. All Christians

PIETY AND MORALITY. 15

will tell you that God is chiefly to be loved and revered
because he is good or benevolent, and because he is right-
eous or just, — because he desires at once the happiness and
the excellence of his creatures, — because he rejoices to send
benefits on all who are fitted to receive them, -^because he
enjoins and rewards virtue, and abhors and punishes impeni-
tent guilt. Benevolence and righteousness, then, are tlie at-
tributes on which Piety chiefly rests as its object, and by
communion with which it acts and grows.

" But consider a moment what benevolence and righteous-
ness are. Are they not the veiy qualities which we mean
by Morality 1 What is morality but tlie exercise of a
benevolent and just temper towards all beings within our
knowledge and influence ? If so, what is God's character,
the character which we are to love, but Perfect Morality ? —
what but the veiy dispositions, in their fulness, which con-
science enjoins upon every man, and which form what we
call rectitude ? To love God, then, is to love morality in its
most perfect form ; and thus we see how religion and morals
pass into each other and become one.

" This idea seems to me too important to be passed over
lightly. Men have always sunk a great gulf between piety
and morality, religion and rectitude , devoutness and virtue.
To love God has been thought something quite distinct from
loving our neighbour, loving our duty, loving right and
worthy actions. But they are not to be divided. _To love
God is the same thing as to love rectitude, for God is recti-
tude ; this is the central principle of his character. His
character is the perfection of morality, and the love of
him is the love of morality. The love of God is but
another name for the love of essential benevolence and
justice; — it is a sincere and obedient delight in a Divine
governmei.t, by which these virtues arc manifested, enforced,
spread abroad, and renewed most gloriously. So inseparable
are religion and moralitv. If we could conceive of God as

16 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

wanting the qualities and attributes which in men we call
moral virtues, we should thereby tear up and destroy the
vital germ of piety. Nothing would remain for our love,
veneration, and filial attachment to cling to in God. He
would have no claim on us. It is because he is The Good,
because he is a moral being, and because in loving him we
love Perfect Morality, that we are bound to love him with
all the heart, soul, and strength.

'•' A.ccording to these views, the genuineness and strength
of our religion appear altogether in our love of righteousness
and goodness, and in our endeavour to approach God in
these moral perfections. I know religion is generally rep-
resented as something different from this. The labor of
men has always been to divorce piety from virtue, — to
substitute adulation for moral obedience, acts of homage to
God for equity and benevolence to men. Heathenism was
little more than an attempt to conciliate the Divine favor by
outward rites, to please God by other means than a pure
and good life. We cannot wonder that men fly to these
i'alse modes of religion, for the obligations they impose are
ligiit and easy, when compared with those of rectitude.
It is vastly easier to (latter the Supreme Being than to sub-
due ourselves. Nothing is so hard as to root out bad pas-
sions, to be u[)right, at whatever cost, and to be benevolent
and charitable under all provocations and difficulties. To
seek a resemblance of God's moral purity is unspeakably
more toilsome than to praise him with transport

" The happiest influence of religion appears, not in giving us
o-casional joys and raptures, but in communicating delicacy
od power to our sense of duty, in strengthening conscience
lo resist all created things when they oppose its convictions,
in exalting our ordinary life, in making our control of the
passions complete, our charity superior to all sacrifice and
suffering, and our uprightness immovable as the throne of
God. The happiest influence of religion appears, not in

HAl'PINESS OF RELIGION. 17

raising us to something higher than morality, for that would
be to raise us above God himself, but in giving us sublime
ideas of morality, a pure will and high aim, a purpose of
excellence such as never could exist without a knowledge
of God's character, and a hope of his aid fri imitating
his goodness. Religion makes us moral by renewing our
characters and lives in the image of Divine virtue. It forms
us to a I'ectitude, and benevolence, and purity of a higher
order than worldly men can conceive. In this its glory and
strength are made manifest. Religion is the perfection of
morality.

1816. The happiness of a religioits life. "The hu-
man heart not only needs objects of affection, but it demands
an object vast, infinite as God, completely to fill and to satis-
fy it. The soul of man, though often debased and contracted,
often discovers to us a remarkable property, perhaps the most
remarkable in its constitution, — a certain insatiableness of
desire, a love of great objects, a discontent with what is nar-
row and limited, a thirst for something better than it finds on
earth. This principle has sometimes been called the love
of the infinite, and though often suppressed by want, and
oftener by vice, it is ineradicable in human nature, and shows
to VIS that the human mind can find repose only in the In-
finite Being. God is the only fit end and object for such a
being as man. The world cannot fill his mind. You see
him discontented, restless, even amidst its fairest prospects.
A secret uneasiness preys on him, which he can neither ana-
lyze nor describe. The truth is, his soul whilst confined to
the world has not yet found its true element. He has de-
sires and affections to which nothing here is proportioned.

" Whilst earthly objects are exhausted by familiarity, the

thought of God becomes to the devout man continually

brighter, richer, vaster, derives fresh lustre from all that he

observes of nature and providence, and attracts to itself all

2*

18 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

he glories of the univei-se. The devout man, especially in
moments of strong religious sensibility, feels distinctly that
he has found the true happiness of man. He has found a
Being for his veneration and love, whose character is inex-
haustible, who, after ages shall have passed, will still be un-
comprehended in the extent of his perfections, and will still
communicate to the pure mind stronger proofs of his excel-
lence and more intimate signs of his approval."

1816. Heaven. "Descriptions of this nature too often
convey the impression that heaven is a state of rapturous
ecstasy, suspending reason and the calm exercise of under-
standing. It is indeed true, that the Scriptures teach us tliat
in the future life the affections will be powerfully excited.
New sensibility will be communicated to the heart. God will
be loved with a vastly purer and intenser love than is known
on earth. But still, the understanding will not be sacrificed
to the feelings. Devotion will be calm, deliberate, reasona-
ble. It will be the fruit of extended knowledge. All the
faculties of the understandins will be exerted and invisorat-
ed, as well as the affections ; and the happiness of heaven
will possess that serene and reflecting character which it is
becoming and honorable for rational beings to enjoy.

" Another representation of heaven which seems to me un-
favorable to a strong impression of its happiness is this ; —
heaven is often described as a place where eternity will be
spent in immediate acts of Divine worship. This error arises
from a too literal and narrow interpretation of passages in
Scripture. Their true meaning is, that at all times, and in all
places, spirits in heaven will possess that sensibility to God
wiiich pla?f?s of worship are particularly designed to promote.
Whatever region of this vast univei-se they may visit, they
will regard it as God's empire, God's temple ; his presence
will be felt, his perfections be traced and adored, his will
be cheerfully obeyed. This spirit of devotion, which we

ERRONEOUS VIKWS OF HEAVEN. 19

ought to cherish on earth, will, indeed, be the habit of heaven ;
but its exercise will be consistent with the greatest variety of
scenes and employments, and very unlike that wearisome
monotony of an endless round of religious s'crvices which
some seem to anticipate.

" I proceed to consider another view of heaven which
renders it uninteresting. Heaven is sometimes described in
a manner which excludes the idea of improvement, of pro-
gression. The thought of a stationary existence, of remain-
mg the same through eternity, of a world where the mind,
as it looks forward to endless ages, will see no change, no
progressive ascent to superior virtue, is a most discouraging
and melancholy one. The human mind seems so impatient
of limits, it so delights in boundless prospects, that we can
hardly feel as if it would be happy, even in heaven itself,
were it to find that it had reached its goal ; that no accessions
were to be made to *its knowledge and goodness ; that no
nearer approach could be gained to God and superior orders
of being ; that all above it was forbidden ground, an inac-
cessible felicity.

" Such concej' Jons of heaven are altogether inconsistent
with what we know of the faculties of the human understand-
ing, which seem capable of indefinite progression, and with
what we see of the works of God, which teach us that he
delights in a progressive creation. We ought rather to con-
ceive of heaven as a state which will offer far greater means
of improvement than the present, which will open new fields
for thought, new worlds for research, which will inspire a
more intense desire of moral greatness, and give continu-
ally increasing energy and splendor to all the virtues which

ennoble our nature

"Another error in the description of heaven, which I
think renders it less interesting, is that the thought of society
is thrown too much out of sight. Now human nature is es-
sentially social. It wants objects of affection, companions

20 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

to wliom it may communicate its thoughts and purposes, and
with whom it may act and enjoy. Pleasure is tasteless with-
out friendly participation, and eveiy view of lieaven exclud-
ing this is unfavorable to an impression of its happiness.
We are too apt to think of heaven as a solemn place. Tt
ought to be viewed by us as a place of cheerful society. The
countenances of its inhabitants should seem to us irradiated
by a benign smile in their intercourse with one another, and
their piety, though reverential, should seem to us a filial and
happy sentiment, which enters into the conversation, and
which they delight to manifest together.

" Another view of heaven which seems to me to weaken
its interest is this; — its inhabitants are often described as
forming a world by themselves, as having no connection
with any other beings. Heaven seems to be considered as a
region separated from the rest of the universe. Now an im-
proved and benevolent mind can hariy escape the desire of
extending its acquaintance with this boundless universe of
which it forms a part, and heaven would seem a place of
confinement, did it shut up its inhabitants for ever from every
other region. But we ought not to conceive thus of the
future state of good men. We need not doubt the fact that
angels whose home is heaven visit our earth and bear a
part in our transactions ; and we have good reason to be-
lieve, that, if we obtain admission into heaven, we shall
still have opportunity, not only to i-eturn to earth, but to
view the ojieration of God in distant spheres, and be his
ministers in other worlds

" It is not impossible, that, in our intercourse with other
worlds, we shall meet with beings who are passing through
the first stage of discipline, like that which is now assigned to
ourselves, — beings exposed to pain, temptation, and sorrow,
beings wh.o may need our sympathy and aid, and to wlu m
we may render the same offices which wc have reason to
believe angels now render to the human race. It seems to

ERRONEOUS VIEWS OF HEAVEN. 21

me that we do not render heaven a less interesting or less
happy world, when we suppose that its inhabitants retain
the tenderest sensibility, and feel for the sufferings which
may be endured in otlier regions of the creatioi^ There is
a sympathy which, though in a measure painful, gives a
peculiar charm to existence, and which a good man would
not wish to resign ; and we ought not to believe that this is
excluded from heaven.

" Once more, the descriptions which are given of heaven
are often, I think, rendered less interesting than they should
be, by false ideas which are entertained about the perfection
of its inhabitants. It seems to be thought, that, because good
men are to be perfect hereafter, they will all resemble each
other ; and hence that diversity of character, of taste, and
habits, which contributes so much to our happiness, is made
to give place to a monotonous and unvaried excellence. But
all God's v/orks are marked by variety, and to this they
owe much of their interest and beauty.

" Will all this variety be blotted out in heaven ? No one,
who reflects that this life is a preparatory state, can doubt
that our future character will be a continuation of the pres-
ent,— that, if we enter heaven, we shall carry with us essen-
tially the same minds which we possess on leaving the world,
and thus all the peculiarities of earth which are consistent
with goodness will be transplanted in the future state. The
Scriptures teach us that it will be part of the happiness of
heaven to meet there the good and excellent of former
times, — the patriarchs, and prophets, and apostles, and otbe
benefactors of mankind. But this happmess would be who!
ly lost, were men in heaven to lose their peculiar characters
were all to be cast into one mould, were all, in becoming
perfect, to become perfectly alike. No, — heaven will not
present this unvaried and dull uniformity. The strong lines
of character which marked men on earth, we may suppose,
will distinguish them hereafter. Paul will retain his ardor,

22 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

John his kindness, Isaiah his imagination. In heaven we
shall witness every form of intellectual and moral excel-
lence. Some of its inhabitants will exhibit to us the milder,
and others tiie sublimer virtues. Some will be distinguished
by glow of feeling, some by profoundness of thouglit, some
by activity and energy of -will. There will be, too, different
degrees of the same excellence, and different employments
corresponding to the character.

" The true view of heaven, that which the Scriptures
give, that which reason sanctions, and that which we
can most powerfully realize, is, that it will not essentially
change, but rather improve, our nature. We shall be the
same beings as on earth ; we shall retain our present facul-
ties, our present affections, our love of knowledge, love of
beauty, love of action, love of approbation, our sympathy,
gratitude, and pleasure in success. We shall probably, too,
have bodies not very different from what we now have, —
the eye to behold creation and receive its beauties, the ear
to hear the voice of friendship and to receive the pleasures
of harmony, and even sense refined and purified. This we
know, that Jesus in a form like ours ascended into heaven,
and when Moses and Elijah conversed with him on the
Mount, they appeared in the human form, differing from
ours only in its splendor ; and fi'om these facts it would
seem that our future bodies will bear a general resemblance
to the present."

1817. Heaven a place for growth and action. " In
heaven the understanding will be called into vigorous exer-
cise, and will be continually enlarged and improved by ex-
ertion. Some persons seem to conceive that the mind will
at once attain its full and perfect growth in the future world,
that it will ascend immediately from this region of darkness
and error into the brightest light of heaven, that it will ex
pand at once to the full extent of its capacities, that every

HEAVEN A PKOCiRESSlVE STATE. 23

thing which is to be known will at once be acquired, and
therefore that new acquisitions will not be proposed, and
will not of course awaken its activity. But this is an im-
agination altogether unauthorized by Scripture, a«d it differs
so entirely from present experience, that nothing but posi-
tive declarations of Scripture can give it a claim to belief.
In this life progression is the universal law. Nothing is
brought into being in its most perfect state. Every thing
r'.ses to maturity from feeble beginnings.

" The all-wise Creator delights in a progressive system,
in gradual improvement, not in immediate perfection. It
is his uniform method to conduct beings through various
stages, not to fix them at once in an unchangeable condition.
Now, such being the method of Providence, and such the
nature and experience of man, is it not natural to expect
that ■ in a future life our nature will be progressive, that
the knowledge with which the Christian will commence his
future being will be a point from which he will start, a foun-
dation on which he will build, rather than a state in which
he will eternally rest ?

" Freed from all the passions and prejudices which now
darken and disorder his mind, loving the truth with in-
creasing ardor, clothed with a spiritual, vigorous, refined,
immortal body, released from all pain, disease, languor, and
relaxing toil, and, above all, associated with enlightened
and benevolent minds, with angels of light, with apostles,
prophets, sages, with Jesus Christ, who is the wisdom of
God, — blest with all these aids and guides, with what
rapid steps must the Christian advance in the knowledge of
God and of his works ! And when we consider that this
progression will be eternal, will never end, what an aston-
ishing conception is given us of the future greatness of man !
We cannot follow him on his path of glory. To an ever-
progressing being no limits can be prescribed. There is
no rank of created existence to which he will not ascend.

24 Sl'IKITLTAL GKOUTH.

Where seraphs now worship, there man will one day woi
ship, and the purest praises which heaven now hears will
ascend from once human lips. Are there orders of beings
whose expansive minds embrace the interests of worlds as
easily as we do the concerns of our business and families ?
The mind of man, continually improving, will enjoy the
same expansion. I am lost when I attempt to represent
to myself human nature perfected in heaven and through
endless ages approaching its wise and holy Creator."

1818. Future retribution. " It seems to me that a
man of common understanding, reading the Scriptures with-
out any knowledge of the way in which they have been
interpreted, would not think it possible that the doctune
should ever have been drawn from them that there is to be
no future punishment. Almost any opinion would seem to
him to receive greater countenance from the Bible than
this. Yet this opinion has found strenuous advocates ; and,
from its very nature, it has not been advocated without mak-
ing converts.

" This error should be resisted with earnestness, because
it directly, palpably, and without disguise diminishes the
restraints on vice. It is at war with society. It is a blov/
at the root of social order. It lets loose those propensities
which are constantly struggling against the principle of
duty, and which this principle, unaided by the fear of future
suffering, is in multitudes poorly able to restrain. The
doctrine I am opposing goes to the very extinction of con-
science. I Conscience in man is an echo, if I may so speak,
to the will and moral sentiments of God. Its dictates are
authoritative, because we feel them to be dictates of Him
who made us. A sense of God's abhorrence of sin is the
chief nourisliment of our abhorrence of it. Let God be
viewed as so unconcerned about character as not to punish
the guiltiest life as to fall short in his administration of the

FUTURE RETUlBUTIOJf. 25

plainest requisitions of justice, and a deadly torpor would
spread over the human conscience. Moral sensibility would
be paralyzed

" The effects of this doctrine, indeed, may not ii^pediately
appear, because its very extravagance prevents its being
thoroughly believed, because it cannot eradicate the princi-
ples of our nature, and cannot entirely efface the impres-
sions of education. Guilt and punishment are seen to have
a connection too natural and intimate to be wholly sep-
arated even in thought. But whilst the influence of the
doctrine may be counteracted by these and other causes,
such as natural good dispositions, freedom from great temp-
tation, the power of opinion, and the like, yet its proper ef-
fects must be always bad ; — its fruits are bitter, its tenden-
cy is to sin and death

" On this account, I believe that the Scriptures in great
wisdom say nothing of happiness reserved for the guilty after
they shall have borne the penalty of their sins. If that hap-
piness be intended for them, I should say that the present
life is not the proper time for revealing it. Nothing deci-
sively clear seen«s to me laid down in the Scriptures upon
this subject. A solemn darkness hangs over the prison-
house of the condemned. One thing alone is certain, that
we shall suffer greatly hereafter, if we live here in neglect
of God's known will, his providential aid, his revelation by
Christ. In what way we shall suffer, or to what duration
and extent, the Scriptures, it .seems to me, have not precisely
defined, and we need not to know. It is enough to have the
impression that a great woe hangs over guilt, and that we
can gain nothing, but may lose every thing, by persevering
transgression. It is true, as many assert, that the word
" everlasting," when applied to punishment, does not neces-
sarily mean without end, and that it is often applied to de-
note limited duration ; but still, that there will be a limit to
future punishment, that it will operate to reform us, or

VOL. II. 3

26 SPIRITUAL GIlUWTH.

what tnere will be bounds to the consequences of unfortunate
guilt, the Scriptures nowhere declare. God's mercy, if it
shall be extended to the impenitent, is not yet revealed.
The future is filled with awful gloom to those who are now
living without God, and it is but kindness towards them to
encourage no delusive hope. Such a hope forms no part
of my message, for in my view it makes no part of revela-
tion. The Scriptures show us the wicked banished into dark-
ness. In that exile it leaves them. That darkness hides
them from our sight. If mercy is to be extended, it is mercy
to be revealed hereafter. It is not to be taken into our ac-
count now, in estimating the consequences of sin."

1816. The future glories of the good. " It is a
very interesting view of death, that, instead of destroying, it
sets a seal on the virtues of good men, the seal of eternity.
It places them beyond danger. It takes them from a region
of moral infection, where they sometimes drooped, where
temptation triumphs over the most experienced in piety,
where the purest excellence can hardly be viewed without
feelings of solicitude.

" When we think of the good and holy who have left us,
we should banish from our thoughts all gloomy images
which death presents. They should rise before our minds,
improved, perfected, clothed with a new lustre of goodness.
We should think of them as ascended to a purer region.
The countenance on which we were accustomed to see the
expression of all kind affections should shine upon us bright-
ened with a more benignant smile. Their piety should ap-
pear as raised, refined, and kindled into purer ardor by its
near approach to God. We should see them surrounded
with better friends and examples than tliosc they have left,
and in the midst of the purest and hapj)icst society.

" That in this wide creation there are spheres of nobler
action than are enjoyed on earth, that there are wider fields

THE FUTURE GLORIES OF THE GOOD. 27

for the powers of intelligent beings, and more generous and
glorious objects for benevolence, who can doubt ? This
world, it is not unlikely, is the abode of the feeblest and
most imperfect members of God's family. It is,jfcrhaps, the
sphere of the humblest labor. Nowhere, perhaps, do intelli-
gent beings enjoy, expand, so little. Go where we will in
creation, if we except the abode of the condemned, probably
we shall find more improved intelligence, and wider spheres
of usefulness. Our present experience teaches us that
God delights in an active creation. We see all nature in
motion. We see that he delights in accomplishing his most
important ends by the agency of his rational creatures, and
that thus their concurrence with the creation forms at once
their happiness and dignity. Who can doubt that this same
principle regulates the whole universe which God has made,
that everywhere his purposes are committed to the charge
of creatures, that all spaces and ages are one vast field of
exertion ? Among the chief wonders and glories which the
future world is to disclose to us will be the enlarged powers,
relations, and influences of virtuous beings.

" Let us not, then, imagine that the usefulness of the good
is finished at death. Then rather does it begin. Let us not
judge of their state by associations drawn from the chillness
and silence of the grave. They have gone to abodes of life,
of warmth, of action. They have gone to fill a larger
place in the system of God. Death has expanded their
powers. The clogs and fetters of the perishable body have
fidlen off, that they may act more freely and with more de-
light in tlie grand system of creation. We should represent
them to our minds as ascended to a higher rank of existence,
and admitted to cooperate with far higher communities.
This earth was only their school, their place of education,
where we saw their powers comparatively in an infant state.
They have now reached a maturer age, and are gone to
sustain more important relations. They have been called

-A

28 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

because their agency was needed in higher services than
those of this world. \Vhere they are now acting, it is not
given to us to know ; but the all-wise Father can never bo
without a sphere for the virtues of his children. It would be
grateful to believe that their influence reaches to the pres
cnt state, and we certainly are not forbidden to indulge the
hope. But wherever they may be, ihey are more useful,
more honorably occupied, than when on earth ; and by fol-
lowing their steps, we may, however separated from them
during life, hope to obtain admission into the same bright
I'egions where they are pressing onward to perfection."

SECTION SECOND.

HLLMAN NATURE.

^^15. Generous views of man. " We need to feel
more deeply that we are intrusted with a religion which is
designed to ennoble human nature, which recognizes in man
the capacities of all that is good, great, and excellent, and
which offers every encouragement and aid to the pureuit
of perfection. I The Christian minister, in preparing his dis-
courses, should often recollect, that man, degraded as he
frequently appears, has yet powers and faculties which may
be refined into angelic perfection, that he is invited to pre-
pare for the community of angels, that he is formed for
endless progress in intellectual and moral excellence and
felicity. He should often recollect that in Jesus Christ our
nature has been intimately united with the Divine, and that
in Jesus Humanity is already enthroned in heaven. Famil-
iarized to these generous conceptions, it should often be his
object in preaching to unfold to men their capacities of
greatness, to reveal the splendor of that destiny to which
they are called by Jesus Christ, to awaken aspirations after a
nobler character and a higher existence, and to inflame them
with the love of all the graces and virtues with which Jesus

CAPACITY OF GOODNESS. 29

came to enrich and adorn human nature. In this way he
will prove that he understands the true and great design of
the gospel and the ministiy, which is the perfection of man's

character ^

" May I be permitted to say, that perhaps the greatest de-
fect in the ministry, as at present conducted, is, tliat it is not
sufficiently directed to ennoble and elevate the minds of
men. It does not breathe a sufficiently generous spirit. It
does not appeal sufficiently to the highest and best princi-
ples of the human heart, nor delineate with sufficient fre-
quency and energy those lofty sentiments and deeds to
which something congenial responds in almost every breast.
It appeals too constantly to the lowest principle of man's
nature, — I mean the principle of fear, which, under judi-
cious excitement, is indeed of undoubted use, but which, as
every parent knows, when habitually awakened, is always
found to depi'Gss and debase the mind, to break the spirit, to
give a tameness to the character, and to chill the best affec-
tions. Perhaps one cause of the limited influence of Chris-
tianity is, that, as Christianity is too often exhibited, it seems
adapted to form an abject, servile character, rather than to
raise its disciples to true greatness and dignity. Perhaps,
J^ were Christianity more habitually regarded as a system
' whose chief design it Ts to infuse honorable sentiments,
an ingenuous love of God, a superiority to unworthy pur-
suits, ^_yirtue akin to that of heaven, its reception would
bo more cordial, and its influence more extensive, more
happy, more accordant with its great end, — the perfection
of human nature."

1816. Man's capacities of goodness. " One of the
great characteristics of the present day is a lowness, a sor-
didness, a frigidncss of thought and feeling. Men think
meanly of their nature, and hence their conduct is selfish
and earthly. We do not, indeed, see men in general givea
3*

30 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

up to gross vices. We do not meet around us the ferocity
or beastly licentiousness of the savage state. AVe find
many marks of improvement, when we compare the present
with earlier ages. But there is little elevation of sentiment.
Comparatively few seem to be conscious of their high orig-
inal, their capacities of excellence, their relation to God,
their interest in eternity.

" Blessed be God, in the history of eveiy age and nation,
amidst the ravages of ambition and the mean aims of selfish-
ness, there have broken forth nobler sentiments, and the
evidences of a heavenly virtue. Every age has been illus-
trated by men who bore themselves like men, and vindicated
the cause of human nature, — men who in circumstances of
great trial have adhered to moral and religious principle, to
the cause of persecuted truth, to the interests of humanity, to
the hone of immortality, — who have trodden under foot the
fairest gifts of fortune and the world in the pursuit of duty.
It has often pleased God to gather round these men the
clouds of adversity, that their virtues might shine with a
sublimer splendor. This is the greatest value of history,
that it introduces us to persons of this illustrious order ; and
its noblest use is by their examples to nourish in us a con-
viction that elevated purity of motive and conduct is not a
dream of fancy, but that it is placed within our reach, and
is the very end of being.

" I have spoken of histoiy as refuting the low conceptions
which men form of their nature ; but, without looking back
to former ages, may not every individual, amidst the corrup-
tions of present society, discover in his own sphere some
delightful examples and illustrations of human goodness ?
Does he not discern some whose names arc never to be in-
scribed on the rolls of earthly fame, and who can boast no
distinction of intelligence or station, but whose sincere de-
votedncss to God, whose gratitude in adversity, wliose pa-
tience under injury, whose cheerful discharge of humble

CAPACITY OF GOODNESS. 31

duties, whose unwearied zeal in doing good, afford a de-
lightful proof of the connection between the human and
angelic nature ? Let none, then, say that the corruptions of
society forbid us to believe that our nature is sus(?6ptible of
high advancement. The road to perfection is not unex-
plored. We have forerunners in this path. We see the
traces of many steps directed to immortality. Men of like
passions with ourselves have subdued temptation. The
good and great were not miracles in the moral world.
We possess the same power, the same motives, the same
heavenly guide, and the same promise of Divine assist-
ance

" He wlio never looks up to an excellence higher than he
has attained, who never regards himself as formed for pure
and generous sentiments, who never admits the thought that
exalted goodness is placed within his reach, will never put
forth his powers in pursuit of virtue. He will never rise.
He dooms himself to his present state. Exertion supposes
that good may be attained, and vigorous exertion supposes
that the mind is kindled by the prospect of great attain-
ments. What can you expect from him who sees nothing
in the future better than the past ? On the other hand, a
belief in the capacities and dignity of humanity, a belief of
its future glory, a belief that higher excellence is the very end
for which we were made, is a spring of generous and unwea-
ried activity. This faith, when deeply fixed in the mind, is
a pledge and earnest of the improvement to which it aspires.
It awakens new power in the soul. It gives a natural dignity
to the thoughts and actions, and produces an almost invol-
untary abstinence from all that is false and selfish.

" He who accustoms himself to reflect on Jesus Christ,
on his apostles, on martyrs, on the best of men, on the
loveliest and sublimest forms of humanity, who regards
these high beings as his forerunners in the path of glory,
and whose chief prayer is that he may walk in their steps, —

33 SPIRITUAL JRO-WTII.

this man lias learned the true secret of neatness. Though
on earth, he has taken his place in a higher world. Blessed
be God, these consoling and encouraging views are not only
authorized by the gospel, but Jesus Christ came for tl.is very
end, to fix them in our minds, to make tliem the rule of our
lives. His great object was to exalt us to true glory. His
example was placed before us, not to create a transient
emotion, but to show us to what height our nature may be
raised."

1818. FoKCE OF MORAL PURPOSE. " The Christian is
known by the energy with which he wills to do right. It is his
distinction, that his sense of religious duty, his moral princi-
ples, his purposes of virtue, predominate within him. He
does not merely love what is good, but chooses it with
power.

" We hear often of greatness of character. The only
true greatness consists in unconquerable purpose of obedience
to God. It consists in adhering with energy and courage to
truth, duty, and honor. It consists in taking our rules of
action from our own minds, enlightened by revelation, and
following our deliberate convictions of right in the face of
death and danger. It consists in asking oui-selves, first, not
what is expedient or safe, but what is generous, excellent,
and acceptable to God ; and in forming purposes of recti-
tude with a force which man and time and suffering cannot
subdue. This holy energy of mind is the only true great-
ness, and it is a greatness not beyond the reach of our
nature

" The truly interesting portions of history are those Avhich
attest the moral power of man, which show us fellow-beings
sustained by inward principle and confidence in God under
irie heaviest pressure of pain, which show us the mind
unchanged in prosperity and adversity, passing unmoved
through honor and disgrace, clinging to excellence when

GREATNKSS OF CHARACTER. 33

her only earthly dowry was death. Would we see our
nature in its greatness, we must see it forsaken by all out-
ward aids, compassed with obstacles, yet steadfast, gather
ing power from difficulty, and opposing a firmer front in
proportion to the violence with which its principles are
assailed.

" The true use of the trials and temptations of life, and of
the turbulent passions in our own breasts, is to call foith
spiritual energy and heroic purposes. God might have
placed us in a world where duty and pleasure would have
mingled and formed one current ; but where would have
been the discipline of virtue in such a world ? . Under such
a constitution of things, our nature would have been free
from sin ; but whilst every stain would have been prevented,
almost every bright trace of moral glory would have been
dim. The crown would have fallen from the head of good-
ness. We are otherwise circumstanced ; — we are placed
now in a region of storms, perils, hardships ; now in one
of blandishments, seduction, snares. In such a world,
would we be virtuous and make progress in religion, we
must put forth our powers to choose the good and to love it
entirely. The conscience must act with vigor. Excellence
must be pursued earnestly. An inert purpose will avail us
nothing. Our whole nature must be awake. Who does
not see that such a world is fitted to form a higher order of
minds than a state removed from temptation .' True, we
must toil, but the harvest is rich. We must fight, but the
strength we gain by conflict is an inestimable compensation.
Here we have one explanation of our present state. We
are tried as by fire, that we may come forth purer -fcm the
furnace. Our virtues are in peril, that we may hold them
with a firmer grasp. This is the world for the formation of
generous and resolute spirits. Let its purpose be in us fully
accomplished

" This force of principle gives, as it were, new power to

34 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

the wliole man. AVith this inward spring how much can we
accomplish, how much endure ! Sustained by a conscious-
ness of rectitude, difficulties no longer daunt us, and hin-
drances sink before us. The minds of men are exceedingly
weakened by inconsistent passions, by fear, intereat, regard
to opinion. They effect little, because they want unilij. He
who is accustomed to ask what is right, and to espouse it
with energy, leaving the consequences with God, derives
new power from his singleness of purpose. It gives him
fearlessness of mind. His faculties, concentrated on his
duties, act freely and strenuously ; he perseveres where
others would droop, and succeeds where they would fail.
Right action, by being in itself simple and harmonious,
brings an immediate reward in peace, equanimity, stead-
iness. Strong moral principle is a spring of honorable
impulse, and gives us the highest use of all our facul-
ties

" Force of moral purpose makes us happy. Happiness
does not consist, as men are too apt to imagine, in passive
enjoyments. It is found in the strenuous use of our best
affections We enjoy most in putting forth our whole na-
ture, in being fully alive to all scenes and relations, and
especially in preserving our noblest faculties in healthy and
efficient activity. There is a constant satisfaction attending
the vigorous exercise of conscience, while a feeble opera-
tion of the moral principle, which shows us what is right,
but gives no strength to perform it, is a source of constant
misery. There is an exhilaration, a hope, a joy, springing
up within us when we loill with power what we see to be
good, when we are conscious of treading under foot the low
principles and interests which would part us from God and du-
ty when we sacrifice firmly and unreservedly selfish desires
or the world's favor to the claims of Christian rectitude.
Moral energy inspires an unconquerable resolution, and fills
us with a rare delight. The mind enlarges itself, and gains

SOURCES OF HAPPINESS. 35

5 new feeling of its capacities and destination, in these sea-
sons of generous excitement; just as the body seems to
gather new height and dimensions when a person is upborne
by an exaUed sentiment. The most cxulting^oments of
life are those when, after a conflict of strong passion with
the sense of duty, we come off conquerors, and are con-
scious that we have risen in spiritual existence. A feeling
of this nature becomes in a degree habitual to the man
whose general tone of mind is a sincere purpose of adher-
ing to the path of Christian virtue."

1816. Sources of happiness. " The fatal error of
multitudes is, that they hope to escape their present discon-
tented, uneasy state of mind by improving their outward
circumstances. They will not see that the spring of miseay
is within, that it is not in the power of all earthly objects
combined to give them peace, until their minds are purified,
their passions governed ; until they have made their peace
with God, and can look forward with some well-grounded
hope to futurity. But though this error is a very common
one, yet I cannot conceive a more obvious truth than this,
that it is not the circumstances which surround a man, but
the thoughts and feelings which are most familiar to his
mind, on which his satisfaction depends. The true question
as to happiness is not ' Where am I ? Tn what state or rank
do I exist ? ' but ' To what end is my mind directed }
What objects have acquired the control of my affec-
tions ? '

" Life is designed to form and prove our characters, to
call forth our powers, to bring our virtues into acts, to put to
the test our moral and religious principles, and thus to pre-
pare us for higher states of being. Happiness is God^s end ;
but it is future, not immediate, happiness, — a happiness for
which the foundation is to be laid in present improvement,
which we are to earn bv exertion, self-denial, and the vol-

36 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

untary exercise and habitual cultivation of the best affections
of which our nature is capable."

1814. True happiness, "The true happiness of man
has its seat in the mind which God has breathed into
us, in the enlargement of its powers, in the elevation of
its sentiments, in the firmness and purity of its princi-
ples, in its ascent to its native heaven. Compared with
the capacities of this imperishable principle, and with the
means of unfolding and exahing it, eveiy thing outward is
worthless.

" The best of all the blessings which God gives to man
is a heart alive to what is great and good, which glows at
the sight of excellence, and kindles with desire to become
one with what it admires. The best of all God's blessings
is a heart which is accustomed to aspire to him as its source
and destination, which is alive to his all-pervading presence,
which meets him in his works, converses with him in soli-
tude, blesses him in affliction, prays to him with the assur-
ance of being heard, and hopes from him all which infinite
goodness can bestow. The best of all blessings is a heart
which partakes God's benevolence, which feels its relation
to the universe, which is bound by friendship to the good, by
sympathy to the afflicted, and by an overflowing tenderness
to the narrow circle of domestic life. The best of all
blessings is a heart which carries with it a consciousness of
its unbounded destiny, which looks forward to eternity as its
inheritance, which hopes for perfect goodness, which feels
alliance with higher orders of beings, and anticipates a union
with the spirits of the just made perfect, with departed
friends, and with the ascended Saviour. In such a state of
heart is the true happiness of man."

1814. Pehfect society. " Perfect social happiness is
reserved for a higher stage of existence. Fill as you ought

FULL JUSTICE TO MAN. 37

yoar relations here, and you will rise to a better world, and
be welcomed into a hajipicr and purer community. But this
is not all. It is very doubtful whelhcr we should be the hap-
pier, if our social connections were at present ii#»vprovcd as
much as we desire. We desire friends who will regard us
with unremitting tenderness, in whose society we shall es
cape from every temptation, who would fly to our aid in
every difficulty, to our rescue in every danger. Th-?
thought of such friends is indeed delightful ; but in the pres-
ent life we are not worthy of them, and I fear they would
injure us by the very excess of their tenderness. They
would probably keep us all our lives in a state of infantile
dependence. Relying always on their aid, and shielded
always by their care, we should attain no firmness of char-
acter, no courage, no proper self-dependence."

1821. True benevolence is justice to man's whole
NATURE. " Man is not mere spirit, and that benevolence
which should regard him as such, and in its zeal for his
mind neglect entirely his outward comfort, would be even
more injudicious than that which spends itself exclusively in
relieving animal suffering. Ti'ue charity regards the lohole
nature of the being whom it would assist. Man's animal
wants we must never neglect, under pretence of a refined
and spiritual kindness which can look at no good below the
mind.

" But, on the other hand, we must not stop at securing
outward good. For it is true that it is the mind which spe-
cially constitutes the man ; and although want may be re-
lieved, yet nothing worthy the name of happiness is com-
municated, unless the mind be benefited. One great reason
why benevolence has not done more good is, that it has
been too superficial, has confined itself too much to outward
benefits, has not regarded man sufficiently as an intellectual
and moral being, nor inquired how the welfare of such a

VOL. II. 4

38 SriRITUAL GROWTH.

lieing is to be aJvanccd. And we can easily explain why
kindness has thus preferred to labor for the outward and
bodily, rather than the inward and spiritual, good of men •
for benefits of the first class are promoted more easily
and suddenly than those of the last, and are more ap-
parent to the eye. We can see at once the effects of our
bounty, when we put raiment on the naked, or give a shsl-
ter to those who are suffering from tlie cold. The care
spent on the minds of the ignorant and bad does not yield so
ready a harvest. The process of growth in the mind is not
only unseen, but slow ; and yet how permanent the fruits
of its culture !

" God's best gifts are those which he diffuses silently ; and
so it is with man's. The secret influence of a good man's
example, and of a wise man's intelligence, which raises in-
sensibly the hearts and minds of the cn-cle and community
in which they move, is worth more than any efforts of out-
ward benevolence, though they might escape the notice of
all except profound and judicious observers

" The noblest benevolence is that which operates on the
mmd, which seeks the happiness of men by contributing to
their intellectual and moral advancement ; and this is a
great work, for the mind is a complex organization, having
various powers, capacities, aflections, and the true happiness
of a man consists in the development of all. The mind is a
whole as truly as the body ; its health consists in a general
action and progress, and it suffers from a partial culture as
really, though not as sensibly, as the body would suffer, if
we were to aim to strengthen a single limb, and leave the
other parts to pine. Man consists of reason, conscience,
affection, will, and active powers, and all must conspire to
form an harmonious, happy existence. The kindness which
seeks to call tliem all forth is at once the most laborious
and the most divine.

" These glorious capacities of human nature have as ye

FULL JUSTICE TO MAN 39

I een but imperfectly unfolded ; nor has the full develop-
ment of them been made very much an object. In vast
numbers of men, I may say in the great majority, the higher
faculties on which happiness chiefly rests arc ajjpost locked
up, and those who possess them have no consciousness of
the immense resources, the divine gifts, which they carry in
their hearts. Were we to visit a country where the great-
est number of people were blind, deaf, palsied, we should
look on them with deep compassion ; but to a reflecting
man, a large part of the world now exhibits a scarcely less
afflicting sight. Human nature is everywhere seen blind,
deaf, palsied, as far as its highest and best faculties are con-
cerned

" The idea of advancing men's happiness by such an ex-
tensive development and improvement of the moral and
intellectual powers of human nature, as has now been
suggested, may seem impracticable. But experience has
already demonstrated that much more intelligence can be
spread through all classes than was once thought possible ;
and no man, who compares the world now with former
periods, can doubt that a vastly larger measure of knowl-
edge, clearer and nobler ideas of duty, and higher views of
religion, than are now met with, except in persons of tne
very first order of minds and the purest character, can
gradually be thrown into general circulation, and infused
into men's minds through all classes of society. Sociely
grows as truly as the individual, and is becoming ripe for
higher instructions than were given in its childhood. We
are too apt to settle down in the present state of things, as if
it were immutable, as if human nature had reached its ulti-
mate point of progression, when in fact the springs d :.u-
man improvement gain strength by use, and every advance
makes future ones more easy. Revelation encourages the
most generous hopes and eflbrts, for it clearly points to a
higher condition of the human race than has yet been

V

to SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

reached ; and that this is to be promoted by man's instru-
mentality, God's past dispensations compel us to believe."

1814. Happiness of progress. " Progression and hap-
piness are intimately connected. To rise perpetually to
virtue by our own exertions, to look back on the path
through which we have ascended, to raise an eye of hope to
brighter eminences, — these constitute a higher felicity than
perpetual uniformity of any mode of bliss. Now, if progres-
sion thus heightens happiness, is there not an advantage in
beginning existence in our present very low condition ?
Were I to indulge myself in conjecture, I should imagine
that archangels commenced their course in circumstances as
humble as our own, so great appears to me the joy of prog-
ress and contrast, of passing through successive stages of
existence, of gathering the knowledge which each furnishes,
and of experiencing the providence of God which all con-
spire to illustrate. Thus our present imperfection is no ob-
jection to Divine goodness

" We often hear complaints of the feebleness, darkness,
and errors of the human mind. ' Why are we not intro-
duced at once to all the truth which we are capable of receiv-
ing ? ' it is asked. Now, that ignorance is in some respects
nn evil is granted. But we should remember, that, were
every thing known to us at first, all pleasure of discovery
would be at an end. The charm of novelty would fade and
vanish. The mind could only revolve familiar ideas. Arc
wo sure that we should be gainers in the end ? To our
if^norance wo owe the delight of surprise, the ardor of
curiosity, the fresh wonders of early instruction, and tlio
satisfaction of continually adding, if we please, to our store
of knowledge. We are ignorant; but what a magnificent
school is the creation in which our Father has placed us !
How much is there on every side to learn, and what mo-
tives and aids are given us to the enlargement of our
views!

INDICATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 41

1815. Indications of immortality. "In the inexhaust-
ible love of knowledge which animates the human under-
standing \vc have a bright indication of the reality of a fu-
tuic existence. God has given to man a spirit vv'hich is
evidently designed to expand through the universe, which
disdains the confinement of space, and which, although for
ages it has been making progress in the knowledge of
nature, still thirsts for more extended information. There
is a restlessness in the human mind which no acquisition
can allay. Thought is for ever enlarging its horizon.

" Were man destined to live only in this world, his de-
sires and powers would have been fitted wholly for this
world, and his capacities would have been limited to the
means of present enjoyment. But his faculties are now
continually overleaping the bounds of earth ; he delights in
discoveries which have no relation to his existence on this
planet; he calls to his aid the arts, not merely to render
life comfortable, but to assist him in the most remote re-
searches ; invents instruments which extend his sight beyond
these visible heavens, and reveal hidden stars and systems ;
and presses on and on to fathom the profoundest secrets of
the universe. The human mind has an intense delight in
what is vast and unexplored. Does such a mind carry with
it no proof that it is destined to wider spheres of experience
than earth affords, — that it is designed to improve for ever
in the knowledge of God's wonderful works }

" In man's power of looking forward with hope to distant
and everlasting ages we have a second clear mark of a
being destined to another existence. Were this world every
thing to man, his longings would not stray beyond its brief
span. His anticipations would be proportioned to his being.
Of what use, except to torment him, would be the idc^a of
eternity to a creature of time ? Why kindle in man the
sublime sentiment of immortaUty, if ihe grave is to be his
doom ? . . . .

4*

42 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

" Our capacity of knowing God is another indication that
we are appointed to future modes of being. The human
mind is not limited to objects of sense. It has a relish for
the unseen. It for ever tends to rise from the effect to
the cause, from creation to its Author. This tendency
may be pronounced one of the essential, instinctive prin-
ciples of our nature.

" Nor is this desire of acquaintance with God slight and
transient. The human mind, by cultivation of pious senti-
ments, may be, and often has been, raised to an intimate
union with the Divine Being, to a vivid feeling of his
presence, to an habitual discernment of him in his works '
and providence. It has attained to sentiments of sacred
rapture, to more than cai'thly joy, in praising, adoring,
thanking him ; and just in proportion as the heart is the
abode of these generous emotions, it desires a nearer ap-
proach to the Divinity, and longs for an improved condition
in which lie may be worshipped with pure and perfect love.
When a mind has thus become alive to God, it clinss to
existence with increasing earnestness. It cannot endure the
thought of being blotted out from among God's works, — of
being deprived of the consciousness of his perfections, —
of losing for ever his friendship, — of rendering him no
more service. Piety necessarily takes this form of desire
for near communion with the Infinite Being in a future,
better, endless existence ; and what do all these aspirations
indicate .''

" We have another indication of man's future life in the
moral sensibility which God has imparted to the soul.

" The human mind, notwithstanding its degradation, h:,s
something in it congenial with excellence. It delights to
hear and read of angelic worth and greatness of cliaracter.
It loves to conceive of more perfect forms of human nature
than real life exhibits. To this propensity poetry and fic-
tion are indebted for their origin. Especially when the

THE SUBLIME DESTINY OF MAN. 43

mind has been refined by the practice of goodness, does it
naturally represent to itself a beauty of virtue such as has
never been attained on earth. It is dissatisfied with all that
it has gained and pants for greater purity. Its vwy improve-
' ments prompt it to desire a better existence, where present
stains and imperfections will be done away, where it will
fill a wider sphere of usefulness, where it may be united
with the excellent whom it loves, and become worthy of
their friendship. This delight in goodness, this thirst for
perfection with which the human mind is instinct, is full of
promise. Were this life every thing to us, would God have
formed us thus capable of conceiving and desiring heights
of excellence which in this life are unattainable ? Will he
crush the hope of moral progress to which our very virtues

give intenseness .''

" The man of refinement and sensibility finds himself as
it were in accordance with universal nature. Every scene,
every season, touches some spring in his heart. The stream,
the mountain, the ocean, the clouds, the distant constellations,
all speak to him in a language that he understands. There
is something in him akin to all this beauty and sublimity,
which gives him a claim to property in the whole creation.
There is especially in the soul a sensibility to the grand,
awful scenes of nature. Whatever bears the impress of
infinite majesty, whatever is too vast to be grasped by the
senses, brings to the heart a mysterious delight. Tiie
storm, the thunder, and raging ocean, fearful as they are,
still awaken a solemn pleasure, for they speak to us of
almighty power, and accord with our love of greatness.
Now this sensibility to whatever is great and fair in univer-
sal nature seems to attest the glory of the human soul, and
to point out to it a sublime destiny. Why has God placed
man amidst this boundless theatre, revealed around him this
endless creation, touched his heart with the love of beauty,
and given him this delightful and awful interest in all

44 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

that meets his eye, if he is merely a creature of the earth,
soon to sliLit his eyes on these majcslic scenes, and to be
buried for ever in a narrow grave ? Docs this love of the
infinite, this attachment to the universe, seem suitable to so
frail a nature ? Do they not suggest, the idea of a being
who belongs to the universe, and who is to fill an ever-
widening sphere ?

" I now proceed to another and a more decisive indication
of a future life, which is furnished us by human nature. 1
refer to the capacity which man actually possesses of attain-
ing to greatness of character.

" Whilst man falls far below the perfection he desires, he
yet is sometimes seen to ascend to a sublimity of virtue
which docs honor to our nature, and proves that it is formed
for heaven. We shall discover in history persons not mere-
ly faithful in their regard to the prescribed duties of life,
but who are filled with a grand disinterestedness of charac-
ter, a sublime goodness, which outstrips what is positively
demanded, which is prodigal of service to God and man,
and overflows with sacrifices and sufferings in the cause of
duty.

" These great examples show us what man may become,
and what he is designed to be. These are lineaments of
a noble nature, marks of a sublime capacity, a sublime
destiny. We all have sometimes seen our nature mani-
fested in these honorable forms, have seen great tempta-
tions and calamities calling forth great virtues, have seen
the human countenance bright with the expression of mag-
nanimous affections, and have felt how lovely and how glo-
rious may be humanity. And can we believe tliat the soul
of man, gifted with such capacities, is ci-eated for a day ?
Can we think that the great men who have thrown such
light on the past were but meteors, extinguished as soon as
kindliid, — extinguished in the midst of their glory .' Why
were such sublime capacities given to a being of such an

TRIUMPH OVF.K DEATH. 45

humble destiny ? Docs the all-wise Creator thus waste his
noblest gifts, and is he so unconcerned for those on whom
these fit'ts have been conferred ? It is a natural sentiment,
entitled to respect, that exalted goodness cannot^perish. It
is fitted for a better world than this, and the Creator would
be dishonored were his noblest work to be lost. Nature
may pass away, but can goodness, sublime goodness, that
image of God, be destroyed ? And if human nature be ca-
pable of this goodness, is it not destined to immortality ?

" Another indication of a future state suggested by our
nature is to be found in the triumph which man often ob-
tains over death, in the manner in which he passes through
the last change.

" To the sensible appearances of death, so sad and appall-
ing, we should do well to oppose the energy of soul with
which it is often encountered. Then death itself will fur-
nish us with a proof of immortality. Sometimes the hour
of death is an hour of peculiar glory for human nature.
Instead of being conquered, man is seen to conquer the last
foe ; and he seems to suffer only that the greatness of hu-
manity may be developed. In instances like these, the last
act of the soul is an assertion of its immortality. Can we
believe that this moment of sublime virtue is the moment of
annihilation, — that the soul is extinguished when its beauty
is most resplendent ? If God intended that death should
be an eternal extinction, would it be adorned, as it often is,
with a radiance of the noblest, loveliest sentiments and aflec-
tions of our nature ? Would the greatest triumph of man be
the harbinger of his ruin .'

''• There is another view yet more sublime. I refer to
the death of the martyr to religion, to his country, to the
cause of truth and human improvement. You have read of
men who preferred death to desertion of duty. They en-
countered the menaces of power, they endured the gloom
of prisons, and at length, in the fulness of their powers,

46 SPIRITUAL GIIOWTH.

were led to the place of execution. Their steps never fal-
tered, their purpose never trembled, their looks were firm,
yet mild and forgiving, and with unshaken trust in God
they counted it an honor to suffer in his cause. And what
now shall we say of death ? That it triumphed over these
men of unsubdued virtue, — that it quenched these bright
spirits ? Or shall we rather say that it was designed to
illustrate the immortal energy of piety and virtue, and to
show that the faithful soul is more than conqueror over the
last foe ? Can we think that God impels those who love
him by the best principle in their nature to encounter death
in its most dreadful forms, and then abandons them to final
extinction at the very moment when they must be to him
most worthy of his love ?

" We find another indication of immortality in our nature,
when we consider the principal source of human enjoyment.
I ask, then, what is this principal source of human en-
joyment ?

" A slight observation will teach us that happiness is de-
rived chiefly from activity, from conscious growth, from the
successful effort to improve our powers, from rising by our
own energy to an improved condition. It is not what we
have already gained, be it knowledge, property, reputation,
or virtue, which constitutes our happiness, so much as the
exertion of our faculties in further acquisitions. The idea
of advancement is of all others the most congenial whh the
human mind. We delight not so much in possession as in
pursuit, not so much in holding the prize as in pressing
forward to seize it with the eye of hope. The feeling of
progress is the great spring of happiness ; and it is this
which gives cheerfulness and animation under the sever-
est lot.

" Now what does such a nature indicate ? Is it true that
man's chief happiness consists in animated pui-suit, in con-
sciousness of improvement, — that, when his advancement is

MAN DESIGNED FOR PERFECTION. ' 47

most swift and sure, this principle most prompts him to
press forward ? Is not perfection^ then, the end of his
being ? Is he not made to advance, to ascend, for ever ?
and does not this soaring nature discover a bejuig designed
for a forever brio;htening career ? Would tliis insatiable
thirst for progress have been given to a creature of a day,
whose powers are to perish just when beginning to unfold,
and whose attainments are to be buried with him in eternal
oblivion ?

" If this world were our home and our only portion,
should we have sentiments implanted by our Creator which
teach us to live above it, and impel us to feel that it is noble
to renounce it ? Were this our only sphere of enjoyment,
could we ever deem it beneath us, unworthy our nature ?

" But this is not all ; we not only honor men when they
rise above the world, its pleasures and gains, — we particu-
larly revere them when they hold life itself with a degree of
indifference, when they disdain it in comparison with princi-
ple, and advance to meet seeming destruction by a resolute
and unshaken adherence to principle. On the other hand, we
feel a contempt for those who cling to life as the best of bless-
ings. We cannot endure the coward, while we are lenient
even towards the excess of courage. We view with admi-
ration the man who is prodigal of life in an honorable cause,
and who prefers death to the least stain of guilt. Now these
feelings surely indicate that the present is not our whole
existence. Wei*e this life every thing to us, should we be
so constituted as to consider the voluntary relinquishment of
it as the noblest deed } Should we have feelings which im-
pel us to cast it away } Were death entire and eternal
extinction of all our power and virtue, would the welcoming
of it appear the height of glory ? All these feelings which
I have considered, and which prompt us to sacrifice the
world and life to the purity of the soul, are so many attes-
tations from God to the dignity of the soul, so many assur-

48 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

ances that it is destined for liigher relations than those which
it now sustains to the body and llic world."

1814. Greatness of human nature, as revealer by
Jesus Christ. " Consider the discoveries which Jesus Clirist
lias made of the glory of liuraan nature. His gospel may
be said to be a revelation of vian to himself. It calls us
liomc to our own hearts, and there discloses to us capacities
which should awaken the profoundest gratitude and admira-
tion. The great unhappiness of men is, that they live
abroad, they lose themselves in the accidents around, they
are engrossed by outward events, by the changes of the
natural or political world. They do not explore the grander
world within.

" Jesus Christ thought nothing worthy of his notice but
the soul of man ; and the whole tone of his gospel is, that
the soul is capable of all that is great and excellent, that it
may become the image of God, that it may ascend to the
glory and purity of angels. It is constantly his doctrine,
that man is appointed to join the society of heaven, and th.at
he will there shine as the sun, that he will exchange his
present imperfection for spotless purity. As in the child we
view the future man, so in man we are taught by the gospel
to view the germ of the future angel. AVe are taught that
there is no height of excellence in the universe to which the
human mind in the progress of eternity may not attain.
These are views which have little to interest him who never
reflects on his inward nature, who only feels that he has a
body and organs of sense, and who thinks the highest hap-
piness is to be found in the gratifications of the brute. But
there are those who feel conscious of the heavenly principle
within them, who, at the sight of distinguished virtue, pant
to attain to its resemblance, who kindle at the thought of a
boundless progression, of a never-ending ascent towards
God. To such persons how delightful is the confirmation

THE SPIKIT OF CHRIST. 49

wnich the gospel gives to the wishes and aspirations of their
belter nature ! What a splendor is thrown lound human
nature, when it is thus viewed as the future associate of all
that is most excellent in heaven, as the bright ii^flection of
the glorious goodness of the Creator ! "

SECTION THIRD.
CHRIST AND CHRISTIANITY

1815. The end of Christianity. " This idea, that the
great end of Christianity, of the mission of Jesus, is to exalt
the human character, although it runs through the Scrip-
tures, has been very much overlooked. Christians have
been inclined to believe that Christ lived and died to influ-
ence the mind of God, rather than the mind of man, — to
make God favorable to us, rather than to make us obedient
to God.

" I cannot but believe that this is a very erroneous view,
and utterly unauthorized by the Scriptures. The Scriptures,
I think, lead us to believe that holiness, or excellence of
character, is a vastly greater blessing than pardon or for-
giveness. According to the Scriptures, it is a greater privi-
lege to be delivered from the polluting power than from the
consequences of sin. According to the Scriptures, holiness,
goodness, virtue, is the pearl of great price. It is God him-
self dwelling in the human heart. It is heaven enjoyed on
earth.

" There is no happiness but in goodness. This is the
felicity of God, and this is the best gift he imparts to his crea-
tures. The noblest work of God is a holy, pure, virtuous
mind ; and Jesus Christ can perform no ministry more noble
Chan the recovering of a sinful mind to a heavenly state."

1817. The spirit of Christ. " Our religion demands
of us not merely single acts and feelings, but a character o
VOL. It. 5

50 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

general frame of mind. We must have Chnst's spirit,,
which means his temper; or, in other words, we must have
an habitual state of the soul answering to our Lord's

" The great principle which runs through and binds to
gether all parts of the Christian system is this, — that oui
happiness, our eternal happiness, depends on the character
we form. Men are very apt to forget that in every thing
but religion they estimate one another, not by occasional
acts, but by the general frame of the mind. There is such
a thing, we all know, as character, something very different
from particular actions and occasional feelings, something
prominent in the mind, and which works itself into almost
all the life. Character is not something which we put on at
one moment and put off at another, not something reserved
for great occasions, or which appears only in striking ac-
tions. It influences the common decisions of the judgment.
It gives a peculiar form to the common opinions and pur-
poses of the individual, and, still more, it pervades the whole
mind

" Jesus Christ did not come to work upon the surface of
the human heart, but to pervade it with his religion ; he did
not come to inculcate transient feelings and actions, but to
implant permanent principles, to give a new life to the soul.
It is well, it is necessary, that we should know the large
demands of his gospel, so as not to lose its blessings by
stopping at low attainments, — so as to propose seriously
the acquisition of that devout, benevolent, and heavenly
temper which is the very essence of his religion. We can-
not be too sensible that to be a Christian is a great work.
If v\e do not rightly estimate the difliculties of our task, how
can wo apply to it with perseverance, resolution, spirit, and
success ? We have to incorporate Christian principles into
our very souls. We have an inward conflict to sustain, a
glorious change to accomplish, by Cod's assistance, in that
mind which is most properly ourselves."

Christ's humble mode of life. 51

1819. Christ's humble mode of life. " We represent
Jesus Christ to ourselves as the most august being who ever
moved on the earth. He is separated in our thoughts from
all other men. His unparalleled birth, his c*oss, his resur-
rection, his ascension, and his future glorious appearing to
judg(; the world are all blended in our minds ; and when
we read a passage in his history, it is this peculiar being, in
whom so many splendors meet, and whose humanity is lost
in his superhuman power and exaltation, who speaks, acts,
and makes himself known to us. In this way we forget
how he really appeared to his contemporaries. It is true,
we speak of his poverty. We hear that moving declara-
tion, — ' Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests,
but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head ' ; still,
the imagination is too accustomed to other views to conceive
of the truth clearly and with force.

" I suspect, too, that we are most of us influenced more
or less by the repi'esentations which painters have given of
the events of Christ's life. In these our Master is placed
before us with a glory round his head, in a flowing and
often splendid robe, his countenance singularly fair, as if
the rough winds had not visited it, and his attitude studiously
majestic and commanding. In other words, the artist labors
to represent in Jesus ideal beauty and grandeur. Through
the eye the imagination is more influenced than by reading.
Our conceptions of the Saviour when on earth are taken
from such delineations. But the views of Jesus which are
very plainly given us in the New Testament present an
image of his appearance very different from what our im-
aginations, aided by these outward delineations, usually
form. Let us see the facts as they were, by means of a
familiar illustration. Suppose, then, my friends, that there
should appear on our exchange a young man of thirty years
of age, in the dress of a laborer, from an obscure and dis-
tant village, accompanied by a small number of peasants

52 SPiniTLML GKOVVTH.

and fishermen, to whose houses he was in the habit of re-
pairing for food and lodging. I would have you bring this
illustration home. It will help you to conceive of the im-
pression made by Jesus, especially at first sight, on tlioso
who personally knew him."

1817. Love for Jesus Christ. "There is a wonderful
combination of affecting circumstances in the history of
Jesus Christ. His original glory, which he had with the
Father before the world was, his humiliation in taking on
him human nature, his unbounded attachment to mankind,
the sCistained labor of his life, the patience of his sufferings,
his unconquerable love amidst ingratitude and outrage, his
blood shed for us, and his sublime triumphs over death, —
these are elements which combine to form the loveliest
and most exalted character toward which human thought
was ever turned. History and society offer us individuals
marked by high virtues, and the happiness of conversing
with and loving them is among our most exquisite enjoy-
ments. But Jesus leaves behind him at an immeasurable
distance the great and good of this world, whether we
regard the vastness of his purposes, or the disinterestedness
and fervor of his benevolence. It is a great excellence of
the gospel, that it reveals to us such a character as Jesus.
Its blessings are heightened by flowing to us through a
friend and deliverer so suited to awake our best sensi-
bilities. The Christian finds in Jesus Christ a source of
perpetual delight. No history interests him like the gospel.
His heart often burns as he reads the labors, and sulferings,
and virtues of his Lord. How often does his mind turn with
a mixture of tenderness and admiration to his cross, and
with what delight does he welcome him risen from the
dead ! He thinks of heaven with a new interest as the
place where he shall meet his friend and express to him
his thankfulness

LOVE FOR CHRIST. 53

" The Christian, conversing with an excellence descended
from heaven, which is untainted by tlie sordidness and im-
perfection of all human virtue, acquires a relish for eminent
purity ; instructed as he is, that this lovely model is placed
before him for the very purpose of forming him to perfec-
tion, he cannot be satisfied without a consciousness of ap-
proaching it

" The Christian finds a holy life accompanied by a
peculiar pleasure. It is a life not urged on him by a
stranger, or by an equal, but by the voice of a heavenly
friend. The Sermon on the Mount is not merely a collec-
tion of admirable precepts, but the affectionate exhortation
of his crucified, risen, and glorified Redeemer. The diffi-
culties of obedience are mitigated, self-denial is sweetened,
by the consideration that he is following such a master.

" These remarks show the erroneousness of a sentiment
which has sometimes been expressed, and has lurked in
minds which have not uttered it, that strong affection to-
wards Jesus Christ is not of primary importance, — that our
views and feelings in regard to him, however low, are suf-
ficiently elevated, — that our chief business is to obey his pre-
cepts, and that, if these are obeyed, the great object of his
mission is secured. But how obvious is the sentiment, that
obedience *to Christ's precepts is intimately connected with
high conceptions of his character, and with strong aflTection
towards him ! Will not the heart which is most accustomed
to meditate upon the greatness of Christ's goodness feel
most the obligation of his law of love .' Will not the mind
which regards him not only as a prophet, but as a Saviovx
by whose mediation and sufferings God has been pleased
to redeem the world, which is touched and softened by his
character and near relation to the human race, — will not
such a mind be peculiarly prompted to a cheerful service,
to an animated obedience } "

5-4 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

1819. Christ's love for man. " It is not possible for us
to conceive fully the love of Christ, because his state before
entering the world is known imperfectly, and of course the
greatness of the sacrifice which he made for us, and which
is the best measure of love, cannot be estimated.

" There are, you well know, several passages of Scripture
which, if literally taken, teach that Christ existed before he
came into the world. And we have this very sufficient
reason for interpreting these passages literally, that liis
whole character and the offices which he bears imply a
more than human dignity. In the first place, Jesus Christ
spoke and acted as if he was more than man, — as if he was
conscious of superiority to all around him. There is a dig-
nity, an authority, about him altogether peculiar, and such, I
think, as would not have been becoming in a mere man, ia
his intercourse with brethren essentially his equals. The
spotless purity of Jesus is another broad line of distinction
between himself and all other men, something not to be ex-
plained by difference of circumstances or education. To be
absolutely sinless is to be that which human nature never
was before, and never has been since the time of Christ, and
which is not to be expected in a mere human being in the
present life. Finally, consider the offices which Jesus sus-
tained, of Saviour of the world, the One Mediator between
God and man, the Prince of Life, who is to raise the dead
and to judge mankind, — do these offices appear to be com-
patible with simple humanity ? Do they belong to a being
who himself needs a mediator, who himself lias sins to be par-
doned ? For this must have been true of Christ, if he was
a mere man. I have just glanced at a few considerations
which tend to prove a more than human greatness in Jesus
Christ, and which seem to me to require that we should inter-
pret literally the passages in which he is said to have come
down from heaven, and to have had a glory with the Father
before the world was.

CHKIST S LOVE FOR MAN. 55

" Jesus Christ, then, existed before he came into the world,
and in a state of great honor and felicity. He was known,
esteemed, beloved, revered, in the family of heaven. Fie
was intrusted with the execution of the most 'sublime pur-
poses of his Father. He is spoken of as the highest intelli-
gent being next to Him who is the fountain and source of all,
and he was in happiness as in glory the most express image
9f God. These views, which seem to me to be warranted
by the Scriptures, show us a strength of love beyond expres-
sion in the entrance of Jesus Christ into this world, to live
and to die a man of sorrows. We have here a sacrifice for
the well-being of mankind to which nothing in our experi-
ence furnishes a parallel

" If the dignity of Christ was such as we have supposed,
then the history of the universe contains no manifestation of
pure, devoted love so stupendous as his ; and angels, who
knew the Saviour in his brightness and joy, must have re-
ceived from his humiliation and suffering an impression of
what charity can perform and endure, such as no other
transaction can have given. I repeat it, the greatness of
Christ's love cannot be adequately known, until we shall
know hereafter the height from which he came to our
rescue, the glory of which he divested himself, the riches
which he parted with, to become poor, that we through his
poverty might be made rich. We can, however, understand
something, even here, of this love. The fact, that such a
being was attracted to us by our miseries, that through the
power of love he came to take upon him our griefs, and ex
changed heaven for the cross, — this fact is a revelation of
generous affection, brighter than the sun ; and if believed,
it ought to work in us more powerfully than all other
events

" To feel the strength of Christ's benevolence whilst he
was on earth, we must consider that it received no aid from
any persons around him. It is comparatively easy to cher-

56 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

ish a sentiment which operates in every other breast, to re
fleet a light which shines strongly on every side. But the
benevolence of Christ received no accession from sympathy.
The fountain of this living water was within himself. He
drew his love from his own will. The age in which he
lived had no thought of a benevolence so purified, extended,
and disinterested as his. It was a selfish, exclusive, bigoted
age. The characters of the most improved were narrowed
and debased by prejudice. Jesus Christ is seen to have
been a lonely being, even among his disciples, when the
tone and temper of his mind are considered. No one feit
like him, or could lend fervor to his charity, llis love can-
not but impress us, when we thus consider how solitary, how
unborrowed it was, how it resisted every social influence and
example, in how full a river it flowed through a parched
land, from which it received no tributary stream.

" To feel as we ought the love of Christ, we should
consider also its extent. In reading his history, we see it
spreading over the whole face of society, comprehending all
orders of men, and embracing every human relation and in-
terest. His love did not owe its strength, as ours too often
does, to its limitation. The current was not powerful be-
cause hemmed in. It was not a close circle, within which
his afTection glowed to intenseness. He felt that the world
was his home, and there was a prodigal liberality in his af-
fection. He could not be happy but in expanding his sym-
pathy to the whole range of man's wants and sorrows.
There was no class of human beings beneath his notice.
If he preferred any in regard, it was the poor and foi-saken ,
precisely because they needed most a friend and benefactor.
The place of instruction in which he seemed to take partic-
ular pleasure was the open air, where all might hear him.
His chanty, like that light to wliich he often compared him-
self, fell on all. It spread from the little cliild to the ends of
the earth. It blessed individuals who were near him, and at

Christ's love for man. 57

the same time readied the most remote nations and ages.
In the same breast dwelt the tenderness of a son for an
amiable mother, and the vast charity of the Saviour of the
world. His benevolence partook at once the character of
the stream which winds through the valley, and of the
mighty ocean which connects all lands.

" Again, to perceive the strength of Christ's love during
liis ministry on earth, we must remember that he carried
with him a consciousness of his immense superiority to all
around. He was not a man moving among equals. He re-
membered the glory he had left, and to which he was to re-
turn. The wisest and best around him must have appeared
to him like children. There wei'e none in whose society he
could find the refreshment and pleasure which we derive
from equal and congenial minds. Now it is when men are
surrounded by inferiors, that their pride, contempt, impa-
tience, and weariness perpetually break forth. What a strik-
ing proof, then, of the benevolence of Jesus is it, that, so
far from exhibiting indifference or contempt, he was distin-
guished by a lowly and gentle sweetness of deportment !
His dignity was so softened by meek and tender feeling, that
his disciples approached him with familiarity, lived with him
as a friend, and felt no pain in his presence. We should
have expected that a being so august, and whose works were
so wonderful, would have struck awe into men's minds ; but
the amiableness of Jesus seems to have triumphed over his
greatness, and to have inspired affection even stronger than
reverence. We see this illustrated in every part of his his-
tory ; in John's lying on his bosom, in Mary's anointing his
head, and in the deep and tender grief with which his disci-
ples after his death came to embalm his remains. When I
consider this conscious superiority of Jesus, I cannot express
my conception of the strength of his benevolence, as dis-
played in the affectionate familiarity with which he lived
umong men, in the gentleness and condescension of his man-

58 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

ner, in his hiding his majesty behind his compassion. It is
far easier to scatter blessings than to stoop to the low and to
live with them as a friend. The Son of God walking amidst
the band of his disciples as an equal, sitting at their table,
inviting to it the publican-, and conversing with all he met on
the highway and in the palace with like sympathy and inter-
est, displays to my mind a charity stronger than when he
employed his power to raise the dead. In every act and re-
lation of common life, we see that his very life and spirit was
benignity."

1817. Christ a mediator. "The sentiment which I
wish to enforce is this, — that Jesus Christ is continually, in
all ages, in all times, employed and interested in behalf of the
human race, — that his kindness to mankind is constantly
operating, — that he bears a permanent relation to them, —
that he never ceases to do good.

" It is to be feared that these conceptions are not suffi-
ciently familiar. Many, when they think of Christ, think of
him only or chiefly as having lived several ages ago. Their
minds travel back to the time when he dwelt on earth.
They conceive of him very much as a teacher or prophet
who brought an important message from God, and, having
declared it, died in attestation of it, and then left the world to
enter into a state of reward and rest. Jesus Christ is thus
separated from us, and thrown back into a distant antiquity.
Without being distinctly avowed, this is with many the most
habitual and frequent mode of regarding Christ, and it is
one cause of the faint interest often manifested in his char-
acter

" Such a view of Christ, when no higher views are con-
nected with it, will not take a strong hold on men of improv-
ed and cultivated minds. They will not feel that their obli-
gations to Christ are great, when he is regarded only as a
proplict of early times ; and the reason is, that, from their

CHRIST A MEDIATOR. 59

early familiarity with the leading truths of his gospel, and
from their habit of reasoning about these trutlis, they come
to think that they might have learned these without his aid.
You well know that since the time of Jesus the human mind
has been much employed in seeking for evidences in Nature,
of many interesting doctrines which he taught. The conse-
quence is, that a system of Natural Religion has been con-
structed. We have works of the learned, in which God's
tnity and goodness, and a future state of retribution, are sup-
ported, and, we are sometimes told, are demonstrated, by
proof drawn from the creation and providence. Now the ef-
fect of this mode of appeal to Nature in defence of these truths
is, to lead men to the notion that Nature is a sufficient wit-
ness to these doctrines, and that the authority of Christ may
be spared. Jesus seems to them to have conferred no signal
benefit in teaching doctrines which are written on every
page of God's works. But it is forgotten that it is by the
light which Christ has thrown on Natui-e that they are ena-
bled to read it with so much ease. It is forgotten that before
his time philosophers hesitated, wavered, doubted, about these
simple truths of religion, as they are now termed. It is for-
gotten that philosophy had not taken a step towards subvert-
ing idolatry.

" Hence the more cultivated become insensible to their
obligations to Christ, when viewed as a mere teacher of an
early age. Hence it is not uncommon to hear Nature ar-
rayed against Christ, to hear Nature referred to as a higher
authority than Christ, to see his instructions virtually set
aside when they do not correspond with what is asserted to
be the doctrine of Nature, although before his coming she
had taught so little, — although it is his gospel which has given
her a tongue. I have intended by these remarks to show
th;it the habit of thinking of Christ merely or chiefly as a
teacher who lived several ages ago, and left behind him an
excellent system of religious truth, is not suited to excite a

60 SPIRITUAL GKOWTH.

Strong interest in him, — certainly not such an interest, not
such a sensibility, as pervades the New Testament.

" I would now obsei-ve that this mode of viewing Christ
is wrong, defective, inconsistent with the plain declaration
of the Scriptures. According to these, Jesus Christ is not
a teacher whose agency was chiefly confined to the time
Avhen he was on earth. He ever lives, and is eve active
for mankind. He sustains other offices than those of a
teacher ; he is Mediator, Intercessor, Lord, and Saviour.
He has a permanent and constant connection with mankind,
and a most intimate union with his Church. He is through
all time, now as well as formerly, the active and efficient
friend of the human race.

" When Jesus spoke of his death, he never spoke of it
as if it were to separate him from the concerns of our
world, as if he were to rest from his effijrts for mankmd.
He regarded it as an event which was to introduce him to
a nobler and wider sphere of activity, where he was to con-
tribute more extensively to the conversion and salvation of
mankind. 'I go to prepare a place for you.' ' When I am
lifted up,' that is, crucified, ' I will draw all men to me.'
After his resurrection, he did not speak as if his work had
been finished by dying and rising again. He says, — 'All
power is given to me in heaven and earth. Lo ! I am with
you to the end of the world.'

" According to the Scriptures, Christ, the Son of God, as
a reward for his humiliation, labor, and sufferings for man-
kind, is now exalted to universal empire. Angels an; sub-
jected to him. Nature is subjected to him. He is present
by his knowledge and power with his Church. He never
forgets the race for which he died. He intercedes for them.
He assists them. He watches over the interests of his re-
ligion. He will make it victorious. According to the Scrip-
tures, the time is coming when his influence, now silent,
will be conspicuous, when the veil behind which he operates

CIIRI^iT A MEDIATOR. 61

will be withdrawn. He is to come with hosts of angels.
He is to raise the dead, to judge the world, to fulfil the
solemn threatenings, and to confer the everlasting blessings
of his gospel.

" This connection of Jesus Christ with the human race
seems to me very clearly unfolded in Scripture, and though
it is astonishing by its vastness, yet it is in no respect in-
credible. That God should choose to save and bless a race
of beings by the agency of an illustrious deliverer is only
an exemplification of that system which is established in
nature, under which we see God committing the preser-
vation and happiness of a large family to a parent, of a
large kingdom to a sovereign. Connections and dependen-
cies of this nature are peculiarly adapted to call forth an
exalted benevolence, and the strongest and best affections
of the soul. God might have raised mankind by an imme-
diate act of power from sin and death. But it is more con-
sistent with his character and with his usual modes of oper-
ation to assign this work to an exalted being capable of
accomplishing it, and to place this being in the most inter-
esting relations to our world.

" Is it now asked, ' Why are these views important .'' ' I
answer, they give a new complexion to the mind which
truly imbibes them. They are not mere speculative prin-
ciples. They are suited to move and actuate the soul to its
centre, to have a powerful operation on the affections and
the life, and therefore they should often be revolved. The
heart which is truly imbued with them rises to Christ with
a grateful and affectionate veneration which is felt for no
earthly friend. There is something peculiarly affecting in
the idea of a love, a philanthropy, living and operating
through ages, and looking down from heaven with an un-
broken tenderness on a race like ours

" I close with observing that a mind conversant with these
views of Christ acquires a vigor of hope and a fulness of

VOL. II. G

62 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

joy which can be derived from no other source. Our hope
of the heavenly world, is nourished by no views so effectu-
ally as by these. That world, so pure, so distant, so un-
seen, though believed by us to exist, is not easily conceived
of as designed to be our future dwelling. It is by bringing
it home to the heart, that Jesus is there, that Jesus in our
nature is there, that he is there as a friend, and forerunner,
and advocate, — it is by cherishing the^e views that heaven
is brought nigh to us, that hope acquires courage and
strength to ascend to* that pure and eternal state. It is pos-
sible, by the aid which these views of Christ can give, to
obtain a conviction of the future glory of human nature
altogether different from that vague and cold belief which
the multitude possess, — a conviction which partakes of the
vividness of immediate perception."

1816. The kingdom of heaven. " Christ came to es-
tablish an empire of benevolence, peace, charity, on the
ruins of malice, war, and discord. The work of diffusing
good-will through a world of free and voluntary agents
must of necessity be gradual, and, like all the great pur-
poses of God, must advance with a slow and silent progress.
But this work has been in a degree accomplished by Jesus ;
and what is more, there is a very remarkable adaptation in
his whole character to this office of spreading peace on
earth, — such an adaptation as proves him to be the pre
dieted Pacificator of the World

" At the thought of this reign of benevolence, the wholi
earth seems to me to burst forth into rejoicing. I see th«
arts and civilization spreading gladness over deserted re
gions, and clothing the wilderness with beauty. Natiom
united in a league of philanthropy advance with constantly
accelerating steps in knowledge and power. I spe stupen-
dous plans accomplished, oceans united, distant regions con-
nected, and every climate contributing its productions and

DANGERS OF FREE INSTITUTIONS. 63

treasures to the improvement and happiness of the race.
In private life, I see every labor lightened by mutual confi-
dence and aid. Indigence is unknown. Sickness and pain
are mitigated, and almost disarmed, by the d-feinterestedness
of those who suffer, and by the sympathy which suffering
awakens. Every blessing is heightened and diffused by
participation. Every family, united, peaceful, and knowing
no contention but for preeminence in doing good, is a con-
secrated and happy retreat, the image of heaven. The
necessary ills of life shrink into nothing. The human
countenance puts on a new and brighter expression. Hu-
man nature with its selfishness loses its base deformity, and
is clothed with the glory of God, whose designs it embraces,
with whose spirit it is imbued.

" Let us, then, welcome Jesus, the Prince i)f Peace, who
came with this spirit from heaven. Let us welcome Jesus,
whose gospel has already obtained so many conquests over
selfishness and malignity, and brought to reign in so many
hearts the principle of charity."

SECTION FOURTH.
SOCIETY.

1814. Dangers of free institutions. " One of the
great benefits of a republican government is, that it admits
the elevation of the best men to power. In hereditary o-ov-
ernments, the people have no pledge that the crown will
not be worn by the worst and weakest men in society.
But ' a republic,' we are told, ' opens wide tlie door of honor
and office _ to merit, — no artificial distinctions are there
employed to depress virtue and wisdom, and superior talent
has at once the means of development and reward. How
great, then, is the prospect that in a republic the power of
the state will be confided to the wise and good ! '

"The privilege of electing rulers is indeed invaluable;

64 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

but who does not see, in a moment, thai tliis privilege wil
be a blessing or a curse, according to the character of the
community ? Let a people be corrupt, and who will be
their favorite, — the uncorrupted patriot, the man of inflexible
principle, too upright to flatter bad passions and to prom-
ise subservience to unworthy views, or the subtle, specious
demagogue, who pants for power, and disdains no art by
which it may be acquired ? Bad men, of all others, are
most greedy of political power, for they see m power not
only the gratification of ambition, but food for their avarice,
and all their passions ; and in a corrupt state of the com-
munity, what can preserve the reins of government from
their unholy grasp ? Depraved themselves, they understand
the depraved feelings of others, and can bend every popular
passion to their service. To the mercenary they exhibit the
allurements of ofl[ice; to the envious they promise a triumph
over their superiors ; to the discontented and restless a re-
moval of fancied or exaggerated grievances. A corrupt
slate of society is the very element for the artful and as-
piring. Unfettered by principle and inflamed by the pros-
pect of success, they pursue power with an energy which
no labor can exhaust, no disappointment repress, and on
which better men look with astonishment. Better men arc
too much inclined to shrink in despair from a conflict with
these unscrupulous spirits. They cannot stoop, tliey say,
to artifice and falsehood. They cannot purchase ofiice by
the sacrifice of uprightness, by communion with the worst
members and worst feelings of society. What have they,
then, to hope from this desperate struggle with the depraved,
but envenomed and unceasing abuse, and a final defeat,
more fatal the longer it has been deferred ? Such reflec-
tions too often paralyze the efforts of tie wise and ui)right,
and the place of honor which is their due is usurped by the
unworthy.

"Is it said, that, under free institutions of society, men of

DANGERS OF FREE IXSTITUTIONS. 65

talents, if not of virtue, will rise, — that a republican country
will at least escape a government contemptible by its folly
and weakness ? Yes ! men of talent will rise ; but they
may be those who have a talent to wield a mob, i^lher than to
govern a state, — to build up a party, rather than to strength-
en the foundations of national greatness ; it may be cunning,
not wisdom, the power of managing vulgar passions, which
men of vulgar minds often possess in the highest degree,
that will triumph. In some corrupt states of society, not
even this miserable talent will be requisite to obtain pro-
motion. Let a people yield themselves to their passions,
and especially to envy, the besetting sin of republics, and
they will sometimes advance men of gross and narrow
minds, in preference to men of distinguished ability, for the
very purpose of humbling their superiors. In a republic,
eminence in talent is sometimes a crime, and rude and
clamorous ignorance may be raised above it. From these
causes it may happen again, as it has happened before, that
the rulers of a republic will be more weak and wicked than
the spoilt child of royalty. Of what use, then, is the privi-
lege of electing rulers to a depraved people ?

" These remarks naturally lead to the consideration of
another advantage peculiar to republican institutions, — I
mean, the power they confer of removing without violence
rulers who abuse their trust. This is indeed a great privi-
lege ; but again I say that its benefits depend on the char-
acter of the community. Let bad men rise to power by
flattering the passions of a depraved people, and how are
they to be displaced, except by the arts of men more subtle
than themselves ? The influence which their elevation gives
is all directed to perpetuate their sway. They wield the
power of the state for the great and almost exclusive pur-
pose of strengthening the party to which they owe theli
greatness. For this end patronage and oflice are employed
to reward past services, and to attract new adherents from
6*

66 SriRITUAL GKOWTH.

the ranks of their opponents. Venal presses are kept in
perpetual action to increase the perversity of pubhc senti-
ment, and especially to feed the spirit of party. There is
no passion in our nature more headstrong, unrelenting, un-
bending, and unwilling to be convinced, than party spirit,
and on this the artful and aspiring chiefly rely for the pres-
ervation of their power. Let this be kindled, and a corrupt
administration has little to fear. To the thorough partisan
no conduct of his leaders gives offence. His conscience is
in their keeping. Self-will, pride, malignity, prompt him to
uphold their worst measures. He would rather see the re-
public perish by their crimes, than owe its safety to the vir-
tues and elevation of their opponents. I need not tell you
that a corrupt republic is the very soil for party spirit.
Here it grows without culture, and shoots up into deadly
luxuriance, even when left to its native vigor. Let its
growth be aided by human art, and it overspreads the fairest
plants of social life, and darkens a nation with its poisonous
branches. With these means of support, bad rulers have
nothing to fear.

" Especially if the republic be extensive, as well as cor-
rupt, is the prospect of removing from power those who
abuse it almost sure of disappointment. The rulers of such
a community, seated as they are in the centre, sending forth
their patronage to the remotest extremities, and guiding to
one end the exertions of their supporters, have every advan-
tage for perpetuating their power. Their opponents, scat-
tered over a wide extent of country, having different inter-
ests, wanting bonds of union, offer a divided and feeble
resistance. They complain of the oppression under which
the nation groans; but the credulous and malignant spirit
of party is instructed to lay to their charge the very evila
which they are struggling to avert, and a guilty adminis-
tration contrives to direct upon their heads the indignation
which its own crimes and follies iiave awakened. Tiius we

JUSTICE TO THE POOR. 67

see how little benefit is to be expected in a corrupt republic
from the power of removing unfaithful rulers."

1817. Justice to the poor. "For what ei!tl are civil
society, government, and property instituted .'' Not to build
up a favored few, but for the general toelfare of mankind.
No valid reason, no justification, can be offered for the
present order of things, for the division of the earth into dis-
tinct possessions, for the great inequalities of property which
exist, but this, that the improvement and happiness of men
in general are protected by these establishments. The rich
derive their title to their wealth from this consideration, that
the general welfare is advanced by the institution of proper-
ty. Society was not instituted, as they are too apt to think,
for them alone ; but they belong to society. The true end
of the social union demands that they live for the general as
well as individual good, and the fact that they derive the
highest benefits from civil institutions imposes on them a
peculiar obligation to promote the public weal.

" Society is instituted for the good of all ranks of men.
No single rank is made merely for the rest, but all are to
exist for each other. It is a sentiment, abstractly true,
though it can never be applied to practice, that a man for-
feits his right to property just as far as he fails to contribute
according to his ability to the common well-being. He
breaks, in so doing, the tacit compact which every man is
supposed to make who becomes or remains a member of
society. According to these principles, there is a moral
obligation on the rich to benefit the other ranks of society.
This they necessarily do, in a measure, by employing the
poor and recompensing them for their labor. Such service
is a very important one. But when we consider their abili-
ty, and consider, too, the immense benefits which they re-
ceive from the labors of the poorer classes, they surely
ought not to restrict their aid to this limit

68 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

" The present state of the world seems to me to demand
of the rich a pecuhar regard to the poorer orders of society.
The time has come, when the security of civil institutions
depends in no small degree on the prevalence of a convic-
tion among the mass of the people, that these institutions are
beneficial, that property with all its inequalities is a useful
establishment, and that the rich are their benefactors and
friends. Human nature is not formed to look patiently or
superiors. A spirit of discontent generally lurks in the
breasts of those to whom the humble offices of life are as-
signed. This spirit is at this moment peculiarly excited, and
it is to be counteracted only by the difiusion of good princi-
ples through the great mass of society, and by a deportment
in the rich which will engage the confidence of the poor.

" It has long been the tendency of things to increase the
power of the middling and pooi'er classes of society. We
must not apply to the present state of the world the maxims
which were suited to darker ages and despotic governments.
In such ages, and under such govei'nments, the poor were
spurned, and no revolt followed, because their spirit w^as
broken, and they were reduced to a brutal ignorance. But
the case is different in this and many other nations. Since
the Reformation and the revival of learning, a new light has
broken on Protestant countries, a light almost as difilisive as
the sunbeams which enter at once the narrow window of
the poor man and the broad one of his rich neighbour. A
degree of knowledge and of mental activity unknown before
has been communicated to the poorer classes of society. It
is too late, even if it were desirable, to keep them in igno-
rance. The spirit of the age is too active and free, to suflcr
the chains to be fastened on their minds. They already
know many things, and among other lessons they have
learned their own weight, in society

" The consequence of the progress of knowledge and of
all improvements in these later ages undoubtedly lias been

EDUCATION OF T51E POOR. 69

to aniuse a restless and revolutionary spirit ib.rough society.
This spirit is not to be condemned, as if it were altogether
evil. Whilst it is in part quickened by bad passions, it is in
part the natural and proper movement of the minci"in pursuit
of a better state of things. It is traced up to the fact that the
human mind has outgrown old institutions. It is an impulse
which we cannot but hope is to result in a Taore just and
happy social order.

" But still, this spirit threatens evil, and it needs to be reg-
ulated and checked by the diffusion of sound principles of
religion and morality. We must not imagine that this revo-
lutionary spirit has exhausted itself. Its violence has been
stayed by late events. But events cannot withstand the
principles of human nature, and the powerful causes which
are now exciting the activity of the human mind. The
press, we must remember, is at work,- — the mightiest engine
ever set in motion by man. A freer intercourse, a more
intimate connection, a more rapid communication of thoughts
and feelings, than was ever known before subsists between
men of the same class, and between different classes of
society. We must not expect, that society, under these in-
fluences, is to return to its former state. It cannot rest as
much on prejudice as it has done. It must rest more on re-
flection and on principle. In this country in particular, where
the majority govern, \vhere all ranks have an equal agency
in the election of rulers, the chief support of social order is
to be found, not in an outward power of government, but in
the internal conviction and moral and religious sentiments
of the community. Never did such strong motives, even of
a worldly nature, exist as among ourselves, for the improve-
ment of the poorer classes of society."

1817. Address before the association for the edu-
cation OF indigent boys. " The strongest argument for
education is found in the nobleness of the human faculties,

70 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

and \he poor bring with them into being the same faculties
with the opulent. Nature knows none of our arbitrary dis-
tinctions. The child in the humblest walks of life is as richly
gifted, as largely endowed, as in the highest. He has with-
in the same inexhaustible mine of power and affection, the
same resources of heart and intellect. A flame is kindled in
his breast which is never to die. Such a being is not to be
viewed as an inferior animal, or as important only because he
can perform certain labors for the community. He is valua-
ble when considered as an individual, as well as when con-
sidered in relation to society. He has a nature which for its
own sake deserves to be developed, and which God gave for
the very end that it should be improved.

" Among the poor are not only all the essential qualities
of mind and capacities of improvement which belong to all
men, but all the varieties of intellect which are found in other
ranks of life. It is, I believe, a fact, that a large proportion
of that heaven-inspired energy which is ordinarily called
genius, and which has done so much to advance the human
mind, to open new regions .of thought and action, and to give
a new impulse to society, has been furnished by the inferior
orders of society. There is the same chance, to speak in
human language, that the sublime faculties of a Locke and
Newton are wrapped up in the child of the poor man as in
the titled descendant of nobles. As many great minds have
dawned in hovels as in palaces. And the poor have not
only their proportion of superior intellect, but they carry
within them seeds of the highest and noblest virtues, of
capacities of elevated devotion, of disinterestedness, of hero-
ism, of those properties which raise our nature from the dust
and mark out its immortal destiny. The possession of such
a nature as this by the poor is certainly an unanswerable
argument for opening to them, as far as possible, all those
advantages which call forth the mind and heart, which give
elevation of character, and render the whole of life a state
of improvement.

EDUCATION OF THE POOR. 71

*' It will probably be replied to these remarks, that it is
impossible to give to the poor great advantages, that their
condition excludes them from the acquisition of various
knowledge, and that Providence has thus forbitlden the at-
tempt to bestow upon them an education proportioned to
their faculties. But this objection, I think, is founded in a

wrong view of the nature and design of education

The great object of education is, not to store the mind with
knowledge, but to give activity and vigor to its powers, to
assist it in thinking and inventing, in comparing, discriminat-
ing, and combining. The sum of knowledge which schools
and even universities communicate is inconsiderable. It
bears a small proportion to what we derive from other
sources, and from sources which are open to every mind.
Our principal volumes are nature, experience, and society.
Education is of use chiefly as it helps us to read these
volumes, as it gives us the habits of patient attention, of obser-
vation, of accurate judgment, and of vigorous thought

" The remarks now made will, I hope, remove the objec-
tion to the instruction of the poor, that their condition forbids
them to be learned. We do not wish them to be learned,
nor is this the great end of education. We wish to train
their faculties ; and this may be effected for the poor, as well
as for other orders of society. It will, however, be the effect
of a general education of the poor, to awaken and disclose
minds of a high order, formed for learning, research, and
contemplation, which, without this aid, would have slumber-
ed in obscurity. This, though not the greatest, is one great
advantage of extending the best opportunities in our power
to the poonir classes of society. In those classes are scat-
tered those noblest works of God, superior minds, minds
which ask nothing but a field for action, which need only to
be relieved from the oppression of want, which can mount
by their own native energy, which are formed to look on
nature with a fresh eye, to investigate new truth, to explore

72 SI'IRITUAL GROWTH.

worlds of thought now undiscovered, to awaken by eloquence
or poetry a higher life and feeling in the human breast.
Great minds are the glory of their race, the instruments em-
ployed by Providence in improving mankind and in kindling
and elevating their less favored brethren ; and society has an
interest in their development, wherever they exist. Justice
to such minds is one benefit of a general education of the
poor. Powerful as native genius is, it requires some aid.
The most vigorous seed will perish without light and moist-
ure, and the instruction of the poor affords to superior minds
the necessary aid.

" Should the history of the world be traced, I believe it
will be found, as I have said before, that society has derived
a considerable proportion of its best materials — I mean
superior minds — from tne inferior classes of society, wher-
ever these classes have enjoyed the advantages which are
their due. The higher classes of society have a tendency
to intellectual imbecility, and need to be replenished from
the lower. The looser relations of the poor are more favor-
able to native vigor, originality, freshness of thought, where
real genius is possessed ; and from all this it follows, that the
intellectual progress of a community, its mental activity, its
energy of thought and action, will be promoted by extending
to all classes the means of education, by giving eveiywhere
to superior minds the opportunity of emerging and of lend-
ing their impulse to society

"That the development of intellect should have a ten-
dency to injure the character of the poor, and to render them
bad members of society, seems to be a reflection on the
wisdom and goodness of the Creator, who must have consti-
tuted human nature with a singular want of skill, if its best
faculties cannot safely be unfolded. I am persuaded, too,
that this sentiment is at war with the history of the progress
of society, which teaches us that there is a close connection
between our intellectual and moral powers, and that knowl-

EDUCATION OF THE POOR. 73

edge is friendly to virtue. Tlie idea, that a large part of
mankind must be kept in a state of brutal ignorance and
degradation, and be sacrificed, as far as their higher powers
are concerned, to the welfare of society, shocks our best
feelings, and those feelings will generally be found in alli-
ance with truth.

" It may be admitted that the education of the poor will
give them a desire to better their condition, and that this
desire may sometimes be impatient, and may hurry them
into crime. But what then ? Does not this desire in every
class of society often break out into the same excesses .''
Shall we, therefore, extinguish it ? The desire of rising,
of improving our condition, is a radical principle of our na-
ture, and one of the chief sources of all social improve-
ments. It is the life of a community, and without it a
people would sink into torpidness, sloth, and the most de-
grading vices. It is a miserable philosophy which would
suppress the great springs of action in the human breast,
because they sometimes act with a dangerous power.

" That men will labor less because improved in under-
standing seems to me to be an equally erroneous notion.
The great motives to steady labor lie in a perception of the
future consequences of actions, and require a mind of some
comprehension, foresight, and calculation to feel their force ;
and hence we may expect the steadiest labor from men
whose faculties have been enlarged by education. That
this is precisely the fact, history and observation prove.
Slaves and savages, who receive no education, are prover-
bially indolent. The hardest laborers in this country are the
husbandmen of New England, — a class of men who have
been formed under institutions peculiarly fitted to expand
and invigorate the understanding

" Of all our benevolent institutions, those which regard
children seem to me to hold the first rank. Let charity,
indeed, extend itself with a divine activity to all the varie-

VOL. II. 7

74 SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

ties of human want; let it multiply its fojms of action in
proportion to the forms of guilt and suffering ; let its chan
nels be everywhere widened and deepened ; let it erect
hospitals, establish dispensaries and provident institutions,
watch over almshouses, open receptacles for the reformation
of the vicious, and administer comfort to the aged and dy-
ing. The aged and dying, however, will soon cease to
suffer ; their journey is almost finished ; and the poor of
middle age have formed characters which yield slowly and
reluctantly to the influence of any means of improvement.
But the child has just begun to live, with a mind pliant and
tender, with habits not now rigid and unyielding, with a
heart not now tainted and hardened, yet with propensities
which, if unchecked, will probably issue in guilt and misery.
Abandon him to ignorance, and his youth, if he struggle
through its hardships, will train him to crimes for which

society has reared the prison and the gallows

" The children of poor families too often inherit the vices
and miseries of their parents. Brought up in filth, seeing
constantly the worst examples, hearing licentious and pro-
fane conversation, abandoned to ignorance and idleness, or,
if employed, only employed to beg in the streets, to extort
money by falsehoods, to practise a thousand frauds, — from
such children what can you expect but lives of sloth and
guilt, leading to poverty more abject, if possible, than that to
which they were born ? This is the most affecting circum-
stance attending poverty produced by vice. Who can think
without an aching heart of the child nursed at the Ixeast
of an intemperate mother, subjected to the tyranny and
blows of an irritable, intoxicated father, and at length cast
out upon the world witliout one moral or religious principle,
or one honest method of acquiring subsistence ? Take him
under your protection, nurture his tender years, and you
may hope to form him to intoUigcnce and industry aiul vir-
tue, to a life of cheerful and useful labor, and to the felici-
ties of a better world. Do not, do not let him pcriau."'

ALMS-GIVING. 75

1819. Our duties to the poor. " Formerly, ihe task
of a Christian minister in pleading for the poor was com-
paratively easy. He had the plain precepts of his Master
to support him, and he found in men's breasts instinctive
principles and sympathies vi^hich responded to these precepts.
Of late, however, we have had abundant discussions and
speculations on the causes and remedies of poverty, which,
however well designed, have tended to shake men's sense
of obligation to relieve their poor brethren, and have given
pretexts to the selfish and avaricious for shutting their hearts
and hands. We have been told that poverty grows by
charity, that the prospect of relief begets improvidence, that
our giving bribes men to forsake labor, that the way to
check beggaiy is to make it an intolerable condition ; —
from all which the inference seems natural, that the less we
give, the better. If this doctrine has not been set forth in so
many words, yet, I think, there has been an approach to it,
so that giving to the poor is by some thought a less binding
duty than formerly.

" I mean not to deny that much useful truth has been
brought before the public by the late discussions on the sub-
ject of poverty. I am far from denying that injudicious,
indiscriminate charity has swelled the evil which it hoped
to alleviate. The Christian precept, to ' give alms,' has
sometimes done injury, and chiefly because it has not been
limited, as it should be, by another precept, namely, ' He
that will not work, neither shall he eat,' that is, be supported
by charity. In the Dark Ages, alms-giving was thought an
expiation for sin and a passport to heaven. The dying left
legacies to convents to be doled out to daily mendicants
without regard to their character or state, so that society
lost the labor of many of its strongest and healthiest mem-
bei-s. And this evil has not been confined to the Catholics.
Protestant sloth has been as injurious as Romish superstition.
Too many among us give from a vague sense of duty, but

re

SPIRITUAL 'JROWTH.

forget the obligation of giving vigilantly, carefully, in the
manner most suited to do good. It is easier to give money
than time and personal attention. Hence charity nourishes
idleness instead of solacing want, and is a bounty on im-
providence. Alms-giving, I freely allow, has caused much
(. vil. I am also prepared to go farther and say, that, let us
g've ever so judiciously, we shall occasionally do evil, as
•well as good. The objections made to the most cautious
charity are not wholly without foundation. But this is no
reason for ceasing to give. In making these admissions, we
are only saying that charity partakes of the imperfection of
all human things. The truth is, we seldom or never receive
or communicate an unmixed good. Every vii.ue produces
occasional evil.

" It is sometimes objected to alms-giving, as I have inti-
mated, that to prevent poverty is better than to relieve it :
and that there is but one way of prevention, which is, to
take from men all expectation of relief if they become
poor. They will then, it is thought, have motives which
can hardly fail to keep them from want. But, unluckily for
such reasoning, there is one way only of Cutting off this
expectation, and God forbid that we should ever resort to it.
That only way is, to drive all human feeling from our
breasts ; for as long as any kindness exists in a com-
munity, so long there will be resources open to the poor,
let their poverty come how it may, and so long relief will
be expected by the improvident. I repeat it, there is but
one way of suppressing this hope of relief. We must cast
from us all kind feeling. We must turn our hearts to stone.
We must bring ourselves to see unmoved the beggar die at
our doors. We must make up our minds sternly, inflexibl}',
to give nothing, let misery assail us with ever so piercing a
cry, with ever so haggard, and worn, and famished a look ;
for nothing but tliis will prevent the improper dependence
which is said to generate poverty. Let an}^ sympathy sur-

PREVENTION OF POVERTY. 77

Vive, and it will act and be a hope to the improvident ; and
can any man seriously think that the evils of this hope are
so great, that to avoid them we should turn ourselves into
brutes, dry up the fountains of humanity ^rithin us, part
with all that is tender and generous in our nature ? I am
free to say that the most injudicious alms-giving is an
inhnitely less evil to society than this extinction of sym-
pathy. Better multiply beggars, than make ourselves
monsters. Kind affection is the life of a community, and
the excesses of these affections are to be chosen before a
frozen selfishness.

"I would next observe, that I have no belief in the effi-
cacy of this mode of preventing poverty. Let men know
that want will find no relief, and I doubt whether it will be
essentially diminished; for human nature has a Strang
power of shutting its eyes on consequences, especially in
youth, and every day's observation shows us multitudes
giving themselves up, through the power of the passions, to
excesses, pleasures, which, as they see and know, have re-
duced others in their neighbourhood and families to penury
disease, and even premature death. Present gratification
often outweighs an infinite future misery. Men are not to
be kept from poverty by being taught that poverty is a help-
less state, an> more than they are to be kept from crimes by
multiplication of capital punishments. The laws are not
found to be most efficacious when men are gibbeted for
every offence, and facts of a similar nature should can-
tion us against attempts to meliorate society by unmixed
rigor.

"Another consideration is too important to be passed
over. Let poverty be made a condition in which no relief
IS to be hoped, which is to be given up to unmixed and un-
pitied misery, and the temptations to escape it by fraud and
violence will be irresistible. No man will be poor who can
find his way to his neighbour's coffers ; and if, after all hon.

/O SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

est exertions for s^lf-support, a man should be reduced to
want, I am not prepared to judge him severely, should he,
to save himself from starving, make a prey of the super-
fluities of the rich.

" These remarks will not, I hope, be misunderstood. I
am not pleading for injudicious alms-giving. It is a great
evil. But there is an opposite evil which I think greater,
and that is, making use of the bad consequences of charity
as arguments for banishing charity from society ; and to
this point many late speculations on poverty have seemed
to me to tend; Christ's precept to give to the poor is not a
blemish in his system, but an important and noble part of it.
The occasional abuses of charity are not to discourage us in
exercising this virtue. We must feel, however, that we but
half do this duty when we do it carelessly. We must strive
to give so that the least evil and the greatest good may re-
sult from our beneficence

" Does any one ask, ' Why shall I pity and help the poor
man .' ' I answer, because he is a man ; because poverty
does not blot out his humanity ; because he has your nature,
your sensibilities, your wants, your fears ; because the winter
wind pierces him, and hunger gnaws him, and disease racks
and weakens him, as truly as they do you. Place yourself,
my friend, in his state ; make yourself, by a strong effort of
thought, the inhabitant of his unfurnished and cold abode,
and then ask why you should help him. He is a man,
though rags cover him, though his unshorn hair may cover
his human features, — a member of your family, a child of
the same Father, and, what is most important, he not only
has your wants and feelings, but shares with you in the
highest powers and hopes of human nature. He is a mat
in the noblest sense, created in God's image, with a mind to
think, a conscience to guide, a heart which may grow warm
with sentiments as pure and generous as your own. To
Bome this may seem declamation. There are some who

CHARITY A TEST OF KELIGION. 79

seldom think of or value man as man. It is man born in a
particular rank, clad by the hand of fashion and munificence,
moving in a certain sphere, whom they respect. Poverty
separates a fellow-being from them, and severs the golden
chain of humanity. But this is a gross and vulgar way of
thinking, and religion and reason cry out against it. The
true glory of man is something deeper and more real than
outward condition. A human being, created in God's image,
and, even when impoverished by vice, retaining power es-
sentially the same with angels, has a mysterious importance,
and his good, where it can be promoted, is worthy the care

of the proudest of his race

" Next to the great doctrine of immortal life, we may say
that the most characteristic element of our religion is that of
UNIVERSAL CHARITY. And the doctrine of immortality and
the duty of charity are not so separate as many may think ;
for love or benevolence is the spirit of the eternal world, the
temper which is to make us blest beyond the grave, and to
give us hereafter the highest enjoyment of the character
and works of our Creator. There is another view by which
it appears that the Christian doctrine of immortality blends
with and sustains charity ; — for, according to this doctrine,
all men are to live for ever, Christ died for all, all are essen-
tially equal, and the distinctions of their lives are trifles.
Thus it is seen that the poor are recommended with an in-
finite power to the love and aid of their brethren. No man
can read the New Testament honestly, and not learn to
measure his religion chiefly by his benevolence. If the
spiint, and example, and precepts of Jesus Christ have not
taught us to love our fellow-creatures, we have no title what-
ever to the name and the hope of Christians. If we have
not learned this lesson, we have learned nothing from our
Master. About other things Christians may dispute, but
here there can be no controversy. Charity is a duty placed

80 SPIRITUAL GKOV/TH.

before us with a sunlike brightness. It comes to us from the
lips, the life, the cross, of our Master ; and if charity be not
in us, then Christ does in no degree live within us, then our
profession of his religion is a mockery, then he will say to
us in the last day, — ' I was hungry and ye gave me no
meat, thirsty and ye gave me no drink. I know you not.
Depart.' "

1820. The glory of a state. " It is plain, that, to
promote the good of our country, we must know what that
good is, and as misapprehensions on this subject have done
infinite injury, so just views will show us that every man in
every class may contribute to it. The honor and happiness
of a community consist not so much in the ability and acts
of its public men, as in the character, spirit, and condition
of its citizens ; and whatever or whoever advances these
builds up the public welfare.

" If I were to express in a line what constitutes the glory
of a state, I should say, il is the free and full development
of Human Nature. That country is the happiest and
noblest, whose institutions and circumstances give the largest
range of action to the human powers and affections, and call
forth man in all the variety of his faculties and feelings.
That is the happiest country, where there is most intelli-
gence and freedom of thought, most affection and love, most
imagination and taste, most industry and enterprise, most
public spirit, most domestic virtue, most conscience, most
piety. Wealth is a good only as it is the production and
proof of the vigorous exercise of man's powers, and is a
means of bringing out his affections and enlarging his facul-
ties. Man is the only glory of a country, and it is the ad-
vancement and unfolding of human nature which is the true
interest of a state.

" If this be true, wc learn what is the great end of ge.v-

THE GLORY OF A STAIE 81

ernment, the highest good of civil polity. It is liherly. I
am almost tempted to say that this is the only political bless-
ing, and the only good gift which law and order can confer
on a country. By liberty I do not mean what aTiciently bore
the name, for anciently they had little but the name. I
mean the protection of every individual in his rights, and an
exemplion from >" restraints but such as the public good re-
quin^s. We do not want government to confer on us posi-
tive blessings, but simply to secure to us the unobstructed
exercise of our powers in working out blessings for ourselves.
The spring of happiness is in man's own breast, not in his
government ; and the best office of government is to remove
obstructions to this inexhaustible energy of the living spirit
within us. Liberty, then, is the greatest political blessing, the
distinction of a well-governed country. It is a good which
cannot be measured. The glory of a country, then, consists
in the free character of its institutions, in the security they

give to every man's rights

" Every man may promote the glory of his country, for
every man, whatever be his sphere, may put forth his
powers in useful pursuits, and express and give some exten-
sion to right principles and virtuous affections. Let none
imagine that they can do no good to the community because
they are in private stations. The error has always been to
ascribe to public men and public institutions an undue share
in the prosperity of a nation. The great powers in the
natural world, on which its motion, life, beauty, happiness,
depend, are subtile, and everywhere diffused ; and so the
most effectual springs of a nation's felicity are very dif-
ferent from the cumbrous machinery which works at the
seat of government. They are silent as the principle of life
in the animal frame. They consist in what we call the
spirit, of a people, in a general respect for rights, which is
the sole foundation of civil liberty, in industry, temperance,

82

SPIRITUAL GROWTH.

intelligence, humanity, and piety. These are the elements
of a country's life, and he who muUiplics and invigorates
these is a public benefactor.

" The sentiment, that a country's happiness consists chief-
ly in its virtue, is, I know, a trite one ; but, if I mistake
not, its truth is at this moment receiving some new illustra-
tions, and the time seems to be coming, when it will be felt
as it has never been felt before. Whoever looks at Europe
will see, I think, that a new spirit has gone forth among the
nations ; that the human mind is unusually shaken ; that
society demands some new organization, and that new
powers, and those of a moral nature, must be set at work to
sustain its institutions. The old methods of keeping men in
order — I mean military force, state religions, and the show
and pomp of courts — have lost much of their efficacy, and
lost them not merely through temporary causes, but through
the very progress of the human mind. There is an ac-
cumulation of intelligence and energy, a consciousness of
power, in the mass of the people, never possessed before ;
and such a state of society seems to me to demand a strong-
er influence and wider diffusion of moral and religious prin-
ciple than formerly. The old arts of restraining a people
by superstition and ignorance will no longer avail. A
purer religion and a purer morality must take their place, or
the prospects of the world are dark indeed. Governments
are certainly weakened ; they have lost in an unprecedented
degree the confidence of the governed ; the people are more
intelligent and combined ; and unless an inward principle of
order be substituted for outward restraint, unless govern-
ments reform themselves and aid in reforming society, we
may find that we have but entered upon the horrors of the
revolutionary period. These speculations may be founded
on imperfect knowledge of the state of the world ; but of
one great principle I have no doubt, that we are passing

THE GLORY OF A STATE. 83

through a process which will give new efficacy to the con-
viction, that the stability of governments is their justice,
and that the prosperity of states rests on moral improve-
ments, on a Pure, Rational Religion, on a Spirit of Hu-
manity, within every nation of Christendom, and toward all
mankind."

CHAPTER V.

MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.
;et. 34-42. 1814-1822.

W E have traced Mr. Cbanning's course through the
irksome years of the Unitarian controversy, and have
watched his spiritual growth, as manifested in the ser-
mons preached to his people. And now we would ob-
serve him in his social, pastoral, and home relations
during this period of his middle-age ministry. But be-
fore describing this portion of his life, it may serve yet
further to illustrate his character as a controversialist and
a theologian, to make a few remarks, which are naturally
suggested by the preceding chapters.

The first point to be noticed, and it is an important
one, is that it was his sense of duty to the cause of
Free Inquiry, endangered as he thought by a bigoted
conservatism, which led Mr. Channing into controversy.
The individualizing tendency of Protestantism was then,
in New England as elsewhere, swelling like the waters
of a freshet, which threaten to sweep away dikes and
cultivated acres, as well as icy fetters. But though he
saw the risks to which Christendom was exposed through
the rashness produced by rationalism in the self-willed
and superficial, Mr. Channing at once recognized that it
was as wrong as it was vain to attempt to dam up the
liberal spirit which, on all sides, was seeking a larger

UNITY IN VARIETY. 85

form of thought and hfe. He welcomed the spring-
time, and accepted' cheerfully the inconveniences of a
transition age. The unity in uniformity^ enforced by
the decrees of infaUible councils and by the creeds of
Protestant synods, had passed for ever ; and in the
future was foreshadowed a unity in variety arising spon-
taneously among the body of believers bound into one
by the consciousness of limitation and error, the desire
of concert and mutual reverence. He rejoiced to think
that the symbol was thus to give place to the reality,
that the constrained catholicity of a dominant clergy was
to make room for the universal communion of Christians
filled with one spirit of holy love.

Meanwhile, a period was to be passed through of
sectarian division, wherein each party, in its wish to be
faithful to its own convictions, would be tempted to treat
rival denominations with injustice. This era of debate
he saw to be inevitable. It was folly to fear it. It was
mere waste of time to oppose or to mourn over it. Duty
urged him to follow the providential leading, with confi-
dence to seek clearer views, with candor to listen to all
who uttered their sincere opinions, never to cover up
doubt by make-belief or half-belief, without dogmatism
to be decided, and patiently to wait for the time when
glimpses should be enlarged to complete vision. As
faith ascends into knowledge, it becomes ever more ap-
parent that according to Divine design the multiplicity
of minds is a means of harmony, that the most bitterly
opposed partisans are each other's necessary comple-
ments, and that the Church cannot afibrd to spare a sin-
gle sect till the truth which it embodies has attained its
rightful place. The principle by which Mr. Channing
was governed he has thus distinctly expressed, and the

VOL. II. 8

86 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

passage throws much light upon his views of hh own
position and duties.

" It is due to myself to say, that the controversial charac-
ter of a part of my writings is to be ascribed, not to the love
of disputation, but to the circumstances in which I was called
to write. It was my lot to enter on public life at a time
when this part of the country was visited by what I est':em
one of its sorest scourges ; I mean, a revival of the spirit of
intolerance and persecution. I saw the commencement of
those systematic efforts, which have been since developed,
for fastening on the community a particular creed. Opinions
which I thought true and purifying were not only assailed
as errors, but branded as crimes. Then began what seems
to me one of the gross immoralities of our times, the prac-
tice of aspersing the characters of exemplary men, on the
ground of differences of opinion as to the most mysterious
articles of faith. Then began those assaults on freedom of
thought and speech, which, had they succeeded, would have
-left us only the name of religious liberty. Then it grew
perilous to search the Scriptures for ourselves, and to speak
freely according to the convictions of our own minds. I
saw that penalties, as serious in this country as fine and im-
prisonment, were, if possible, to be attached to the profession
of liberal views of Christianity, — the penalties of general
hatred and scorn ; and that a degrading uniformity of opin-
ion was to be imposed by the severest persecution which the
spirit of the age would allow. At such a period, I dared
not be silent. To oppose what I deemed error was to me a
secondary consideration. My first duty, as I believed, was,
to maintain practically and resolutely the rights of the hu-
man mind ; to live and to suffer, if to suffer were necessary,
for that intellectual and religious liberty which I prize in-
comparably more than my civil rights. I felt myself called,
not merely to plead in general for freedom of thought and

TREATMENT OF OPPONENTS. 87

speech, but, what was more important and trying, to assert
this freedom by action. I should have felt myself disloyal
to truth and freedom, had I confined myself to vague com-
monplaces about our rights, and forborne to^ear my testi-
mony expressly and specially to proscribed and persecuted
opinions. The times required that a voice of strength and
courage should be lifted up, and I rejoice that I was found
among those by whom it was uttered and sent far and wide.
The timid, sensitive, diffident, and doubting needed this
voice ; and without it, would have been overborne by the
clamor of intolerance. If in any respect I have rendered a
service to humanity and religion, which may deserve to be
remembered when I shall be taken away, it is in this. I
believe, that, had not the spirit of religious tyranny been
met, as it was, by unyielding opposition in this region, it
would have fastened an iron yoke on the necks of this
people. The cause of religious freedom owes its present
strength to nothing so much as to the constancy and reso-
lution of its friends in this quarter. Here its chief battle
has been fought, and not fought in vain. The spirit of in-
tolerance is not, indeed, crushed ; but its tones are subdued,
and its menaces impotent, compared with what they would
have been, had it prospered in its efforts here." *

But though thus ready to defend freedom of con-
science against every form of oppression, however plau-
sible, Mr. Channing entertained no personal ill-will to-

* Preface to Reviews, Discourses, and Miscellanies, 1830. — Tlie
statements and arguments presented on the Orthodox side may be
found in " A Letter on Religious Liberty, by Moses Stuart, Profes-
sor of Sacred Literature in the Theological Seminary, Andovcr.''
Boston. 1830. Professor Stuart therein avers that the accusations
of Dr. Channing are " not troe," page 37. This Letter was replied
to in " Two Letters on Religious Liberty, by Bernard Whitman."
Boston. 1830. The reply called out a rejoinder in the Spirit of
the Pilgrims, which Mr. Whitman answered in a " Third Letter."

68 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

wards those whose course he was called upon to resist.
He had genuine dignity, indeed, and a high sense of
honor, and was capable of feeling deep indignation ; but
he had been for years too chastened in spirit to indulge
anger or to cherish unkindness. And as he was con-
sidered by some of his Orthodox adv^ersaries to have
been quite too stern in his mode of conducting contro-
versy, it is but right to mention one or two facts, and to
give some extracts from his correspondence, which may
serve to set forth his character in its true colors.

In relation to his letters to Dr. Worcester, one of his
brothers thus writes : — "I was living in his house at
this period, and when he had finished the letter, he read

It to the Rev. Mr. and myself. We both at once-

made complaints at its mildness, and insisted that it had
the tone of a timid rnan begging for mercy, rather tiian
of a brave one who was supporting a righteous cause.
By our importunity he was persuaded to modify it. He
expressed the kindest feelings, but, on the other hand,
was unwilling to seem lukewarm in what he regarded as
a very serious matter. Many parts were altered ac-
cordingly ; and when the letter was finally sent to the
press, its original gentleness was merged in the more
emphatic passages which he had inserted in consideration
of our urgent requests. Years afterwards, I believe in
1832, I was reading a tract of his, while sitting with
him in his study. Its vehemence pained me so much,
that I could not but remonstrate against its spirit. He
listened patiently, hesitated for a moment, and then,
lookmg up with the sweetest smile, said, — ' The sins of
earlier days arise against me. I followed the judgment
of friends in printing that. I deeply regret that there is
a word there which strikes you as being bitter. Surely

TREATMENT OF OPPONENTS. 89

I ntver felt an unkind emolion towards any person for a
difference of opinion.' As he spoke, the whole histoiy
of the tract flashed upon me. It was the very letter to
Dr. Worcester to which I had been instrumental in giv
ing its present form. This was by no means the first or
last occasion when he heard his own mildness reproved,
and when he was induced, by fear of betraying the cause
m which he was engaged, to use a warmth of expression
that was really in discord with his own temper.

" In all differences of opinion with others, I never
heard him utter a harsh word, and there were always
marked expressions of disapproval, whenever he saw
acrimony or unfairness manifested, however obnoxious
the person might be against whom they were directed.
When Dr. Griffin, who was the head of the Orthodox
party, and bitterly opposed to Liberalism, was officiating
at Park Street Church, a slanderous report was raised
against him, as malevolent as it was false. I was walk-
ing whh ray brother one day in the Mall, when. Dr.
Griffin having passed us, he was led to speak of this
base story. He declared how deeply he was shocked
to see a smile of triumph on the countenances of the
Doctor's opponents, — many of them being of course his
own supporters. His language on this occasion was the
strongest which I ever heard fall from his lips. As he
spoke of the spirit manifested by these men, made mad by
theological hostility, he characterized it as exhibiting the
bases , elements in human nature, and as truly diabolical.

" I 'will give one more example to illustrate his habit-
ual generosity toward opponents. A clergyman from
a distant part of the State preached some sermons in
Boston, in 1817, in which he severely criticized, and
indeed actually vilified, the character of the Liberal

90 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

clergy in the most wholesale manner. I, in company
with several acquaintances, was present. In the evening
the discourse became naturally the topic of conversation
among us. Much indignation w^as expressed. But my
brother directed all his remarks to softening the feelings
of those who were aggrieved by the abuse of honored
friends. ' I cannot blame this stranger so severely,'
said he ; ' these harsh judgments never originated from
himself ; he was led by others into false impressions.
How sad is controversy, that it should thus tempt our
opponents to misrepresent men whom they might and
should know better ! ' Thus did he endeavour to find
extenuating circumstances whereby to explain, if not ex-
cuse, the conduct of his adversaries. These slight
recollections are of worth only as proving the essential
disposition and uniform behaviour of the man. He was
thoroughly magnanimous and just."

The view thus given of Mr. Channing's character, by
one who was an eyewitness of his course, will be con-
firmed by the following extracts from his letters.

1819. " I have to thank you very sincerely for calling
my attention again to this subject. My inquiries have ended
in a stronger conviction, if possible, of the truth and impor-
tance of the views which I have published I believe

that you have made as good a defence of Trinitarianism, or
rather of Christ's supreme.dlvinity, as can be expected, and
am assured, that, the abler the advocate, the stronger and
more general will be the conviction that the view cannot be
supported.

" I wish you every blessing, and great and increasing
usefulness in your important and responsible station. That
God may deliver us both from selfishness, ambition, and
prejudice, and that he may show us our errors, whatever

TREATMENT OF OPPONENTS. 91

they may be., and give us honesty and boldness to acknowl-
edge and openly renounce them, is my prayer,"

1820. " I have read enough of Dr. Carpenter's work to
learn its object, and I lament that the state of things among
you has laid on him the duty of exposing so much at length

the misrepresentations of Bishop Magee I am too

fai from you to judge what is best, and since this work has
been thought necessary, I cannot but rejoice that it has been
undertaken by a man so imbued with the Christian spirit as
Dr. Carpenter. The time has been, when it would have
been thought good policy to oppose to the Bishop a contro-
versial bully, able to meet him on his own ground and to
fight him with his own weapons, and as little scrupulous
about the means of humbling an adversary. But I trust the
times of this ignorance are past, and that we have learned
the wisdom as well as virtue of defending truth with mod-
eration and benevolence. That party, especially, which
makes its appeal to reason and looks for success to the ex-
tension of deliberate and impartial inquiry, has an interest
in banishing passion and violence from controversy, and
giving the example of forbearance and candor."

1821. " The death of Dr. Worcester affected me not
a little, for you remember that he was one of my opponents
in the Unitarian controversy, and certainly not the most
forbearing. I trust that I learned from that experience a
new lesson of tenderness and charity towards those who
differ from me, and who may seem to be injurious. When
I see how fast my theological adversaries and myself are
passing away, and how soon our motives are to be laid open
at a higher tribunal, 1 cannot but hope, as I look back to the
time of our controversy, that I have cherished towards them
no unchristian feelings.

" I have understood that Dr. Worcester fell a victim to

92 BIIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

his zeal in the cause of missions, and for this every Chris-
tian will honor his memory."

We have seen Mr. Channing's earnest desire to do
justice to the rights of individual minds ; but now let it
be observed, that, on the other hand, he did not slight
the claims of the collective reason of man as declared in
tradition. To many free inquirers, indeed, he must have
seemed and did seem timid and tenacious of old preju-
dices. He was no destructive, and had no taste for
criticism and negation ; neither was he so insensible to
the grandeur of spiritual problems as hastily to construct
an eclectic system out of the ruins of past opinions, or to
build a private temple from the unquarried rock which
modern investigation had laid bare. Conscience com-
pelled him to reject many dogmas in relation to God,
human nature, and destiny, which the Puritans had trans-
mitted to their children, and he gratefully received the
cheering views which the more childlike piety and
warmer charity of the age, under the guidance of clearer
science, were inspiring. Though thus liberal, however,
he was very far from casting aside all established convic
lions of the Church as superstitions.

Of the three grand classes into which Christians may
be grouped, the Trinitarians, the Naturalists,
and the Mediatorialists, Mr. Channing undoubtedly
belonged at this period to the last. He did not look upon
man as utterly corrupt in sin, and see in Christ the in-
carnate God, descended upon earth to bear the burden
of our guilt and woe, and by self-inflicted penalty to
provide the means of our justification and pardon. But
neither did he regard man as in a normal state, advanc-
ing by natural progress, and see in Jesus only a person

THEOLOGICAL OPINIONS. 93

of religious genius, who, under the impulse of a fine tem-
perament, and the siimulant of enthusiasm in his nation,
had attained to a union with God which was equally acces-
sible to every human being. Undoubtedly he recognized
a portion of truth in each of these systems, although
dissenting from both. But he agreed rather with those,
scattered among all sects, and forming, probably, in all
ages, the majority of believers, who consider mankind
neither totally depraved, nor yet merely undeveloped,
but actually degenerate, through an abuse of free will.
And in Jesus Christ he reverently acknowledged a sub-
lime being, who, by his coming upon earth, had brought
about a crisis in the condition of humanity, had touched
with healing power the vital springs of goodness in our
race, and had opened the heavens through which ever-
more flow in full influxes of spiritual life. With no impa-
tience to invent satisfactory answers to mysteries which
he saw to be unsolved, and especially anxious not to di-
vert men's regards from the goodness of God's beloved
Son by speculations upon his rank in the scale of being,
he yet for himself was inclined to believe in Christ's pre-
existence, and his continued mediatorial power over hu-
man affairs. In a word, he was then an Arian. And
any one who has read the extracts already given from
his sermons will have perceived, that passages in his
published writings, which have often been interpreted as
merely eloquent rhetoric, were really the calm suggestion
of thoughts, which, though he forced them upon none, he
yet inwardly cherished as of profoundest interest.

Hereafter, perhaps, more than at present, it will be
recognized as Mr. Channing's distinguishing peculiarity,
that he blended so harmoniously in his theology views
of Christianity which are usually held as irreconcilable.

94 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

Then, possibly, the deliberateness with which he kepi
before his mind, as open questions, doctrines which those
around him on all sides dogmatically settled, may be
considered a higher title to honor than the decision with
which he stepped forward to uphold the right of free
thought and speech. However this may prove to be,
the fact undeniably was, that, while he formed the most
free and generous estimate of human nature, he held
opinions in regard to the Divine government, spiritual
influences, a mediator, and the kingdom of heaven,
which by most Liberal Christians would be considered
rather mystical than rational. Has it been observed
how closely he connected his confidence in the essential
dignity of man, his aspirations after perfect union of the
human will with the Divine, his hope for the future
greatness of mankind, with the fact of the life of Jesus
Christ ? In this complex theology of Mr. C banning
shall we find a proof that he was a man of imagination
and sentiment more than a philosopher, or shall we rather
admire the wisdom which, while it made him bold and
frank where he was convinced, kept him humbly guarded
before the unveiled wonders of the eternal world .''

It certainly was not owing to unwillingness to abandon
wonted habits of thought, to sluggish indifference, or to
any form of selfish fear, that Mr. Channing chose to
occupy the middle ground in theology ; for nothing char-
acterized him more than the youthful eagerness with
which he greeted the advent of every newly discovered
truth. He was " not a watcher by the tomb, but a
man of the resurrection." He lived in the mountain-
air of hope. And at this period of his life he was
breathing in the freshness with which the whole intellect

GERMAN PHILOSOPHERS. 95

of Christendom seemed inspired, as h pressed onward
across die wide prairie which the science, philosophy,
poetry, and revolutionary tendencies of the age had
opened. It was with intense delight that Ire made ac-
quaimance vvith the master minds of Germany, through
the medium, first, of Madame de Stael, and afterward
of Coleridge. He recognized in them his leaders. In
Kant's doctrine of the Reason he found confirmation of
the views vyhich, in early years received from Price, had
quickened him to ever deeper reverence of the essential
powers of man. To Schelling's sublime intimations of
the Divine Life everywhere manifested through nature
and humanity, his heart, devoutly conscious of the uni-
versal agency of God, gladly responded. But above
all did tlia beroic stoicisxa -of Eicbte charm him by its
full assertion_Q£_tbe-gi^ii<iewf-o-^ ttie iuiman vvill. Willi::,
qut^adopting tlie systems of either of these philosopliers,.
andi_fortunately perliaps for him, williout being fully ac-
quaintejljvithjhese^ systems, he yet received from their
example the most animating incentives to follow out the

paths of speculation into which his own mind ha.d en-

tered. In the extracts given fronOLiiis sermons, there is
nothing more striking than his increasing spirituality, his
high ideal of human nature, his lofty enthusiasm, and
glowing hope. In thought, act, speech, he was a poet,
though his chosen position was the pulpit, and the ser-
mon his chief medium of expression. " ^ ■

But it was to an English writer that he was indebted
for 5 el higher pleasure, and perhaps as efficient aid. This
, ,,y,;^was Wordsworth, of whom he always spoke with the
most respectful affection, as of a benefactor by whom he
felt that his heart and mind had been equally enriched.
Shortly after the Excursion appeared, he obtained a copy

96

MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

y^

of it, which was sent over by a London house to a pub-
lisher who knew hltle of its worth. It had been her-
alded by the ridicule of the Edinburgh Review, which
then was a dictator to the literary world of America yet
more than of Great Britain. But to Mr. Channing it
came like a revelation. He kept it constantly by him ;
and, as he once said, had "never read any thing but
Shakspeare more." He saw a beauty even in its pro-
saic passages, admired the rare felicity of its language,
and was inclined to consider it the most elaborate and
finished production of the age. But it was the spirit of
the man, rather than the skill of the author, that attracted
him. Wordsworth's mingled reverence and freedom,
loyalty and independence, manly simplicity and heroism,
— his piety, trust, humility, profound conscience, and
earnest aspiration, — his respectful, tender, appreciative
love of man, recognizing greatness under lowliest dis-
guises, and spreading sweet sanctions around every char-
ity of .social life, — his intense love of beauty, all-vivify-
ing imagination, and mystical adoration of the Universe
as the shadow of the Infinite Being, — his subjective
habits of thought, metaphysically refined mode of obser-
vation, power of looking beneath all surfaces to the life,
and beneath all forms to the spirit, — his high idealism,
humanity, and hearty naturalness, in a word, combined to
form a character with which Mr. Channing's was in fidl
harmony.

The following extract from a letter to Mrs. Cappe il-
lustrates at once the influence of Wordsworth over his
mind, and indicates the direction which his thoughts were
taking.

1820. " I occasionally see the Monthly Repository, and
among the rational, sensible, and matter-of-fuct communica-

SYMPATHY WITH WORDSWORTH. »!

fions which fill that work I have met now and then with
pieces from a writer who seems to have macle<itlie discovery
that Unitarianism and imagination and poetry are not irrec-
oncilable foes. The author is one of Wordsworth's school.
WhenJ tell you that I incline to the heresy of this writer,
and that I wish to see among Unitarians a development of
imagination and poetical enthusiasm, as well as of the ra-
tional and critical power, you will not wonder at my curiosi-
ty in wishing to learn who this writer is. I have before told
you how much I think Unitarianism has suffered from union
with a heart-withering philosophy. I will now add, that it
has suffered also from a too exclusive application of its ad-
vocates to Biblical criticism and theological controversy, in
other words, from a too partial culture of the mind. I fear
that we must look to other schools foi the thoughts which
thrill us, which touch the most inward springs, and disclose
to us the depths of our own souls. Pardon me for finding
so much fault. It is not owing, I hope, to censoriousness.
I only wish that truth may be so presented as to be friendly
to our whole nature, that it may develop, not chill, those
powers which have always exercised the mightiest sway
among men, and which seem most akin to inspiration."

The mood in which Wordsworth looked upon nature,
man, and the course of Divine Providence, was for the
most part quite congenial to Mr. Channing. But, from
temperament and position, he was inclined to take a far
more active part in the stirring scenes of the time than the
poet seemed to encourage. To a great extent, indeed,
their views of the French Revolution and of Napoleon's
career were the same. Together they had stood upon the
mountain peaks of religious faith, while the tornado of
atheism, charged with the red lightnings of military power
and the destructive hail of radicalism, had swept across

VOL. II. 9

98

MIDDLE-AGE MIINISTRV.

the civilized world ; together they had seen the storm
subside beneath ihe mild airs of humanity, and had looked
down over valleys and lowlands serenely smiling in the
sunshine of Divine love. But the lesson which Mr.
Channing had learned from this tremendous experience
was a conviction of the need and opportunity of peaceful
reform. His gaze was bent upon the future, not the
j)ast. In full justice practically rendered to the nature of
man, — in opportunities for culture, refinement, social po-
sition, wealth, and free intercourse opened to all classes
equally, — in a spirit of brotherhood embodied in honora-
ble and humane relations, he foresaw the means, the only
means, of reestablishing reverence, loyalty, courtesy, and
contentment. Thus are we brought to consider the po-
sition which he held in political and philanthropic mover
ments. And we shall find that the earnest humanity of
his youth and early manhood had not wasted itself, but
rather gained depth and volume in its onward course.

The extracts already given from his sermons have suffi-
ciently indicated Mr. Channing's feelings in regard to the
military despotism of France under the stern sway of Bon-
aparte.* We are now to witness the unbounded exulta-
tion with which he greeted the news of the overdirow of
the man whom he then and through hfe regarded as an
atrocious tyrant. On the 8th of June, 1814, a number
of the citizens of Boston and Massachusetts assembled

* There arc yet stronger passages than those which have been quoted
in the previous volume. And, except for tlie purpose of biographical
illustration, the editor would not have felt himself at liberty to preserve
expressions of opinion which are so plainly colored by the prejudices
of the past. But it is well to keep a record of the state of feeling
with which the great crisis of Modern Europe was regarded by the
men of that day. Let the future judge of all the actors in those try*
ing scenes.

THE SOLEMN FESTIVAL. 99

at the house of the Hon. William Phillips, the Lieuten-
ant-Governor of the State, "

"to consult upon the propriety of noticing the event of
the entire subversion of the mihtary despotism which had
so long desolated the Christian and civilized world, in a man-
ner suited to its character and importance, and to the sen-
timents which it was calculated to inspire. Deeply im-
pressed with the magnitude and the beneficial and lasting
mfluences of this revolution upon the best and dearest inter-
ests of society, they had no hesitation in recommending to
their fellow-citizens the observance of a solemn religious
festival in commemoration of the goodness of God, in hum-
bhng unprincipled ambition, in crushing wicked and unjust
power, in delivering the world from cruel and disgraceful
bondage, in restoring to mankind the enjoyment of their just
rights under the protection of legitimate government, and in
giving to nations the cheering prospect of permanent tran-
quillity. For that purpose a large and respectable committee
was chosen to make the necessary arrangements, composed
of the following gentlemen ; — ■

Hon. C. Gore, T. H. Perkins,

George Cabot, E. H. Mills,

John Warren, John Lowell,

B. PicKMAN, Jr., Samuel Putnam,

George Bliss, Wm. Sullivan,
John Phillips, Rev. Wm. E. Channing,

H. G. Otis, Joshua Huntington." *

Mr. Channing was elected to deliver the sermon. On
the 15th of June, the day appointed, a large assembly,
composed of the most intelligent and influential persons

* Appendix to a Discourse delivered in Boston at tiie Solemn Festi-
val in Commemoration of the Goodness of God in delivering the Chris-
tian World from Military Despotism, June 15th, 1814.

100 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

in the community, filled the Stone Chapel. Never since
the time of the adoption of the Constitution had there
been in that city a meeting of a political character ani-
mated with a deeper joy ; and no speaker could have
been better fitted to give voice to the latent enthusiasm
of the crowd. On no public occasion of his life was lie
so carried away by sympathy with the profound and pas-
sionate emotions which swelled in the popular mind. He
gave full vent to his feelings, — with free and bold strokes
painted the past degradation of Europe, — poured out
the vial of indignant censure upon the ambitious despot
who had made Christendom his prey, — reawakened the
memory of the awful apprehensions with which men had
watched his destructive career, — and when the audience
were swept along in prospect to the verge of ruin, then
he drew aside the dark cloud-curtain, and showed the
benignant promises of peace spread out in mercy before
the exhausted nations. As he uttered the words, " The
oppressor is fallen and the world is free," the pent-up
feelings of the assembly burst forth in acclamation. It
is said that the preacher paused, and calmly reminded his
hearers that they were in the presence of God, to whose
providential aid their humble gratitude was due.

This sermon was rather an extemporaneous overflow,
than a studied address ; but it may be desirable to ex-
tract a few sentences. They prove that Mr. Channing
drew encouragement from scenes which had turned many
a fervent reformer into a timid conservative, and that he
looked forward with confiding hope to better times.

" From the events wliicli we this day celebrate, we are
especially to learn that most important lesson, to hold fast our
confidence in God, and never to despair of the cause of hu«

THE NEW ERA. 101

man nature, howe^ er gloomy and threatening may be the
prospects which spread before us. How many of us have

yielded to criminal despondency ! But now we are

taught, as men, perhaps, never were taught before, to place
an unwavering trust in Providence, to hope well for the
world, to hold fast our principles, to cling to the cause of jus-
tice, truth, humanity, and to frown on guilt and oppression,
however dark are the scenes around us, and however dan-
gerous or deserted may seem the path of duty

" A most solemn experiment has been making on society.
The nations of Europe, which had all in a measure been
corrupted by infidel principles, have been called to witness
the effect of those principles on the character and happiness
of nations and individuals. The experiment is now com-
pleted, and Europe and the world are satisfied. Never, I
believe, was there a deeper conviction than at the present
moment, that Christianity is most friendly to the peace, or-
der, liberty, and prosperity of mankind, and that its subver-
sion would be the ruin of whatever secures, adorns, and
blesses social life. Europe, mangled, desolated Europe, now
exclaims with one voice against the rule of atheism and infi-
delity, and flies for shelter and peace to the pure and mild
principles of Christianity. Already the marks of an im-
proved state of public sentiment may be discerned. We are
at length permitted to anticipate the long lost and long de-
sired blessing of general and permanent peace. A new era
seems opening on the world. It is our hope that the storm
which has shaken so many thrones will teach wisdom to rul-
ers, will correct the arrogance of power, will awaken the
great from selfish and sensual indolence, and give stability to
governments by giving elevation of sentiment to those who
administer them. It is our hope, that calamities so awful,
oeliverances so stupendous, will direct the minds of men to
an almighty and righteous Providence, and inspire serious-
ness and gratitude, and a deeper attachment to the religion
9*

102 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

of Christ, that only refuge in calamity, that only sure pledge
of- unchanging felicity. Am I told that these anticipations
are too ardent ? Perhaps I have indulged the hopes of phi-
lanthropy, where experienced wisdom would have dictated
melancholy predictions. I am not forgetful of the solemn
unccitainty of futurity. But amidst all uncertainties which
surround us, one truth we know, that God governs, and that his
most holy and benevolent purposes will be accomplished." *

The joy of this festival was sobered, however, by tho
reflection, that, though peace had settled upon Europe,
the United States and Great Britain were still at war.
New England was at this period utterly prostrated, her
conimerce paralyzed, her people bowed down with tax-
ation, and to such an extent had dissatisfaction with the
measures of the general government spread, that in
December, 1814, delegates selected from her most emi-
nent citizens assembled in convention at Hartford, Con-
necticut, with the view of securing their endangered
rights, and consulting upon measures suitable to the exi-
gencies of the time. Doubtless there were some who,
in their disgust at the war, were inclined to urge a separa-
tion of the New England States from the Union ; but it
is now well understood that the object of that Convention
was to open a vent to the popular excitement, to allay
passion, to give a safe direction to the indignation of the
community, and thus to avert the threatening danger of
secession. Mr. Channing was among those who thought
that every thing should be sacrificed, except essential
principles, for the preservation of the Nation. Then, as
through life, he was devotedly attached to the Union,
and though, as we have seen, opposed to the war with

* Discourse at tho Solemn Festival, &c., pp. 11 - 15.

DANGERS OF CIVIL WAR.

103

his whole soih, as utterly unjustifiable and inexpedient, he
yet never allowed himself to despair. H'e would not
abandon the hope, that the promise given to the world in
this republic should be fulfilled. His views are well
shown by a few extracts from a sermon preached to his
people immediately after the news of the Treaty of Ghent
arrived, and repeated on the day of thanksgiving for the
peace.

" I have said, that the single consideration, that war is at
an end, is enough to fill our hearts with gratitude. But how
should this gratitude be heightened, when we consider the
state from which peace has rescued our country ! The con-
tinuance of the war must, I fear, have destroyed us as a
people. We had poured out our resources with a profu-
sion which had emptied the treasury of the nation, and
destroyed the credit of the government. Increasing taxes,
imposed on an impoverished people, would have fomented dis-
content and insurrection. In this broken state of society, our
best institutions would have been shaken to the foundation
and subverted. The obligation of contracts Would have
been violated. General bankruptcy would have spread gen-
eral distress, and destroyed the moral principles of the com-
munity. A spirit of insubordination, inflamed by hope-
less suffering, would have annihilated the authority of
law. The bonds of society would have been dissolved.
These, at least, were the solemn forebodings of our most
reflecting men. Peace has saved us from these convul-
sions

" Peace is snatching us, too, from the brink of civil dissen-
sions. We seemed to be approaching a solemn crisis. To
the evils of a foreign might soon have been added the sorer
evils of internal war. Thank God ! the union of these
States will at least be prolonged. The day which is to wit-
ness the dissolution of our political fabric is at least deferred.

104 MIl/DLE-AGE MINISTRY.

May we not trust that its great ends will in a measure be aC'
complished ? Peace has placed the present rulers of this
nation on a new ground. Without endangering their power
they may now consult the good of the whole country. Ev-
ery motive incites them to encourage industry, enterprise,
t!ic development of resources, in every division of our wide
land. Let every aid be given them in the establishment of
a generous policy. It is very unimportant in whose hands is
the power of the state, if it be but honorably and wisely em-
ployed. Most ardently do I hope that the men who have
plunged this country into ruin may expiate their error by em-
bracing, at this auspicious moment, a magnanimous course,
and that their success may find its reward in the support of
all parties into which we are unhappily divided. Prosperity
such as our nation never yet experienced is brought within .
our reach. Nothing now is wanting but an impartial admin-
istration of the government, and a spirit of mutual forbear-
ance among our citizens, to fulfil the bright anticipations
which patriots of better days cherished for this favored
people.

"May we not hope that the lessons of experience will not
be lost, that a better spirit will pervade our communities, that
we shall learn the value of a broad scheme of action, em-
bracing at once the interests of all sections of this extended
republic ? May we not hope tliat the spirit of enterprise and
improvement will now be unchecked, that new cities and
towns will everywhere arise on our shores and in the wil-
derness, that arts and science will be widely diffused, that
institutions sacred to humanity and virtue will meliorate the
tone of social relations, that civil and religious liberty will
be guarded and cherished as our best possession and most
honorable distinction ? Let us rejoice that we are once
more to be bound in amity and profitable intercouree to every
nation under heaven. God grant us perpetual peace ! God
grant us the honor of contributing by our commerce, by

THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE, 105

the light of 0111 intelligence, by the example of a free, vir-
tuous, and contented people, to the happiness Mnd advance-
ment of the human race ! "

Thus liberal and magnanimous were Mr. Clianning's
political sentiments at the close of the troubled years
through which the humanity of Europe and America had
been called to pass. But the sermon whence the above
extracts have been made is interesting also as manifest-
ing his views in relation to Peace. The horrible cruel-
ties by which Christendom had been blasted, as by lava-
floods and ashes from the open crater of hell, had taught
him, in common with thousands in all lands, to look upon
war as the most awful and wasteful crime of which na-
tions and men can be guilty. And he takes this occasion
to deepen in his people's minds a conviction of the hon-
orableness and blessedness of peace.

" I rejoice with you that the groans of the wounded and
dying are no more to be heard on our shores, that the
ocean is no longer to be stained with our own or hostile
blood, that the skies are not again to grow red with the
portentous glare of flaming towns, that we are no more to
swell the crowd of widows and orphans whose hopes have
perished on the field of battle. I rejoice with you that
the soldier is to return to his home from the depraving
influences of a camp, and to earn subsistence by better
means than slaughter and plunder. I rejoice with you that
the resources of our country are no longer to be exhausted
in carrying fire and death to neighbouring provinces, that we
are no longer to cast away our own blessings by attempting
to destroy the blessings which God bestows on our brethren,
no longer to ruin ourselves by seeking the ruin of another
civilized and Christian nation. I know that to many war is
a matter of course, that it seems to them a trifling affair

106 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

to shed man's blood, to desolate fruitful regions, to scatter
terror, want, and misery over once happy lands. But, thank
God ! I speak to some not thus hardened by savage cus-
toms and the calculations of inhuman policy, and who re-
gard an unjust and unnecessary war as concentrating the guilt
of multiplied murders. For one, I do rejoice that this war
is to be terminated without the erection of a single monu-
ment of triumph upon the soil of this Commonwealth.
What compensation could have been found in the most splen-
did victory for the loss of distinguished citizens, of men made
noble by character and intellect, for the anguish of parents,
widows, children, mourning the slain, for the wretchedness of
bereaved, dispersed, impoverished families ? It is not Chris-
tianity, certainly, that would leach us to forget the loss of
friends in brutal exultation over the slaughter of enemies, —
enemies who yet are men of the same nature with our-
selves, children of the same Heavenly Father, commended

by the same Redeemer to our good-will

" What a change ! We can now look forward to the
opening year without the anticipation of battles, in which
even success would have covered us with mourning. In-
stead of watching with solicitude the movements of hostile
fleets, we shall see our harbours enlivened with friendly
sails. The ocean, instead of bearing freights of death, will
waft onward the exchanges of mutually beneficial products.
Our homes are filled with happy families no longer distracted
with agonizing fear. Whose prospects has not this joyful
event brightened ? From whose heart has it not chased
most melancholy apprehensions ? How had war palsied
the arm of industry, closed the shop of the artisan, bound
our ships to our wharves, clogged all channels of inter-
course, drained off" our means ! Rich and poor alike have
felt its power. From many once prosperous families it has
«wept away tlie sure support of life. From many an honest
teborer it has snatched the daily bread of his household,

THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE. lOT

and many a generous spirit has it forced to lean on bounty
which once, in self-respect, it would have spurned. Have
we not all had reason to fear that by its continuance the
earnings of better times would have been crumbled down,
and that those dependent on us would have sunk into want ?
But now this blighting scourge is stayed. The hope of hon-
orable subsistence is revived in manly hearts. Anxiety is
driven from the brows of parents. Cheerfulness spreads
light through the comfortless dwellings of the poor. The
young need no longer waste their best years in dangerous
and disheartening idleness. Fields open on all sides for
the expanding powers of enterprise.

" With what joy may we look on our venerable metrop-
olis,— joy heightened by the solicitude with which we have
watched the decline of her prosperity ! Had the war been
but for a few years protracted, its ancient honors must have
been humbled ; its inhabitants would have been dispersed, its
schools shut up, its churches deserted, its institutions of pi-
ety and benevolence struck with decay. But now the fetters
which have bound our energies are broken. Our silent
streets are once more sounding with the roll and hum of
business. Our grass-grown wharves once more are to swarm
with loaded drays, and to be filled with heaps of merchan-
dise. Our dismantled ships once again are to spread their
wings, and bind us by ties of harmonious intercourse with
every region of the earth. Once more our beloved metrop-
olis is to become the home of honorable usefulness, the nurs-
ery of public spirit, knowledge, charity, and every institution
which embellishes and exalts human nature. Wealth is
again to flow in upon us through all the circulations of in-
dustry, not to feed luxurious indolence, but to give employ-
ment to the poor, to quicken ingenuity, to awaken the spirit
of beneficence, to encourage science and the elegant arts, to
nurture genius, to endow seats of learning, and, above all,
to diffuse the knowledge and power of Christianity. My

108 MIDDLE-AGE MIMSTRV.

friends, I rejoice with you in these cheering prospects
Enter again on the labors which make the true glory of
nations. God send you success ! "

Thus earnestly bent was Mr. Channing to discourage
the infernal custom of war, and especially to allay "■ the
proud, vaunting, irritable, contentious, aspiring temper,
more disposed to honor courage than humanity, more
restless the more it is successful, more devoted to party
than to public weal, more open to the influence of para-
sites and intriguers than of wise and impartial men,"
which he pronounces to be the bane of republics. But
while thus longing for the era when the lion and the lamb
should be led in a leash by the little child. Charity, which
he believed Christ had come to introduce, and which he
was assured would in the fulness of time knit our long-
sundered race into one, he was not then prepared to take
the ground of condemning defensive war. Whether it
is to be traced to natural temperament, to early training,
to historical studies, to the habits of thought of the age,
or to principle, it is certain that he had the spirit which,
though frail in physical structure, and devoted to his pas-
toral office, would have prompted him to fight in defence of
his country in an extreme emergency. Incapable of per-
sonal fear, chivalric in the tone of his character, and pre-
disposed to that love of heroic deeds which in rude ages
of the past has so often tempted noble beings to forget,
amid the excitements of daring devotedness, the destruc-
tive outrages of war, and which in the more humane future
shall surely find a worthy field of action in magnificent
works of creative industry, he was nowise disposed to
abandon the freedom of his native land to the mercies of
an invading foe without a struggle. Throughout this pe-

DEFENSIVE WAR. 109

ricd, m private and from the pulpit, he maintained that it
1? the duty of the citizen to die, if need^H^e, in pro-
tecting the religious and civil institutions of his nation and
the inviolability of home. In this very discourse on
Peace we find him saying, —

" We feared that the approaching spring would invite hos-
tility to our very doors, tliat our families would be dispersed,
and that the stillness of suspended business would be broken
by the tumult of battle. Had this lot befellen us, I trust that
we should have done our duty. We should have fought for
the city of our fathers, for our altars and our firesides, with
the spirit of freemen and of Christians, relying on the justice
of the right of self-defence. But how should we bless God,
that we have been saved from this sad. necessity ! " *

Fervent Christian though he was, brave, subdued in
will, humane, and confiding in God, it thus appears that
at this period of his life Mr. Channing had not attained to
see the omnipotence of love in its undimnied brightness.
There are very few even now, indeed, who have a vital
conviction that the only power which can subdue violence
and wrong is active kindness. Even now they are
thought visionaries, who are ready to disband armies and
mihtia, change frigates into merchantmen, dismantle forts,
and make of prisons colleges for moral and manual cul-
ture. And how can universal peace prevail, until the
rule of force in every form, and even the negative prin
ciple of non-resistance, give place to the living law of co-
operation in all industrial, commercial, social relations of
communities and states .'' In unreserved adherence to the
cause of peace, Mr. Channing was surpassed by his hon-
ored friend, the Rev. Noah Worcester, who was at this

* See also " Duties of the Citizen in Times of Trial and Danger,'
Works, Vol. V. pp. 411-422.
VOL. II. 10

110 MIDDLF.-Af;E MINISTRY.

time residing in the neighboiiiliood of Boston, and editing
the Christian Disciple.

This noble-hearted philanthropist had imbibed in full-
est measure Christ's spirit of perfect love. Born and
bred among the hard-working farmers of New England,
self-instructed, and as simply independent as he was un-
pretending, deliberate, but direct, in his habits of thought,
patient to follow out an admitted principle in all its ran)ified
applications, calm from discipline yet more than from
natural temper, this wise and gentle man adopted in its
length and breadth die rule of overcoming evil with good.
He lived in a period when Christendom was rent by al-
most universal war, his own nation was shaken by fierce
political struggles, and, prompted by irresistible love of
truth, he gave utterance to opinions w hich plunged him at
once into the midst of angry sectarian controversies ; but
still he drew sweetness from every bitter experience, and,
candidly as frankly declaring the convictions to which con-
scientious study brought him, walked ever attended by a
guardian angel of tranquillity. Poor, enfeebled by a
painful disease, and dwelling in obscure retirement, he
was even in extremest age a mindful observer of every
humane movement, kind while just to individuals and par-
ties, and opening his heart with hospitable sympathy (o
every reform which promised to reconcile men to their
brethren and to God. To the very end of his long
course his presence was majestic in its mildness, and he
wore upon his serene features and meek forehead, with its
parted silver hair, an aspect of benignity which marked
him for the Friend of Peace.*
\ Noah Worcester may justly be called the father of the

* See Dr. Clianning's cordial tribute to tliis pliilantliropist, Works,
Vol. IV., pp. 394-407.

PEACE SOCIETY. Ill

Peace movement in this country, by bis articles in tbe
Christian Disciple, and bis " Solemn R#vievv of tbe
Custom of War." From tbe first, however, Mr. Chan-
ning gave him tbe support of respectful sympathy and
active cooperation. In tbe spriig of 1816, be preached
a discourse on War before tbe Convention of tbe Con-
gregational Ministers of Massachusetts,* which was ifn-
mediately printed and widely circulated, deepening in
many minds the convictions already taught by the terri-
ble history of tbe times. This discourse prepared the
way for the formation of tbe Peace Society of Massa-
chusetts, the first meeting of which was held in bis study
in tbe parsonage-bouse of the parish. From this society
sprang all tbe kindred ones in our country, and its influ-
ence was felt abroad. Mr. Worcester was its corre-
sponding secretary, and tbe editor of its periodical ; but
be relied in all bis measures upon tbe advice of Mr.
Channing, who w'as one of tbe society's counsellors, and,
according to tbe authority of the Rev. Dr. Pierce, " its
life and soul." For years he devoted himself to the woik
of extending its influence with unwavering zeal, as many
of his papers of that period attest ; and from among
these we select two, as bearing upon important public
questions. Tbe first is tbe following memorial, wdiich
was prepared by him.

" To the Honorable the Senate and House of Representatives
of the United States in Congress assembled. The memo-
rial of the members of the Peace Society of Massachu-
setts respectfully represents, —

" That the society which now solicits the attention of our
national rulers was instituted for the single purpose of

• Works, Vol. III., pp. 29-58.

112 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

diffusing pacific and benevolent sentiments t!i rough this
country, and through the world. Impressed with a deep
and sorrowful conviction that the spirit of Christianuy, which
is a spirit of mercy, peace, and kind affection, is imperfectly
understood ; afflicted by the accumulated miseries and ex-
tensive desolations which war has lately spread over the
fairest, most fruitful, and most enlightened regions of the
earth ; and at the same time encouraged by many decisive
proofs of the revival of purer and more benevolent prin-
ciples among Christian nations ; your memorialists have
formed this association, with the solemn and deliberate pur-
pose of cooperating with the philanthropists of every coun-
try .n promoting the cause of peace and charity, in strip-
ping war of its false glory, and in uniting different commu-
nities in the bonds of amity and mutual good-will. We
are sensible, that, from the nature of our object, it is
chiefly to be accomplished by a silent and gradual influence
on the minds of men, and accordingly we have limited our
operations to the circulation of useful treatises, in which the
pacific spirit of our religion has been exhibited with clear-
ness, and we hope with success. We believe, however, that
the present moment demands a departure from our usual
course, and we cherish the hope, that, by an application to
the government under which we live, important service may
be rendered to the cause of humanity, in which we are
engaged.

" The present memorial is founded on two occurrences,
which we h^ as auspicious to the pacification of the
world. The first occurrence to which we refer is the well-
known and unprecedented union of several of the most illus-
trious powers of Europe, in declaring before ' the universe
their unwavering determination to adopt for the onh^ rule of
their conduct, both in the administration of their respective
states, and in their political relations with every other govern-
ment, the precepts of Christianity, the precepts of justice,
of cnarity, and of peace.

PEACE MEMORIAL. 113

" The second occurrence to which wc refer is the decided
expression of pacific sentiments and anticip^Ttions in .he
conclusion of the late message of the President of the
United States, in which his parting wishes for his country are
expressed with tenderness and power. In this remarkab,"e
passage, worthy the" chief magistrate of a Christian comnui-
nity, he expresses his conviction, that the ' destined careei
of his country will exhibit a government which, whilst it .-e-
fines its domestic code from every ingredient not congenial
with the precepts of an enlightened age and the sentiments
of a virtuous people, will seek by appeals to reason, and by
its liberal examples, to infuse into the law which governs the
civilized world a spirit which may diminish the frecjuency
or circumscribe the calamities of war, and meliorate the so-
cial and benevolent relations of peace ; a government, in a
word, which may bespeak the noblest of all ambitions, thu*
of promoting peace on earth and good-will to man.'

" On the occurrences now stated your memorialists respect-
fully beg leave to found the following suggestions and solici-
tations.

"First. We respectfully solicit, if it be consistent with the
principles of the constitution, that the solemn profession of
pacific principles, lately made by several distinguished sov-
ereigns of Europe, may be met by corresponding profes-
sions on the part of our own government. Whilst we are
sensible that a melancholy discordance has often existed be-
tween the language and the conduct of rulers, we still be-
lieve that the solemn assertion of great and important prin-
ciples, by men of distinguished rank and influence, has a
beneficial operation on society, by giving to these principles
an increased authority over the consciences of those by
whom they are professed; by reviving and diffusing a rev-
erence for them in the community ; and by thus exalting the
standard of puhlic opinion, that invisible sovereign, to whose
power the most absolute prince is often compelled to bowj
10*

il4 MIDDLK-.\GE MINISTRY.

and to which the measures of a free government are entirely
subjected. When we consider the support which is now de-
rived to war from the perversion of public sentiment, we are
desirous that our government should unite with the govern-
ments of Europe in a distinct and religious acknowledg-
ment of those principles of peace and charity on which the
prosperity of states and the happiness of families and indi-
viduals are alike suspended.

" Secondly. We respectfully solicit that Congress will insti-
tute a deliberate inquiry, for the purpose of ascertaining the
methods by which this government may exert on human af-
fairs that happy influence wliich is anticipated by the Pres-
ident of the United States, the methods by which it ' may
infuse into the law which governs tlie civilized world a pa-
cific spirit,' ' may diminish the frequency or circumscribe the
calamities of war,' and may express the ' most noble of all
ambitions, that of promoting peace on earth and good-will to
man.' We are persuaded that a government sincerely dis-
posed to sustain the august and sublime character which is
here described, of the pacificator of the world, will not want
means of promoting its ends. We trust, that, under the per-
severing and well-directed efforts of such a government,
milder principles would be introduced into the conduct of
national hostilities ; that the reference of national controver-
sies to an impartial umpire would gradually be established
as the law of the Christian world ; and that national com-
pacts would be formed, for the express purpose of reducing
the enormous and ruinous extent of military establishments,
and of abolishing that outward splendor which has so Ic ns
been thrown around war, and which has contributed so
largely to corrupt the moral sentiments of mankind.

*• When we represent to ourselves a Christian government,
sustaining this beneficent relation to the world, mediating
between contending states, recommending peaceful methods
of deciding the jarring claims of nations, laboring to strip

PEACE MEMORIAL. 115

war of its pernicious glare and to diminish tlie numlxir of
those who are interested in its support, ditfusiag new and
o-enerous sentiments in regard to the mutual duties and obli-
gations of different communities, and inculcating by its own
example a frank and benevolent policy and a sincere regard
to the interests of the world, — when we represent to ourselves
such a government, we want language to express our concep-
tions of the happy and magnificent results of its operations.
It would form a new and illustrious era in human affairs,
whilst, by the blessings which it would spread, and by the
honor and confidence which it would enjoy, it would obtain
a moral empire more enviable than the widest dominion ever
founded on violence and crime.

" Loving our country with tenderness and zeal, accustomed
to regard her as destined to an exalted rank and to great
purposes, and desirous to behold in her institutions and poli-
cy increasing claims to our reverence and affection, we are
solicitous that she should enter first on the career of glory
which has now been described, and that all her connections
with foreign states should be employed to diffuse the spirit
of philanthropy, and to diminish the occasions and miseries
of war. Of such a country we shall exult to be the chil-
dren, and we pledge to it an attachment, veneration, and
support which can be accorded only to a virtuous commu-
nity.

" It is our happiness that we live in an age when many
noble schemes of benevolence have been accomplished, —
when the idea of a great amelioration of human affairs is
no longer rejected as a dream of fancy, — when statesmen
are beginning, to learn that all nations have a common in-
terest,— when philanthropy is extending its views to distant
countries, and is executing purposes which would once have
been regarded as the offspring of a blind and extravagant
zeal. In this age of enlarged views, of generous excite-
ment, of unparalleled activity for the good of mankind, it is

116 MIDDLE-AGE MLXISTRY.

hoped that the idea of a nation espousing the cause of peace
and humanity will not be dismissed as visionary and imprac-
ticable. Enlightened and benevolent statesmen will discern
that we do not live in ordinary times, but that a new and
powerful impulse has been given to the human mind,
which, under judicious influence, may issue in great and
permanent improvements of the social state.

" In presenting this memorial, we solemnly declare, in the
presence of God, that we have no private or narrow vie vs.
On this subject we belong to no sect, no party. As lovers
of our country, as friends of mankind, as disciples of Jesus
Christ, with the spirit of peace in our breasts, and with a
deep impression of the miseries of war, we are only solicit-
ous to prevent the effusion of human blood by human hands,
and to recall men to the conviction that they are brethren.
We trust that the warmth with which we have spoken will
not be construed into a want of deference towards our rul-
ers. On such a subject, coldness would be a crime. Our
convictions are deep, and no language but that of zeal and
earnestness would do them justice.

" We hope that we are addressing rulers who are sensible
to the responsibility imposed by the possession of power,
who regard the influence which is granted them on human
affairs as a solemn trust, who consider themselves as belong-
ing to their country and to mankind, and who desire to treas-
ure up for themselves consolations in that hour when human
applause will be an unavailing sound, and when no recollec-
tion will be so dear as that of having aided with a disinter-
ested zeal the cause of peace and humanity."

The second paper is a letter to INFr. Worcester, in
which he refers to the war against the Seniinolcs, — a
war tliat, undertaken, as it was, by a strong and pro-
fessedly Christian and civilized nation against a scattered
remnant of Indians, because they oflcrcd a retreat to

PKIVATEERING. 117

slaves who liad escaped from our oppression, and with
an ulterior desire of robbing them of their ^ands, was
certainly a concentration of all mean cruelties.

" The Seminole business has been disposed of by Con-
gress, and I have no wish that our society should enter the
lists with government. But may not the subject be treated
usefully in this way } Let us allow, for the sake of the ar-
gument, that the majority are right in construing the laws
of war. Let us then state distinctly, and without any exag-
geration, the acts of General Jackson, which they say are
justified by these laws. May we not then bring home to
men's minds the question, whether the time has not come for
repealing such horrible laws ? If war demands such regu-
lations or outrages to accomplish its ends, can war too soon
be abolished .' We may say, that Congress have authorized
all future commanders to exercise the same dreadful discre-
tion in war. If so, is it not time to exert ourselves to prevent
the recurrence of this infernal state of things ? It seems to
me, you may turn to good account the decision in Congress,
without combating it. I wish this occasion to be made use of.
The recital of the transactions of this 'justifiable war,' and
comments upon it, may furnish matter for the number, —
and I believe the public have not these facts before them in
a connected series."

We have already seen the strong detestation with which
Mr. C banning regarded one of the basest outrages of war,
— if, indeed, any degree of more or less can be found iu
the guilt 3f its inhuman practices, — namely, privateering.
But so much had he at heart the extinction of this barba-
rous custom, that it is but just to him, by yet further quo-
tations, to make his sentiments known. In the sermon
on the peace, from which extracts have been given, he
thus speaks : —

118 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

" May we not hope that mercantile transactions will no
longer fly the day, and that the lip of perjury will be closed ?
Let us especially bless God that peace will sweep the legal-
ized plunderer from the ocean, that privateering will no
longer violate all the better feelings of our nature, that the
ocean will be the pathway of upright and honorable enter-
prise instead of depraving warfare, and that we shall bt;ar
our part in dispensing over the earth the bounties of Piovi-
dence."

The following letter to Mr. Worcester shows the mode
by which he proposed to awaken the national conscience
to the enormity of this system of authorized piracy.

" Bogton, February '^2, LSIP.

" communicated to me your memorial relating to

privateering. We agreed in the belief that no good
would result, but that some evil might, from presenting
it to our legislature. I will talk to you fully on this
point when we meet, — and will only say now, that,
such is the relation of this Commonwealth to the general
government, that our best friends in the legislature might
doubt the expediency of such an application to Congress as
you propose, and might seem, by declining to act with us, to
favor privateering. May I suggest another mode of reach-
ing our end .? May not a memorial to Congress on the sub-
ject be circulated through the xvhoJe country, so that at the
next session the voice of the friends of peace and humani-
ty may be heard from every State, entreating the adoption
of measures which may hasten the abolition of this abomi-
nable custom through the Christian world .'' May not peace-
sociefies be used for spreading this memorial, as well as the
meetings of the Friends' religious associations ? "

The caution blended with Inunane enthusiasm, so ap-
parent in this last letter, is yet more clearly manifested in

CAPITAL PUNISHMF.XT. 119

another on a kindred topic, — the abolishing of ihe savage
usage of punishing the rash and hidden ciim^of piivatJ
murder by pubhc murder coolly committed, and sanc-
tioned by judicial, executive, and religious proprieties.
It is addressed also to Mr. Worcester, who, in consisten-
cy with his ruling principle, was seeking the destruction
of the gallows.

" We must not alarm men by the appearance of adopting
plans for the amelioration of mankind without deliberation
We must not bring forward too many schemes, even if ju-
dicious^ at the same moment. This is the way to raise a host
of prejudices. We must proceed gradually. Your labors
for peace will, I hope, be blessed, and a life devoted to tliis
object and to the diffusion of a more candid spirit among
Christians will be worthily and nobly spent. The time may
come for the discussion which you wish to bring before the
public ; but just at this moment, when there seems to be a
fear that philanthropy is going too far, I am inclined to defer
it. If you will trust me to write a piece on the subject of
capital punishment, showing the difficulties which attend it,
and the great principles by which all punishments should be
regulated, I will do it. % have thought a little about it ; and I
am persuaded that the immediate object should be not so much
to abolish capital punishments, as to strike at the root of the
evil, at that corruption of society which renders severe pun-
ishments necessary, and to enforce on the community the
obligation of introducing modes of punishment most suited
to reform offenders. I fear that the cause of humanity
might suffer by abolishing capital punishments, unless there
should be a simultaneous introduction of modes of pun-
ishment rnore efficacious than would be left on our present
system." '

In addition to the promotion of peace and a reform in

120 MIDDLE-AGK :.Il.\ISrRY.

penileiitiaiy discipliiie and punishuieuts, other pliilaa
thropic movements also engaged Mr. Clianning's s} ni
pathy and aid. As early as 1816, he preached a dis-
course upon Temperance, which his society urgently re-
quested him to print as a tract for general circulation.
In the missionary enterprise, too, he was much interest-
ed, and brought the demands of this cause impressively
before his people. Indeed, so much did he feel the
importance of this sublime effort to link the race of man
into one whole, of which Christendom should be the
heart, — by streams of piety, intelligence, and love sent
out to circulate through the body of material inter-
course which commerce was forming, — that, according
to a declaration once made to a friend, he was on the
point of breaking all his social ties and devoting himself
to the work. Infirm health, however, and the pressure
of the immediate duties in which he was engaged forbade.
But through life he cherished a strong conviction of the
high claims of missionary labors, while at the same time
he was ever becoming more earnest to cleanse the foun-
tain, by making the whole life of Christendom, national,
commercial, domestic, individual, more truly Christian.

This desire of evangelizing mankind was closely con-
nected with another movement, just rising into notice,
which we now proceed to mention. The era of peace
then dawning on the world interested I\[r. C banning, by
the opj)ortunity which it afforded for uniting Christians
more closely in common labors of beneficence. lie saw
everywhere, as he thought, tiie signs of a revival of a life
of holiness and love. In his sermon at the " Solemn
Festival " he had said, —

" This reaction in favor of religion and virtue will, we trust,
continue and increase. Amidst the sufferings and privations

BIBLE SOCIETV. 121

of war, a generous spirit for the diffusion of the Scriptures
has broken forth ; and at this moment that sacred volume
which mfidelity Jpped to bury in forgetfuhiess with the'
mouldering records of ancient superstition, is more widely
opened than in any former age to the nations of the earth."

Thus are we brought to consider his connection with
Ihe world-wide movement for the distribution of the Bi-
ble. In 1811 he had dehvered the first anniversary ad-
dress before the Bible Society of Massachusetts, ^nd from
1812 to 1820 he filled the most important office in the
society, that of Chairman of the Executive Committee,
i he annual reports prepared by him were ample. They
were regularly printed, and became an important auxili-
ary in promoting the objects of the society. A k\v ex-
tracts from these reports will show the position which
this movement occupied in his regards.

1813. » No sincere Christian can need arguments to con-
vince him that he is bound to contribute to the diffusion of
Christianity through the world. This is a religion designed
lor all nations. Jesus Christ commanded his disciples to
preach it to every creature under heaven, and shall ive do
nothing in aid of this great design ? Is the gospel the ap-
pointed mstrument of God for restoring the world to purity
and peace ? Has the Son of God died to impart this inval-
uable blessing to our race? Have holy men of all acres
toiled and suffered to spread it through the earth, and to per-
petuate It to unborn generations; and shall toe do nothing to
extend the knowledge and power of the word of eternal
life ?

_" In the present convulsed and disordered state of the world,
It IS most consoling and cheering to see so many Christians,
of different countries and different denominations, forgetting
their divisions, and uniting in one great effort for making

VOL. II. 11

1^ MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

known the Scriptures to every nation under heaven. Like
the rainbow in a dark and stormy sky, this is a promise of
a brighter and happier day. It is suited to carry forward
our thoughts to that predicted period, when the knowledge
of God shall fill the earth, and all nations be joined in
love to their common Father and Redeemer, and to one
another. We should rejoice that it is the design of Prov
idence to effect this revolution by the instrumentality of
Christians, and we should esteem it our privilege and hap-
piness that we may bear a part in this inexpressibly sub-
lime and merciful work of God."

1815. " We are now brought to a subject which has
awakened peculiar interest. In our last report we informed
you that the sum of .£157. 2s. 9d. sterling had been raised,
chiefly in this metropolis, and transmitted to the British and
Foreign Bible Society for the purpose of repairing the in-
jury done to that society and to the cause of Christian
charity by the unworthy conduct of the owners or agents
of an American privateer, who had captured and sold, and
thus scattered through our country, a number of Bibles
shipped from England for charitable distribution in the
neighbouring British provinces. A letter from Lord Teign-
mouth, the President of the British and Foreign Bible So-
ciety, addressed to your Corresponding Secretary, and ex-
pressing the gratitude of that society, has been received ;
and we are happy to insert it in this report ; not because
we consider this transaction as entitled to the commenda-
tion which his Lordship has bestowed ; not because we have
the least desire to obtain the praise of generosity for whut
•wc deemed an act of justice, and a faint acknowledgment
of respect to that munificent society, which has made the
■whole Christian world its debtor ; but because we delight
to record so striking an example of the spirit of Chris-
tianity counteracting and triumphing over the spirit of war.

BIBLE SOCIETY.

123

We have ever esteemed it one of the happiest efTects of
Bible Societies, that they tend to unite Chri^ans of all na-
tions, and it is our hope that they will awaken in Christians
universally so strong a sense of the near relation which they
sustain to each other, and of their obligations to mutual love
and kindness, that wars between communities which profess
the religion of Christ will be more and more abhorred, as
most unnatural, and altogether irreconcilable with the holy
and pacific name which they bear.

" The great sentiment, that Christians of all nations are
brethren and friends, united by ties which war cannot dis-
solve, and bound to labor together for the promotion of
peace and holiness, must be carried with power to every
heart by the perusal of this letter. May the time soon ar-
rive when Christians of every nation will speak on this sub-
ject in a language which every government will be forced
to hear and obey

" It is also with great pleasure that we are able to state
that your society has received, since the last anniversary, a
large and valuable accession of members ; * and we confi-
dently anticipate, that, among the other fruits of peace and
returning prosperity, an increasing patronage will be ex-
tended to an institution which proposes to Christians of every
name an object which all must acknowledge most worthy
of their bounty.

'• Another cause of congratulation remains to be mention-
ed. We refer to the encouraging intelligence from so manv
parts of this country and of Europe, of the multiplication,
activity, and success of institutions for the distribution of the
Scriptures. The spirit of Christian charity seems to gather
strength from exertion. Never, perhaps, since the first age
of Christianity, has a holier zeal existed than at the present
moment for the moral and religious improvement of man-

* Tile whole number of members is 432

124 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

kind. The British and Foreign Bible Society, that full and
living fountain, is still sending forth its streams of truth and
consolation ; and distant nations, whom once no bond but in-
terest connected, are now uniting in prayers and labors for
the communication of the gospel to every creature under
heaven.

"At such a period the excitements to Christian ex-
ertion are peculiarly strong. A voice seems to reach us
from every part of Christendom, calling us to strengthen the
hands and to share the honor of our brethren in extending
that truth which has been the object of affection and hope to
the pious and benevolent of past ages, and which we are as-
sured is appointed to have free course and to be glorified,
until it shall fill the earth, and all flesh shall see the salvation
of God."

1816. " Never before was so generous an impulse com-
municated to so many hearts. Never, since the first promul-
gation of Christianity, has so sublime a spectacle been exhib-
ited as that which we now witness of Christians in both
hemispheres, separated by language, climate, manners, and
oceans, forgetting their distinctions, and conspiring as
brethren in the work of illuminating the world. Perhaps
human history affords no example of such extensive coop-
eration for the good of mankind.

" From such institutions, founded by the most illustrious
men, patronized by sovereigns, endowed by opulence, and
inspired and sanctified by ardent love of God and mankind,
are we not authorized to hope a melioralion of the moral
and religious condition of society ? May wc not anticipate
a more wide and glorious manifestation of the power of
Christianity on the hearts of men ? INIay we not especially
hope, that Christian nations, being thus united under the
peaceful standard of the cross, and laboring and triumphing
together in the cause of their common Lord, will drink more

THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL. 125

largely into his spirit, will exchange their animosities for
love, and will shrink with hon-or from the thoflght of devot-
ing each other to slaughter and desolation ? "

Mr. Channing was interested, not only in extending the
circulation of the Bible, but in promoting a rational and
consistent interpretation of it. During this and the later
portion of his life he gave much time and thought to the
elevation of theological learning. This will appear more
fully hereafter ; but a few hints come here in place, which
may indicate his progressive career of thought, and show
his ready faithfulness to every call upon his energies.
Immediately after the death of Buckminster, who for his
age was undoubtedly the best read and most accom-
plished theological scholar in the country, and who had
been chosen the first lecturer on the Dexter Foundation
in the Divinity School at Cambridge, Mr. Channing was
selected to fill that office. This was in 1812. He ac-
cepted the appointment, bought a portion of the very
valuable library which his lamented friend had with great
care and expense collected, sent abroad for various books
from Germany and England, and began to make prepa-
rations for these new and difficult duties. He was pleased
with the prospect of usefulness thus opened, though dif-
fident of his fitness for the work. But he soon found
that his health was entirely inadequate for the efibrts to .
which he saw that a conscientious professor was sum-
monedj who in the unsettled state of theological science
undertook to be a guide, and in 1813 he resigned lii^
trust. He retamed a close relation, however, to the Di-
vinity School, and became thenceforward one of its most
active guardians, as is conclusively shown in many letters
and manuscripts. The careful meditation which he ha-
11*

126 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

bitually turned upon an institution so important in everj'
view to the well-being of the churches will appear by
a few extracts from his private papers.*

" It is essential to a good institution that one spirit should
pervade it, and that all its parts should harmonize. The bal-
ance between the intellect and the affections, or rather their
joint action, should be most sedulously provided for. Tht;
Christian character, the spirit of Christ, as the ultimate in
religion^ should be presented in all its brightness. Whatever
draws the mind from this is injurious. Zeal, self-denial, de-
votion to God and Humanity is the essential. The general
course of instruction should tend to produce these. Specu-
lations awakening skepticism, or undue exercise of intellect,
should be avoided. Great principles., on which religious
sentiment and practice rest, should be strongly, frequently
offered to attention. The mind needs progress. Difficulty
is its stimulus. But should it not be active chiefly in an-
alyzing the true, in working on what is substantial, in build-
ing on a foundation, in developing the causes and connec-
tions of what is known to be real .'' To determine what pro-
portion of time should be given to points which have mocked
the efforts of the wisest men in all ages, and which are yet
agitated and under debate, requires great judgment."

" Young men who are merely students, self-indulgent,
stimulated by the desire of literary distinction, accustomed
to regard the profession as a road to eminence, and feeding
selfish thoughts, are not the fit materials for a good ministrv.
Manners, knowledge of the world, taste, wide range of
thought, must be reconciled with and pervaded by spirituali-
ty, self-renunciation, independence, strong action of practi-
cal piety, warm and patient interest in the neglected, outcast,
poor, sinful."

* See also tlie Tract "On Increasing the Means of Theological Ed
ucation," &c., 18)6, Works, Vol. V., pp. 363-371.

THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL. 127

" The end of the ministry should be set before them with
great plainness, the iiastness of the change w+iich it is in-
tended to work m society and individuals. They should be
affected deeply with the condition of society, with the con-
viction that its state is exceedingly remote from that which
Christianity is designed to bring in. Their minds should be
quickened by the faith that a great change is practicable.
Tameness grows from the thought of going on for ever in
the steps of the past. The attention of theological students
should be turned more on the state of the world, less on ab-
stract subjects ; a lively interest in its progress should be
aroused. They should feel as men set apart to produce a
reform in the moral condition of mankind. The miseries
of the mass of men, their toils, ignorance, sufferings, tempta-
tions, should touch them. Study should be seen to be a
means only. How can a theological institution be made to
give to its students the advantage, which students in law and
medicine have, of seeing the actual application of princi-
ples, the profession illustrated in practice } Study conducted
under the influence of sympathy with men would be vastly
more efficient."

" The present course of training is too technical. It does
not communicate a living spirit. A tone of feeling should
pervade the institution, so that new students may at once
imbibe it. Fervor should be a primary object. The intel-
lect would gain force and largeness from such spiritual ex-
citement. The first lesson to the students should be, that, in
order to communicate, they must receive and be filed xoith
the spirit of Christianity. Living Christianity should be the
end. It is true that this spirit cannot be poured into them.
They must be excited to seek it for themselves. But this
must be presented as their most indispensable acquisition.
The understanding of religion is exceedingly important ; but
moral and religious truth is best understood by the moral
and rcligif ms culture of the soul. The true spirit of study

128 MIDDLE-AGE JIINISTKY.

is needed, an earnest desire to look into the deep things of
religion from accordance of heart with its sublime realities."
"Fixed meditation must be encouraged, — a deep per-
vading sense of the presence and perfection of God, — a
wakeful spirit of prayer, — a strong conviction of the reality
of the future life, — a devotion to the cause of Christ, iden-
tification of all their plans, purposes, and hopes with it, and
a sense of the infinite importance of Christianity, — a reve-
rence for the human soul, its greatness, worth, perils, pros-
pects,j-^ a vivid perception of the high spiritual purpose of
our religion, — a distinct conception of the celestial virtue
which it is designed to cherish, — a love deep and disinter-
ested for elevation of soul and the zeal which personal expe-
rience of the power of religion gives, — courage, hardihood,
and a martyr's patience, — a correspondence to the most ear-
nest spirit of the age ; — these habits of mind and heart will
form men of the sacred character which we need, and fit
them to be sources of spiritual life to society."

" Can indifference be preserved in a teacher ? Is it not
m human nature to state our own opinions with greater
clearness than those of others ? A teacher should aflect no
secrecy ; it is best that his views should be fully understood.
.The pupil left alone is not more likely to discover truth
than when guided. It is not the statement of his own opin-
ions which renders a teacher dangerous, but an unwilling-
ness on his part to allow students impartially to examine
them. He should state fairly the arguments in favor of his
own views, but he should exert no authority or influence to
prevent his pupils fi-om weighing them with perfect freedom.
He should direct them to the sources of inquiry, and pre-
sent them with the means of forming a right judgment,
rather than attempt to mould their opinions. Let him make
known the opposing views, and refer them to authoi-s who
defend them. And while urging his own convictions, let him
caution students against receiving them because they arc his.

HARVARD UNIVERSITY. 129

We do not wish a theological instructor to form young men
after the pattern of his system. The promotion -rrf Christian
truth is the end. No teacher is infallible. He should never
pretend to be so."

" Our institution is distinguished by this. It does not aim
to teach the peculiarities of any sect, but to encourage seri-
ous, free, honest, well-directed inquiry. This is our end, —
to inspire the students with a resolute, impartial temper in
the pursuit of truth. Our fundamental principle is, that men
may preach with equal faithfulness who differ on disputed
points; that character — the living spirit — is the great thing.
We do not wish to form a sect. In theological institutions
there is danger that monotony of mind will be communi-
cated, that all will learn to think alike, that there will be
want of liberality, impartiality. Let a habit of fair investi-
gation be encouraged, let all minds be taught to examine
questions deliberately, to pause before coming to a decision.
Our pledge against the abuse of liberty is to be found in a
devout, humble, reverential spirit."

But it was not alone by his desire to give a pure, large,
and practical tone to theological studies, that Mr. Chan-
ning was brought into active cooperation with the educa-
tional movements of the day. In 1813, he had been cho-
sen a member of the Corporation of Harvard University,
the duties of which office he continued to discharge for
thirteen years. During this period he took an efficient
part in all plans for the improvement of the course of
instruction and discipline in the College. Voluminous
notes remain to prove with what comprehensive and
minute attention he made himself acquainted with the
condition, wants, dangers, opportunities of the students,
ind with what discriminating sympathy he lent his aid
» every proposed reform. One or two extracts from

130 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY,

these papers may be of interest, as showing his general

views.

/
{ "Cannot religious and moral means of influence be made

to enter more largely into the college system, and give it
character? Religion should be professedly and conspicu-
ously a main end of educationJ Piety should be held forth
as an essential element of high character in every young
man. Literary emulation cannot supply sufficient motive.
We corrupt the young, and weaken their best principles,
by exclusive use of so low a principle. Knowledge should
always be presented as valuable only when inspired whh
and controlled by high principle. The mind should be
turned to God as the fountain of intelligence, and all growth
in wisdom should be seen to be an approach toward him
and a preparation for the fulfilment of his designs of good.
Religion must be exhibited as the glory of our nature.
An ingenuous, magnanimous, heroic form of piety must
be inculcated, such as is fitted to win the generous hearts
of youth. Religion still has a monkish, gloomy, formal,
superstitious air. It is made a master, not a friend, in the
eyes of the young. It is presented to them in the aspect
of debasing terror, not of elevating and enlarging hope.
They should be made to feel that it is the source of all
lofty, honorable, manly sentiment. Its connection should
be shown with harmonious and balanced character, with
noble aspiration, sclf-dcvotedness, grand endeavour, cour-
age, independence. There should be a religious teacher,
who can present broad and generous views of religion in
accordance with our whole nature, who can converse freely
with the young men, visit them, attract them to him, and
meet the deep wants which spring up in some minds at this

season of life

" Religious character, profound moral feelings, a strong
spirit of Christian piety and love, are all-important qualifi-

HARVARD uNivi:nsiTy. 131

cations in the governors and instnicters of college, so that
they may be pervaded by an earnest conviction of the su-
preme importance of cuhivating rehgion and virtue in their
pupils, and may constantly show that religion is not a
mechanical thing with them, not a means of discipline, but
a grand and living reality. Without this, intellect will be
too exclusively the object, and the great end of intellectual
power and wealth will not be sufficiently brought into view.
Virtue should be seen by the students to be the paramount
object. No amount of talent or acquisition should be al-
lowed to be a substitute for want of morality. Character
should be regarded as the primary interest. There should
be a kind but inflexible demand for purity and goodness.
A student should be made to feel that every moral taint is
disgraceful, base, abhorrent."

Methods of instruction. " In forming a system of edu-
cation for the University, whilst the highest respect should
be paid to experience, important aid may be derived from
the general principles of education. One of these principles,
which deserves peculiarly to be called fundamental, we pro-
pose to consider, and to show some of its applications.

"The principle referred to is this, — that in education the
great object is not so much to communicate knowledge, as
to train the mind, to exercise its various faculties, to give
it the free and vigorous use of its powers, to inspire it with
a love of truth, and to form it to patient, quick, and keen
investigation. This doctrine seems universally admitted,
and according to this the principal aim of a good teacher
is not to fix in the memory knowledge which others have
discovered, but to make the student as active as possible
in discovenng it himself, or in proving and establishing
it, and in following it into its results. The more the stu-
dent advances without aid, the better ; he must be helped to
dispense with help ; and learn to go alone and draw from
his own resources.

132 WII)DLE-AGE MINISTRY.

"This method of teaching will, in the end, conimunicaiis,
a far greater anaount of knowledge than others, in which
the mind is more passive ; because the student learns in
proportion to the interest which he takes in a subject, and
a vastly stronger interest is generated by active inquiry
than by a passive reception of others' ideas. Activity of
mind on a subject gives a true and enduring property in
what we learn about it, and the memory grasps firmly what
the higher faculties have labored to acquire.

" The present mode of teaching is chiefly by recitation,
or by making the student give the ideas of the text-book ;
and, although this is less fitted than any other mode to call
forth mental action, it still confirms the principle we are
illustrating ; for the chief use of recitation is to excite the
student to solitary labor, and he gains in this way incom-
parably more than from the communications of his instruct-
ers. The assurance that strict scrutiny will be made into
his acquaintance with the prescribed portion of the text-
book stimulates him to study it ; and if he have tolerable
capacity, he generally possesses himself so completely of
his author's ideas, as to need little or no explication from
the teacher.

" The chief use of the instructor is to make the student
his own instructor, and the fruits of his unaided application
in his closet are incomparably more valuable than all the
assistance or knowledge which he gets from the lips of a
master.

" Recitation, however, though to a certain extent useful,
is not, as we have said, the mode of teaching most fitted to
call forth the mind, and the advancement of the University
depends on nothing so much as on introducing or extending
methods more adapted to this end.

" It should be a leading aim of the teacher to raise out of
his branch topics for inquiry (.r discussion, — subjects on
which the student's power of analysis, comparison, discrim-

HARVARD UNIVERSITY, 133

ination, generalization, or invention may be employed. It
should not satisfy him, that the ideas of the te,<l-book have
been received ; their truth should be inquired into ; objec-
tions to them should be stated or invited ; the habil of
weighing proofs should be cultivated ; and, in general, the
student's mind should be made to look as much as possible
on the subject of study.

" Some brief examples may illustrate the modes of teach-
ing which are thought most important. — In mathematics
the student should be assisted and encouraged to furnish his
own demonstrations of propositions, and, among different
methods of demonstration, he should give reasons for pre-
ferring one to another. The discovery of a new series of
proofs should be rewarded with particular distinction. The
uses and applications of this branch of knowledge, its his-
tory, &c., may furnish topics suited to increase the interest
in it. In experimental philosophy the students should be
invited to suggest or invent e.xperiments by which any natu-
ral law may be established. In studying nature, gener-
ally, nature should be as much as possible the text-book,
and the student led to read it for himself. Questions
should be continually raised as to the causes of the com-
mon changes and appearances of nature. To make the
mind active on natural phenomena, to accustom it to re-
duce all which it sees to general laws, to give it an inter-
est in discovering the great ends and connections of this
glorious creation, — these should be the aims of the teacher.
In teaching astronomy^ the student should be more con-
versant with the heavens. Many students learn from books
the situations, distances, and other relations of the planets,
without being able to distinguish one planet from another.
They hardly know one constellation and, what is still worse,
the vastness, splendor, and sublime movements of the uni-
verse are obscured, if not virtually hidden from the mind,
through the habit of studying it almost exclusively in an

VOL. II. 12

134 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

apparatus which is infinitely mean and disproportioned, and
has no power of exciting the soul.

" Logic teaches the application of the faculties to the
discovery of truth. It should be taught practically. The
students should be made to find or invent examples of eve-
ry species of evidence and sophism, to analyze processes
of reasoning, to point out false reasoning and show how
the mind was betrayed into it, to point out the different
modes of investigation belonging to different subjects, and
to inquire into the history of the processes by which the
most important discoveries have been made. InleUecfual
philosophy is a still closer case. The subject here being
a man's own mind, and the highest evidence being con-
sciousness, the student should be turned to his own breast,
and taught to consult this as his chief text-book. In the
classics, endless topics offer to lead the student to investi-
gations of the principles of language and criticism, and to
the exercise of taste ; and, what is equally important, he
may be led into an intimacy with the spirit and institutions
of antiquity, with the influences under which men then
wrote and acted, and by which character was determined.
In history, the chief aim should be to teach how history
should be read, to point out the sources of historical knowl-
edge and the marks of historical truth and falsehood, to
accustom the mind to weigh historical evidence, to teach
the application of history to the sciences of human nature
and polilics, and to exercise the moral sense on characters
and actions. Once more, in rhetoric, the student should
select from authors examples of every kind of figure and
composition, &c., &c. — Perhaps these illustrations are too
extended, and yet they arc only imperfect hints of the
methods which may be used in every branch to awaken and
call forth mind.

" It may be said that this is a kind of teaching for which
tlie mass of the students are not ripe, and this is not without

METHODS OF EDUCATION. 135

foundation. There are many of whom noihhig more can
be expected than a knowledge of the text-'^ook, and let
these be thoroughly and patiently drilled. But there are
some fitted for the higher kind of instruction here recom-
mended, and perhaps a considerable number to whom it
may be applied in one or a few branches. A leading aim
with the instructers should be to make this instruction an
object of desire, interest, and competition, and such it would
naturally become. It would form the broadest of all dis-
tinctions among the students, and, when understood in the
community, would be referred to in preparing youth for
college.

" This system of course requires classification according
to capacity ; and without such classification, it is conceived
that no important change can be effected in the University.
As long as the present system is maintained, of giving the
same amount of study to all the students, and of adapting it
to the average of talents, so long the standard of requisitions
and attainments will be low, or it will rise slowly, and we
shall be surpassed by wiser institutions. The constant aim
of the friends of the University should be to make it worthy
of that name, to perfect the system of education, to obtain
justly the reputation of training youth more generously than
any other establishment in the country ; and for this end
instruction must be given adapted to the highest minds.
One effect of this will be to raise the average of capacity.
We shall attract those who are fitted to receive a higher and
more extensive education than can be gained elsewhere, and
a standard of intellectual effort and acquisitions will be
formed in the College, to which the great body of students
will labor to attain. A single section educated on new and
better principles would exert an influence on the whole
mass.

" Great good is to be anticipated from such a method of
instruction, if we consider the influence it would have on

13() MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

tlie teachers. The character of the teachers determines that
of an institution. They must not only be men of talent, but
must have that talent awakened, called forth, made manifest.
They must bring a strong interest to their work, and of
course their work must be of a nature suited to excite
interest. Now the employment of hearing a class recite,
for the purpose of ascertaining the acquaintance of the
students with a text-book, is certainly a dull one. It i& a
schoolmaster's employment, which is among the most irk-
some. To go the same dull round with a succession of
classes, to hear the same thoughts repeated year after year
from a most familiar book, this certainly should not form
the exclusive or principal occupation of a man of talent.
We cannot wonder that torpor should creep into such an
employment, and if the teacher be torpid, whence is the
scholar to gather life and energy ? We have seen that the
great end of the teacher is to awaken the mind of the
student to vigorous exertion. His own, then, must act with
vigor. A wearisome, mechanical listening to a recitation
is not the way to kindle curiosity, to inspire a thirst for
truth, to give a keen interest in the objects of study. The
proposed mode of instruction, in which the student's powers
of investigation and judgment will be tasked to the utmost,
in which discussion will mingle with recitation, in which
the expression of doubts and difliculties will be encouraged,
and in which the teacher will be called to act on sugges-
tions, examples, proofs, objections from the pupil, would
furnish to a man of talent a field not unworthy of his power,
would keep his mind alive, would cause it to be seen, felt,
and respected by the students, and would give it a new and
quickening agency on theirs. This influence on the teach-
ers, and an increase of animation and spirit in the whole
institution, may also be expected from the new and multi-
plied text-books of the highest character in eveiy depart-
ment of literature, which would siiccessively be introduced

BENEVOLENCE, 13'7

in consequence of a higher kind of instruction, of the sys-
tern of classification, and of the option which would be
given to young men of talent who shall have finished the
prescribed studies.

" As another motive for the mode of teaching here recom-
mended, it may be observed' that it involves^one of the
most important motives to intellectual eifort. It will give
to the student the pleasure of successful application of the
intellect, the pleasure of attaining truth by his own activity,
— a motive more steady and enduring, and more friendly
to intellectual excellence, than emulation.

" In these remarks we have not intended to speak dis-
paragingly of recitation. In the beginning of college life
they ought to be frequent, and cannot be too searching, and
there will always be students of an advanced standing who
can learn only from a text-book. But there are many stu-
dents capable of a higher mode of teaching, and to these
the recitations necessary for the former are waste of time
and a heavy burden. The principles here laid down admit
of extensive application. They may aid us in judging of
the utility of public lectures and of the best means of profit-
ing by them. They may show the importance of frequent
compositions on the subjects taught at college, and of culti-
vating more than we do a ready command of thought and
expression." *

The sympathy thus for ever radiating to the inter-
ests of society at large did not exhaust Mr. Channing's
love, which shone only brighter and warmer, the nearer
the sphere of its action to its central source. He
was still a practical philanthropist. Physical debility

* These remarks were probably written after tlie author's return
from Europe ; but as they sum up the resuhs of his observation
and experience at this period, it is thought better to insert them
here.

12*

138 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

had gradually warned him, it is true, to confine his per-
sonal activity within narrower limits than he had marked
out in his earlier ministry, and the whole tendency of
events had been to teach him that his more peculiar and
appropriate function was to be a discoverer and an-
nouncer of spiritual principles. But proof enough re-
mains that the benevolence which we have noticed in his
spring-time had become the confirmed and unconscious
habit of his summer. Indeed, where disinterestedness
survives the frosts, by which the bleak airs of a world,
made selfish through isolation and competition, nip the
buds of kindness in so many a young enthusiast, it
cannot but bear full fruits in manhood. He became
constantly more guarded in his charities, and there is
no need to lift the veil which, with true delicacy of
feeling, he wore, like a brother of the Misericordia,
as he went about on his errands of mercy. But as a
fact tells more of a man's temper than any number of
general assertions, we feel at liberty to give, in passing,
one illustration of his modes of action. Thus writes
a recipient of his bounty.

" I ought to see the good hand of God continually
stretched out, but some such special providences strike my
mind with peculiar power. Were I to tell you my situation,
your conviction would brighten, that the hearts of all men
are in the hand of the Lord. For a number of days pre-
vious to receiving your letter, our barrel of meal and cruse
were reduced to nothing, and I had called on a number for
help, but could not obtain it. I borrowed a horse, and set
out vvitli a determination to procure some necessaries for
my family, even if by increasing my debts. On looking
into my desk, I found only three cents, which I took with
me. In passing through the town, I stopped at the post-

BERUY-STKEE7' VESTKY. 139

oflice to put in a letter, when the postmaster informed me
that there was a letter there for me. I thought •within my-
self, ' How shall I pay for it with three cents ? ' when,
lo ! a letter is handed me post-paid. ' Generous friend ! '
said I. I opened it, and was at first surprised by the bill.
But after reflection, I said to my companion, ' See what the
Lord can do ! ' Though the money gave us joy, when think-
ing of the unknown benefactor, whom God had enabled and
disposed thus to contribute lo unworthy strangers ; yet the
matter of the letter, distilled from the heart of the writer,
gave us much higher joy. When paying my debts, which
I was thus enabled to do, and procuring some necessaries,
we could not refrain from mentioning this kind providence.
I hope there was nothing wrong in this, as we read that
what a certain woman did for Christ was to be told as a
memorial of her."

To every form of public charity Mr. Channing lent
his ready counsel and encouragement ; but it was chiefly
within his own congregation that he was earnest to se-
cure efficient union for purposes of mutual culture and
cooperative usefulness. With this view, he, in 1817,
addressed the following letter to the Committee of the
Society in Federal Street.

" Gentlemen : — It has pleased a kind Providence to
smile on the religious society with which we are connected.
The present ought to be gratefully acknowledged by us as
a period of prosperity, and it seems to me a peculiarly
proper one for accomplishing some valuable objects by
which both we and our children may be improved.

" I have for some time thought that a vestry-hall, or
small building, belonging to the Society, and placed as near
the church as may be, would be a great accommodation and
benefit. The uses of it are as follows : —

140 MIDDLE-AGE PIIMSTRA'.

"1. It would be a convenient place for catechizing and
instructing the children of the Society, — a service for which
the church furnishes very poor accommodations, especially
in winter.

" 2. It would give us a place for a singing-school^ which
is very much needed. Though our singing is very much
improved, we all of us feel that it might be rendered a more
interesting part of public worship. If we had a vestry
attached to the church, I think that several persons might
meet in it to receive instruction, who would not attend a
public school. Besides, there might be weekly or monthly
meetings of those of the Society who are acquainted with
singing, for purposes of improvement and gratification.

" 3. It is known to the Committee, I presume, that a
charity school has been supported by contributions from
our Society and the New South Church, an admirable insti-
tution, and conducted in part by young ladies of our church.
I am very desirous of giving perpetuity to this truly Chris-
tian establishment, and I conceive that this will be efiected,
if we provide a building in which the school may be kept.

" 4. There is also a Sunday school, just commenced, for
which a vestry would be highly desirable.

" 5. If this plan is adopted, a place will be provided for
meetings of the church, or of other parts of the Society, for
which the common place of worship is too large. The
young ladies of the Society have been accustomed to meet
for the purpose of being instructed by their pastor. I should
wish, if a suitable place were provided, to meet the young
men also for the same purpose.

" 6. I have a strong impression that a collection of the
most approved looks on moral and religious subjects would
be a great and lasting benefit to our Society. Such books,
it is well known, have an important influence on the char-
acter, especially of the young, and yet thc^y are far from
being common among us. Perhaps- the extent of the de-

BEHRV-STREET VESTRY.

141

ficiency would surprise you. There are some families of
our number, in which individuals may be foufW with a
strong taste for reading, but who cannot afford to purchase
any but the most necessary books. In the families of the
opulent, too, there are often but few books suited to illus-
trate the Scriptures, and to furnish religious instruction, and
these few are often far from being the best. This defi-
ciency is not to be supplied by circulating libraries, for they
contain hardly any thing but works of an amusing nature.
Even where a disposition exists to purchase useful publi-
cations on moral and religious subjects, the wish is some-
times frustrated, either by mistakes as to the merits of
books, or by the inability of obtaining the best in this
country. Some of the most valuable works must be sent
for to Europe, because the demand is not sufficient to justify
booksellers in importing or reprinting them. These con-
siderations persuade me that we cannot easily render great-
er service to the Society than by laying the foundation
of a library to which all classes shall have access. I be-
lieve that reading on religious subjects will be very much
increased by it ; that the attention of the young, which is
now too often wasted on unprofitable books, will be drawn
to the best authors ; that a spirit of inquiry will be excited ;
that the Scriptures will be much better understood ; that
the minds of many will be enlarged ; that Sunday will be
spent with greater pleasure and profit ; and that the instruc-
tions of the pulpit, aided by books which the preacher will
recommend, will be more efficacious.

" These are important benefits, but these are not all. I
would recommend, as a part of the plan, that the minister
should be the librarian. The consequence of this will be,
that his intercourse with all classes and ages of the Society
will be increased, and his knowledge of the books which
they are reading will furnish useful topics of conversation
and advice. This effect, a closer union between the minis-

142 M1DDI£-AGE MINISTRY.

ter and people, seems to me very valuable. I believe, too,
that a valuable collection of books, to which all the mem-
bers of the Society may repair, as to a common fountain of
instruction, will increase their interest in the Society and be
a bond of union to each other. May I add, that to the
present, and especially to future ministers, this collection will
be of great use. Our salaries do not permit us to furnish
oursd.ves, but very imperfectly, with books ; and the liberty
of using freely such a library as I propose will enable us
to unfold many subjects more fully than at present to
our hearers.

" Your friend and pastor."

In this project he had the cordial support of his wise
and warm-hearted friend, the Hon. Judge Davis, wiio
for so many years was the deacon of his Society and his
invaluable counsellor, and the Society liberally contrib-
uted to fulfil the plan. The building was finished and
opened in the autumn of 1818, on which occasion he
made an address, from which a few sentences may bf»
selected.

" It is pleasant to see a work of our hands completed, and
especially a work which is the fruit and expression of
friendly feelings, and which is a testimony of attachment to
a good cause. Such is this building, founded in brotherly-
kindness and a reverence for Christianity. It was reared
by united efforts, and we have now met to set it apart by
an act of devotion to purposes which our hearts approve.

" This building has already done good by the exercise
which it has given to your liberality and to many pure
sentiments. It is now doinjjf pood : for it is brincino; us to-
gether as brethren, as members of the same Christian com-
munity. Yet more is it, wc trust, to do good ; for we have
reared it for the advancement of Christianity, a religion
which meets all our wants, sorrows, guilt, and fear, — which

BERKV-STREET VESTRY. 143

opens its arms to infancy, and directs the ardent mind of
youth to its Creator, which furnishes to our ripdT"years mo-
tives to uprightness, which goes with us to the grave, and
strengthens the sight to discern a hrighter world beyond.

" One leading object of this building was, to provide for
the religious instruction of children. I need not observe
to you, that in our public services our children hear nuich
which they cannot understand, and that they need 'nore
simple and direct instruction. If strength shall be ^iven
me, I shall engage in this work, I hope, with more earnest-
ness than I have been able to do, though not without diffi
dence. The task is not as easy a one as many suppose.
It is easier to convey knowledge to minds as ripe as our
own, than to adapt ourselves to an age of which we pre-
serve only indistinct recollections. There is, indeed, no
labor in teaching children to repeat words ; but to propor-
tion our communications to their capacities, to bring the
invisible God near to them, to excite them to thought, to
touch their hearts, — these are objects which have not suf-
ficiently been pi'oposed in education, and we must advance
towards them by a path of our own discovery. In this part
of my duty, I hope that some of you will have the leisure
and disposition to assist. I could wish that we might con-
sider the religious education of the children of the Society
a common end, to be talked of when we meet, and to be
advanced by each other's observations and experiments. I
dare not pledge myself for great exertion, but, if health
permit, I should delight in making the trial, how far paro-
chial may aid domestic instruction, in saving children from
temptations, imbuing them with Christian principle, and,
while they are yet tender and unfettered by habit, confirm-
ing their choice of a pious and virtuous life.

" It is also my hope to meet here the ladies of the So-
ciety whom I have been accustomed to assemble for the
study of the Scriptures ; and nothing would gratify me more

141 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

than to meet occasionally the young men for free conver
sation, or more regular instruction, on the subject of re
ligion."

The meetings of ladies which are here referred to
had been held by ]Mr. C banning for many years. One
who was at this period his parishioner, and thence-
forward to the end of his life an intimate and valued
friend, Mrs. George Lee,* thus records her recoliec
tions of them.

" These meetings were usually held at the house of Mrs.
Codman. They were intended for religious instruction and
for awakening a just comprehension of religious duty.
Mr. Channing opened the services by reading portions of
the New Testament, which he commented upon in his lucid
manner, throwing light upon obscure passages, and rousing
his hearers' minds to their highest capacity of reflection.
His observations were eminently fitted to inspire a devo-
tional feeling, and shed abroad a spirit of prayer. The
subjects selected were those which the whole tenor of his
life and preaching inculcated, — unreserved love of our
Heavenly Father, uncompromising obedience to bis will,
the surrender of the whole soul to bis service, the unspeak-
able benefits received through the mission of bis Son, the
wisdom as well as beauty of holiness. It was by bis fervent
and exalted manner, that he prepared his auditors for the
closing prayer; and when he arose, — for be addressed us
seated, — and said with bis solemn and impressive voice,
' Let us pray,' I am sure there was not a wandering heart
amongst us.

" The meeting might be called one for social worship,
a gatberinjT round a domestic altar. The effect could not

* Autlior of Three Kxpcriincnts of Living, Tiic Huguenots in
France and America, &c.

GROWING CELEBRITY. 145

but be salutary. A few hours were redeemed fi-om the
cares and anxieties, the frivoUties and convention^forms of
life, and the mind called home and directed to its higliest
destination. The number of worshippers varied ; but I
should think there were usually fifty or more present. The
meeting was designed for the females of his own Society,
though others often requested the privilege of attending. I
am happy to recall those pleasant days, and cannot be
grateful enough that to the last I enjoyed the conversation
of our beloved friend, and felt the influence of his life.
Can I ever forget his calm, impressive tone ? "

Thus it appears that Mr. Channing was still an active
pastor. But it was chiefly through his sermons that he
exerted influence. His power in the pulpit had from
the first been constantly increasing, and his full congre-
gation was now often crowded by strangers, who gathered
from various motives to hear one who was everywhere
recognized as the most eloquent and effective preacher
in Boston. His discourses occasioned by the great
political crisis through which the country had been called
to pass, from 1812 onwards, — the bold, original, and
discriminating address on war in 1816, — his able publi-
cations in the Unitarian controversy, and especially his
Baltimore sermon, delivered in 1819, of which several
editions were at once printed, and which was circulated
through the length and breadth of the land, — and, final-
ly, the masterly Dudlelan Lecture in 1821, in which so
succinctly and glowingly he presented the evidences of
Revealed Religion, had gradually established his posi-
tion in th3 very first rank of the thinkers and scholars
of the country ; and at this time he was experiencing
all the incentives and temptations of celebrity. That he
was painfully conscious of the ensnaring power of the

VOL. II. 13

146 MIDDLE-AGE MIMSTRY.

ambition which a position of such eminence naturallK
engenders appears from the care with which in his jour-
nals he guards himself against its charms and strives to
maintain the purest singleness of purpose. His private
papers of this whole period are most affecting from their
moral beauty ;-but the reader turns his eye away from
secrets which a mortal scarcely whispers to his own
heart, and a feeling comes over him of the awful sanc-
tity of that temple of the soul whereinto God's guardian
angels only have befitting innocence to enter. It is
enough to say, that conscience sat ever vigilant at the
portal of his heart, like a father confessor, listening to
hear the faintest breathings of remorse, to prescribe the
needed penance, to give the blessed sign and word of
absolution.

Yet from the piles of these documents, in which the
writer's inmost experience is laid bare, as if he stood
transparent in the very light of the all-penetrating eye,
it seems but right to select a few of the less personal,
expressions of feeling and thought ; for there is no other
way of showing the essential ciiaracter of the man.
The most striking intellectual peculiarity of these papers
is their minute exhaustive analysis, — their spirit is de-
voutness. The writer lakes up some disposition of which
he is conscious, some branch of duty, some relation in
life, some grand principle, some reality, and, holding it
tenaciously before him, not only for a day or week, but,
as dates clearly prove, for months and years, slowly
elaborates a consistent and complete view. It is very
interesting to compare the hints scattered in these loose
sheets with the compact, finished form in which ninny
of the thoughts finally appeared in the author's pub-
lished works. One gains thereby some insight of the

CONSCllCNTIOUSNESS. 147

mode, whereby in the moral as in th»» natural world
gems are formed, and precious metals deposited in the
rocks. The profound conscientiousness, patience, ear
nest solemnity, concentrated strength, unity of this good
man, thus become apparent ; it is seen how weighty to
his own mind was the meaning of his words, how sedu-
lously he simphfied the statement of his opinions, how
through much struggle he attained to calm, even, equa-
ble utterance, how carefully he reserved what was most
fresh, brilliant, novel, until assured of its substantial
truth, — from what depth of experience he drew.
From beginning to end, they mark the process by which
an earth-born creature is through willing faith trans-
figured into an image, faint though it be, of divine dis-
interestedness. In the fragments which we select,
suggestions as to the ministerial profession, the special
calls of the times, his relations to his people, and his
own peculiar duties, are so intermingled, that it would
be useless to attempt to cast them anew into any formal
mould. Evidently, to his own mind, his outward life and
his inward thoughts were one.

"■ I should desire that knowledge which will conduce most
to the salvation of my people. This sentiment is most fa-
vorable to enlarged views, and free and vigorous action of
mind. A general loftiness of sentiment, independence on
men, consciousness of good intentions, self-oblivion in great
objects, clear views of futurity, thoughts of the blessed com-
panionship with saints and angels, trust in God, as the friend
of truth and virtue, — these are the states of mind in which
I should live."

" Let me be very definite in the ends which I propose,
when I converse, write, or preach, and let me keep them in
view, and press forward to them. Let me appeal to God

148 MIDDLE-AUK MIXISTRY.

for the truth and importance of every sentunent, and for my
own shicere conviction, and my desire to impress it. Let
me write with prayer, as on my knees, sensible of my de-
pendence on the Divine Spirit for eveiy good exercise,
every right aim, every disinterested affection. Let me be
satisfied with plain, serious, important truth, expressed per-
spicuously,"

" Let me purpose, before I begin to write, some definite,
serious impression which I wish to make, and pray for di-
rection and sincerity. Let me lead a whole life of relig-
ion, humility, faith, devotion ; for unless there be this gen-
eral frame of character, no particular acts will be relig-
ious in spirit. The heart is always active, and builds up
unawares the discourse of the speaker, turns his thoughts,
fashions his expression. Let me in writing and reviewing
hold intercourse with God, refer every word to his appro-
bation, and consider whether I bear his message."

" Let me cultivate love, be continually setting before my
mind views which will lead to disinterestedness, be continu-
ally engaged in some definite benevolent object. Let me
labor through the week to keep alive a devotional sentiment,
which may thus show itself unforced, and communicate
itself to others on the Sabbalh."

" Is my preaching attended with encouraging results ?
Do my people come to hear me to be pleased, or to be
made better } Are they not rather attached to the man,
than to the cause ? Let me be more plain, urgent, impor-
tunate, tender. I am more and more sensible to the im-
portance of an earnest, unaffected manner. I sliould lead
my hearers home to their own hearts and lives, and preach
searching sermons. I am not plain and forcible enough.
I appeal too much to the ingenuous feelings. Men need
also solemn, stern warnings. Religion must be presented
to them as the end of life, the grand reality. Let me begin
to write early enough in the week, so that I may throw my

TRUE SPIRIT FOR THE MINISTER. 14^

whole soul into the close of my sermons. My^vork should
be all in all. I should viHt my people more freely, become
a member of their families, know them, be known by them,
win their confidence. The sight of every parishioner, and
indeed of every human being, should be accompanied with
the thought of the grandeur of a human soul, of the beauty,
excellence, happiness to which every soul may attain, and
the degradation and misery into which it may fall."

" A minister should feel that he is dispensing the truths
of a religion introduced by a long line of prophets, sealed
by the blood of Jesus Christ, designed to conduct men to all
glory and excellence, to introduce a stupendous change in
human affairs, to fill earth with the happiness of heaven.
The idea of this grand change should be ever present to
him. Nothing low should content him. To inspire ele-
vated, disinterested piety should be his aim. He should
fll his mind with the thought that man is destined to be-
come the glorious image of God. He should live in a
region of hope, he is to be distinguished by grandeur of
aim, he should rise above human opinion and every influ-
ence- which now bows down the faculties with solicitude,
despondency, agitation, fear. Zeal to advance the great
felicity to which Christ came to raise all men should ani-
mate him for ever. He should never think of rest, till this
sublime end is accomplished. His whole intercourse should
tend to exalt and animate men's conceptions and desires.
All his influence should terminate in this central point, —
that Christ came to call us to a true regeneration, to a celes-
tial virtue ; that much, very much, is to be sought, is to be
gained. A diffusive philanthropy should be his habitual
temper. He should view his people as a part of mankind
specially intrusted to him, whom he is to arouse to co-
operation in the great common work of promoting holiness
and happiness throughout the earth. He must be warm,
bold, eflicient. The ends before him are infinite."
13*

150 MI])DLE-AGE MIMSTKY.

" Good preaching never enraptures an audience by beau-
ties of style, elocution, or gesture. An easy, unbalanced,
unlabored style should be the common mode of expression.
This will give relief and prominence to more important
parts, and insure variety. Composition should resemble
nature. Dazzling objects soon fatigue the eye. Simple
truth, in plain, perspicuous words, should form the body of
the discourse, and all appeals of peculiarly solemnizing,
melting, invigorating character should be introduced in the
way of transition. By simple truth staleness and tamcness
are not meant, for there should always be richness of
thought. A sermon should never be a barren sand-level
of commonplaces, but a fresh, fertile field, verdant and well
watered. In style, as in music, there should be a key,
which should change with the topic. Let clearness, dignity,
unstrained vigor, elevation without turgidness, purity with-
out primness, pathos without whining, characterize my
style. Let me study to be fdled with the spirit of the truth
I am to utter, and I shall speak as I ought. A slow, distinct,
and rather low enunciation should form the ground of de-
livery. It is better to require exertion on the part of the
hearer, than to stun him with clamor."

" That is the best preaching, which leads the audience to
lose sight of the speaker in the sublimhy of his themes,
when the words and tones are forgotten, and the minds of
all are awakened to the contemplation of grand realities. . I
wish to bring the kingdom of heaven near to men, to per-
suade them to lead devoted, pure, loving lives. How shall
I thus persuade them } Not by violence, irritation, self-
exaltation, enthusiasm, excess, — not by prejudicing my
hearers against me as a fanatic, and e.xciting their oppo-
sition,— but by manifesting a calm, kind, humble, sincere,
dispassionate state of heart, with clear views and direct
purposes. Let me preach the whole truth plainly, ear-
nestly, tenderly, but with self-possession. We should labor

PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 151

fo undeceive men, who are deluded by selfijove and by-
fashion, satisfied by a hollow outside, decency of manners,
ensnared by subtle temptations, and make them feel to the
quick the need of a radical change, of integrity, purity,
heavenly-mindedness. To do this, we must have the povver
to search the heart. We must be at once full of feeling,
argumentative, comprehensive, particular. I ought to make
every sermon practical by applying it to my own state in
a continuous process of self-examination. Permanent im-
pression is the test of good preaching. Hence individuality
united with large principles is an essential requisite in a
good sermon. Every hearer should feel that he is imme-
diately interested in the truths which are taught, that then
and there they apply directly to him.'"

" That which is often called puJpit eloquence is a mode
of address calculated chiefly to warm the imagination and
agitate the passions. But in preaching, the true end is not
so much to produce some sudden effect, as to make impres-
sions which will abide through life, to plant seeds which
shall grow and ripen for ever. An impulse communicated
to a popular assembly is short-lived. No change of char-
acter is produced by it. A preacher who habitually adopts
this so-called eloquent manner may be a boast to his
people and a wonder to strangers, but his real influence
will be constantly lessening. He will be heard, admired,
criticized, as an actor is, for the excitement he causes.
And as he has not the advantage of a political declaimer,
who can find ready stimulants for his audience in the na-
tional and local topic of the day, he will be forced to seek
his charm in brilliant ornament and striking delivery, and
will finally fall into verboseness, affectation, puerility, mys-
ticism, extravagance. On the other hand, a preacher who
wishes to interest his people for life must attract and fasten
their regards upon the sacred subjects which he brings
before them, and i ->t upon his manner. He must awakea

152 MIDDLE-AGK JIIMSTKY.

in them a love of truth, of religiQii^ instruction, of spiritual
improvement, of holiness. Then will their attention be un-
wearied and ever deepenmg. A minister who is listened to,
at the very time when he has conspicuous defects in style
and elocution, has a much fairer prospect of usefulness than
many a brilliant orator, whom a congregation first hear with
rapture, and then grow cold to. Attention, deep attention,
is what is wanted in an audience ; and the mode to excite
it and keep it alive is to present great truths which fill their
minds, and motives which inwardly prompt them to vigorous
and constant action. A minister must himself, then, be
engaged, alive, absorbed in great interests, profoundly con-
vinced of the infinite importance of receiving Divine truth,
and manifesting it in his whole life."

" I must urge that repentance which consists in realizing
the entire obligation of the law of right, in feehng bound to
render perfect obedience, in regarding all sin as inexcus-
able, in longing for a total deliverance from evil. iMeu
must be made to abhor their sins, to be prostrated before
the long-suffering benignity of God, to be humbled, melted,
filled with shame at the thought of disobeying such an
infinitely wise as well as merciful Being. It is important
to set forth the law of God in all its sanctity, largeness,
strictness, beauty, glory. It must be shown that the only
satisfaction, peace, joy is in being conformed by Divine
love to the image of God. This must be urged until men
see and feel that all selfishness is a miserable, hopeless
exile, till they love spiritual life as it is in God and an-
gels, as the highest good, to be joyfully chosen above all
things."

" When I propose a subject for a discourse, the question
should be, How can I bring my mind into the state most
favorable to clear understanding, deep impression, strong
representation of it ? But I sbould not labor while I write,
nor work myself up into a fever inconsistent with calm,

TKUE ELOQUENCE. ]53

humble dependence upon tlie Divine Spirit, aiyj tlioughtful,
affectionate regard for those whom I am to address. There
should be nothing strained or excessive, while seeking to
place a subject in a light which will bring out new connec-
tions, and array it in attractive beauty. My whole mode
of life should be a preparation for treating interesting themes
in a fresh and animating way. In choosing a topic I should
first view it in its connections, relations, position, as com-
pared with other truths. I should then let it expand fully
hi my mind into all its branches and applications. From
among these I should select the views most suited to the
special end I have before me. Next, I should consider
carefully the }^t method of arrangement ; and in treating
every head, my mind should be active to unfold the general
thoughts involved in it in their relations to the main subject
of the discourse. Every passage should be tested by its
tendency to advance the end proposed. During the whole
composition, I should be elevated by the greatness of truth,
an ardent love of excellence, an active desire for the purity
and salvation of man, a glowing piety, a conscious com-
munion with God."

" In the regular course of the ministry, we have most to
fear from mechanical sluggishness. Monotonous tameness
is the sand-bar on which so many are stranded. The safety
is in keeping the heart ever alive. The preacher must
draw from his own full experience; he must never write as
if writing was his business. The wish to be correct and
elegant should never enter his thoughts. He has to pen-
etrate men with great convictions. The Greeks wrote well,
because the whole world of thought lay fresh and untouched
before them. This should teach us not to form ourselves on
models, not to use materials furnished by others, but to be
enterprising in the exercise of our own minds, and in ex-
ploring the great sources of truth, — nature, man, revelation.
There is a free, bold, vigorous tone of thought, the easy

154 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

action of a generous spirit, which is most desirable for every
one to attain. All timidity of character, excessive accuracy,
anxious observance of rules, desire to finish minute parts,
love of glitter and polish, fondness of conceits, is fatal to
this freedom. It is the natural movement of a sincere,
ardent, independent mind. The preacher should never give
his hearers leisure to admire ; he should never permit them
to doze. He should write with the ardor of strong convic-
tion, trust himself to the flow of thoughts, and be uncon-
strained and unreserved."

" True eloquence springs from living perception of the
truth, and from intimate communion with the hearts of men.
We must not lean on opinion, must not fea^ie judgment
of hearers. Dependence upon an audience is a charmed
circle which represses all generous thought. Love of truth
sets the writer free. The vigorous character of composition
depends on the decision with which the mind grasps a truth.
Eloquence is to be attained by the full culture, the general
enriching, of the heart and mind. An enlarged spirit, which
has reached grand convictions, will utter itself with a com-
manding style. There is never true eloquence, except
when great principles and sentiments have entered into the
.substance of the soul, and become incorporated with the
whole being. The way to be eloquent is to be possessed
with truth. Good writing, good speaking, is that which
grows directly from the heart, when expression becomes
necessary from the fulness of the soul, when religion is a
living principle within us, and the discourse is the spontane-
ous putting forth of this germinating seed. What is wanted
is genuine feeling, inward ///e."

" One truth is the seed of other truths. It is sown in us
to bear fruit, not to lie torpid. The power of mind, by
which truth becomes prolific, is freedom. Our great duty
is to encourage vigorous action of mind. The greater num-
bm* of free and vigorous minds brought to bear upon a sub-

Liz::nA:.!TV. 155

jecl, the more truth is promoted. Th.c iwsest gain but
gUmpses. Nothing is seen precisely as it is, in all its ex-
tent, by any one mind. Truth even, held without inquiry,
fosters a temper of passive acquiescence, and makes the
spirit effeminate. How many illuminations of celestial ori-
gin come to all in sincere hours ! Are these inspirations to
be subjected to the authority of any tribunal ? All expres-
sion of toill by bodies and individuals that others should
think as they do is tyranny. Numbers have no more right
than a single person to enforce doctrine. They are each
and all fallible, and are bound to special caution lest tiiey
should exert an influence over each other unfriendly to
impartiality. A community so bound to an opinion as to
abandon a man, and to be unjust to his character, who ques-
tions it, is a persecutor, as much as if it used legal penalties.
A community should cherish liberality as it does industry,
for truth is the food of the soul."

" We should multiply our connections with other minds
in order that we may receive and communicate more
largely. The liberal mind distinguishes the essential from
the accidental, the spirit from the form, rises to general
truths and detaches them from particulars, discerns un-
changeable goodness amidst all its transient manifestations,
separates between the end of human nature and the means
of its development, between the temporary arrangement of
Providence and its everlasting objects, and judges charac-
ter, nations, events, opinions, measures, according to these
broad views. This is the noblest exercise of thought.
Narrow minds take things in mass, confound the local with
the universal, the accidental with the essential, and spend
their strength in contending for what is secondary, while
they alienate themselves from their brethren, with whom
they fundamentally agree, on the ground of circumstan-
tial differences. There is a generous way of looking at
all subjects, — totally opposed to the technical, the pro-

156 MIDDT-E-AGE JIirvISTRY.

fessional, the sectional, the sectarian, — a magnanimous
style of thought and feeling, by which we cast aside the
party connections which warp and straighten us, the bribes
and lures of applause and public sentiment, and view all
things in their relations to mankind at large, and the move-
ment of God's grand designs."

" My object should be to contribute to that great work
which God is promoting in the world. Every faithful eflbrt
has its influence. Let me never despair. Local, temporary
objects should be comparatively unimportant. An expanded
interest in humanity should govern me. I am connected
with the Church Universal, with all future ages ; and let no
devotion to a party lead me for an instant to overlook its
defects, or to forget the high claims of truth and right.
The religion which is to open heaven in the human heart
is as far away from lieated bigotry, as from the lowness of
a worldly temper. To breathe warmth into the cold, gen-
erous piety into the abject and. servile, honorable views of
God and man into the dejected, timid, and superstitious,
should be my end. Let me live to exhibit the paternal
character of God, the quickening influence of his spirit, his
willingness to raise us to perfection, the glorious capacities
and destination of man, the filial nature of religion, the
beauty of benevolence, of self-denial and suflering in a
generous cause, the union formed by a spirit of humanity
between God and the soul, the joy of high moral sentiment,
the possibility of attaining to sublime greatness of character
and habitual largeness of sentiment and action. Men are to
be regenerated not so much by a sense of the blessedness
of goodness in the abstract, as by coming to understand that
disinterestedness, that union with God and his whole spir-
itual family, in which goodness consists. The glory and
nobleness of a soul self-surrendered to God, joined to him in
purposes of beneficence, swallowed up in a pure, overflow-
ing love, must be made manifest."

A RELIGIOUS CHARACTER. 157

"It is essential in a minister, that liis mij^d s' ould be
habitually under religious influences, so that his whole char-
acter and life shall difTuse an animating spiritual power.
All should feel that liis soul is in communion with God, that
he lives under the guidance of Ilis will, and by His spiritual
influences. He should unite with devotional fervor an har-
monious, full development of human nature. His end is
to flash upon the dormant minds of men a consciousness r'f
the Divine life, to touch the spring of spiritual allection.
He should enable them to see how religion works within his
own soul, he should make his own mind visible, and show
religious truth, not abstractly, but warm and living, clothed
with the light and glow of his own conscious experience.
Let the perfection of the Christian life, its high, holy, hu-
mane spirit, its communion with God, its elevation, dis-
interestedness, hope, joy, be my habitual state, so that in
all my thoughts, actions, studies, I may be a guide to my
people."

" Unity of impression should be an object to a minister.
He should not undo one day the work of another. All his
mstructions should have a common bearing, and this implies
enlarged views of religion. He must not waste the zeal of
men on points of secondary importance. His efforts should
be systematic, not desultory, and be governed, not by sudden
impressions, but by extensive plans. His whole life and
influence should have one tendency. Nothing demands
such lucidness, breadth, depth, completeness, harmony of
exposition, as the religious life. Foundations must be plant-
ed firmly. Seeds of great, enduring, ever-growing princi-
ples must be sown. People are injured and made dull and
disproportioned by laying excessive stress upon every point.
Preaching should call into action the whole spiritual being
of hearers. It should not address one faculty only, but
manifest religion to the reason, conscience, imagination,
heart. A minister should strive to unfold harmoniously the

VOL. II. 14

153 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

souls of his people, just as he sees Providence unfold the
body in a plant or animal. His whole inward life should
be brought into activity. His preaching and intercourse
with men should be the result of a joint and vigorous co-
operation of all his spiritual powers, quickened by a Divine
influence. To excite to universal growth should be his
end."

" In proportion to the difficulty of the times should be my
desire to exhibit solemn and ennobling views. The long
religious torpor which has rested on the world has pre-
pared men for an opposite excess. Religious sensibility is
an essential element in man, and, however smothered for a
time, it must and will break forth again with power. Is it
not the error of those who oppose the prevalent systems of
Orthodoxy, that they do not substitute interesting views for
those which they would remove ? They insist that Christ
came to restore human nature, that moral good is his end.
But do they present this end in its dignity and grandeur .''
Must we not strongly conceive and represent the glorious
change which he came to bring in men and nations ? A
divine life, a heavenly life, this is the end for which he
came. In exhibiting religion as this universal regeneration
of all human interests, the present degradation of society
must be exposed. Here is the need of earnest remon-
strance. Great explicitness, fearlessness, is demanded.
Jesus Christ must be taken as the standard and rule ; the
highest, purest principles of his religion must be plainly
proposed as the guide to individual and social practice.
The world waits for a new exhibition of Christianity in all
its sublime encouragements, its solemn warnings, its glorious
assurances. With what entire devotedness should I conse-
crate myself to this great end ! "

" Let it be my object to conceive and express the gospel
worthily, in life and word to exhibit the religion of Christ
in its purity, its sublimity, its divine beauty. Let it be my

THE END OF THE MINISTRY. 159

desire to raise men's thoughts to the great ciid- of the being
and mission of Christ, to show tlie exaUed, perfected, heav-
enly state of man which he came to introduce, to exhibit the
glorious relations into which he desires to bring us. Let it
be my aim to raise to this lofty height the moral sensibility,
the ambition, the aspirations, the generosity of men, to ani-
mate them to see brightly and vividly this grand destiny
which opens before them, to carry their thoughts forward to
the future greatness of virtuous humanity, to shed the light
of heaven on their nature and present state. The end to
be set before them is a thirst for nearness to God, love of
him, bright views of him, sympathy with him, desire of his
friendship, disinterested self-surrender to his designs, heav-
enly goodness, heavenly joy, conformity to the spirit of his
beloved Son, — a perfect oneness, in a word, with the
Heavenly Father. May not this exhibition of Christianity,
as an all-ennobling system of Divine influences, be the
one great end to which my life and labors may tend ? "

"1 have often been inclined to think that my own science,
that of ethics and theology, comprehended all others.
Something specious, certainly, might be said to show that it
is the only true medical science, and that they who operate
most successfully on the mind are best entitled to the name
of physicians.'"

"I know not who is now filling my place in my pulpit.
How should I rejoice to learn that some one \vas making
deeper impressions there than I have ever made ! I am far
from looking back with much satisfaction on my labors. I
can say with the old Roman, ' Of honor I have had enough' ;
but how cheerfully would I give up all the pleasures of
distinction for the joy of witnessing more of that piety
among my people, which gives praise, not to the poor in-
strument, but to '•Him of whom are all things' ! "

" Let us not linger at the threshold of Christianity ; con-
duct us into its inmost depths of life. Help us to break

160 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

through the obstacles, the doubts, despondency, lethargy
weakness, which hinder us Open in us an unquencliable
aspiration for truth and virtue. Give us a spirit of rational,
filial, strong, unreserved, triumphant, glad obedience. Give
us perfect confidence in Thee, whose laws arc the dictates
of fatherly wisdom and love, and who dost delight in the
purity and glory of thy children. Dispose us to see thy
goodness everywhere, not only when descending upon us,
but when diffused abroad, so that we may discern the love
which pervades the universe and quickens all spirits.

" Make us sensible of our inwai'd wants, indigence, desti-
tution, weakness. Lay open to us our corrupt motives.
Expose to us our hidden vices in all their deformity. Teach
us to look steadily into ourselves, till we shall see with
something of thine own abhorrence every evil aflection.
Lead us away from false resources to a sure dependence on
thy perfect will, and may this reign supreme within us.
Help us to look through the disguises of self-love, to judge
ourselves truly, to anticipate the revelations of the last day ;
and let not this knowledge of our deficiencies and deformi-
ties fill us with dejection, but rather endear to us thy mercy,
and lead us to thy grace, while rousing us to vigilance
and to firm and faithful conflict with every irregular de-
sire.

" Dispose us to a sincere sympathy with all men, not
only to see extraordinary excellence with joy, but to take
pleasure in the humblest improvements of our fellow-
creatures, in the beginning of everlasting life within them.
Incline us to respect the feelings of others, so that we may
never wound, nor tempt, nor depress a human being. May
we understand the sublime heights of benevolence to which
we are called by the gospel, and aim at perfection in all
social relations. Assist us to express with power and un-
afiected simplicity the beauty of virtue, so that we may
attract all around us to the heavenly life. Inspire us with

DEVOUTNESS. 161

an active, diffusive beneficence, and may \v|^liave the wit-
nesses of our good-will in the improved virtues and happi-
ness of our friends, associates, and all within the sphere of
our influence. Affect our hearts with the loveliness, beauty,
and joy of that mild, condescending, affectionate spirit
which our Master breathed, and may we imbibe it till our
lives overflow with usefulness and bounty. Assist us in
enlarging our benevolence, in diffusing our affections, so
that we may embrace in kind regards all beings capable of
happiness; and give us wisdom to design and vigor to exe-
cute noble and extensive schemes of public and private
good. May we learn to lose ourselves in disinterested ser-
vices, from generous ardor, and to delight in imitating thee,
and in promoting the great ends of thy providence, and the
blessedness of creation.

" We pray for the fulness of thy spirit. We beseech
thee to animate with new life our languid affections. Give
us the fervor of devotion, the glow of philanthropy. Awaken
us to a holy zeal, a joy in thy service, a promptness to da
and to suffer whatever thou dost appoint. May the labors
of life become acts of religion and offerings to thee, by the
conscientiousness, purity of motive, and devotedness to thy.
will of perfect good, from which they are performed. May.
our sense of thy presence be ever more clear, our concep-
tions of thy character more bright, our gratitude more
tender, our love of exalted virtue more generous, our good-
will more overflowing. May a Divine life be ever growing
within us."

This series of autobiographical papers cannot be more
satisfactorily closed than by the following extracts from
a discourse in which he thus sums up the results of hi?
ministerial experience.

May 26, 1822. " In reviewing the past, I cannot re-
fjoach myself with much indolence. The spirit of the
14*

162 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

times has compelled me to think anxiously and laboriously
on the subject of religion. Holding sentiments which are
often decried as perilous, I have felt myself bound to exam-
ine them with care. In this respect a conscientious minis-
ter's lot is more difficult than formerly. There have been
times when one generation received implicitly the faith of
the preceding. The ministry then imposed a light task en
the intellect. But times are changed, nor can we for a
moment complain that heavier work is now exacted ; for a
chain on the mind is the worst slavery, and the searching
for ourselves, and on our own responsibility, into God's
truth, however exhausting, is among our most improving
labors. And here I am not conscious of remissness. On
the contrary, my exertions — though to men of firmer con-
stitution they would have been moderate and light — have
to me been often excessive, and have particularly unfitted
me for a branch of duty, which, however important, I have
thought myself bound to postpone to the former, but which,
if strengthened, I hope yet to fulfil. I mean pastoral visit-
ing

" I have had a growing conviction that the ministry is
needed in countries where Christianity is established, not so
much to communicate neio truths, as to quicken the truths
which lie dead in the multitude ; and that the qualification
of a minister on which usefulness chiefly depends is, that
he should speak of religion from deep conviction, with life
and power, with afl^ectionate interest, with a soul possessed
and kindled by the truth, — that he should inculcate religion,
not as a tradition lodged passively in the intellect, but as a
reality of which he has the same living persuasion as of the
most affecting interests of the present state. When I con-
sider the earnestness and devotion demanded by such a
cause as Christianity, 1 feel most thoroughly my imperfec-
tions, and pray God that I may live to preach with a fresh
experience of its power

REVIEW OF HIS MINISTRY, 163

" In reviewing my preaching, I cannot hope that I have
taught you truth unmixed with error, but I have a calm and
cheerful conviction that I have taught the great and essen-
tial principles of our religion. I have particularly labored
to set before you a just view of God's all-benignant charac-
ter, as the spring and motive of filial love and affectionate
obedience. In regard to Jesus Christ, I have continually
labored to impress you with the proofs of his Divine mission,
Ihe venerableness and loveliness of his spirit, the excellence
of his religion, the benevolent pvn-poses of his life and
death, and your personal need of the aids which his gospel
of grace and mercy gives

" In regard to the person or rank of Christ, you well
know that a controversy has prevailed during my ministry,
in which every minister has been compelled to take a part.
My views on this subject have varied but little since my
first connection with you, and have been made known to
you with entire frankness. The great fundamental principle
of Christian belief is, that Jesus Christ was anointed, sent,
commissioned by God, that he derived all his authority and
offices and power from God, so that God who sent him is
always to be adored as the first cause, the original, of what-
ever Christ communicates, and is to be our ultimate hope
and confidence. I know nothing which appears to be more
plainly a departure from this fundamental principle of Chris-
tian belief than the doctrine that Christ is God himself,
squally entitled with the Father who sent him to the glory
of originating our redemption, equally saving us by his own
underived, infinite power. To teach this is to resist the
current of Scripture language and Scripture precepts, to
■withstand Christ's great purpose, which was to glorify his
Father, and to shake the fundamental principle of natural
as well as revealed religion, the Unity of God.

" My ministry on this point I look back upon with un-
mixed pleasure ; nor have I any consciousness of having

164 MIDDLE-AGE MIA'ISTRY.

thus degraded Jesus Christ. His glory consists in the love
with which God regarded him, in the offices with which
God has invested him, in the likeness which he bears to
God's purity and goodness, — not in being God himself;
and they are the last to consult Christ's glory, who, instead
of making him the brightest representative and the most ex-
alted minister of his Father, throw a mist and doubtfulness
over his whole nature, by making him the same being with
his Father. I make these remarks with no disposition to
bring reproach on any class of Christians ; for I would not
breathe a single word which might even seem to be un-
kind. But the circumstances of my ministry compel mc, in
reviewing it, to refer to the controversy which has shaken
this church, and in which I have been charged with con-
ducting my people into ruinous error. That I have not
erred I ought not to affirm with the decision and confidence
too common in controversy, and therefore I would only say
that I have inquired earnestly, and that inquiry has given
me a calm, stable conviction of the great principle that
Jesus Christ is a distinct being from God, a derived, de-
pendent being, not the self-existent and infinite Creator.

" Still, I have not been accustomed to preach Christ as a
mere man. I have spoken of him as a peculiar being. He
existed in a state of glory before his birth. Nor was his
agency for our salvation confined to his teaching, and exam-
ple, and suffering, and resurrection, while on the earth ;
but he is now a glorified, powerful agent in human affairs,
our friend, benefactor, intercessor, and strengthcuer, and
hereafter he will be our judge. These views I have urged,
not because the mere belief of them is to save, but bccaus(!
they have seemed to me fitted to create a more earnest,
affectionate, reverent, and obedient regard to Jesus Christ,
— such a regard as will lead us to form ourselves upon the
model of his precepts and example. This, this is the essen-
tial point, and he who is faithful here has a saving faith, be

CHARACTER OF HIS PRIVATE TAPERS, 165

his views of Jesus whatever they may. The <^'eatest and
most dangerous error of the age is the substitution of opin-
ion, speculation, controversy, of nois.e and bustle about re-
ligion, for the practice of Christ's precepts, especially of
those precepts which peculiarly characterize his religion, —
filial love towards God, and self-denying, all-forgiving, dis-
interested, mild, humble, patient charity towards men.
This love^ this charity, — which is the end of the Christian
commandment, which is greater than faith and hope, which
is the very spirit of Christ, which is God divelling in us,
— I have made supreme in my ministry ; and 1 trust that I

have not labored wholly in vain

" What I deplore in the state of this society and of the
community is a languid, depressed tone of religious feeling,
and the want of decision, energy, strong purpose, in apply-
ing Christianity to conduct. Religion slumbers under the
embers, when it should be a quickening flame. It is my
consolation, that on this topic I have preached plainly, faith-
fully, and not without earnestness, admonishing you of the
perils of a state of society like ours, where a partial Chris-
tianity is enjoined by public sentiment and habit, and of
course is easily adopted, whilst the spi7-it of Christianity is
sadly wanting."

It will be readily understood that in the private pa-
pers, from which the foregoing extracts have been made,
are many passages of deeper interest than any which we
have felt at liberty to publish ; and it is chiefly the num-
ber, variety, minuteness, long continuance of his obser-
vations upon his duty and his own character, wliicli
reveal Mr. Channing's conscientiousness. But pi-obably
even these specimens will serve to show with what
wakeful hospitality be greeted each new suggestion that
came like a stranger to bis tent-door, and bow be made

166 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

them his familiar guests, conversed with them, listened
humbly to their message, and found by glad experience
that he had thus entertained angels unawares. More
and more the sublime opportunities of the age were
opening upon him, and he gave hin^self widi ever fresher
zeal to the work of advancing what he saw to be a new
era of humanity.

His usefulness among his own people and in his
immediate community, as well as his wide celebrity,
suggested at this time to a small company of Unitarians
in New York the thought of inviting Mr. Channing to
remove to that city. On his return from Baltimore, in

1819, he had preached to them, and communicated an
impulse which had continued to grow, and now having
formed themselves into the " First Congregational So-
ciety of the City of New York," they wrote to him in

1820, saying, — "We are convinced that your aid is
indispensably necessary to the rapid and permanent suc-
cess of the cause of uncorrupted Christianity in this,
quarter of the Union," and urging him, if possible, to
enter upon this new field of labor. " The church which
you have so essentially contributed to found," they con-
clude, " would be immediately built up, and we confi-
dently anticipate that other societies would be formed,
united in the same faith and hope." In a letter to a
friend who had consulted him in relation to this project,
he uses this language : — "Were I a young man, and
unfettered by any engagements, I should prefer the situ-
ation you propose to any other within my hopes." But
to the committee he made the following reply : —

" I cannot for a moment hesitate as to the answer which I
should give to your application. I regard the situation to

INVITATION TO NEW YORK. 167

which you invite me as honorable and iiriporlant. But
Providence has appointed me another lot. Public, domestic,
and private considerations, which I need not enlarge upon,
leave me no liberty of forsaking the post which I now occupy.
Its duties and responsibilities are, indeed, above my strength,
and I believe that no selfish regards attach me to it. But 1
think that I distinctly read in a variety of circumstances the
will of God that I should continue here ; and unless these
change in a very unexpected manner, I shall remain whilst
I have strength to labor."

Most fortunate was it for himself and for others, that
he felt himself thus bound by duty to the city which had
adopted him among her most honored sons. For no
sphere in the country could for a moment compare with
Boston in its fitness to call out all the best powers of
head and heart in a man so constituted. Its unity of
character, high moral and intellectual activity, benevolent
earnestness, social compactness, as well as its rehgious,
literary, and philanthropic institutions, formed an atmos-
phere sufficiently stimulating, without dissipating his At-
tention and wasting his energy, while he was too free
and self-relying to be fettered by its subservience to
leaders and cliques, its sudden fevers and chills of popu-
larity, its fondness for conventional projirieties. The
public considerations to which he refers in the foregoing
letter, as forbidding him to leave his post, are sufficiently
obvious. One of the " private " ones undoubtedly was,
that he knew his own peculiarities thoroughly, and was
more fully aware than any one else could be of his un-
fitness at once from native dispositions and from con-
firmed habits to be a polemic or a proselyter. A situa-
tion like that to which he was invited in New York
would have demanded continual efforts of mind in a

168 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

controversial direction, and required a zeal for Unrta
rianism quite foreign to his unsectarian feelings. But
his "domestic" ties also detained him in Boston, and
to a notice of these we now pass.

When we last saw Mr. Channing in his home, tlie
bright ring of brothers and sisters, clasped by a mother's
love, was unbroken ; and we purposely left untouched
that image of the happy family of which his own pure,
gentle, heavenly affection was the guardian angel. But
long before the period at which our narrative has now
arrived, link after link had been removed by the various
chances and changes of life, — by marriage, death, and
inevitable dispersion. The oldest son, Francis, had
early married, as we have already seen ; and the eldest
daughter, whose gentle heart was from girlhood interlink-
ed in destinies with Washington Allston, had been united
to him on his return to America after his studies in Italy,
and had gone to England to share the uncertain fortunes
of an artist and a man of genius ; the third sister had
also removed with her husband to New York. Of the
four younger brothers, two had entered into the learned
professions, two into mercantile pursuits ; and thus the
once large household had dwindled away. In relation
to his sister Ann's marriage, he had thus written to his
grandfather EUery : —

"A few hours ago, AVashington and Ann, after their long
and patient courtship, were united in marriage. We con-
sider this a happy event; but Ann is too important a mem-
ber of our family to be resigned witliout somctliing like
sorrow. The ceremony made us rather solemn. I do not
wonder at tliis cnbct. The obligations of tlic marriage
covenant are so extensive, and the consequences of the

DEATH OF HIS BROTHER. 169

union so vast and uncertain, that I should pronounce a
person thoughtless in the extreme, who should exhibit no
seriousness on such an occasion.

" Your granddaughter has found, I believe, an excellent
husband, one who from principle and affection will make
her happiness his constant object. I hope that she will
settle at no great distance from us; but we have not yet
sufficient taste for the arts to give Mr. Allston the encour-
agement he deserves. We have, indeed, money enough to
spend on cumbrous furniture, which another generation will
throw into the garret as antiquated and absurd, but we can-
not afford to adorn our walls with the productions of genius,
which delineate the unchanging beauties of nature or the
grandeur of man, and to which the lapse of time will impart
only new value."

But sadder separations followed. In the summer of
1810, Francis, from the effects of fatigue while engaged
in the laborious discharge of his duties as a lawyer, was
seized with violent hemorrhage, and sank rapidly into a
decline. He retired to Newport, where he lingered
for a time amid the beautiful scenery of his native
island, receiving every kindness which the assiduous
care of anxious friends could lavish, and in the au-
tumn sailed with his wife and a favorite cousin for Rio
Janeiro, with the hope of finding benefit in a change of
climate. But his strength had been too much exhaust-
ed, and on the nineteenth day of the voyage he died.
Months passed over, and the spring had opened, be-
fore the intelligence reached Boston. It was on a Sun-
day, between the morning and the afternoon services,
that a friend called to bear the tidings to those in whose
hearts hope and anxiety had so long alternated. Mr.
Channing was alone as he entered, and instantly read m

VOL. II. 15

170 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

his countenance a confirmation of their worst forebodings.
He silently pressed his hand, requested him to mention it
to no one else, and then retired to his study to gain in
prayer the calmness which he felt he needed, before he
could tell his mother that her first-born had first entered
into the spiritual world. But when at last he summon-
ed the family, his own face was as serene as if he had
been a messenger of joy. The next week was one of
profoundest mourning, not merely because death had for
the first time, after so long a period, entered their circle,
nor merely because he who was taken had been a sec-
ond father, but because they had parted from one who
had made life rich by sweetness, affection, cheerful wis-
dom, incorruptible honor, high hope, and confiding piety.
To William this bereavement caused a grief as deep and
poignant as a disciplined spirit devoted to ends of uni-
versal good could feel, for Francis was his bosom friend.
But on the Sunday following he preached two appro-
priate discourses, in which, while not attempting to hide
the sense of his own loss, he showed his people that an
ascended angel had opened to him bright glimpses of
heaven. A few broken sentences, given as they stand
in his journals, will best show his state of feeling.

" A brother, — a friend, — a nurse in sickness, — a coun-
sellor. One who so often and so tenderly thought of me, —
of us all, — who was a guardian of our happiness. One
who grew up with me. One who has engaged so many of
my thoughts and feelings. The first-born, — the stay of
his family

" The first of our number taken from a circle which be-
fore was complete, — how grateful should we be that so
many of us have been so long spared to each other, so
large a family and so few breaches ! — taken from the midst
of us, never again to be seen and embraced on earth . . .

DEATH OF HIS BROTHER. 171

" God has made a melancholy breach in_^pur number.
May we feel that this is only the beginning of bereavement.
Let us love each other more, and live prepared to resign
each other. Let this separation be to survivors a bond of
tender union

" Taken at a distance from us, beyond the reach of our
kind offices. His remains committed to the deep, never to
be collected by us

" Taken in the midst of life, — a son, — a husband, — a
father. In the full vigor of his powers, when most able to
bless and to do good

" Let me prize more highly the character of my friends,
be sensible to their excellences, be grateful to them, and
labor to improve them. Let me with frankness and mild-
ness reprove their faults and errors. Let me consider the
excellence for which they were made, and be animated
from God's love to seek their welfare. Have I done' them
justice ? The duties of my dear brother have now devolved
wholly upon me. Let this awaken me to all my social re-
lations

" ' Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart.'
Do I undei-stand this } Let affliction lead me to this divine
intercourse, to this fixed thought upon God. He has taken
away one object of hope and love, and thus taught us our
dependence. Let us look to Him, live upon Him, live for
Him. He is our Father and loves us. It is to refine us, to
bring us together again in happier circumstances, that he
thus afflicts us. Let every feeling like selfishness be ex-
tinguished. This separates me from God

" God has wide connections in this affliction. He made
our friend not for us only, but for the creation, — for himself.
His infinite purposes deserve our disinterested reverence.
Let us submit. We are not overlooked. God loves us.
We must not imagine that God thinks only of us or our
family. We must view him in his relations to the infinity

172 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

of beings. There are infinite beings, dearer and purer,
wLo deserve far more of his regards. He seeks the uni-
versal interests of all his creatures. Abba ! Father ! how
slowly, how faintly, do we realize this relation ! How happy
should we be that His will is done ! It is our privilege to

acquiesce

" This dear sister, these dear children, are left to us
as a legacy, — and our kindness and care for them must
never be remitted. How do they call for all our attach-
ment ! These children require from me more than affec-
tion, — much watchfulness, forethought, study of their char-
acters and propensities ; — I must help to form them. What
a new motive for self-improvement, disinterestedness, clear-
ness of mind, temperance ! "

The last of these extracts indicates the generous feel-
ings of their writer, but only they who experienced the
faithfulness with which, through every after year, he ful-
filled the trust which he thus acknowledged, can appre-
ciate the depth and delicacy of his affection. Thence-
forth he was a father to his brother's orphans, an ever-
wise and ready counsellor to their widowed mother.
Immediately after his sister's return from South Ameri-
ca, he took her and her children home to live with his
mother at the parsonage, and a few lines, written by her
at that time to a friend, will show^ more brightly than
any second-hand picture could how he then appeared
in his family.

" While I am cheered and* consoled by William's pres-
ence and conversation, I can bear every thing cheerfully.
It would be impossible to give you a full impression of the
happy influence which he exerts. At his approach, all tri-
als and perplexities disappear, every feeling but that of
kindness vanishes, nothing is seen but smiles, nothing heard

VIEAVS OF CHILDREN. 173

but conciliating and loving words. We not only seem, but
feel, as human beings should ; and I verily believe, that, if I
was always in his presence, I should never say or do or
think any thing inconsistent with the purest principles of
Christianity. He is constantly occupied ; but his few leisure
moments are devoted to us, and you would be pleased to
see how the children love him. They are fond of all their
uncles, but William is the decided favorite. They run to
him the moment he opens the door, and he can seldom get
away except by stealth. Their highest reward for good
conduct is a visit to his study, and their greatest punishment
the denial of a game of romps or of a story from Uncle
William."

It was in relation to these children that the following
letter was written to their mother : —

" My observation of children has not led me to adopt that
severe theology which ranks them among demons, but I am
as little disposed to join with writers of fiction and exalt
them to the rank of angels. These little cherubs do not
always show us in their beaming countenances the serenity
of heaven, and some of their sounds would hardly accord
with the music of that harmonious region. They have ca-
pacities of improvement, but capacities which are not to be
filled in a moment. The soil is productive, but it bears
weeds as well as useful plants, and needs patient and skilful
cultivation. .1 look on a blooming, smiling child as 1 do on
the earth in spring, when covered with verdure and flowers.
I am delighted, and almost forget the uncertainties of the
future in the beauty and joy of the present moment. But
I soon recollect that the blossom is not the fruit, that there
is nothing permanent in this gay scenery, that the harvest is
at a distance, that the valuable qualities of the mind and
heart ripen slowly, almost insensibly, that they are ex-
posed to a thousand adverse influences, that they must be
15*

174 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

guarded and (cherished with a tender care, and that, after all,
we may reap but sparingly where we have sown with a
liberal hand. I do not mean that I consider education as
ineffectual ; but I believe it to be the part of wisdom not to
form large expectations, — especially not to anticipate or
desire very sudden improvement. Rapid growth does not
characterize the most valuable productions of the natural or
intellectual world."

But another of the family was now to be summoned to
join Francis in the " Father's house." Under date of
May 6th, 1815, are entered in Mr. Channing's journal
the following brief fragments, which record his high sense
of his sister's character, and his warm affection for one
who until her marriage had been his confidante.

" Yesterday brought us the sad tidings of Ann's death.
She is gone, — that beloved and excellent sister, — removed
after so long an absence. We were not permitted to min-
ister to her last sufferings. The hands of strangers closed
her eyes, — a foreign land holds her remains." [She had
died in London, Feb. 2, 1815.]

" How tender she was ! — how unwearied her kindness !
As a child, how faithful ! As a wife, how constant ! In
friendship how unalterable !

" Can I ever forget the offices of a nurse which she prof-
fered with so much affection in my last sickness ? Can I
ever forget her, the last by my bed-side at ni^ht, the first
in the morning, giving me her strength, watching over me
as a parent .''

" She lived to be useful. At liome she toiled without
wearines.?, and sacrificed herself without a complaint

" How silent, unostentatious, were her virtues ! As a
Christian, her principles were strong, her sense of duty
deep, her heart humble, her professions sincere. She
seemed to have acquired in early life the consideration of

HIS sister's death. 175

mature years. Cheerful and animated, she was still gov-
erned by the most delicate sense of propriety How be-
loved she was by all who knew her! — she could not have
had an enemy. Home was her sphere, her happiness.
Bound to it by strong affection, she sighed for no pleas-
ures beyond it. She was a stranger to the world

" Her character particularly inspired confidence. Her
heart spoke in her actions

" Her singular disinterestedness ! In her sufferinjrs
abroad, what cheerfulness did her letters express ! She
was too kind to draw on our sympathy. God gave her
many blessings ; and now he has taken her to himself.

" How she comes to me in her affectionateness ! How
kind she was to all around her ! How silent were her care-
ful assiduities! Under her calm exterior what deep, strong
love ! How did she bless us, even when least happy her-
self!

" God multiplies bereavements. Our family is falling to
pieces. Is there no bond of union ? Are we to be lost to
each other ? Let not dear Ann depart, without bearing me
with her into futurity. Let us think only of following our
friends. Let them lead us to heaven. Let the dead be in
our hearts. Let us think and talk more as immortals

" She is gone, not lost. Let me rejoice in her joy. Is
she not mindful of us ? Did God form such ties that they
might be broken ? She may be near me. Let her witness
in me only sincere affection and piety. .....

" My mother is more than ever to be my care. I am
now her oldest child ; she leans on me

" Let her humility and disinterestedness be my pattern.
Let me live to be more useful to my family, friends, people.
Let my heart be the seat of every humane and devout af-
fection. Let me be always employed in doing good to
others, in denying myself, in rendering offices of kindness,
especially of spiritual kindness."

176 MI DOLE- AG K SIliVISTRY.

The following extract froni a letter to a friend ull
serve yet further to show how deep and tender was his
affection for this most gentle and loving woman.

'■'■ Baston, May 9, 1815. You can easily conceive the
feelings which this intelligence has awakened. Ann was
no common friend. Her heart, which was, perhaps, the
most constant in its affections that I have ever known, clung
to her family with peculiar tenderness. The circumstances
of her early life, particularly her attachment to Mr. Allston,
separated her from the world, and seemed to extinguish all
relish for its ordinary pleasures ; and her whole life was
given to her family. In her domestic relations I have hard-
ly known one so faithful ; and the impression she has left
on our hearts is one which time will never obliterate. One
of her last acts, before leaving this country, was to unite her-
self to our church, an act which nothing but the diffidence
and humility of her character had led her to defer so long.
Since leaving us we have not been able to observe her
course, but the singular consistency and uniformity of her
character is a pledge that she was found walking humbly
in the path of her duty, and that her end was peace.

" I find that events of this kind disturb my mind much
less than formerly. My increasing conviction of the perfect
goodness of God, of his paternal character, of his minute
and tender care, and of the riches of his mercy in Jesus
Christ, the last truth in religion which men truly believe
and feel, enables me more cheerfully to resign all things to
his disposal. The thought, that God has made our souls im-
mortal, with capacities of angelic purity and glory, and for
the very end that we should ascend to heaven, to the society
of angels, to moral perfection, to the most intimate union
with Himself and his Son, — this thought, when it is felt by
us, gives a new aspect to nature, to society, to all our pres-
ent relations and connections. I have found myself of late

HIS MARRIAGE. 177

inc /ii.ed to regard the future state of the blessed in a. more
affecting and I think attractive light than formerly, as a
state of mutual dependence, of useful services, of the ten-
derest affections. Our friends, in leaving the body, do not
put off humanity, they do not lose their affection for those
they leave behind ; and I would ask. Do they lose their con-
cern, their pity .'' Are those sympathies which are so vir-
tuous in our friends on earth, which Jesus felt, unworthy of
heaven } An unfeeling heaven, a heaven where the good
forget their friends, or are forbidden to feel deeply for them,
is certainly not very interesting. Have you never felt, in
listening to some descriptions of heaven, that they wanted
sensibility .'' Can we bear that this bond of union between
us sufferers on earth and the good in heaven should be
dissolved ? "

But this faithful son and brother was now himself to
leave the roof which his own generous devotedness
had made his mother's. In the summer of 1814, he
had married his cousin Ruth Gibbs, and after passing
the winter in the parsonage, he was by the earnest re-
quest of Mrs. Gibbs to become for a time a member of
her family. Here opened upon him a hfe most rich in
gentle happiness and beautiful affection. His mother-in-
law, who was the sister of his father, had much of the
character of her brother, and nothing could have been
more benignant than her whole aspect and manner.
Diffidence blended with dignity surrounded her with an
atmosphere of sweet refinement, and, self-forgetful as a
child, she found her joy in making all about her bright
and content. The ample means which her husband had
left enabled her also to gratify every hospitable impulse
and elegant taste. In relation to his marriage, one of
Mr. Channing's sisters thus writes : —

178 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

" You need not that I should tell you of the respect and
tenderness which he always felt for woman ; but you, per-
haps, are not aware, that, with all his admiration of the
gentler sex, he lived to the age of thirty-four or five, igno-
rant of the warmest affection of the heart. He had a great
respect for woman's rights ; and one of my last conversa-
tions with him was on the necessity of a law to secure to
a married woman her property, the interest of which
he thought should be always paid to her, without her
husband's having any claim to control her in its expendi-
ture."

It may be said, in a word, that the principle here ex-
pressed was the one by whi^h Mr. Channing governed
himself, with the most scrupulous delicacy and fastidious
honor, throughout his married life.

We must leave the reader to infer from the ever-
widening cheerfulness of his later years the fitness of
this union. Inwardly and outwardly his lot henceforth
was singularly serene. From about this time com-
menced, too, his summer visits to Rhode Island, where
Mrs. Gibbs, who resided in Boston during the winter,
retained a country-seat ; and how much the few months
annually passed amid the quiet charms of " Oakland "
attuned and harmonized his spirit will hereafter abun-
dantly appear.

In this connection it may be agreeable to those who
desire to form a full acquaintance with Mr. Channing, to
learn his views of the marriage relation. They are thus
presented in a sermon to his people in 1816.

" In this country, perhaps, the state of woman, the modes

VIEWS OF MARRIAGE. 179

of life, and the moral sentiments which pervade the commu-
nity, are more favorable to conjugal and domestic happines?
than in any other part of the world. The culture which is be-
stowed on the female mind, and which distinguishes modern
times from the most refined periods of antiquity, — the re-
spect which is accorded to woman, and which Christianity
has done so much to inspire, — the reverence which prevails
for the marriage vow, and the indignation which falls oi:
conjugal infidelity, — the habit by which we are marked, of
looking to our homes for the greatest part of our happiness,
and the mixture of freedom and delicacy with which our
general intercourse is conducted, — all contribute to elevate
among us the female character, to render woman the asso-
ciate of man's most refined pleasures and pursuits, and to
confer on the conjugal connection a tenderness and dignity
which have rarely distinguished it.

" Women ! in proportion as you contemplate the condi-
tion of your sex in other countries and other ages, whether
in the rude scenes of savage life, or in the confinements of
eastern voluptuousness, whether in the ages of Grecian and
Roman splendor, when female culture extended but little
beyond the distaff" or the loom, or even in the highest ranks
of life on the other side of the Atlantic, — I am persuaded
that you will find reason to bless that Providence which has
appointed you this goodly heritage ; and I would call upon
you to express your gratitude to God, and to vindicate the

female character

" The indissolubleness of marriage should be distinctly
and seriously weighed by those who have to form this c, n-
nection. Let not the most solemn engagement of life l^c an
act of rashness and unreflecting passion. Let the heart
take counsel of the understanding. Let the future as well
as the present be brought into the account. Let not the eye
or the imagination be trusted. Let the young man or tho
young woman inquire, Is this a friend with whom I would

180 MIDDLE- AGE MINISTRY.

wish to spend, not only my youth, hut my age, not only my
health, bat my sickness, on whom I can lean in my griefs,
to whom I can confide my trials, to whom I am willing to
resign my character, — who, it" reverses should befall me,
would help me to sustain hardship and distress, who will
reciprocate my best feelings, who will walk with me to
heaven ?

'*■ The different qualities by which man and woman are
distinguished and contrasted prepare them for a pecaliariy
tender and beneficial union, — prepare them to supply each
other's deficiencies, to perfect each other's character, and to
bear distinct, yet equally necessary, parts in that most im-
portant work of the present state, the support and rearing
of a family. Marriage, then, ought to be regarded as insti-
tuted for a very noble end, to awaken the heart, to exercise
and strengthen its sensibilities and charities, to train it to the
perfection of social virtue, to confer the highest enjoyments
of friendship, to secure to each party the benefit of the
other's strength, intelligence, and virtues, and to unite both
in forming useful and virtuous members for the community.

" Were our views of the connection thus elevated, did we
always regard it as the great refiner of the heart, with what
new cheerfulness would its duties be performed, its sacri-
fices be endured ! Marriage is not viewed as it should be ;
the dignity of its end is overlooked. Too many rush into it
without understanding its proper happiness and design, and
of course without weighing its obligations. Can we wonder
that its duties are so often neglected ?

" There should be an habitual flow of minute and kind
attentions. There are a thousand nameless, indescribable
offices by which the heart expresses its interest, and which
serve as a continual nourishment to the affections. There
is danger that the familiarity of constant intercourse ma)'
produce a negligence of manners, a want of mutual respect,
a carelessness as to pleasing. It is not, I fear, uncommon

VIEWS OF MARRIAGE. 181

to see the fervor of youthful affection cooling into indiffer-
ence. There may be no positive unkindness ; there may
be enough of decorum ; but there is nothing of tliat love
which overflows in minute and ceaseless kindness. Every
day brings with ii opportunities of mutual services, which to
a stranger may seem unimportant, but which have their
value when prompted by the heart. Accustom yourselves
to multiply expressions of affection ; aim to give pleasure ;
abstain from what will give pain ; make little sacrifices.
The atmosphere which feeds the flame is an invisible and
silent agent, and in this respect it is an emblem of the
minute and gentle offices by which conjugal affection is
sustained.

" Another duty belonging to husbands and wives, in-
cluded in what I have just stated, is this, — they should
cultivate each other's society. They should avoid long and
unnecessary separations, for these generate unconcern and
produce an independence on each other which marks a
declining attachment. As far as is consistent with their
duties, they should include each other in all their plans.
They should, in particular, share the same pleasures.
There should be few solitary joys. The more of common
objects, of common tastes, of common resources they pos-
sess, the tender and more beneficial will be their union.
They should often read together the same books, view to-
gether the same scenes of nature, enjoy the same society.
It is a bad symptom, when these nearest friends seem weary
of each other's society, when their plans of life seem to
have few points of contact, when their happiness is derived

frojna different springs

f " Let me mention one more duty belonging to husbands
and wives. They should labor to improve each othei's
characters. This is the noblest purpose and use of the
connection. They who sustain this near relation, and have
consequently great power over each other's minds, should

VOL. II. 16

182 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

regard one another in the light which the gospel throws on
our nature as immortal beings, capable of great improve-
ment, and whose highest interests are in a future state.
Whilst mindful of each other's present happiness, their great
solicitude should be that eternity should be secured. Let
them watch over each other's hearts and minds with afiec-
tionate concern, mutually inviting honest and friendly ad-
monition, and aiding and strengthening religious and benevo-
lent sentiments

" This is the noblest use of the conjugal relation ; and
when marriage is thus employed, when it becomes a refiner
of our nature, uniting the mind with God, and elevating it
to heaven, — when they who sustain it prove to each other
sources and cherishers of virtuous sentiment, and see in
their present union a preparation for indissoluble friendship
after death, — when marriage assumes this high and holy
character, it is a felicity almost too pure for earth, it is a
foretaste of the attachments of a better world."

In Mr. Channing's journals, under date of October,
1816, is found the following affecting passage, in relation
to his first-born child. Its simple story needs no word
of explanation.

" I remembered the love of Jesus to little children. I
remembered the kindness of Him who has called himself our
Father, and whose love must be infinitely purer than mine.
Still my heart clung to her ; and when I saw the last strug-
gle on Wednesday afternoon, about twenty-four houi*s after
her birth, I wept over her as if I had been deprived of ;i
long-possessed blessing. After death her countenance be-
came composed, and to me seemed the most beautiful, soft,
gentle, and expressive, which I had ever seen at so early an
age. Thursday afternoon I carried her to the tomb, in the
full and certain hope of a blessed resurrection. I feel as if
my prayers for this little one, and my baptismal and funeral

VIEWS OF. CHILDREN. 183

services, had formed a connection between us. I feel as
if I had a child in a happier world, who will know her past
history, who will know how earnest were my wishes to bless
her, to guide her to all virtue and felicity ; and I hope yet to
meet her, and to know that my prayers were not in vain,
and to see that my child is more excellent, more happy,
than I could have rendered her."

But in 1818 he bad the privilege of writing to his
sister in a happier strain, on the occasion of the birth
of a daughter.

" Had I not learned so many lessons of this world's mu-
tableness, I might be in danger of dreaming of a perfect joy
on earth. But I do not forget where I am. I hope to re-
member why I am placed here, and to consider my new
relation chiefly as an enlargement of my means of useful-
ness, and as giving me an object for the heart and for
Christian care and exertion. I have not, as you may readily
suppose, thought much about education as yet ! I have a
general persuasion, however, that children are educated
chiefly by example, by a continual, insensible influence of
those around them, and that the surest way to improve our
children is to improve ourselves. I do not mean that this
motive is as powerful as it should be. I hope, however,
that we shall in some degree be governed by it, and shall
labor to express no feeling or principle before our little girl
which we should not wish her to adopt."

A few extracts from his papers will show the feelings
with which he welcomed the young being intrusted to
his care.

" What dignity Christianity sheds round the event of
birth ! How unimportant are the rise and fall of empires,
in comparison with the entrance of an immortal soul into
existence ! Here is a new agent introduced into the uni-

184 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

verse, — a being now so frail, yet to grow to vast, to incon-
ceivable influence, — a being now so dependent, yet to
sustain immense, all-important relations. This child is to
survive the changes of nature ! We think only of the present.

God has formed it for high and unknown purposes

" May this child never have cause to reproach us for evil
example, neglect, ruinous indulgence. Through its whole
everlasting being, may it remember us, as, under God, its
earliest, best friends, by whose kind care it learned to form
itself upon the principles which are the foundation of eternal
s/ peace. Here is a mind to labor for, which is .to live for
ever. Our influence on it is to be perpetual. ' What a
claim this little being brings with it ! What latent capaci-
ties ! — yet not one developed. Here is a being whom I may
taint or raise to immortal glory. Is this child given to us to
become ours } What a possession, to keep the heart alive,
not for a day or year, but for life, for ages upon ages ! "

And to his people, on the Sunday following, he
said : —

" We have heard of a barbarous nation where the child
was received with weeping. But this is not nature. There
is instinctive, irresistible joy, when we look on the little
being brought into a new world, with a form so perfect, a
structure so delicate, a countenance so winning, — who
comes a stranger to all our solicitudes, who sinks so securely
into slumber, as if it were lodged in paradise, who has no
resource in its own power for all the wants to which it is
exposed, but finds supply beyond its needs in the affection
that welcomes it

'' We were made to love. This is the end of God in all
social relations. It is his purpose that no man should live
for himself He has made life to be a succession of labors
and sacrifices for the happiness of othei*s. It is for this that
children arc made so helpless. They are born weak, tha*

VIEWS OF CHILDREN. 185

they should rest upon our strength. Their limbs cannot
sustain their weight, that they may be folded in our arms
and warmed upon our breasts. It is for this that God gives
them such sweetness, innocence, beauty. His purpose is
to enlarge our hearts by generous toils aifft' self-denials.
The hardest heart melts at the sight of infancy. In every
home, however rude, however splendid, one being is em-
braced with sincere love, and that is the new-born child.
The young woman of fashion, whose affections have been
dissipated by false pleasures, becomes another person as she
clasps her infant in her arms. New tenderness fills hei
bosom, new solicitudes and hopes spring up. She learns ta
live in the happiness of this litde dependent creature. Ani\
in the house of the poor laborer, what overflowing tender
ness is poured out to welcome, what toils are cheerfully
borne to rear, the child whose birth imposes a perpelua\
burden ! Children call forth a tenderness which softens ths
whole character in all relations. We enter a warmer re
gion, when we approach a home gladdened by their artless,
ness, simplicity, confiding affection, playful gladness. Tha
heart awakes to healthier action, and becomes more suscep-
tible to all good impressions. Home is the nursery of the
heart ; children are really our teachers, and the lessona
which they communicate are love, self-forgetfulness, interest
in the welfare of others. I am persuaded that just in pro-
portion as the domestic affections have opportunity to ex-
pand in any community, is general kindness, sympathy,

philanthropy diffused

" A Christian parent, on the birth of a child, has senti-
ments like these brought with power to his mind : — ' Here
IS a being committed to me worth more than the world. I
am now honored with an infinite trust. This cradle con-
tains a life, the issues of which are shrouded in the solemn
uncertainties of the everlasting future. Here is not only
a helpless being to be loved, but a growing being to be
16*

186

MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

trained. It is to be influenced in its growtli by eveiy one
around it. It is to learn the language which falls upon its
ear, to cat(;h the manners which pass before its eye, to re-
ceive impressions so easily made and so indelible that they
will seem like nature. It is to reflect not only the counte-
nances, but the charactei-s, of those who have given it exist-
ence. It is a creature of sympathy and imitation, which
will receive traces never to be erased. What a trust !
God's noblest work is put into my hands. I may do much
to inscribe God's image on this immortal mind. I may do
much to form a. friend for society, a source of good for man-
kind. I may do much to give a new inhabitant to heaven,
a new member to the companies of the blessed. Thanks
to thee, O God, for the relation I sustain ! By thy grace I

will fulfil its duties.'

" It is, indeed, a most merciful appointment of God, that
children, by needing so much care, impose such responsi-
bility. Many, many parents would have wasted life, neg-
lected and destroyed themselves, had not the parental rela-
tion awakened them to reflection. The solemn thought, that
the immortal mind intrusted to them might perish through
their neglect, has called multitudes home to their own hearts
and to God. They have been brought to feel the impor-
tance of their own future interests, in thinking of those of
their children. The consideration, that their own characters
would be communicated to those whom they loved more
than themselves, that their children would receive from
them principles, habits, and feelings, has induced a watch-
fulness, a regularity of speech and conduct, and an appli-
cation to duty, by which their own souls have been purified.
Perhaps we little suspect how much of the virtue of a com-
munity is to be traced to the strong feeling of responsibility
which is awakened in the mind by the parental relation. I
repeat it, children are inestimable blessings, by calling forth
the consciences of their parents. The instructions we im-
part come back upon ourselves

VIEWS OF BAPTISM. 187

" Let me add one more thought, most familiar, yet most
affecting. In a child we gain a being who can return as
well as receive kindness. The love of a good child, — does
earth hold as rich a blessing ? Its smiles and cheerful obe-
dience repay our toils during its youth ; and whS can express
the value of its affectionate attentions as we advance into
age ? Who can smooth the pillow of sickness like the
hand of the daughter whose sensibility we nurtured in her
tender years ? Who can sustain our infirm steps like the
son whose manly virtues we helped to form .'' Who would
not have his eyes closed, his remains committed to the
dust, by filial affection ? A good child is a blessing through
life, and a blessing after death. I cannot think that in
another world we shall forget the kindness which guided
and watched over us in this. If any earthly sentiment sur-
vive beyond the grave, surely it will be the gratitude of the
child and the joy of the parent, when they meet in heaven."

On the occasion of the baptism of one his children,
Mr. Channing thus expressed his views of that rite,
which some of the readers of this biography may be
glad to know.

" The question is asked, ' Why apply a religious insti-
tution to a child before he can comprehend or desire its
benefits .'' ' Such a question overlooks the great fact of man's
existence, that we are born into various human relations,
that by birth we enter into a society, into a religious com-
munity, as well as into a family. It is in vain to say that
children should be left to choose a form of religion for them-
selves. They cannot escape the influence of family, of
country. If Christian principles do not restrain and elevate
them, other principles will usurp control over their suscep-
tible years. Such is man's nature and condition. Fiom
these considerations it follows, that Christianity must stoop

188 WIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

to the cradle, and take the infant into its aims from the
hour of birth. It must make the first claim to children, and
set its seal upon them from their earliest breath. It is wise
and fit that by some visible sign our religion should lay its
hand of benediction upon the young beings who are to be
trained by its discipline. The child is, indeed, unconscious
of the meaning of our act in baptism ; but at that moment
it is an intelligent and immortal being, having within itself
the seeds of afl'ections and capacities which are to un-
fold for ever. It soon is to become conscious of that filial
feeling which is the simplest element of piety. And how
expressive is the rite by which it is given up to Jes\is Christ
to receive the influences of his religion !

" These remarks help us to answer the question most
satisfactorily as to the use of baptism to a child. To answer
this question, some Christians have thought it necessary to
say that baptism communicates to the infant Divine grace,
that it is a regenerating ordinance, that when the water
touches the body, God's spirit touches the mind, and that a
new nature is thereby implanted. This doctrine will hardly
maintain its ground in the school of sound theology. Our
whole experience opposes it. This institution is useful to
children, by exhibiting their claims to Christ's religion, and
the design of this religion to operate on their minds. By
baptism the light and privileges of the gospel are pledged
to them by their parents. By it they are introduced into the
Christian community. The water of baptism is a mark of
the finger of God upon their foreheads, for ever showing
forth the great ends for which a human life is given

" This institution is designed to bring strongly to the
hearts of parents a consciousness of their influence over
their children, and to bind them solemnly to a just use of
this influence. Parents are swayed by the ideas which they
liabitually associate with theii hildren. It is important,
therefore, that they should take nigh and generous views of

HIS PROSPERITV. 189

their destiny. Bat the very helplessness and ignorance of
children tempt us to forget the greatness of their nature ;
and their animal wants while young, and their worldly inter-
ests as they advance, continually incline us to c^isider their
earthly good as of primary concern. Now the Christian re-
hgion teaches us to treat the infant with reverence, to wel-
come it as the heir of unknown worlds, to see in its early
intelligence the dawning of a light which is never to be
quenched, but to brighten forever. To beget in us this
noble way of thinking and feeling, is it not right that by
some positive, definite act, by a public religious form, par-
ents should solemnly consecrate their children to God and
Christ, should recognize them as spiritual beings, should set
them apart in the eyes of all men for a holy training and an
immortal destiny.? "

Two sons were in a few years also born to Mr. Clian-
ning; and, settled in a delightful home in the vicinity
of his mother and of his wife's family, surrounded by a
society which listened to his every word with interest
and lent a ready aid to all his plans, esteemed and loved
by the whole community in which he lived, and every
year becoming more widely influential, he feh, as he
said to a friend, that '' his condition was as prosperous
as he could well bear ; and that, were it not for almost
daily debility and suffering, he should fail of the disci-
pline of pain which every being needs to purify away
his self-love." In reference to his constant and in-
creasing infirmity, he writes thus in his journals : —

■" Let me gratefully accept the affliction of sickness, and
chiefly desire that God's ends shall be answered. Let not
one sinking, repining thought come over me."

" Sickness has temptations. Let me not pamper self, but

190 MIDDLE-AGE MINISTRY.

with distinct purpose employ all means to health, as fitting
me for usefulness and for the service of God and man."

So enfeebled had he beconje in the winter and spring
of 1822, that it was determined, at length, that he should
try the effect of a voyage and a year's journey abroad.
In consequence of this necessity, the Society in Federal
Street, with the alacrity which they had always shown to
promote his comfort, passed at a full meeting the follow-
ing votes : —

' 1. That the Standing Committee be authorized to en-
gage some person, with the concurrence of the Rev. Dr.
Channing, to supply his pulpit for one year.

" 2. That the Rev. Dr. Channing be released from all
services for his parish for one year, and that Deacon Davis
be requested to express to him the earnest wish of this meet-
ing to do all in their power to conduce to the restoration of
his health.

" 3. That the Standing Committee be authorized to raise
by subscription the sum of one thousand dollars to defray
the additional expense of the year.

" D. D. Rogers, Chairman.
"Benj. Guild, Clerks

On May 26, the Sunday before he sailed, he thus
communicated to his people his reasons for going
abroad : —

" The circumstances which have led me to resolve on a
voyage are known to all ; and I am grecrtly encouraged by
the unanimity with which my purpose has been seconded
by my society. I have formed it reluctantly, after many
solicitations and admonitions from judicious friends, and
after a faithful trial of the means of health at home. Froni
the moment of my decision, I have, indeed, labored to set

SICKNESS, 191

before my mind the pleasures and benefits of visiting the
Old World, of traversing countries which have kindled my
imagination almost from infancy, whose literature has been
the food of my mind, and where nature and sgipiety present
aspects hardly to be conceived amidst the freshness of our
own institutions. But these considerations, while they for-
tify my purpose, had no influence in originating it. I do
not mean to imply that such motives are criminal ; yet ta
one sustaining the relations which I do, home is the field
of duty, and to me it has been so happy that my mind until
lately shrunk from the thought of quitting it.

" The circumstance which has decided me to leave you
is the apprehension which experience has almost made a
certainty, that, if I remain, I shall linger through life in a
condition unfavorable to my own improvement and to pub-
lic usefulness, in that middle state between sickness and
health, that alternation of animation and languor, that lia-
bility to sink under any considerable exertion, which I have
experienced to a great degree ever since my connection
with you, and which my late indisposition has sensibly in-
creased. More than a year has now elapsed since the in-
terruption of my professional labors, and when I look back
on this period, my spirit droops at the thought of continuing
to drag on existence inactively and unprofitably, nursing a
frail body, seeking relaxation as a task, now gaining and
now relapsing, and not only put to silence on Sundays, but
compelled through the week to forego the books and means
of improvement which from early years have been to me
as daily bread. The reflections, which, m these circum-
stances are apt to fasten on a minister's mind, are such as
others cannot easily understand. Conscious of past de-
ficiencies, he is solicitous to repair them, whilst, for aught he
knows, the Lord of the vineyard may have already dismiss-
ed him as an unprofitable laborer. I mean not to speak of
the past year as of one of great sufl^ering, but in the inactivi-

192 MlbDLE-AGK MINISTRV.

ty to which I have been reduced, an effort has been often
needed to sustain my spirits, and my feeUngs as well as my
sense of duty strongly urge me to make a decided effort for
health. If I fail, I shall at least have the satisfaction of
knowing that I have declined no labor for recoverinj; the
capacity of serving God and my fellow-men."

CHAPTER VI.

EUROPEAN JOURNEY.
MT. 42-43 1822-1823.

Before following Mr. Channing in his travels abroad,
it may be well, for the end of showing the delight with
which he looked on nature and his capacity for enjoying
beauty, to present some sketches of scenery from letters
written during a journey through New Hampshire and
Vermont, in the summer of 182 1.

" Centre Harbour, New Hampshire, July 31, 1821. Very
soon an ascent opened to us a prospect which made us for-
get past inconveniences. On our right, we discovered a noble
range of mountains, their declivities towards us thrown into
shade, and their waving outline, gentle and beautiful, form-
ing an affecting contrast with their grandeur and solemnity.
I have just learned that among them was the Ossipee, of
which you have often heard. Below them was a sheet of
water of considerable extent, called the ' Little Bay,' the
more distant part of it darkened by the eminences beyond,
and the part which was nearest to us brightened by the sun's
light, which fell on it through a soft mist. The mist was
dense enough to be impressed with the shadows of the trees
on the neighbouring heights, so as to give a singular mixture
of light and shade in its thin and ethereal substance, yet not
so dense as to prevent a dim, visionary reflection of the trees
in the tranquil surface of the water. Have I helped you to
look through my eyes ? "

VOL. II. 17

194 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

*' Wednesday morning. Centre Harbour. From the east
windows, at which I now sit, and out of which my eye often
steals, I look down immediately on the lake, but not on such
a sheet of water as your imagination probably represents to
you. I learned, before I reached it, that the Winnipiseogee
was studded with islands of considerable extent, and in great
number, so that you can take in but a small part of it from
the shores. But whilst this detracts from its unity and gran-
deur, you find beauties of another kind. The channels which
divide the islands, the nunierous points and projections, the
shores fringed with trees, by multiplying the lights and
casting shadows on the water, give great interest to the scene.
The shore opposite to me is covered with pines, stretching to
some distance, and beyond them rises the noble Ossipee,
which, covered with the light mist that now floats over it, 1
have, more than once, when accidentally glancing up, taken
for a vast mass of clouds. My eye rests upon it with in-
creasing pleasure, and I feel, that, were I neighbour to a
mountain, I should establish a friendship with it, perhaps
more intimate than I have formed with any part of nature.
My mind seems to enlarge, to swell with these majestic
forms, which claim kindred with the skies."

" Sharon, White River, Vermont, Aug. 1. I wish I could
communicate to you my sensations. The river was just be-
low us to the west. The country on the other side, of which
our view had been limited by hills rising from the stream,
opened, both to the north and south, into two wide, far^
reaching, and gently ascending valleys, — if, indeed, they
were hollowed enough to be so called. These valleys, oi
rather expanses, did not swell gradually through their whole
extent, as they receded to the horizon, but were intersccteo
in a free and bold style with elevations rising one behind an-
other, each giving to the eye a line of shrubbery and foliage,
on the tops of which the sun shed a rich, mellow light, whilst

WHITE RIVER.

195

the sides towards us were thrown into shade. Not that there
was much regularity in this ; for the passing clouds distrib-
uted unequally the splendors of the sunshine. The pros-
pect was magnificent, to a wonderful dcgrce^jind you would
have called it grand, had not beauty, a soft, touching, beauty,
so melted its parts into one another, and so spread harmony
and gentleness over the whole, as to assert its claim above
sublimity in the scene. We began with expressing our ad-
miration ; but silence soon showed that the heart was too
much softened for talking. When I tell you that tears
flowed, you will understand that they were not mine, for the
fountain lies very deep in me ; but I give you no fiction. In
one sentiment we all afterwards agreed, that we could en-
dure th^ grandeur through which we had lately passed much
better than this loveliness and tenderness of beauty. The
last exhausted us ; the first gave an exulting, triumphant
feeling. I relate merely our sensations. I have been too
busy to analyze or to try to explain them."

" While River, Aug. 6. As I ascended towards its source,
its animating characteristics grew more and more striking,
and I felt its power. It is indeed a peculiar stream, and
forms a remarkable contrast with the Connecticut, into which
it empties. The moment you leave the point where they
meet, — I may say, the very first step you take on White
River, — you feel that you are forming a new acquaintance,
that you have found a river of different features and habits,
not contented to wind slowly and silently through fertile and
smooth banks, but full of spirit and youthful sportiveness ;
loving solitudes, not for meditation, but that it may leap and
dance without restraint, and listen to its own brisk murmurs,
multiplying its quick turns, as if eager for change, — rushing
against the stones and rocks, like youth engaging in mock
contests.

"The whole stream has an exhilarating character from

196 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

its beginning; but it was not until the afternoon, under a
glorious sky, that I felt its power. In a short time, the
banks began to rise more precipitously and to a greater
height, and the turns of the river were more sudden, and the
oank oil, which we rode steeper, so that we found ourselves
n the midst of the wildest scenery which I remember. Be-
fore, behind, all around us, were heights thrown together in
a confused manner, sometimes quite hemming us in, some-
times opening into views of wide extent, and receiving from
the sun a most various, shifting light. Indeed, such confu-
sion of lights and shades, of effulgence and fainter illumina-
tion, you cannot easily conceive. I found the effect on my
own mind quite different from that of former scenery. It
was not as exalting as the mountain grandeur of New Hamp-
shire, but it exhilarated me more, and gave me the very ex-
citement which an invalid needs.

" This very striking sceneiy continues but a few miles.
Then the banks recede more gradually, the hills slope more
gently ; the stream seems willing to refresh itself, amidst its
brisk movements, with spots of quiet beauty. Still it keeps
up its consistency. It slumbers nowhere ; and when its
surface is smoothest, you will here and there see a rock or
stone breaking its uniformity and making its motion visible
by a little eddy or a line of depression on the water."

" Sandy Hill, Neio York, Aug. 7. After passing through
much the same scenery as we had seen towards the end of
the preceding day's journey, we addressed ourselves to a
labor which we had anticipated with no little interest ; I
mean the ascent of the Green Mountains. Here we left our
pleasant companion, the White River, and began to follow
one of its branches, a narrower, but still noisier and more
precipitous stream. Very soon we were conscious of having
entered a nobler and more solemn region than we had yet
explored. I had expected to scale mountains which were to

GREEN MOUNTAINS. 197

open to me an immnnse extent of prospect ; but I found my-
self plunged into one of nature's deepest recesses. I as-
cended through a cleft, on both sides of which rose steeps,
sometimes of a t^ast height, clothed with woods to their very
tops. So profound a solitude I have never known. I seemed
to feel as if I were cast into a world of immeasurable forests.
So entire and absorbing is the impression which you receive
from the heights and depths around you, any one of which
has power to fill the eyes and the mind by its masses and
sweeps of noble trees, that the scenes you have left are blot-
ted out ; you live for the time only in the grand, glorious
scene that swells around you. The openings which are
here and there made into the forests, by large rocks or the
rushing stream, only seem to conduct your eye into intermi-
nable depths of foliage and shade. Above you, after you
have been ^ascending perhaps a mile, tower mountain-tops
which seem to sink you into a valley, though you are con-
scious of having left the lowland world far beneath. This
passage through the mountains gives no particular scenes to
be described. Its power lies in the general, deep, overpow-
ering impression which it makes

"On Tuesday morning, we began to follow again the
Onion River, which wound among hills less bold than those
we had seen the day before ; but, viewed through the misty
light of the morning, they gave us continual pleasure, until
we reached a spot which had power to efface for a time all
other impressions. Nobody had whispered to us that we
were to meet any thing extraordinary. You will judge, then,
of our astonishment and delight, when, after hearing for a
few minutes an unusual tumult, we found ourselves on a
bridge, which discovered to us, on both sides, a deep, rocky,
perpendicular ravine, through which the river, contracted to
a few yards; was rushing, raging, foaming, as if it had re-
served all its might and passion for this single spot. The
ravine or cleft seemed to me a quarter or sixth of a mile in
17*

i9Q EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

length, and so straight, that from two or three points the eye
could command nearly its whole extent. The cliffs rose
perpendicularly to the height, I should think, of forty to sixty
feet, in parallel lines of solid rock. That so remarkable a
rapid should not even have been named to us v/as matter of
wonder, and proved how little impression is made by the
mighty works of God. We clambered to the highest point
of the banks, and looked down the giddy steep with an emo-
tion which had hardly been surpassed at Glen's Falls

" We soon found ourselves entering a region which drew
from us exclamations of increasing delight and admiration.
We had heard that the pass through which our road lay was
called 'The Gulf,' and that we were to pass the range which
is eminently called the Green Mountains, not by scaling
them, as before, but by threading a valley at their feet.
Still, so little was said, that we expected little. How can I
express our feelings when the true glory of this spot was re-
vealed to us ? Instead of ascending, as on our former route,
a long and steep cleft, hemmed in on each side by precipices
of forests, we now followed a road of easy ascents and de-
scents. On one side the bank rose suddenly, so that its
height could not easily be seen ; but on the other rushed the
branch of the White River, removing to a sufficient distance
the mountains from which it separated us, so as to enable us
to see distinctly their declivities, and outlines, and forests.
In our former passage, we left our carriage from necessity,
— here, from choice, — and we walked perhaps a mile
through this deep valley, lifting our astonished eyes to the
towering and beautiful summits, which seemed worthy of the
region tliey inhabited.

" Represent to yourself a succession of mountains through
more than a mile's extent, rising almost perpendicularly from
their bases, sometimes stretching before us in a line, some-
times forming a majestic sweep, opening as we advanced, .so
as to discover their outlines and distinct masses, and clothed

NEWPORT. 199

to the very top with the freshest, richest, most luxuriant fo-
liage. I was astonished to see such perpendicular heights,
in which it seemed scarcely possible that trees should take
root, so closely wooded that the eye could B»t discover a
speck of dark earth amidst their boundless verdure. To say
that the woods were green would give you no idea of them.
They had the brightness and tenderness of spring, with the
fulness of summer ; and, instead of presenting a confused
mass of verdure, their tops were so distinct, that the grace
and majesty of particular trees might easily be traced. The
light and temperature favored us, and we lingered, most un-
willing to take the last look."

In a letter, written soon after his return, and which is
of additional interest, as showing how solemn were his
associations with the scenery of Newport, he thus refers
to the influence of natural beauty.

" Portsmouth, Rhode Island, Sept. 6, 1821. That journey
was a specimen of the life I have led for many years. One
day undoes the work of many weeks. When I seem to have
gained strength, a cold, caught I know not how, or some
derangement of the system, perhaps produced by some slight
irregularity, takes from me my power of body and mind, and
then I slowly work my way upwards, to fall as low again.

" My journey, I have said, was not lost ; and this I should
say, even had I returned without one additional particle of
strength ; for it left impressions and recollections which will
make me richer and happier for life. This magnificent
creation has been to me, even from my boyhood, a principal
source of happiness ; but I never entered into its spirit, felt
its power and glories, as on this journey. I should hardly
dare to travel over the same ground again, lest the bright
images which are treasured up in memory should be dimmed
by a second sight.

200

EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

" BlU nature was not my chief enjoyment. I owed much
to my companions, who gave more than they received.
Perhaps, if I were to name the circumstance in whicli I con-
sider myself most enviably distinguished, I should say, it is
the intimacy which I have enjoyed, and still enjoy, with so
many of the first and best of your sex. I could not have
ended my journey with as unrepining a spirit as I did, had I
not hud a home to receive me, which I am weak enough to
think the best home on earth, and which had gone with me
and secretly mixed with all my joys among the mountains,
lakes, and rivers, which seemed to divide me from it

" I was powerfully reminded of the early years of my life,
when these shores were my favorite and almost constant
haunts. Then, before I knew you, I had not ' found rest to
my soul,' for I was very much a stranger to true religion.
My spirit, consumed with passionate fires, thirsted for some
unknown good, and my body pined away to a shadow under
the workings of a troubled mind. Then I spent almost whole
days on the sea-shore, where the raajest)^ and power of na-
ture, absorbing, exalting me, and transporting me beyond
myself, ministered most happily to the diseased soul. Strange
as it may seem, I can recollect that I became buoyant and
exhilarated in proportion to the wildness and sublimity around
me, and I leaped for joy when a wave, which seemed to
menace ruin, broke on the rock where I stood, and mounted
in clouds to the skies. Thanks to God, those days of tumult
ai'e past, and an existence, the beginning -of which is still a
mystery to me, and which was wrapt in many clouds, has
opened into blessings which I should not have dared to an-
ticipate,"

It was at the close of the month of May, 1822, that
Mr. Channing bade farewell to his three blooming chil-
dren, to his parent, family, friends, society, and, in

PARTING WORDS. 201

company with his wife, sailed for England. On the eve
of departure, he thus wrote to his mother ; —

" Maij 27th, 1822.

" My Dear Mother : — I cannot go without leaving you
a line. At this moment, when I think of my approaching
separation from you, I recall, with more than usual tender-
ness, your affection and your claims, and I pray God to re-
ward and crown you with his best blessings.

" It is one of my greatest griefs, that I do not leave you in
better health, and I beg you to neglect no means of building
it up. I inclose a hundred dollars, which I wish you to
spend very much for this object.

" I cannot but believe that you would be happier, if you
would relinquish housekeeping ; and you will see, in my
letter from Lucy, how entirely she agrees with me. Ruth
joins with me in assuring you, that, if you could be happy at
our house on our return, we should rejoice to receive you.

" I hope you will not be anxious about us. We sail under
every advantage, and I have a cheering hope that I shall re-
turn to be more to my family and people than I have been.
You will often hear from us, either immediately or through
other friends ; and should any thing prevent free communi-
cation, you will remember that we are always under the care
of Him who alone makes home a place of safety, and who
can make every place equally secure. My spirits are won-
derfully sustained. I go with a cheerful, confiding mind,
and hope that, whilst I am remembered with affection, I shall
not be with sorrow.

" My dear mother, may many years be added to your
life, and may they be brightened by the increasing affection,
usefulness, and virtues of your children. You will be the
object of my daily prayers, and I know I shall not be forgot-
ten in yours.

" Your grateful and affectionate son."

203 EUROPEAN J JURNEY.

With the aid of extracts selected from his journals and
correspondence, let us now rapidly follow Mr. Channing
during a year which, with all its rich experiences, was to
him one of exile, rather than of enjoyment. And first,
from the notes of his voyage, we will take a few passages
which manifest the buoyant, fresh joy with wliich he
watched die changes of ocean.

" June 25. On this day I was exhilarated by a truly mag-
nificent scene. The wind was strong and fair, and had
called the ocean, after its long repose, into new life. The
sky, obscured with clouds, gave to the waves that dark, pol-
ished hue, for which I can find no name, and which is one of
their most beautiful colors. Exceedingly minute ripples
hurried, swept, flew over the surface, and marked the fleet-
ness of the wind as distinctly as if that subtile element had
become the object of sight. Every sail was expanded and
swelled into a graceful form, as if eager to enjoy the favor-
ing breeze. The ship seemed to have caught the life and
spirit of the elements, rushing forward, as for a prize, cleav-
ing the dark waves, and dashing them from her sides in an
azure sparkling brine and a foam of snowy whiteness, as if
to brighten and deck her triumphant flight. In such mo-
ments, the soul seems to add to its own energies the power
which is vivifying nature and exults in the consciousness of a
more intense existence

" The sight of the sea-bird struck me with its loneliness.
I thought of its spending the night on the ocean. But I re-
membered that it had no home to forget, and considered
what a bed it must find on the waves. The sea-bird is
rocked in nature's cradle, and enjoys a sleep which few find
on shore. IJow many, torn with passion or remorse, might
envy it! There is a striking contrast in die rough, mighty
ocean being thus the chosen dwelling of repose

GALE AT SEA. J203

" The soul and nature are attuned together. Something
within answers to all we witness without. When I look on
the ocean in its might and tumult, my spirit is stirred, swelled.
Wlien it spreads out in peaceful blue waves, under a bright
sky, it is dilated, yet composed. I enter inf5 the spirit of
the earth, and this is always good. Nature breathes nothing
unkind. It expands, or calms, or softens us. Let us open
our souls to its influences

" The ocean is said to rage, but never so to me. I see
life, joy, in its wild billows, rather than rage. It is full of
spirit, eagerness. In a storm, we are not free to look at the
ocean as an object of sentiment. Danger then locks up the
soul to its true influence. At a distance from it, we might
contemplate it as a solemn minister of Divine justice and wit-
ness of God's power to a thoughtless world ; but we could
associate with it only moral ideas, — not a blind rage. At
least, I have seen nothing which gives nature an unkind ex-
pression

" We talk of old ocean, hoary ocean ; I cannot associate
age with it. It is too buoyant, animated, living. Its crest
of foam is not hoariness, but the breaking forth of life.
Ocean is perpetual youth

" In a gale, you are struck with the tumultuous restless-
ness of the ocean. Instead of lengthened waves, it mounts
and swells irregularly, as if too full of life, too impatient, to
submit to any rule. The waves chase one another eagerly,
and with an intractable vehemence, and break and whiten
through excess of spirit. They do not seem to rise by a
foreign impulse, but spontaneously, exultingly. You are re-
minded of the agency of the wind, not by the large, precipi-
tous masses of water which are tossed so confusedly around
you, for these seem instinct with their own life ; you see the
wind in their torn, and ruffled, and swept surfaces, and in
the spray which flashes and is whirled and scattered from
their tops. It is truly an animating scene. You feel your-

204 EUROPEAN JUUIINEV.

self in the midst of life and power, and licar air and ocean
joining their voices of might to inspire a kindred energy.
There is awe, — not a depressing, but triumphant awe. Our
spirits mix with the elements, and partake the fulness of
their power.

" There is constant variety in such a scene. The ' trough,'
as the sailor calls it, is, in fact, a valley in the ocean and,
on each side, waves higher than the ship bound your view.
In a moment, you ride on these mountains, and a wide hori-
zon opens on you, the distinct line of which is broken by
heaps of ocean, sometimes rising into peaks, which break as
soon as formed, and give place to new creations. Vast struc-
tures thus grow and vanish almost in an instant, and the eye
finds no resting-place in the perpetual revolutions. The
waves, swelling above, and approaching, as if to overwhelm
you, though they do not alarm, show a power so akin to de-
struction, as to give a momentary sensation of danger, and
the spirit feels something of the pleasure of escape, when the
ship is seen to triumph over its invaders.

" There is, too, a feeling of elevation, when, in such a
scene, where nature is in uproar, and putting forth around
ns her mightiest energies, we are conscious of inward se-
renity, feel ourselves unshaken in the tumult and alive to
adoration and joy. The soul has a consciousness of great-
ness, in possessing itself, and in converting into the nourish-
ment of its noblest emotions the might and majesty of the
universe

" There is great beauty joined with this majesty, as tljrough
all nature. We seldom see more power. The awful moun-
tain top delights to bathe its grandeur in the richest, softest
beams of the rising or setting sun ; sweet flowers wave and
smile in the chasms of the precipice : and so the mountain
billow often breaks into sparkling spray, and the transparent
arch beneath shines with an emerald brightness, which has
hardly a rival in the richest hues of the vegetable creation.

HABITS OF OBSEKVATION. 205

" After witnessing a gale, I was shut up for several days
m the cabin, and did not return to the deck, until a remark-
able change had taken place. A calm had succeeded. It
was hard to connect what I now saw with my last view of
the ocean, to feel that I was looking on the same element.
The irregular, broken, wildly tossing, tumultuous billows had
vanished, and lengthened, continuous, slowly advancing
swells followed one another, not as in pursuit, but as if find-
ing pleasure in gentle motion.

" Instead of bursting into foam, or being tossed into infinite
inequalities by the swecpin"g, hurrying winds, their polished,
molten surface, whilst varied by soft flowing lines, was un-
ruffled by a single breath. They seemed, as they rolled in
regular intervals towards us, like the gentle heaving of a
sleeping infant's breast. I did not feel as if the ocean was
exhausted by its late efforts, but as if, having accomplished
its manifestations of awe-inspiring m.ight, it was now execut-
ing a more benignant ministry, speaking of the mercy and
the blissful rest of God. Perhaps no image of repose is so
perfect as the tranquillity of an element so powerful and so
easily wrought into tumult. I looked, and was at peace."

The following hints may serve to illustrate the observ-
ant and inquiring habits of the writer. He was appar-
ently reading, at the time, Playfair, and Brande's His-
tory of Chemistry, the progress of which science he
watched through life with eager expectation and admiring
awe.

" The light and heat of the sun on the ocean may seem
unprofitable. Not so. The heat is absorbed in vapor, and,
when given out by condensation of vapor into rain, it is im-
parted to the atmosphere. Hence good done by raining, at
sea, as well as on land. Air is softened

" Heat greater at sea than on shore, because so much

VOL. II. 18

206 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

heat is evolved by evaporation and condensation, less ab-
sorbed than on shore. Hence islands warmer, especially if
fogs predominate

" The wind not useless on ocean. Evaporation greatly
produced by succession of strata of air, and hy forms given
to waves, — the curve. Does not motion, too, separating the
spray, favor evaporation ?

" Evaporation and condensation, — may they not purifr
atmosphere ? Rain water not pure. May not this action i.-
the atmosphere do good ? How far may electricity be
evolved in these processes ? We speak of air as close, sti-
fling, &c., and its fitness for respiration depends on what we
cannot discover. Electricity a cause. There is constant
solution and crystallization of salt in ocean, by evaporation
and rain. Is no electricity generated here .^

" The heat given, by formation of vapor, to upper regions
of atmosphere may be very useful ; for, were they not thus
heated, the contrast between them and those lower might be
so great, as to render the exchange which takes place be-
tween them injurious. Heated air ascends, and is replaced,
one would th'uik, from above

" The ocean preserved from heat by evaporation. Hence,
winds, passing over it, refresh warm countries. This heat,
withdrawn from the surface, is given out by condensation in
upper regions which need it. What a beautiful order !

" What a beautiful appointment, that the sun, which heats
and dries the earth, should raise the cloud to shelter it, and
tlie rain to moisten it ; and that heat, which seems, at fii^st,
at war with moisture, should conjoin with it in rearing the
plant !

" Nature subsists by counteracting powers ; and in this we
see wisdom, arrangement, beauty

" Moisture the universal nutriment, and what a noble foun-
tain of it !

" Strong winds at sea are essential to the fulfilment of its

ARRIVAL AT LIVERPOOL. 207

functions, — to evaporation and transportation of vapor, as
well as to navigation. The ocean useless without wind, and
how it is swept by it !

" A beautiful appointment, that the sun gives impulse to
the winds, by which his beams are mitigated-^n shore, by
which the vapor of ocean is multiplied and transported, and,
of course, by which the earth is preserved from being
parched

" How beneficial is motion in air and sea ! Elements ca-
pable of being quickened by heat keep the balance of the
universe

"Great powers in the universe, balancing one another by
mighty energy, make creation more interesting. Would not
less intensity of heat, creating and requiring less motion of
winds, vapors, sea, be attended with less activity of animal
and vegetable nature ? These great powers in nature call
forth great energy and skill in man, give impulse and life to
the soul, reveal the sublimity and beauty of creation

" What immense distributions of moisture and equaliza-
lions of temperature are needed ! Are the agents too
mighty ? "

On landing at Liverpool, Mr. Channing met with the
warmest welcome from many liberal-minded friends,
whose hearts had been already prepared, by his writings
and reputation, to receive him. But he found himself
utterly unfitted, by weakness and depression, to bear the
pleasing excitement of forming acquaintances ; and, has-
tily bidding farewell to the intelligent, humane, refined,
and munificent circle which opened to him their hospita-
ble homes, he departed upon his journey to the Lakes.
A few extracts from his journals will show what refresh-
ment he found amidst the exquisite scenery of Westmore-
land and Cumberland.

208 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

''■ Lancaster, h\\y 11. The castle at Lancaster is, to a
stranger, singularly interesting. It was the first noble monu-
ment I had seen of times which, however fierce and lawless,
must still be regarded as rich to overflowing in generous
feeling, and as containing, in a rude state, the principles of
the great social changes which have since been developed.
Jt is now a heterogeneous mass, — the modern additions
seeming to be in fine taste, when viewed in detached parts,
but having no unity, and wholly failing in correspondence
with the remains of the ancient fabric. The chief of these
is a gateway, protected by two towers, the battlements over-
hanging the base, and bearing record to the violence of an
age when lordly power felt the want of a security that is
now enjoyed equally by the high and low.

" This castle, of which Edward the Third was the found-
er, once the seat of strength and magnificence of the dukes
of Lancaster, is now crowded with felons, debtors, lunatics,
and has become a workshop for convicts, an asylum for
madness, a court-house, with its jury-rooms, crown and
county halls, and the labyrinth of offices in which justice so
often loses her way. What a monument this singular
building is of the spirit and condition of past and present
times ! The hammer once sounded here, riveting arms ;
the culprit now wields it in forging the most vulgar utensils
for the cook or ploughboy. Once it set at defiance the au-
thority of the state, and the owner measured all rights by
the sword ; now the judge, with no signs of power but an
enormous wig and robe, administers, we hope impartially,
equal laws, to which the lives and property of all orders are
subject. Once it resounded with shouts, the neigh of steeds,
the clang of armor, the joyful tumult of a boundless hospi-
tality ; now the taskmaster metes out cheerless labors to the
guilty or unfortunate prisoners, and the high orders of soci-
ety enter it only to break its silence with the jargon of law
or the sentence of death. That was an age of wild, unre-

THE LAKES. 209

strained action of our nature, when society was now shaken
by the whirlwinds of passion, now brightened by flashes of
heroic, generous feeling, when man was a terror or a gloiy
in his sphere, when stronger dependencies and^ore relent-
less passions, more devoted attachments and more desolat-
ing feuds, gave society at once a more delightful and yet a
more fearful interest than at present. How various is our
nature ! How shall we unite into one social state the virtues,
principles, joys, which have marked its different stages ? "

July 13//j to \8th. " I am now at Pooley's Bridge, Ulles
Water, and have to look back on days of activity, enjoyment,
and various perceptions and sensations which can hardly be
recalled. Scenes of grandeur, and wildness, and beauty
have passed before my eyes and through my mind so rap-
idly, that I shrink from the task of separating them. My
pleasure has been greatly impaired by the state of my
health, fettering me amidst most alluring objects, checking
my ascent of hills, forbidding me to penetrate depths and
moist places, to expose myself to the damp winds of the
lakes, &c. Still I have enjoyed much.

" Saturday I spent on Windermere, a lake of great beauty,
the most cheerful of this glorious company, spreading into
wider expanses', seeming less desirous of privacy and soli-
tude, and encircled with banks less high and precipitous, as
if it wished greater communion with nature. It has more
beauty than any I have seen. It is twelve miles long and
perhaps three miles in its greatest breadth ; but its width
generally is less, so that the opposite banks may be compre-
hended in one view, and their projections made to combine
with the islands to give almost an infinite variety to its mild
surface. Its distinguishing charm lies in its finely marked
and varied outline. Here the land gently swells into the
lake, and there the water seeks a more deep repose in bays
or coves which it has formed by a kindly soliciting influence
from the shore. There are occasionally points of some
18*

210 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

boldness, enough to prevent tameness. But the land and
water seem never to have contended for empire. Where
the former advances, it is gradually, not by sharp, angular
projections, but graceful curves, and it clothes itself with a
richer, fresher verdure, as if to shed new glory over the
lake ; and when the water encroaches, you might easily
imagine that it was only that it might spread a calm surface
beneath the hills, to reflect more vividly their forms and
hues.

" The islands are numerous, varying in size, and to one
who sails on the lake, their combinations with one another
and with the shore open an almost endless number of chan-
nels, and form mazes of beauty which allure the eye and
stimulate the imagination by partially disclosed scenery and
a mysterious intricacy. These islands and the shores in
general, through culture and the kindness of this moist cli-
mate, are clothed in a robe of rich verdure, and some of
the former are finely wooded, so that the lovely hues of the
reflected heavens and the vernal earth are blended together.
In some parts the shore is almost level with the water, so
that in a calm the line which severs them is lost, and the
spirit of peace which breathes here seems to blend these
opposite elements into one. At other times, it swells gently,
and then more boldly, though I do not recollect a single
fronting crag. At the northern termination, however, nioun-
tains of a wild grandeur, somewhat softened by distance,
rear their heads, as if by contrast to increase the impression
of the generally peaceful character of the lake. I cannot
say, however, that, in the elevations or hills which skirt most
of the lake, I saw much beauty, except as they were gener-
ally verdant. Their outlines have no peculiar grace. The
lake, too, sometimes resembles a river too much.

" I did not find that the positions which commanded the
widest views, and which are therefore selected as favorite
spots by tourists, were always the best. Wide views seldom

GRASSMERE. 211

have that harmony on which unity of impression depends,
and the mind suffers from a variety which gives it a shock
by discords of hues and forms, or at least dissipates it too
much to allow of the feeling of concentrated joy.

" The day was peculiarly favorable, and, though I sailed
at noon, the prospect was not injured by a glaring or monot-
onous light, The clouds veiled the sky, but occasionally
parted to throw gleams of lustre on island, shore, or lake ;
whilst a gentle intermitting breeze now drew ti'ansient,
slowly moving ripples on the surface of the water, and now
left the element unbroken, as if to fulfil its office of respond-
ing in perfect harmony to the heavens

" The effect of stations depends very much on the light,
and the condition of the atmosphere. The same prospect is
an entirely different thing at sunrise or sunset, under a
warm or a cold sky. I feel that I have done little justice to
the lakes, and the scenery round them, in my hasty view.
To see a fine prospect under one light' is like looking at a
countenance in a single attitude and with one expression.
No wonder that many are disappointed, and that descrip-
tions are given of this country which seem, to travellers who
see it at different seasons, wholly fictitious. Beauty depends
on connection and harmony. A feature of a prospect, which,
when thrown into shade or softened by mist, gives to its
whole a great charm, may become a deformity, when seen
through a clear atmosphere under a bright sun. I know, as
yet, little of this country's powers and resources in relation
to the imagination, although I have seen enough to delight
me, and make me wish to spend a season here

" Next we visited Grassmere Water, — a sacred spot, a
seclusion from all that is turbulent and unholy in life. It
was near sunset as we approached this water. We found
ourselves descending a mount called Loughrigg into a val-
ley, in which reposed this sweet lake, unrufiled, smooth,
hemmed in by sheltering mountains. The solemn heights

212 EUROPEAN JOURXEY.

towards the setting sun showed to us their dark sides re-
flected with wonderful distinctness in the still bosom of the
lake, within whose waters they seemed to find even a
quieter abode than in the tranquil heavens into which their
tops ascended. This repetition of the dark sides of the
mountains threw a solemn shade over the part of the lake
to which the reflection was confined, whilst beyond this line
a mild light, answering to that of the heavens, and of other
mountains, gleamed from the water, investing it at one mo-
ment with various, but not inharmonious, forms of beauty.

" The effect of this lake on the spirit was immediate,
deep, penetrating the inmost soul, and awakening a feeling
of something profound in one's own nature. Windermere
was tranquil, but it had a cheerful tranquillity. Its genius
was peace, but peace with a smiling aspect, wooing society
and sympathy. Grassmere seemed to be spread out in the
mountain recesses as an abode for lonely, silent, pensive
meditation, — for the inspired imagination, which, in still ab-
straction from vulgar realities, would give itself up to ideal
beauty, — for the spirit of love, which, wearied with man's
strifes and passions, would meet and commune with a kin-
dred spirit in nature, — for piety to approach God without
distraction, to see him in the harmony, to hear him in the
silence of his creation. The character of this place is that
of seclusion, but not of stern or sorrowful seclusion, con-
genial with the mind which injury or disappointment has
made impatient or sick of the world. It invites rather the
mild enthusiast, who amidst the deformities of life still sees
what is lovely in human nature, and at a distance from the
tumults of society would resign himself to visions of moral
beauty, of perfect loveliness, and of sublime virtue, un-
known on earth, — who is conscious of the capacities of hu-
man nature for what is good and great, and desires, under
the kindliest influences of the universe, to call forth into
new life these high principles in his own soul.

'iRASSMKRE. 213

" On descending to this sweet lake, I felt my spirit stilled,
as if I were throwing off the robe of this world's cares and
passions, and escaping into a region of more than human
purity and peace, without, however, losing my human sym-
pathies. •^

" The lake has not left, perhaps, very definite traces of
figure, &c., on my mind, for in such a scene the mind is
not stimulated to analyze. The heart and imagination are
too absorbed for curious observation. It is rather circular,
and wants the multiplied diversities of outline, the points,
bays, recesses of Windermere, and this, perhaps, aids its
effect, for the eye is not excited to wander in search of
beauties half hid in mazy openings. The soul is free to
receive an unmixed impression from the simple, harmonious
scene. When it is said that the surrounding mountains are
bold, some precipitous, and one of them a rugged steep
seamed with storms and strewed with rocky fragments, it
may seem strange that the lake can have the character of
mild repose which has been ascribed to it ; but, spreading
as it does in a circle, it so parts the surrounding mountains,
that they cannot be grouped as if they bordered a narrower
stream, and thus they become subordinate accompaniments
to, instead of being the chief features of, the prospect.
Then the immediate shore of the lake is level and verdant,
and blends singularly with the peaceful water. This is par-
ticularly true with respect to the vale, properly so called,
which spreads between the head of Grassmere and Helm's
Crag, whose surface is almost as unbroken as the lake, and
which, clothed as it is with the freshest verdure, varied by
hedgerows, and combining with its natural beauty the most
aflTecting tokens of humanity by its simple cottages and
Gothic churches, communicates an inexpressible character
of peace and benignity, and of gentle and holy sweetness, to
the whole scene. The mountains thus severed from one
another, and rising from so peaceful a foundation, seem ex-

214 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

nlted only to guard the sacred seclusion of the lake from (he
profanation of worldly passions, that it may hold pure inter-
course with the mild and pure sky, which it reflects so tran-
quilly, with the glorious sun, and the genial breezes. In
such spots we can hardly help believing in a better exist-
ence than this, for we seem to have entered its confines.
A faith springs up, not the less sincere or unreal because
the growth of sentiment, a faith in the high purposes of our
being, and our capacity of purer joys than we experience in
our ordinary modes of life.

" There is a melancholy in visiting such scenes as I have
now described ; but is this their direct and natural effect,
or does it spring from a silent consciousness of the differ-
ence between our perturbed state and the intense quiet of
soul breathed into us by such a spot ? Wc feel Grassmere
to be a shelter ; but a shelter includes the idea of the storms
of passion. Thus a sad sense of our actual being mingles
with aspirations for a higher existence ; but this sadness is
so tempered and subdued by the power of the beautiful
scene, that it becomes a tender, grateful, melancholy feel-
ing. A more delicious state of heart and mind than comes
from those blended emotions is, perhaps, unknown to human
nature

" This country owes its interest chiefly to its mountains,
for without these its lakes would be of little note. These
are the grand features of every scene ; they not only cause
the valleys and masses of water, but give them their peculiar
beauty, their tranquil sweetness, or their secluded solemnity.
These mountains surpass all others which I have seen in ex-
pression and spirit. They are, indeed, sometimes fantastic,
but seldom or never tame or heavy. Their outline is, for
the most part, sweeping and graceful, though frequently
broken by craggj- precipices and abrupt steeps. They are
not arranged in long lines, but arc thrown together in a
bold, irregular style, so that they combine with one another

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 213

m endless variety, hrilf concealing each other, giving im-
agination scope, and opening labyrinths of sweet valleys.
Their sides present a diversified surface, now fine swells,
and then chasms or furrows, worn by torrents and rough-
ened by projecting rocks. All these combine'^to give them
an air of wild grandeur ; and the quiet valleys and lakes
give an inexpressible charm, when seen reposing amidst and
beneath these stern and rugged guardians. The calm, still
water reflecting the mountains, especially when thrown into
solemn shade, has singular power over the mind. Commu-
nicating as it does its own tranquil spirit to the romantic
forms which it receives into its bosom, it seems to manifest

a peace-breathing influence which nothing can resist

" I was not so deeply impressed by any mountain as by
Skiddaw, which is the more remarkable, as having nothing
of the wild character that I have noticed in the other moun-
tains. Its distinction is tranquil majesty. It rises gradually
and with extensive sweeps from the valley, and its outline
is more flowing than that of any of its numberless asso-
ciates. Yet, so bold are the swells on its surface ; its val-
leys, if we may so call them, open such broad expanses to
the eye ; its summits stretch along the horizon with such
generous freedom ; and it towers with an expression of such
spontaneous energy, that, whilst we rest on its mildness with
delight, the mind is dilated with a feeling of its grandeur.
No sublimity is so real as that which makes itself deeply
felt in union with beauty ; just as the highest moral great-
ness is that which, whilst it awes by unshaken constancy
of principle, at the same time attracts us by the gentleness
of love. Wild scenes, where power is manifested in deso-
lation, act at first with great force on the mind, especially
on the least refined ; but power and goodness are congenial
and the highest manifestations of power are benignant. The
power which reveals itself solemnly amidst beauty, by this
very circumstance shows its grandeur, and acquires a more

^-ii^Q EUROPEAN JOURNIY.

enduring sway over the soul. I found myself never wearied
with Skiddavv. It lifted my spirit. Scenes of ruin are apt
to subdue us ; but the highest forms of sublimity exalt us by
inspiring a consciousness of kindred might. And such was
the influence of this mountain. It made the lake and all sur-
rounding objects its ministers. The mists were rolling tran-
quilly over its summits, partial lights were wandering across
its face, and it seemed in full harmony with the noblest

agents and elements of nature

" There is one most happy effect, which should be par-
ticularly noticed. Distance, the atmosphere, fogs, and va-
rious lights give to the tops of mountains a visionary, some-
times a mysterious, character, better felt than described,
which forms a most interesting contrast with the general
massiveness of their foundations. These awful forms seem
to be spiritualized as they ascend, till they blend with the
pure heavens, and sometimes through the thin mist almost
melt into air. This union of the firmness of earth with the
ethereal brightness of the slcies gives a peculiar charm to
mountains. . In fact, they unite remarkably opposite expres-
sions. By their foundations they seem to sink into the earth,
and our thoughts are carried to its gloomiest depths, wliilst
their tops aspire to heaven and dwell in a region of peace
and splendor. Whilst we are impressed by the huge bulk
and weight of their inert forms, their visionary tops give
them the appearance of belonging to the pure element in
which they live, of possessing a congenial spirit with the
free and buoyant air, and of having risen through their o\\ n
life and energy to hold communion with the sun."

We have already seen the reverent affection with
which Mr. Channing regarded Wordswortli, and it will
be readily understood, therefore, that he joyfully availed
himself of this opportunity to seek an interview with the
poet. In a letter to a sister lie thus describes his
visit : —

WORDSWORTH. 21'i

'•' I could not but think of the amusement I should have
afforded you, could you have taken a peep at me. I had
spent Sunday morning at Grassmere, — one ofcthe sweetest
and most peace-breathing spots under the skies, — and in
the afternoon, being unable to attend church, I resolved to
visit Mr. Wordsworth, who resides two miles and a half
from the inn. Unluckily, Grassmere, whilst it supplied the
wants of the imagination and heart most abundantly, could
not supply me with any vehicle for the body more easy or
dignified than a cart, dragged by a horse 'who had caught
nothing of the grace of the surrounding scene.

" After an interview of great pleasure and interest, I set
out to return, and, unwilling to lose Mr. Wordsworth's soci-
ety, I accepted his proposition that we should walk together
until I was fatigued. At the end of half a mile my strength
began to fail, and finding my companion still earnest in con-
versation, I invited him to take a seat with me, which he
did ; and in this state we reentered the delightful valley.
Happily the air was mild, and I began to think that Provi-
dence, in distributing lots, had not been so severe as one
might at first be inclined to feel, in limiting multitudes to
such a mode of conveyance ; for I enjoyed the fine pros-
pects of Rydal and Grassmere as I could not have done in a
covered carriage.

"You, perhaps, might have promised me the honor of
being introduced with the cart and horse into a ' lyrical
ballad.' But to me, who, as you know, profess to be greatly
in debt to Mr. Wordsworth's genius, and whose respect and
affection were heightened by personal intercourse, there
seemed a peculiar felicity in riding through this scene of
surpassing tenderness, with a man of genius and sensibility,
who had caught inspiration from the lakes and mountains in
whose beauty I too had been rejoicing.

••' Mr. Wordsworth's conversation was free, various, ani-
mated. We talked so eagerly as often to intpi''''"^^^ ^"f*

v 0 L . 1 1 . 19

218 EUROl'EAr^ JOURiXEY.

another. And as I descended into Grassmere near sunset,
with the placid lake before me, and Wordsworth talking and
reciting poetry with a poet's spirit by my side, I felt that the
combination of circumstances was such as my highest hopes
could never have anticipated."

Twenty years after this sunset ride, an American
traveller was visiting Wordsworth, when the poet inci-
dentally mentioned this interview, and said that one re-
mark then made by Dr. Channing had remained fixed
in his memory, and all the more deeply from the impres-
sive tone of sincere feeling with which it was uttered.
It was to this effect, — " that one great evidence of the
Divine origin of Christianity was, that it contained noth-
mg which rendered it unadapted to a progressive stale
of society, that it put no checks upon the activity of the
human mind, and did not compel it to tread always
bhndly in a beaten path."

From Wordsworth our thoughts are led by an asso-
ciation, which time and change can never break^ to his
great compeer, Coleridge, whom Mr. Channing saw
while in London during the following summer. And
as there is nothing in the few notes of his rapid journey
through England of especial interest, we will pass at
once to a brief notice of this visit. Most fortunately, we
are enabled to enrich our pages with Coleridge's own
record of it, as given in the following letter to Washing-
ton Allston.

*^ High gate, 13M June, 1823.

" My FRIEND : — It was more than a gratification, it was
a great comfort, to all of us, to see, sit, walk, and converse
with two such dear and dearly respected friends of yours,
as Mr. and Mrs. Channing.

" Mr. Channing I could not be said not to have known iu

COLEKIDGE. 219

pavt before. It is enough to add, that tlic reality diHercd
from my previous conception of it only by being more ami-
able, more discriminating, and more free ffDm prejudices,
tlian my experience had permitted me to anticipate. His
affection for the good as the good, and his earnestness for
the true as the true, — with that harmonious subordination
of tlie latter to the former, without encroachment on the
absolute worth of either, — present in him a character which
in my heart's heart I beUeve to be the very rarest in earth.
If you will excuse a play on words in speaking of such a
man, I will say that Mr. Channing is a philosopher in both
the possible renderings of the word. He has the love of
wisdom and the wisdom of love.

" I was unfortunately absent the first evening. Had they
been prevented from repeating their visit, I should have
been vexed indeed, and yet not as much vexed as I now
know I should have had reason to be. I feel convinced that
the few differences in opinion between Mr. Channing and
myself not only are, but would by him be found, to be appar-
ent, not real, — the same truth seen in different relations.
Perliaps I have been more absorbed in the depth of the mys-
tery of the spiritual life, he more engrossed by the loveliness
of its manifestations."

Mr. Channing had long been an admiring reader of
what Coleridge had printed, and no words are needed
to describe the pleasure with which, in common with all
auditors, he listened to the fascinating monologue of the
poet-philosopher, who had then entered upon certainly
the most serene, and probably the most brilliant, period
of his life. It seems, however, from the foregoing letter,
that he conversed enough to leave a distinct image of
himself. Out of this interview arose, at a later time, a
foolish report, to which he once saw fit thus to refer.

220 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

The whole matter is, indeed, quite unimportant, yet
6ome may feel an interest to know the facts.

" I find that certain newspapers have lately circulated a
letter from England, in which the writer gives some details
of an interview with Mr. Coleridge, and which contains the
following passage : —

" ' I was not a little surprised at his [Mr. Coleridge's]
remarks concerning Dr. Channing of Boston ; first, that Dr.
Channing's short character of Bonaparte had its birth-place
and received its shape in his [Mr. Coleridge's] study.'

" I may as well say, in relation to the statement here as-
cribed to Mr. Coleridge, that I can explain it only by sup-
posing the writer of the letter to have misapprehended that
gendeman. I have quite a distinct recollection of my only
interview with Mr. Coleridge, and cannot remember that
Bonaparte was even once named. I am confident that no
remarks on his character, sufficiently interesting to be
brought away, were made to me ; for in that case some
trace of them must have remained in my mind. I am the
more confident on this point, because my recollections are
confirmed by a friend who was present."

From England Mr. Channing went to Paris, where
he passed but a few weeks, and then, journeying leisure-
ly througli France, entered Switzerland by the Jura.
He was too unwell to avail himself freely of the rich
opportunities for enjoyment so amply afforded by that
most picturesque and romantic country ; but a (ew ex-
tracts from his letters will show that bodily weakness
could not deaden his spiritual energy.

Geneva, Sept. 28, 1822. " I find that I hardly knew the
power of mountain scenery until I came hither, although I
have not seen the noblest of the Alps, for I have not ye
visited Mont Blanc, but only caught glimpses of his snowy

SWITZERLAND. 221

top at a distance, half wrapt in clouds. You probably know
that the mountains of Switzerland are not distinguished by
beauty of form, when taken separately. Therstorms have
dealt with them too fiercely and too long, to leave them the
fine outline which I have seen in our own country and in
England. Their summits generally are rugged, naked,
shattered crags ; and you sometimes see the perpendicular,
sharp rocks towering into the skies above the everlasting
snows, which rest on the projecting surfaces beneath. It is
not their harmonious proportion, then, but the air of awful
power impressed upon them, — the perilous precipices by
which they are bounded, the boldness with which they send
up to heaven their wild tops, the prodigality and confusion
with which they are scattered around, and the immense
glaciers shining without apparent change or dissolution un-
der the summer's snow, — which subdue the traveller creep-
ing at their foot. These constitute the deep, solemn, mys-
terious charm that attracts the eye to gaze upon these giant
forms

" Do you not envy me the beautiful, magnificent scenery
which is now stretching around me ? I shall never forget
the day I spent at Berne. It was Sunday, and in the after
noon, under a most brilliant sky, I walked on the ramparts,
and hailed with joy, as old friends, the mountains in the
horizon which I had visited a few days before. All that
nature can do to lift us above the sordid and selfish is done
in Switzerland ; and who can doubt that where there is a
deep purpose in the soul to elevate itself, much aid may be
derived from the sublimity of the external world ? But
without this purpose and inward effort, it can do little for
us. Switzerland has benefited my health more than any
other country. The air has been exhilarating, and I have
looked on the mountains with a delight which almost gave
me strength to climb them

" It is worth no little suffering to cross the Wingern Alp,
19*

222 EUKOPEAN JOURNEY.

and scale the Grimsel. I had strength for neither. With
what desire did I look to the Jungfrau ! If I revisit Switzer-
land, one of my great pleasures will be to approach its base.
This country has inspired me. I grew better almost as
soon as I entered it."

The winter months were passed by Mr. and Mrs.
Channing at Florence, Rome, and Naples. But as his
letters and journals — written in haste, debility, and,
as we shall presently see, in affliction — contain no de
scriptions of scenery or places which are particularly
note-worthy, we will proceed at once to extract from
his papers some general reflections upon society, which
he seems to have preserved as hints for future thought.
It is scarcely necessary to suggest, that, to one of his
humane spirit, men and manners, the condition of the
masses of the people, the tendency of governments, the
influence of institutions, presented objects of interest far
surpassing all that beauty in nature and art could offer.

" Has not every state of society a spirit, a unity ? Do
not its parts cohere .'' Can we judge of one habit, one trait
of manners, one institution alone ? Must not the system be
understood, the central principles, the great ends to which
the community is working ? Are not a nation's whole tone
of manners and cast of institutions the workings and mani-
festations of some law of life, combining the whole ? Must
there not be a secret accordance between the different parts
of a nation's character and modes of living ? Is there aa
much of an arbitrary character in these as we are apt to
imagine.^ Is not the interior life the groat thing to be in-
spected, the form of human nature which is presented in
the given case ?

" The art of travelling is, to unite minute observation
with large comparison, with penetrating insight into the

REFLECnONS ON SOCIETY. '223

spirit of which visible modes of life are the body. The
traveller should have the power of recognizing the common
bond, principle, spring, aim, of the infinitely multifarious
agencies composing what we call a Nation

" We must not depend on a people to show us what is
most worthy of our attention ; for they are actually uncon-
scious of what is most important, their oion spirit., and the
influences by and from which it has been formed and is kept
alive

" A great object in travelling is to discover by compari-
son what is primary and universal in our nature, to sep-
arate the adventitious, secondary, temporary, to learn the
deep principles on which all permanent improvements are
to rest, to behold and to love what is human., to shake off
our prejudices in favor of the unessential modifications of
our nature, and to recognize the essential through these
modifications

" To go abroad that we may see the unessential, — new
modes of dressing, eating, bowing, the exterior of man and
life, — is a mere wasting of time. We should go to enlarge
our views of human nature, to learn what it can do and
suffer, to what it is equal, under what influences its powers
are most developed, by what most crushed. The noblest
use of travelling is, to discern more of the godlike in the hu-
man ; and are there not marks, in the most degraded con-
dition of society, of man's true glory .-* We may see at least
some evil influences withstood, resisted, which shows an in-
ward power not subdued, nor capable of subjection, by tho
most adverse circumstances. This power of seeing vital
good is the true eye for a traveller. To visit distant coun-
tries only to collect mementos of the deformities of human
nature, to fill our memory with images of the misshapen
exterior under which humanity lies almost hidden, is worse
than useless. We should strive to perceive, beneath the dis-
tortions of our nature, its real shape, its primitive tendencies

234 EUROrF.AX JOL'KNEY.

towards good. He who travels without learning to love his
race move would do far better to stay at home. It is a
poor business to rake into the corruptions of human nature,
unless o'-ie believes in its capacity for restoration, and ap-
proaches its defilements only to cleanse them. A good
man should turn from irremediable evils. To love is our
work

" The intellectual education of the poor is talked of.
Can the poor, as they are now situated, be taught much ?
What 'deas does the poor child get in a common school ?
The true school of human nature is the sphere opened to
its faculties and affections in our conditions in daily life. A
state of society furnishing to all its members a field of
action for the mind and heart gives the only true educa-
tion ; and is this to be looked for anywhere in outward
institutions ? Is it not to be found chiefly in the spirit of
Christianity spread through a community, leading its mem-
bers to a love and reverence of human nature, and to a
regard to human excellence, in their arrangements for prop-
erty, &c. .'' A spirit of self-sacrifice for common good must
be made powerful in the most intelligent and influential.
To improve men must be a chief consideration in employ-
ing them, and the good of the laborer must be regarded as
well as the profit to be drawn from iiis toil. So long as
this is thought romantic, society can have no bright prospect
of permanent progress

" We are educating the poor that they may get a living,
forgetting that they have a nature like our own, which can-
not be confined to this end, and which, unless raised to
high and generous ends, will work their own and others'
misery

"The idea, that respectability and a certain rank cohere
and are inseparable, is ruinous now. The true dignity of
human nature is to be learned, and the consistency of this
with very moderate circumstances

REFLECTIONS ON SOCIETY. 225

" Civil society abounds in restraints on our nature, where
levelopment should be the great aim How little is now
done to remove barriers to human powers and affections ! The
order of society has been thought to demand subordination,
subjection, force, artificial manners, badges of different
r.astes, — all cramping the soul

" Fashion is a chain on the soul. It is a yoke laid by su-
periors on inferiors, through opinion. It disposes of our
time, attention, powers. It puts the stamp of worth, dignity,
happiness, on actions and conditions, and prevents us from
judging for ourselves. Originating with those who are raised
above natural wants, and in whom the spirit of self-sacrifice
is lost in self-indulgence, it gives currency to factitious,
selfish pursuits and enjoyments. Thus the mind is perverted,
contracted, filled with false views, and grows mechanical,
torpid, lifeless. A society is improved in proportion as indi-
viduals judge for themselves, and from their own experience
and feeling, and not according to general opinion. A man
should look to his own soul to learn what makes him happi-
est, and to decide when he is conscious of acting most in
harmony with his whole nature. But how few do so !

" Genius is a liberating power. It accords with nature,
detects natural feeling in the artificial arrangements of soci-
ety, and discerns and enjoys the beautiful and lovely in our
natural affections and moral sentiments. Thus a literature
of genius withstands corruption, brings back higher minds to
nature, counteracts fashion

" A society is advanced in proportion as human nature is
respected. It is the misery of the present state, that man, as
nan.) is counted of so little worth. It is man clothed in [)ur-
ple, dressed in a little brief authority, high-born, rich, &c.,
who is now considered as deserving power. A just estimate
of human nature, of its purposes, powers, destiny, leading to
general courtesy, respect, and effort for the advancement of
this nature, in each and all, — this is the measure of the pro-

T4b EURorEAN JOURNEY,

gress of society. When manners, and especially the inter'
course between different classes, express this, society is truly
flourishing

" The existence of a large class, cut off from the rest of
the community, trained up to ignorance and vice, gross in
manners, in no degree acted upon by other classes, and re-
pressed only by brute force, is a sad feature of civilized so-
ciety, and a reproach on more favored orders. The true
organization of society is that in which all improvements of
the higher are communicated to the lower classes, and in
which intellect and virtue descend and are diffused. And
will any thing but Christianity, moulding anew the whole
spirit of the higher classes, bring about this end ?

"The influence of government is of great importance in
judging of the state of society. A good government is that
which, by manifesting a common, wide, universal care, dif-
fuses a generous, impartial, disinterested spirit. A society is
well organized, whose government recognizes the claims and
rights of all, has no favorites, respects humanity in all its
forms, and aims to direct the pursuits of each to the general
good. Such a government implies the existence of a disin-
terested spirit in the community, and greatly strengthens it.
This reaction is the most interesting view in public affairs.
A society makes progress, just as far as a disinterested spirit,
mfluencing the members, is embodied and manifested in in-
stitutions, laws, tribunals, and through these flows back with
new energy to individuals. This is the highest end of gov-
ernment, its sublime, moral end

" Liberty is the great social good, — exemption from un-
just restraints, — freedom to act, to exert powers of useful-
ness. Docs a government advance this simply by establish-
ing equal laws ? The very protection of property may crush
a large mass of the community, may give the rich a monop-
oly in land, may take from the poor all means of action.
Liberty is a blessing only by setting man's powers at large,

REFLECTIONS ON SOCIETY. 227

exciting, quickening them. A poor man, in the present
state of society, may be a slave, by his entire dependence.
Is it not the true end of government, to aim at securing for
all the widest field of useful action ? This is to establish
liberty. How far more important is this than to protect any
single class 1

" The poor, weak, helpless, suffering, are the first objects
for the care of government. Society improves in propor-
tion as they are protected in the exercise of their rights.
These high views of government, as a sacred institution for
elevating all classes of men, are essential to an exalted com-
munity. Where government is considered as a prize for
selfish ambition, society becomes degraded

" The best condition of society is that in which all ranks,
classes, orders, are intimately connected and associated.
The deformity of present society is the separation of ranks,
the immense disparity, the inhuman distance of different or-
ders. All men cannot be equal in all respects ; but the high
should feel their elevation to be a motive and obligation to
labor for inferiors.

" There must be a body of enlightened, studious men. Let
not these form a party, a faction, but consider their light as
a good given to be diffused, and as a means to maintain an
improving intercourse among all orders. So there will be
rich men; but the rich, instead of herding together, and
linking themselves to one another by common pleasures,
privileges, refinements, ought to regard property as a trust
for the good of those who are in want. Let there be no lit-
eiary class, no class of rich. The learned, when forming
a distinct class, become jealous, exacting, domineering, and
st,ek to maintain their sway, even at the expense of truth.
Scholars already begin to find the benefit of quitting their
pedantic cells and mingling with general society ; but still
they associa-te too much with rich and refined, — still they
seek honor and power. Their high office, of being lights to

228 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

society, is overlooked. How the rich injure themselves by a
clannish spirit, corrupting one another by rivalry in show and
expense ! Christianity breaks down all these walls of division
between man and man."

But the scenery, works of art, institutions, and social
tendencies of the Old World could not wean Mr. Chan-
ning's affections from his home ; and the following es.-
tracts from his letters manifest the tender solicitude vvirn
which he sought, while far away, to exert a good influ
♦jnce over his children : —

" London, Aug. 8, 1822. In the first place, I wish my
children to be simple, natural, without affectation. Children
are often injured for life by the notice taken of their move-
ments, tones, sayings, which leads them to repeat what draws
attention, and to act from love of observation, instead of fol-
lowing the impulses of nature. A child should never be
tempted to put on pretty airs, or to think of itself and its
looks. I have wished my children always to act in a free,
natural, unstudied way, without the idea or desire of being
observed, and, on this account, have been very willing to
keep them out of society, where they might have -been taught,
by injudicious notice, to turn their thoughts upon themselves
and to assume the manners which they would have seen to
attract attention. The charm of infancy is its perfect art-
lessness and the immediate communication between its feel-
ings and actions. I would prefer that my children should
have any degree of awkwardness, rather than form an arti-
ficial style of conduct ; for the first evil may be outgrown, but
affectation is seldom or never cured.

" The next particular to be mentioned is closely connected
with this. I wish my children to be honest, sincere, and un-
disguised, to tell the truth, at all perils and under all circum-
stances. I have always kept this in sight, endeavouring, in

CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN. 229

my w lole intercourse with them, to avoid the slightest ap-
pearance of art or disguise. Children must never he deceived.
For example, in order to induce them to take medicine, they
must never be told that it is less bitter than it is ; nor, to keep
them from crying, should things which they want be slily
concealed from them. It is better to let them cry than to
give them a lesson in manoeuvring. I am persuaded that
the artifices of children, which we charge on nature, are very
often imitations of the cunning practices of those about them.
I would have an intercourse of entire frankness established
with children. They should never have reason to suspect
that there is the least disagreement between our feelings and
outward signs. If we are unwilling to disclose any thing, we
should say so, and not use indirect means to hide it ; and we
should encourage them to the same explicitness. We should
never invite them to express more affection than they really
feel, or to lavish marks of fondness, when they wish to em-
ploy themselves about something else. It is better that they
should seem cold than he insincere. Nor should they be
taught, as a part of politeness, to use lightly the language of
affection. Whenever they give their opinion, they should be
encouraged to do it fully, freely, and not be tempted to soften
or color it because it may happen t© differ from our own or
that of others. They should talk always from their own
minds, and not from other people's. This transparency in
children is undoubtedly sometimes unpleasant. Yet when
connected, as it always should be, with the culture of the
kind afTections, it gradually ripens into an ingenuous, consid-
erate frankness, which expresses the real convictions of the
mind, without inflicting unnecessary pain, and becomes one
of the chief beauties of our social nature.

" Children are taught insincerity in various ways ; some-
times by example, sometimes by close questioning, and again
by severity, by capriciousness in their superiors, by finding

VOL. ir. 20

<!30 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

that their honest confessions are punished, or, at least, expose
them to wearisome advice," &;c.

" Florence, Nov. 12, 1822. I told you how earnestly I
desire that my children should be simple and unaffected in
character and manners, and sincere, frank, and undisguised
in language and conduct. I would now add, what it is hard-
ly necessary to say to you, that I wish my children to be
placed under circumstances and influences most favorable
for forming that kind, affectionate, benevolent, disinterested
character which our religion enjoins so continually and ear-
nestly. Children should learn to love before they can un-
derstand the meaning of the word. They are put into our
hands dependent, helpless, ignorant, — for this very end,
that they may call forth love in our hearts, and that our love
may awaken a corresponding sentiment in them. To nour-
ish in them attachment and affectionate feelings should, in
fact, be a leading object with us in supplying their wants
upholding their weakness, and relieving their pains.

" For this end, it is of great importance that our treat-
ment of children should be marked by uniform kindness, un-
broken by inequalities of temper. We have labored that our
children should never ?ee in us the looks, or hear from us
the sounds, of passion. I am sure that the bad feelings of
infancy, which we charge upon nature, are very often to be
traced to the impatience, and want of self-government, and
abuse of power, in older people ; and I have a strong
conviction, that an amiable, generous temper, uniformly
expressed by those around them, will prove equally conta-
gious.

" There is, however, a danger of a different kind to be
guarded against. It is possible, by injudicious fondness, to
nourish selfishness instead of love in our children. They
may be so treated, as to imagine that all around them are liv-
ing chiefly for their gratification, and to expect all to be sub-

CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN. 231

servient to them, — a mode of treatment perhaps worse,
even, than severity. To prevent this, they must see, that,
whilst they are loved tenderly, they are not loved blindly
and without judgment ; and they must see, too, that others
are loved as well as themselves, and that they are expected,
as they have ability, to serve and benefit those around them.
They should never imagine for a moment that their own
happiness is more important than that of older persons, or
their rights, interests, and feelings more sacred ; but they
should early learn the essential equality of human beings
and the respect due to human nature in every condition.
They must not acquire an idea of their own singular impor-
tance, by seeing that all arrangements refer to them, by great
attention in company, or by being allowed to command
others for services which they can render themselves ; nor
must self-will and an imperious temper be encouraged, by
granting to their obstinate, importunate, loud demands what
a wise affection would not yield to their first requests. Dis-
interestedness, forgetfulness of self, living for others, — this
is a primary end in education.

" Yet too much is not to be expected at first. Children
at first are selfish, — if so hard a word may be used, — by
necessity, and innocently ; for their own pleasures and
pains are the only ones of which they have any notion.
They very slowly learn that others feel as keenly as them-
selves. They must therefore gradually have their minds
turned to others' feelings, and be taught to place themselves
in others' situations. Their own sufferings, instead of call-
ing forth in their attendants an excessive tenderness, which
would only make them cowardly and effeminate, should be
used to produce sympathy with others in the same circum-
stances. In like manner, their attention should be gradually
turned to disinterested actions and generous sentiments in
others, which they are capable of comprehending ; and they
should always hear these spoken of with unaffected delight.

233 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

Until, by such methods, a spirit of self-sacrifice is in some
measure excited, children should not be urged to express it
in action ; nor should profession of it ever be required, lest
their kindness become tainted with insincerity. I conclude,
as I began, with saying that the best way of teaching chil-
dren love is by example. Let them see that it is common
for people to live for others rather than themselves, and
then they will not think that disinterestedness is a superhu-
man effort.

" There is another subject, closely connected with this, on
which I wish to add a few lines ; I mean self-government.
The hardest task for children, as for ourselves, is to govern
the appetites, to restrain wishes, to give up what is pleas-
ant ; and this task is to be lightened by preserving them, as
far as we can, from immoderate desires. Self-restraint,
which is hard at first, becomes impossible, when the appe-
tites are inflamed by studied indulgence, by a thousand deli-
cacies and stimulants, &c. Those children are happiest, and
best prepared for generous efforts, whose natural, simple
wants are gratified by simple means, who are accustomed to
plain food, and are left to find pleasure in the exercise of
their own limbs and powers, instead of having their wishes
anticipated and multiplied by misplaced kindness. Children
are continually corrupted and enslaved to their appetites by
bad example, by seeing older people giving great importance
to pleasures of sense, and living to gratify factitious wants.
In this way, they come to think a thousand superfluities es-
sential ; their wants become insatiable, and, instead of living
for others, they are perpetually pursuing, with a feverish, ir-
ritable eagerness, unsubstantial pleasures for themselves."

Such was the watchful care with which he endeavoured
to surround his little girl and boys with gentle and purify-
ing influences. But one of them was never to learn on
earth the riches of a parent's love. Almost while he was

DEATH OF ins SON. 233

ivi-iting the last lines, his youngest son had died. He re-
ceived the intelhgence of this calamity on his arrival at
Rome, and nothing could have been more beautiful than
his acquiescence in this irreparable loss. The same let-
ters which conveyed the sad tidings announced also that
a beloved sister-in-law had been taken away ; and, in his
reply, he thus touchingly speaks of the twofold bereave-
ment ■ —

" Rome, Dec. 18, 1822, I reached this place yesterday,
and found here the paclcage of letters containing the mel-
ancholy accounts of W.'s loss and of my own. I am af-
flicted indeed. God has visited me with the heaviest loss I
can experience, save one. My sweet, lovely boy ! Is he
indeed gone ? and am I no more to see that smile which to
me and to his mother was like a beam from heaven ? He
was a most gentle creature. I can remember his occasional
cries of distress, but never one of passion. My health did
not allow me to carry and play with him, as I had been ir
the habit of doing with my other infants ; but when I wa.-.
amusing myself with Mary and William, he would creep to
me and climb up into my lap, and win from me, by his be-
nignant smile, the notice which I was giving to them. The
accounts we had received of him before this last sad news
were most encouraging, and we were anticipating the happy
moment when we should take him to our arms and press
him to our hearts with a delight he had never given us be-
fore. And he is gone ! and when we return, if that blessing
is in store for us, we shall look for him in vain ! O, the void
in a parent's heart, when a child is taken, you do not know !
and may you never know it! You are a mother ; and, to a
mother, the pang is what a father seldom feels. I think much
more of my wife than of myself; her feelings on the subject

of our children have been so keen

" Do not think, my dear, from what I have written, that I
20*

234 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

am in danger of dejection. I suffer; but I have never for-
gotten that my child belonged to another and better parent,
and was made for a higher state than this. I am sure that
he was equally the care of God in death as in life. I can
not believe that the necessary means of educating an immor-
tal spirit are confined to this world. I remember that com-
forting scripture, ' Of such is the kingdom of heaven ' ; and
my hope is, that my child has gone to live under a more in-
timate connection than we can now conceive with Him who
took little children into his arms and blessed them. Nor do
I believe that the relation of parent and child is dissolved by
death. In the whole progress of our future being, we must
always, I think, look back with peculiar interest on the mo-
ment when we began to be, and must, I think, distinguish
with some peculiar emotion those who, under Providence,
brought us into life, and who welcomed and loved and cher-
ished us in our first helplessness with intense and unwearied
affection. Death is not that wide gulf between us and the

departed which we are apt to imagine Francis,

Ann, my child, and our beloved Barbara, are gone from us,
but are not lost to us.

" At the mention of Barbara's name, I feel as if I had
been unjust in dwelling so long on my more immediate afllic-
tion. I know no greater bereavement than W.'s. I would
speak of my own loss in Barbara's death, but that his so
much surpasses it. She was one of the loveliest of women
and best of wives. All the graces and virtues were joined
in her so harmoniously, her excellence was so singularly un-
alloyed, so far from the mixtures and defects which we have
to lament in most of our friends, that I dwell on her with a
peculiar complacency. Seldom does a gentler, purer, more
benignant, more disinterested spirit take its flight from earth
to heaven. Her countenance, conversation, life, sent forth
a sweet and blessed influence. And she too is gone, and I
am to see this lovely and beloved sister no more on earth ! '

DEATH OF HIS SON. 235

And again, to his mother he thus writes, under date
of January 2d, 1823 : —

" Of our dear boy we had heard nothing but good, and
his loss was a blow as unexpected as it was heavy. He was
a ti'easure worth more to us than the world. His sweet,
gentle temper not only made him a present blessing, but
encouraged us to hope that he would need only the mildest
influences to sway him to goodness, and that he would make
us the happiest returns of love for our parental care, lo
part with this lovely, smiling, innocent boy, to whom we
hoped to do so much good, and whose attachment and prog-
ress we imagined were to brighten our future lives, this is
indeed to be bereaved

" expressed a fear that I should suffer in health by

the sad news from home. No ! Even had I not the sup-
ports of Christian principle, I should find motives enough in
my situation and affections for watching over my health. I
feel my distance from home more deeply than ever, and
have hardly a thought or a wish, as regards this world, but
of returning to it ; and knowing, as I do, that this depends
on recovering my strength, I am almost too solicitous in

using the means to this end It is true that all the

symptoms of my old maladies have not disappeared, nor
will they, I apprehend, for a long time, if ever. But I trust
that a life of moderate effort in my profession, together with
regular exercise, will not only preserve, but gradually aug-
ment, my strength ; and this hope gives me a cheerfulness
and gratitude very necessary in my present circumstan-
ces

" You and my mother Gibbs have suffered much by our
late domestic trials. Our absence seems to us a great evil,
by depriving us of the opportunities of rendering those
offices of filial love of which we never knew the full value
until we were parents ourselves. It is our constant prayer

236 EUROPEAN JOURNEY,

that God would preserve you both, and would increase our
power of contributing to your happiness. Absence has en-
deared all our friends to us, but none more than our parents.
I sometimes wonder, now, that we were capable of tearing
ourselves from you all. In a world so transient and uncer-
tain, a year seems too much time to be spent at a distance
from one's home. Do give the assurances of my love to
all our dear circle. I cannot begin to name the friends to
■whom I wish to send affectionate remembrance. I am too
rich in these blessings to be able to count them, and distance
only makes them more precious.

" Your affectionate son."

And, finally, in his journnls, he thus communes with
his own spirit and with God : —

" Rome, Jan. 1823. How unavailing is foresight in the
most important transactions of life ! We would lengthen
life for our children, and they are taken before us. We lay
deep plans of future usefulness, and, whilst gathering the
means, we lose the beings on and for whom we would ex-
pend them. We waste the present for a future which never
comes. We go to foreign countries for health, and there
perhaps lay our bones, or hear of the death of those with
whom we were to enjoy the health we seek. Let us not be
too wise and provident, but use the means of happiness and
usefulness God gives, instead of throwing them away in the
pursuit of more. Exile from home, from the sphere of ac-
tion marked out for us by God, is one of the greatest evils
of life, and should not be encountered lightly.

" In the moment of afHiction the thought sometimes comes
to us with an almost overwhelming vividness of our entire
dependence. The hour which has taken one blessing can
take more. All our possessions begin to tremble, when one
very dear is taken. The loss of one child makes prominent
the frailty of all. The bloom of health fades as we look

DEATH OF HIS SON.

237

upon it. 0, how desolate we may be made in a moment !
and how wretched would be our condition, if the Power
which disposes of us were not benevolent ! *"

" When I think of my child, of its beauty and sweetness,
of the tenderness he awakened, of the spirit which God had
breathed intp him, and which had begun to develop itself,
I cannot doubt that he was the care of God in death, as in
life. He was made for God ; had he lived, my chief duty
would have been to direct him to that Infinite Good, — and
has he not now gone to Him from whom he came ? Is it
not a most interesting view of death, that it removes in a
great degree the intermediate provisions, the external means
by which God communicates benefits, and thus places us ii.
a more immediate and visible connection with him ? Is It
not the happiness of heaven, that spirits see God not only
as reflected in his works, but face to face ? God used our
arms to sustain our child ; has he not taken him to a world
where he will lean more immediately on his own 7

" When I consider how interesting a moment the begin-
ning of existence is to a reasonable being, how infinite the
abyss between non-existence and existence, I feel that we
must always look back to the moment and circumstances of
our birth with peculiar emotions, and that the beings to
whom, under God, we owed our life, who were the instru-
ments of Providence in giving us bodily existence and
watching over the feeble spark, who were the first to wel-
come and to love us, must always seem to be among our
chief benefactors. Will not the parental relation thus be a
bond of union, a source of happiness, for ever } The found
ling sighs to know his parents with eager and burning de-
sire. Is not this filial afiection an instinct of the rational
and moral nature which will act through all the future ?

" Our child is lost to our sight, but not to our faith and
liope, — perhaps not to our beneficent influence. Is there
no means of gratifying our desire of promoting his hap-

238 EUROPEAN JOURNEr.

piness ? The living and dead make one communion. ' Why
born only to die ? ' Birth establishes a connection with the
human race. His birth made our boy one of a great spir-
itual family, and intimately united him with a few. Will
■"ot his eternal being be influenced by this connection }

'•• We were not permitted to render the last kindnesses !
There is, too, a pleasure, if it may be so called, in seeing
'he gradual decay and extinction of life ; for we seem more
easily to follow the spirit into another state, by thus bearing
It company to the verge of this. There is not that sense of
darkness in the gradual fading of the light as in its imme-
diate extinction."

" Is it true, that the suggestions of affliction, the views
which seem to open on the distressed spirit, are fallacious,
the offspring of a diseased mind ? When is the mind most
diseased } In the intoxication of prosperity, or the solemn
hour of adversity ? When does the soul enter most deeply
into itself? — when understand its true end and happiness?
— when send forth the purest, highest desires ? The false
splendors of this world hide the glories of a better. The
light from above is seen first, perhaps, when that below
grows dim

" The loss of a child is, indeed, one of the greatest which
a mortal can experience, — the loss of an object of such
tender love, of a being possessing the noblest powers which
we had hoped to see unfolding beneath our care, to whom
we had longed to do more good than to any other being,
and from whom we had anticipated receiving the most con-
soling and rejoicing returns of love. Surely the affections
excited by the parental relation bear a resemblance to those
by which God is united to his creatures."

How much the vivid sense of his own loss, anJ the
depth of love thus opened in his heart towards hi' chil-
dren, added warmth to the reverent gratitude b' vhich

BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS. 239

he was bound to his mother, appears by the following
letter.

" Florence, April 7, 1823. When you look at the date
of my letter, you will see that I am writing you on my
birthday ; and, on this day, to whom could I write with so
much reason as to you > — for to you, as well as to me, it
is a memorable period. When I think of the beginning of
my existence, how natural is it that my thoughts should turn
to one whose kindness towards me then commenced, and
who has given me through my whole life proofs of increas-
ing love ! I can hardly suppress my tears, as I feel the ten-
der relation which my birth established between us; and now
that I am so far from you, while I remember your declining
years, it is consoling to me to reflect, that, amidst many
deficiencies, I have not proved wholly insensible to the
claims of your affection,

" On this day, I feel that I have cause to give God thanks
for the blessing of existence. My life, though no exception
to the common lot, though checkered with good and evil,
has, on the whole, been singularly favored. Without any
care or forethought of my own, my outward condition has
been almost too favorable, and the comforts of life have
been multiplied upon me, not only beyond my hopes, but
beyond my wishes. As to those best blessings of this world,
friends worthy of love, I know not who has been richer
than I ; and as to the chief crowning good, not only of this,
but of the life to come, I mean religion, I seem to myself
to have been placed in circumstances highly favorable, at
least, to the understanding of the Christian faith in its great-
est purity. How far I have practised it, with what f(<;lings

I review my conduct, and the progress of my character,

these are topics on which silence is wisdom. To another
Being I have to render my account ; and our poor, weak,
sinful nature can hardly look back on a life as long as my

240 EUROPJiAN JOURNEY.

own without emotions which can be fitly uttered to Hin
alone."

The wanderer's face was now turned again to liis
native land. He had faithfully sought renewed health
by rest and travel amidst interesting scenes ; he had
enjoyed and learned as much of good as, in his bodily
and mental condition, he was capable of receiving ; and
now he was free to return ; and he thus alludes to the
deep satisfaction with which he looked forward to a re-
union with his friends : —

" Need I say with what pleasure I write to you from this
place ? Florence is on my way hoine, and though I am
still very, very far from you, the thought of making some

progi'ess towards you is an inexpressible consolation

Return seems almost too great a happiness to be antici-
Dated

" I have said nothing of the feelings with which I turn
towards home. My heart swells within me, as I approach
this subject. And why should I speak of it ? Need I say
where my affections cling ? — how my heart yearns for the
native land I have left ? — how you are remembered in my
prayers by night and by day ? O, no ! My dear mother,
once more, farewell ! May your life and health be spared !
May we meet again ! "

On the last day of his voyage to America, he made
these entries in his journal : —

" I have just seen land. Blessed be God ! In a few
liours I hope to meet my friends. What thanks are due !
Let me now, on approaching shore, humbly purpose in
God's strength, that I will strive to do his will more perse-
veringly, to be more useful, watchful, temperate, kind, de-
vout, than ever before."

RKTURIS Hur.IE. 241

" I am returned to my friends ; let me be more to them
than I have yet been, more attentive, thoughtful, social,
seeking their cheerfulness, interesting myself ii** their con-
cerns. Especially let me be more to my mother."

The following letter to a sister will best show his
feelings after his return : —

" My dear L. : — How happy I am to write to you agaii
from my beloved home ! Join with me in gratitude to ou»

merciful Father, who has guarded me and our dear R

by sea and land, and brought us back to you all. We did,
indeed, see and feel, on our return, that we had been visited
by an irreparable calamity, and for a moment our loss
almost made us forget the blessings which are spared to us.
But I am now awake as I never was before to their number
and value. My happiness has been almost overpowering,
too great to endure in a world made up of changes, and too
great, I know, for the purposes of Providence towards me.
My health is very much improved ; and the voyage from
which I anticipated the prostration of my whole system
proved very beneficial. Among my many blessings was
the good account I received of you and yours."

And on the Sunday after his arrival, he thus poured
out the fulness of his heart : —

" Those of you, my hearers, who have travelled abroad,
and left far behind, and for a long time, home, friends,
familiar haunts, spheres of usefulness, and employments
congenial to your tastes, — you can understand the fervent
gratitude which glows in my heart to-day. True, the mo-
ment of return to one's native land does not bring unmixed
happiness ; for too often we reenter our long-forsaken dwell-
ings only to miss cherished objects of affection, to see the
hand of time pressing heavily on our earliest, oldest friends,
VOL. II. 21

242 EUROPEAN JOURNEY.

to receive sad answers respecting acquaintances, to revive
griefs in those who have been called to mourn in our ab-
sence, and thus to have the solemn lesson of life's changes
brought with new power to our minds. Still, the moment of
return after a long and distant separation is, though not
without tears, most blessed. To set foot once again on our
native shore, where we grew up, and where our best affec-
tions have taken root, — to reenter the abodes where the ten-
derest ties were formed, and have gathered strength, — to feel
ourselves once more at home, that spot over which the heart
throws a light such as shines nowhere else upon earth, — to
see again the countenances of friends whose forms have
gone with us in memory through distant regions, — to feel the
embrace of those arms on which we have leaned in our
past hours of sorrow and pleasure, — to read in the eyes of
those around us a love which no kindness of strangers can
ever express, — to exchange the constraints, reserves, sus-
picions, which can hardly be shaken off in foreign lands, for
the sweet confidence, the free and full communion, the open-
ing of the heart, which belong to domestic life, — to know
that the lives for which we have trembled, the beings in
whose existence our chief earthly happiness is centred,' are
safe, — O, this is joy ! joy such as blooms rarely in this
imperfect state. To this hour of return my mind has press-
ed forward ever since I left you. Amid the new and glo-
rious scenes through which God has led me, amid matchless
beauties of nature and wonders of art, my own dear country
has risen before me with undiminished interest and bright-
ness. And invisible ties have reached across the ocean,
growing stronger by distance, and welcoming me back to
the loves, the friendships, the joys, the duties, the oppor-
tunities of home."

MEMOIR.

?ART THIRD.

PART THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

It was in August, 1823, that Dr. Channing* had the
joy of once more standing amid the circle of loving
friends, parishioners, acquaintances, who waited to wel-
come him. For a short season he retired into the coun-
try, and then recommenced his public labors with a
freshness and fervor that showed the new spiritual en-
ergy with which he was consciously quickened. Among
the animating scenes presented by Europe, so various
and rich in suggestion, and especially in the long night-
watches and perfect repose of his homeward voyage,
during which he experienced an unwonted exaltation and
transparency of mind, he had found leisure to review the
past, to cast off many shackles of custom and prejudice,
to learn distinctly his own function, to comprehend the
spirit and tendencies of modern society, and, above all,
to ;ommune more nearly than ever before with God.

* Ho had received the title of Doctor of Divinity from Harvard
University in 1820.

21 »

246 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

This year of absence had been, unawares to himself,
perhaps, a transition-period. Thenceforward was to
open a new era of hfe, — an era freer and brighter,
more buoyant in hope, more large in love, than even his
enthusiastic youth at Richmond, and far more beautiful
in its serene confidence, its tempered wisdom, its all-
pervading holiness and humanity. The thick-clustered
blossoms of his early aspiration had given a promise,
truly kept, of branches bending to the ground beneath
the mellow fruit of ripened goodness.

We are now to trace the widening influence of Dr.
Channing's later life ; and there is no better way of
forming a true conception of the diffusive sympathy,
the careful and capacious thought, the ready and exu-
berant, yet calm and equable, energy which charac-
terized it, than to follow him in turn through each of the
great spheres of interest in which he was called to act.
Commencing, then, with his more special function as a
preacher and a writer, we will contemplate his course
progressively in relation to social reform, to the anti-
slavery movements, and to politics ; we will then regard
him as a friend among his friends ; and, finally, look in
upon the quiet beauty of his daily life, in the Boston and
Newport home, which he had reentered, as we have
seen, with such overflowing affection.

His first address to his people, after his return from
Europe, will exhibit the high and solemn views which
he cherished in relation to the ministry.

August, 1823. " Through the mercy of our Heavenly
Father, I am allowed once again to address you ; and let me
open this new period of my ministerial life by paying m)^
tribute of gratitude to Him in whom all our works should

ADDRESS TO HIS PEOPLE. 247

begin and end. To God, my creator and preserver, my
guide through the pathless seas, my friend among strangers,
my guardian in peril, my strength in sickness, who has per-
mitted me to see his glorious works, and has brought me
back in safety to a beloved home, — to God, who has chas-
tened and comforted me, who has spoken peace to my
wounded spirit, and has spared to me so many friends, — to
God, who has heard my prayers, who has placed me once
more in the midst of an affectionate people, and restored me
to the 20urch which he has intrusted to my care, — to God,
whose undeserved, unwearied, unfailing goodness passeth
all understanding, whose love is the sweetness of all bless-
ings, whose providence is our continual stay, whose grace
is our unfailing hope, — I would make the only return which
a creature can render, by bearing witness to his goodness,
and giving myself up to his service with joyful, trustful,
thankful, perfect devotion.

" In this house consecrated to his honor, in the presence
of his people, I now renew the dedication of myself to God,
of my whole being, life, thought, powers, faculties, affec-
tions, influence, of all which he has given and upholds. Let
these lips speak his praise, this heart glow with his love, this
strength be spent in doing his will ! May I serve him better
than I have done, with purer aims, with simpler purposes,
with a soul more penetrated by his perfection, and with
success worthy of his cause ! I know my infirmit)', and
cannot forget the lifeless services which have too frequent-
ly been offered by me. But I would hope that the recent
ordinations of his providence, that the lessons of depend-
ence which have been learned in sickness and affliction, and
that his preserving and restoring goodness, will produce
some better fruit than a transient sensibility, will issue in a
profound, tender sense of obligation, and in a firm purpose
of duty. We know that one great end of the mysterious
mixture of evil and good in our present lot is, to draw us to

248 THE MINISTRY AND LITER-VTURK.

God, to break our spiritual slumber, to soften our obduracy,
and to change, through the blended influences of penitence
and thankfulness, of sorrow and joy, our faint convictions
into powerful principles. My friends, join with me in prayer
to God, that to all his other gifts he will add the highest gift
of his holy spirit, — so that, strengthened to resist the selfish
propensities which enslave the bad, and make good men
groan, I may show forth in ray whole life a fervent spirit,
and thus communicate awaliening influences to my people.
For it is not as a private individual, and not to relieve a bur-
dened heart, that I speak here so largely of God's goodness.
Were I alone concerned, I should not thus lay open my
soul. But, conscious that my chief work in life is to act
upon other minds, and to act through sympathy as well as
instruction, I feel that you have an interest in the utterance
and in the increase of my devout affections. God grant, for
your sake, as well as my own, that they may be living and

growing !

" On this occasion, you will not expect from me a review
of what I have seen and heard during my absence ; but this
I will say, that I have discovered nothing to obscure the
claims of Christianity. I have learned no name mightier
than that of Jesus, have found no new system of religion, no
new institution for improving the character, no new method
of salvation, among the schools of philosophy or the estab-
lishments of policy, to shake my persuasion of the paramount
excellence of the gospel. On this point I return unchanged,
unless to be more deeply convinced of the unspeakable
worth of our religion be a change. I have seen human
nature in new circumstances, but everywhere the same in
its essential principles, and everywhei'e needing the same
encouragements, consolations, inspiring and redeeming in-
fluences. Whilst, on other subjects, early impressions were
corrected or efliaccd, I never for a moment have suspected
that Christianity was an hereditary, local prejudice, — never

ADDRESS TO HIS PEOPLE. 249

have found that it was passing out of sight in proportion as
I changed the sky under wliich I was born. Like the sun,
I have seen it shining above all lands, undiminished in
brightness, and everywhere it has beamed forth as the true,
the only light of the world

" I return with views of society which make me rejoice
as I never did before in the promise held out by reveakd
religion of a moral renovation of the world. 1 expect less
and less from revolutions, political changes, violent strug-
gles, — from public men or public measures, — in a word,
from any outward modification of society. Corrupt institu-
tions will be succeeded by others equally, if not more, cor--
rupt, whilst the root or principle lives in the heart of indi-
viduals and nations ; and the only remedy is to be found in
a moral change, to which Christianity, and the Divine power
that accompanies it, are alone adequate. The voice of
prophecy, announcing a purer, happier state of the world,
under the holy and peaceful influences of Jesus, never
sounded on my ear so sweetly, never breathed so cheering
a power, as after a larger observation of mankind ; and
I turn to it, from the boasts of reformers, as to the authentic
annunciation of a brighter day for humanity

" I return, my friends, as I hope, with an increased sense
of the weight and worth of my office. I am not merely
using what may be called the language of my profession,
but I speak from deepest conviction, in pronouncing the
duties of the Christian ministry to be the most important
which can be imposed on human beings. And in saying
this, I am far from setting up any exclusive pretensions, for
in these duties all men share. All are called, in their vari-
ous relations, and according to their power, to advance the
cause of pure religion and of divine morality, to which the
ministry is dedicated ; and the function of the minister dif-
fers only in this, that he is appointed to give a more imme-
diate, concentrated care to this primarj- interest of mankind.

250 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

The ministry has grown more grand and solemn, in my
estimation, because I have a growing persuasion of the ex-
cellence of the religion to whose service it is devoted, and
a growing conviction that on the ministry chiefly depends
this cause of God. Whilst other means of advancing it are
essential and efficient, still, the views of Christianity which
prevail in a community, the form in which it is embraced,
the influences it exerts on private character and happiness,
on domestic life, on public opinion, on social institutions,
depend upon nothing so much as the spirit, example, doc-
trine, zeal, fidelity of ministers. Man is used by God as
his mightiest agent in operating on man. I feel that it is no
ordinary work to which I am called, and that it were better
never to have returned to it than to bring a cold and divided
mind."

The very earnest feeling of responsibility and priv-
ilege, with which he renewed his ministerial labors, yet
more plainly appears in the two following extracts from
his letters of that period : —

" Boston, Sept. 22, 1823. I rejoice to tell you, and I do
it with lively gratitude to God, that I bore the exertions of
yesterday very, very well. I took the whole morning ser-
vices, was as long as usual, gave some freedom to my feel-
ings, and spoke, though not loudly, yet with excitement. I
was wearied, but not exhausted, and by silence and absti-
nence kept off feverishness. This morning I am as well as
usual. I cannot easily make even you feel what a relief
this success has given me. 1 will not say that the happi-
ness of my life depends on my ability to perform pastoral
duty, for I hope I should feel and enjoy God's goodness in
any situation ; but the Christian ministry, with all its trials,
and they are not small, is the work on which my heart is
set, and my spirit almost faints at the thought of resign-
ing it."

INTEREST IN HIS DUTIES. 261

*' Octoher 27, 1823. I know that it will make you happy
to hear that I have borne my return to my duties far better
than I anticipated. I have, perhaps, been imprudent, and
preached even longer and more earnestly than formerly ; but,
although I have suffered a little, I have received no serious
injury. For this my heart overflows with gratitude. I some-
times think myself happier than I ever have been before.
To meet my family once more was an inexpressible good, —
so great, that I hardly dared to anticipate it when abroad.
But the privilege of preaching again that gospel which my
sufferings have made more dear to me, and the hope that I
may be allowed to continue to preach it, and may labor with
more singleness of mind, fervency, devotion, and success,-^
this completes my joy.

" I have returned to my duties with an interest which,
perhaps, nothing but long inability to perform them and
many trials could have awakened. And thus, my dear, we
are often able to see that it is good for us to have been afflict-
ed. The inward process, which goes on amidst sufferings,
often explains God's discipline, and we learn to bless the
hand which chastens, for we see that it is stretched out in
parental wisdom and mercy. I do not mean that I have de-
rived great improvement from affliction, for I am aware that
the satisfaction I find in returning to long-suspended duties
is to be accounted for by natural as well as religious princi-
ples. But be the cause what it may, the effect is a good,
and will, I trust, give greater power to my ministry. I have
talked of myself; for your love, I know, gives you an inter-
est in the subject."

In order to show more fully his views of the profession
which he so unfeignedly thought to be the highest office
in modern society, far transcending, in the depth and ex-
tent of its influence, the sphere of the statesman or of the
literary man, we will proceed to give some further extracts

252 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

from his sermons ; and, In doing so, shall avail ourselves
of addresses which he made to l)is people annually, on
the occasion of his return from Rhode Island, at which
beautiful retreat he began regularly to pass the summer
months during this period of his life. In these discourses,
he endeavoured to break through the precise and ceremo-
nious style of preaching, which is usually thought neces-
sary to preserve the decorum of the pulpit, and to speak
'n the more direct and simple language which friend uses
to friend. These sermons are thus, to a great degree,
autobiographical.

THE RESPONSIBILITY OF THE MINISTER.

1828. " In describing the ministry as a highly responsi-
ble office, I beg not to be misunderstood. I sometimes hear
language employed on this point, which offends me by its
extravagance, and which can do only harm to the teacher
and the taught. The minister is sometimes spoken of as if
on him depended the salvation of his people, — as if to him
it belonged to decide the eternal condition of his congrega-
tion, — as if by his neglect his hearers would be plunged
into irremediable woe. 1 certainly do not feel as if any such
tremendous power were in my hands. I would not wield it
for the universe. I assume no such trust. I, indeed, offer
myself to you as your spiritual friend and teacher; but I do
it in the full knowledge that God has given you better aids
than your minister, that 1 am but one out of many means of
your instruction, and that, after all, the chief responsibility
falls upon yourselves. Regard the ministry as important to
you, — I will add, as essential to the Christian cause, — but
do not lay upon it a burden which no conscientious or benev-
olent man for worlds would sustain.

" The minister is not alone intrusted with the salvation of
the human race. True, the gospel is committed to him ;

THE minister's RESPONSIBILITY. 253

but not to him only, nor to him chiefly. It is intrusted to all
who receive it, for the benefit of their fellow-qfeatures. It
IS committed especially to the parent for the child, — to the
private Christian for his family and friends, — to the Sunday-
school teacher for the young, — to the more enlightened for
the less privileged classes of society. The minister alone is
not to preach the religion. It is to be preached in the nur-
sery, in the household, in the place of business, in friendly
intercourse, in public assemblies, as truly as in the pulpit;
and we cannot doubt that often Christian truth is more effect-
ually carried to the conscience and the understanding by
the casual teaching of every day than by more regular and
stated ministrations."

EACH SOUL MUST SAVE ITSELF.

1827. " The great work is to be done by the soul itself.
I cannot, by preaching, even were I to speak with the tongues
of angels, make one of you a Christian ; nor, were I able,
ought I to attempt such a work. You are to be made Chris-
tians by your own faithful use of all the means of religious
improvement. Could I, my friends, by a word change your
minds, expel all error from your understandings, subdue your
passions, take from the irritable man every impulse of anger,
from the worldly man every thought of accumulation, from
the proud man every stirring of self-elation, I should undoubt-
edly deliver you from sources of trouble ; but your deliver-
ance, thus passively acquired, would have no more virtue
than would belong to you, were death, by extinguishing all
consciousness, by striking you from existence, to work the
same deliverance. Nothing is morally good in man but
what he is active in producing, but what is the growth of his
own free agency. Were I, by an irresistible influence, to
implant in you a right faith and kind affections, I should not
aid, but injure you, by taking from you the opportunities of
virtue. You would come from my hand well-proportioned

VOL. II. 22

254 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

machines ; but machines you still would be. The glory x>i a
free agent would be gone. I come not to exert such a sway,
not to rule your minds or your hearts, but to urge you to es-
tablish within yourselves the sovereignty of reason and con-
science by your own reverential culture of these high princi-
ples of your nature."

TRUE ELOQUENCE.

1827. " To rule over passive minds, to dictate to those who
will not inquire and judge, seems to me a low ambition, a poor
dominion. But the power of convincing, persuading, improv-
ing free and active and self- relying minds is a noble endow-
ment. This is the only power over men which I covet. So
desirous am I to dissuade you from putting yourselves passive-
ly into other men's hands, that I would advise you to distrust
much of what is called eloquence in ihe pulpit. There is a true
eloquence, which you cannot too much honor, and it is char-
acterized chiefly by this mark : it calls into vigorous exercise
both the understanding and the heart of the hearer. It haa
no design upon men's minds, does not desire to bear them
away as by a torrent, does not hurry them to rash conclu-
sions, does not appeal to prejudices, but treats the under-
standing fairly, generously, invites it to weigh proofs, and
aims to inspire it with a supreme love of truth. This is the
highest characteristic of genuine eloquence, that it gives tone
and energy to the hearer's mind, gives him a consciousness
of his own powers, and enables him to act from- his own
will and from his own judgment. Against such eloquence,
of course, I would not warn you. But there is another kind,
and one far more commonly met with, — because requiring
little talent and no elevation of soul, — which deals chiefly
with men's fears, which palsies and enslaves the intellect,
which makes the hearer distrustful of his own faculties, which
overwhelms him with appalling images, and brings him into
dependence upc n the speaker. This, I have said, requires

END OF THE MINISTRY, 255

little talent; though, in the present state of society, it exerts
great sway. A man of common sagacity may bhndfold and
lead behmd him liis fellow-creatures. A miTch higher and
nobler skill is required to heal and strengthen men's intellec-
tual sight, and to open before them large and glorious pros-
pects." ^

THE END OF THE MINISTRY.

1830. "I have been called to aid you in that inward
work on which the happiness of your present and future be-
ing depends, - the work of subduing evil, sin, the power of
temptation, and of strengthening and building up in your-
selves Christian faith and virtue. It has been my duty to
urge on you the need of continual improvement in character,
as the only thing worth living for, -without which life
would be worse than lost. I have aimed, you will bear me
witness, to excite you to the most earnest culture of your
own minds, as that without which nothing uttered here, and
nothing befalling you in God's providence, would do you
good. I have amied to raise your thoughts to that perfec
tion, that dignity, that likeness to God, that height of virtue
and happmess, to which Jesus Christ came to exalt us, and to
which we may all rise by fidelity to his religion. And I
have exhibited to you the depth of guilt, shame, and misery,
into which, by self-neglect, by abandoning ourselves to low
and evil passions, we may all be plunged. It has been my
aim to win you to an unreserved devotedness to God - to
set before you such views of the Infinite Being, in his'char-
acter, designs, and modes of action, as were suited to attract
to him the whole strength of your love and trust and obedi-
ence. In a word, it has been my office to dispense to you
he religion of Jesus Christ. I have especially sought to
teach you the great, I may say the single, purpose of this
religion, which is to form you after the spirit and likene.ss of
its Divine Author, and thus to give you the first fruits of

856 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

heaven while you live on earth, as well as to prepare you
for that perfect and immortal state.

" Such has been my work. Its greatness fills my mind
the more I contemplate it. Time, which shows us the e" p-
tiness of most earthly pursuits, only magnifies, in my :e-
gard, this glorious office. On what sublime and heart-
thrilling themes have I been called, been permitted, to speak !
It seems to me, that, through the universe, no words of mcie
si>lemn import than God, Iwbiortality, Perfection, can le
uttered, — that no higher themes can absorb the most exalted
intelligences through eternity."

HIS OWN AIMS.

1830. " That I have performed this work imperfectly, I
feel. No one can be more penetrated with a sense of my
deficiencies than myself ; and my consciousness of these in-
creases, because the religion which I am called to preach
continually rises before me in greater beauty and dignity,
•with surer promises of happiness, more widely reaching
claims, more animating motives, and more solemn sanctions.
Still, my heart bears me witness that I have sincerely labored
to carry home to the souls of my fellow-beings the divine
truth which I have been privileged to impart. This truth
has been ray meditation and study by night and by day. I
have given to it the strength of my body and mind. It has
absorbed me, almost consumed me. Every new or brighter
view of it has seemed to me a recompense and happiness
which I would not have exchanged for any outward good.
The hope of doing something to rescue this divine religion
from the corruptions which so mournfully disfigure and
darken it, — the hope of bringing out more clearly some of
its divine features, and thus of contributing to extend and
establish its empire on the earth, has been the dearest, the
most cherished hope of my life. So far, I trust, I have been
loyal to the cause of my Master. \A'hether I have not con-

CHANGE OF TONE. 257

hned myself too exclusively to this intellectual labor, whether
I have not spent my strength too much in solitary reflection,
whether a more active life and more frequent intercourse
with my hearers might not have been more useful, — these
are questions which I cannot determine. I may have erred ;
some, perhaps, may think I have. I may have been self-
indulgent, in the path I have taken, and you might have been
more aided by services which I have withheld. I am not
anxious to justify myself. I pray God that my error — if it
has been one — may be forgiven, and that his providence may
avert from you the evils of my want of wisdom or fidelity."

An appreciating reader of the foregoing extracts will be
conscious of a gradual change of tone in Dr. Channing's
mode of address, — a change more readily felt than char-
acterized, — but which, by way of suggestion, we will de-
note by saying that it was constantly becoming less minis-
terial and more manly. He more and more regarded the
religious teacher as the ideal of what all men should be,
an inspirer of life. Universal sanctifiication of the whole
character and conduct was the end which he aimed to
present vividly to his hearers, as the only true object for
a human being's aspiration. And force of good-will —
not sentimentality, not imaginative enthusiasm, not mere-
ly kindly afFectionateness, but a brave, hopeful, con-
scientious, confiding love — was the spirit which flowed
out from him in every word and look. This expansive
feeling in relation to the animating influence which a relig-
iDus teacher should exert appears very fully in his letters.

" Neioport, Aug. 28, 1828. I consider my profession as
almost infinitely raised above all others, when its true na-
ture is understood, and its true spirit imbibed. But as it is
too often viewed and followed, it seems to me of little worth

22*

258 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

to him who exercises it, or to those on whom it ought to act.
It requires moral elevation of sentiment, that the purposes
of Christianity may be understood, and moral energy, a spirit
of self-sacrifice, that those purposes may be pursued with
resolution and power. I do not mean that a young man is
to possess these requisites in a great degree, at first, — but
he must have the seeds, and give some promise of them.
To one who has this generous style of character, this capaci-
ty of devotedness and disinterestedness, I consider my call-
ing as leaving all others very, very far behind. But when
taken up for its respectability, for reputation, for a support,
and followed mechanically, drudgingly, with little or no
heartiness and devotion, or when seized upon fiinatically and
with a blind and bigoted zeal, I think as poorly of it as men
of the world do, who, I grieve to say, have had too much
reason for setting us ministers down among the drones of the
hive of society."

*' Portsmouth, July 7, 1828.* In our profession, as in
every other, success depends chiefly on the heartiness with
which a man enters into it. He must throw his soul into his
work. I am the more encouraged about your success, from
the proof you have given of zeal in a good cause. You
think nobly of the object to which you are about to devote
yourself, and this is no small part of a minister's preparation.
You may meet, at the outset, some disheartening circum-
stances. I suspect most ministers can tell you of their hours
of despondency, especially at the beginning of their course.
But true courage fights the enemy within, as well as abroad ;
and I shall be disappointed indeed, if you are wanting in this
generous virtue. Your friend and brother."

*' Portsmouth, Rhode Island, June 18, 1828. t The peo-
ple here want to be awakened, certainly; but they have

• To Dr. Charles Follen. f To Orville Dewey, D. D.

THE TEACHING OF JESUS. 259

passed through the ordinary process of revivals without much
apparent benefit. I feel, more and more, that the people at
large need to be protected against these modes of^assault, by
having some more distinct and thorough notions presented to
them of what religion or virtue is than, perhaps, any of us
have yet given. The identity of religion and universal
goodness is what they have hardly dreamed of. You have
e.xpressed some of the best views on the subject which I have
heard ; and, if your intellect loill work, in spite of your plans
of repose, perhaps it could not find a more useful topic-

" My mind turns much on the general question, What can
bo done for the scattering of the present darkness ? I think
I see, more and more, that the ministry, as at present exer-
cised, though, on the whole, a good, is sadly defective. What
would be the result of a superior man, not of the clergy,
giving a course of lectures on the teaching of Jesus, just as
he would give one on the philosophy of Socrates or Plato ?
Cannot this subject be taken out of the hands of ministers ?
Cannot the higher minds be made to feel that Christianity
belongs to them as truly as to the priest, and that they dis-
grace and degrade themselves by getting their ideas of it
from ' our order ' so exclusively ? Cannot learned men come
to Christianity, just as to any other system, for the purpose
of ascertaining what it is ? "

" Dec. 9, 1829.* Is the time never coming, when Chris-
tians will be less dependent on ministers than they now are ?
I feel deeply the defects of the present organization of the
Christian church. ' Every joint of the body should work
effectually ' for the common growth ; and now a few men
have a monopoly of the work."

" Feb. 22, 1840. The ministry need not continue what it
has been, and the time is coming when it will be found to be

* To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D.

260 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

the n )st effectual mode of getting near to our fellow-creat-
ures. It demands great energy of thought and purpose ;
and when so followed, promises unspeakable good."

" Newport^ Rhode Island^ Sept. 5, 1837.* One of the
discouraging symptoms of the day is, that so few persons,
except of the clerical profession, make morals and religion
the subject of investigation and serious inquiry. To most,
religion is a tradition or a feeling. The noblest subjects of
human thought, and those in which all men have an equal
interest, are given up to a small body of professional men.
The effects of this making theology a monopoly of a few are
disastrous alike to the many and the few. Theology has be-
come technical, a trade, a means of power. It has taken
a monastic character, been severed from common life, and
thus been turned into an instrument of superstition. The
multitude, in their ignorance, have easily fallen under the
dominion of fear, and have bowed their understandings to ir-
rational and degrading doctrines. It always cheers me, when
I find a man, not of my profession, who understands the dig-
nity of moral and religious truth, and seeks it as inestimably
precious. These remarks will explain the pleasure your
letter gave me. So far from feeling that you used an undue
freedom in your suggestions, I was truly grateful for them.
We ministers need the freest communication with our intel-
ligent brethren of the laity. I use this word for want of a
better, though I dislike it. They often understand the moral
wants of the community better than we can. They know,
as we cannot, when we beat the air or waste our strength on
unimportant matters, and where the main obstacles to human
improvement lie. What volume could bo laid open to a
minister so useful as the secret conviction of his thinking
hearers, in regard to the character and etlccts of his labors?

• To Win. Plumer, Jun., Esq., Epping, New Hampshire.

POWER OF THE PULPIT. 261

For want of such communication, we work much in the
dark."

" 1840. That the people are in a condition to be raised,
impelled, by the word of life from the pulpit and in conver-
sation, I have strong reason to believe. The way is prepar-
ing, the mountains are sinking, the rough places becoming
plain, and the great salvation, the true redemption, which
Chris'ianity is to effect, is to be revealed more distinctly than
in the past. But great obstructions are still to be removed ;
and this is no painful thought to those who believe that ob-
structions are intended to call forth holy energy, and that
they will yield to the sufferings and toils of faith and love.
Some will call me a safe prophet, when I say that I have
little hope of living to see what I predict."

" 1840.* We agreed on most points, except the ministry,
which he thinks should not form a profession, but be exer-
cised by the spiritual who are engaged in common affairs.
His means of observation have been wider than mine, and
his statement of the evils attending our common arrangement
was stronger than I have heard. I am satisfied, however,
that, under our present social state, we cannot reconcile with
a common calling the culture needed to religious teaching.
If our ' communities ' prosper, the difficulties may cease.
Men may then support themselves and still be ministers, and
I shall rejoice in the change. It is wrong to charge on our
ministers alone many of the evils attending our present
church system. The false and unreasonable expectations of
the people, wrong notions of the relation between them and
the teachers, the hope of performing by proxy what the
soul can alone perform for itself, the love of excitement
rather than of spiritual progress, — these defects of the hear-

• To Mrs. E. L. FoIIen.

262 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

ers make our office a very trying and tempting one. Hap-
pily, the perception of evils is a step tovi^ards their removal."

The dislike of spiritual dictatorship, sanctimonious dig-
nity, and pompous arrogance, which appears more or less
through tl>ese papers, was exceedingly strong in Dr.
Channing. The designation of ' Reverend,' even, was
most disagreeable to him. He had no taste for being set
up as a saint or an oracle, and wished no influence but
that which arose from perfect naturalness. He thought
it was time for much of the superstitious homage to the
clergy to vanish. As appears from the last letter, indeed,
his only reason for wishing the ministry to be preserved
as a distinct function in society was his belief that, amidst
the anxieties incident to existing social relations, only the
very strong could keep their spirits free, only the very
tall in moral stature so raise their heads above the dust
of the caravan as to see the horizon and the heavens and
the direction of the march.

But the very motive which prompted Dr. Channing's
desire to see the artificial eminence broken down on
which fear and policy have isolated the clergy, and the
props of conventional decencies swept away by which
even the stupid and selfish feel themselves upheld in a
position of power, and to have every minister left to
stand firm or to fall, according to his manhood, was an
ever-deepening reverence for the function of the prophet,
— the real communicator of spiritual light. Amidst
crowds of business-men, energetically turning the vast re-
sources of modern science to the increase and accumu-
lation of w^ealth, — amidst struggling political parties,
'Tiade restless by the spirit of liberty and the half-recog-
flized rights of all men, rights possessed so partially

MORAL GREATNESS NEEDED. 263

even by the privileged, — amidst the growing multitude
of teachers, literary, scientific, philosophical, plying the
countless means of diffusing intelligence, — he longed to
see a body of men step forward, fitted by the universality
at once and the unity of their aim, their elevation above
selfish meanness, their unfaltering hope for humanity, their
joyful devotedness to God, to be the conscience of com-
munities and nations. He felt that the age was really
inspired with a divine power of love, and he looked for a
ministry pure and fervent enough to be the medium
through which this new life might find a voice of com-
mand, and make itself felt with a miraculous, renovating
touch. He consecrated himself to the work of being,
according to the needs and opportunities of his age anc
land, a mediator of this heavenly influence, and thus truly
a minister of religion, — of reunion between man and
man, and man and God. And, largely as we have already
quoted from his sermons and letters, in illustration of his
views, justice to him demands that we should now give
further extracts from his private papers. In these he
expresses himself with yet more freedom and energy of
feeling. We shall copy many passages, even at the risk
of repetition, because they will open to us the very heart
of the writer. Without attempting any methodical ar-
rangement of these fragments, we may, for the sake of
convenience, group them under distinct heads.

THE MORAL GREATNESS NEEDED IN THE MINISTER.

*' The minister needs an heroic mould of mind, a sustained
and habitual grandeur of conception, the energy of which
may breathe itself into all around. He is not to have the
brightness of his conviction crossed by a single shadow of the
fear of man. A lofty, ever-present consciousness of being

264 THE MINISTRY AND LITKKATURE.

consecrated to the highest possible work on earth — the
awakening and strengthening of what is divinest in human
nature — is to possess him. He is to move anong his fel-
lows in the majesty and serenity which befit devotedness to
heavenly ends. The sublime thought of the divine love,
which it is Christ's end to awaken, must lift his mind above
all transient interests and fortify him against allurement
He who sees this as a reality beholds a light that dims al.
outward glory. This firm and lofty tone of mind is what we
need. We should adopt perfection as our own good, with
a deep comprehension of its commanding beauty. We
should speak of it with the language which it would itself
adopt, could it reveal in words its divinity. We should an-
nounce this likeness to God, as the end to be sought,
not as if teaching a proposition into which we had rea-
soned ourselves, but as if declaring a profound, radiant,
all -penetrating intuition, — as if speaking from experience."
" Positiveness, assumption, is an entirely different state of
feeling from the elevation of soul wrought in us by the pres-
ence of great thoughts. The devotion of the whole heart to
the pursuit of celestial goodness, the consciousness of such
an aim, produces no dogmatism, no conceit of infallibility.
A minister should have the authority of high virtue. His
tone should be that of irreconcilable war against the peculiar
evils of his times, and of resolute resistance to the influences
of ease, opinion, epicurism, which bribe him to surrender
principle. But this moral energy is not to be wasted on
what is exterior and superficial ; it is to be concentrated in
opposition to the very heart and life of what is evil in the
society around him and in the age. He is to feel that he is
called to withstand the turbulence of the passions, deep-
rooted prejudices, the insidious influence of public inslitutiojis
and of social customs, and that his only reliance, under God,
is on that mightiest power in the human soul, the moral
power."

SIAGLENESS OF l^UUi'OSE. 2o5

" We want singleness of purpose, to have the whole soul
possessed by a calm, deep, swelling admiration for the
divine beauty of goodness, to be resolved to proiflrote this by
every energy of our nature. We should be filled with a di-
vine fervor of soul, an expanding warmth of love. This liv-
ing love has been the power of all true friends and teachers
of mankind. It dissolves all restraints, ceremonies, barriers,
opens to us the hearts of our fellow-men, and gives to the
tone and countenance a winning charm. Flow should we feel
ourselves to be acting in concert with God, in the fulfilment
of the grand design to which Jesus and all good beings are
devoted, and which comprehends the infinite happiness and
glory of all spirits ! How should the ineffable sublimity of
this end enlarge, invigorate, purify us ! The thought of
man's possible communion with God, and of his capacity
of unbounded participation in the Divine goodness, should
give a loftiness and energy of purpose to the preacher whic^
should never for an instant forsake him, but make him
unaflfectedly superior to all outward dignities, undaunted
amidst the opposition of the great, and tenderly sympa-
thizing and respectful to the most debased."

" What we need is a spiritual force that will not take the
form and hue of the conditions or persons among which we
live, but will resist debasing influences, and mould all
around us after the pattern of great ideas. We need such
an unfaltering faith in Christian virtue, its supremacy, its
sure triumph, as will enable us to assert its claims in speech
and action even in the most discouraging circumstances.
With all mildness, there must be in us an uncompromising
spirit. Having found the true good, we cannot yield to
public opinion, to private friendship, or to any kind or meas-
ure of opposition. We must pay no heed to capricious
estimates. Censure should not cost us a moment of anxiety,
but only turn our regards more deeply inward to the Divine
Oracle, the Voice of God, the Spirit of Christ. The fetters

VOL. 11. 23

266 THE MIMSrKV AM) MTERATURE,

of worldly com[)runiisc must be shaken ofT, or \\c cannol
take one free step."

" What faculties slumber within, weighed down by the
chains of custom ! The want of courage to carry out greo.t
principles, and to act on them at all risks, is fatal to origi-
nality and freshness. Conformity benumbs and cramps
genius and creative power. We must commit ourselves
fully to a principle of truth and right ; we must dare to fol-
low it to the end. Moral independence is the essential con-
dition of loving warmly, thinking deeply, acting efficiently,
of having the soul awake, of true life. This habit of reli-
ance on principle should give us a buoyant consciousness of
superiority to every outward influence. A far-sighted
anticipation of great results from worthy deeds should make
us strenuous in action, and fill us with a cheerful trust. No
particular interests should absorb our sympathies ; but our
hearts should flow out in sensibility to every thing which
concerns numanity, so that the pursuit of particular objects
may expand and exalt our whole power of good, and free us
from all narrowness of spirit or fanaticism. A minister
should be possessed with the consciousness of a higher law
than public opinion, traditionary usage, prevalent fashion.
Strictness, sternness, may often be demanded of him to
whom conscience is the supreme law ; and power and
majesty belong to him who yields himself up in willing obe-
dience to the absolute rectitude of God."

" A bold, free tone in conversation, the decided expres-
sion of pure and lofty sentiment, may be influential to
change the whole temper and cast of thinking of society
around us. Are we not traitors to great truths, when we
suppress the utterance of them, and let the opposite errors
pass unrebuked .? Ought not the spirit of the world to be
continually met with mildness, yet unfaltering firmness ?
It cannot be opposed too steadily and uncompromisingly.
To bring out a noble spirit into daily intercourse is a more

DEVOTEDNESS AND SELF-SUPPORT. 267

procious offering to truth than retired speculation and writ-
ing. He who leaves a holy life behind hiiii^ to bless and
guide his fellows, bequeaths to the world a richer legacy,
than any book. The true, simple view of right should be
presented without disguise. High principles are to be ad-
vanced as real laws ; the vague uncertainty wrapped round
them by unmeaning professions and practical renunciation
is to be stripped away, and they are to be firmly set up as
standards for the judgment of all men, public and private.
No air of superiority, contempt, anger, no fault-finding,
cynicism, no thought of self, should mingle with this tes-
timony to right ; but a true love of mankind, a reverence of
virtue, a desire to elevate all men to the nobleness for whicli
they are destined, should manifest the depth and purity of
our moral convictions."

" An all-pervading devotion to goodness should stamp the
whole character, conduct, conversation. But wisdom should
guide this frankness. The mind should not be borne away
Dy a fervor which it cannot restrain. There should be man-
ifest self-direction and dignified self-command. Let there
be no whining sentimentality about virtue, but a manly con-
sciousness of the greatness of character to which every
child of God should attain, — a calm elevation of thought
and aim, — a cordial sympathy with all that is generous in
society and individuals, — a deep sense of the reality and
practicableness of heavenly excellence, — a rational, yet
glowing, consciousness of the true glory of a spiritual being.
The presence of our fellow-men should not rob us of self-
respect, should not restrain us, — restrain the will from en-
ergy, the intellect from bold and freest thought, the con-
science from prescribing highest duties. We must be pal-
sied by no fear to offend, no desire to please, no deoend-
ence upon the judgment of othei's. The consciousness c^
self-subsistence, of disinterested conformity to high princi-
ple, must communicate an open unreserve to our manueiis.

268 THE MINISTIIV AND LITERATURE.

We should never distrust the power of a great truth fuiily
uttered. To act on others, there must be decision of intel-
lect as well as of affection, — a resolute energy of the
whole man."

" What a privilege is it to awaken in the souls of men a
consciousness of their moral relationship to God ! This truly
is a creative work. In proportion as the spiritual gains pre-
dominance over the material, in our nature, does not the
soul lake possession of the body, shine through its features,
attitude, looks, and reveal itself to those whom words cannot
reach ? What faith in God and virtue may a tone express !
Do we comprehend the power of love, when it truly reigns
in us, how it encircles us with an atmosphere, pervades
those around us, melts down resistance, soothes excitement.''
A mighty love, diffusing itself through eye, voice, form,
what can it not accomplish ? Should we not raise ourselves
to this state of calm intenseness of love } No man knows
the measure of his influence till this force abides in him.
How many all around us are really dead ! But who can lie
inert and torpid before the presence of an absorbing, over
flowing affection "> Christ's life was a revelation of the
spiritual love which filled him. Such a love, and such a life,
should be sought by us."

" The minister is to speak as did Christ, listening to the
Divine Oracle, and ready to suffer, and to die, if need be,
for the truth, A superiority to all outward considerations is
the first qualification for the rightful pursuit of his profes-
sion. If he desires to stand fair with men, he will be a
traitor to his Lord. If he asks himself what will please his
hearers, rather than what will benefit them, he desecrates
his calling. Is he whose very work is to reform society to
take society as his rule ? The Christian minister is not sent
to preach cold abstractions, to talk of virtue and vice in
general terms, to weave moral essays for his hearers to
admire and to sleep on ; but he is sent to quicken men's

TE.\IPTATIONS OF THE TIMES. 269

consciences, and to show them to themselves as they are.
On all subjects, where his convictions are in conflict with
prevailing usages, he is bound to speak frsmkly, though
calmly. Not that he is to deal in vague and passionate
denunciation, to be a common scold, a meddlesome fault-
finder. But if he thinks the manufacture and sale of ardent
spirits a sin against society, he is to say so ; if he believes
that the sending of rum and opium to savage nations, to
spread among them the worst evils of civilization, is a wan-
ton crime, he is to declare his opinion ; if he considers the
maxims of the business-world hostile to integrity and benev-
olence, he is to expose their falseness."

" At the present day, there is little need of cautioning
ministers against rashness in reproving evil. The danger is
all on the other side. As a class, they are most slow to
give offence. Their temptation is to sacrifice much to win
the affections of their people. Too many satisfy themselves
with holding together a congregation by amenity of man-
ners, and by such compromises with prevalent evils as do
not involve open criminality. They live by the means of
those whose vices they should reprove, and thus are con-
tinually ensnared by a selfish prudence. Is it said, that
they have families dependent upon them, who may suffer for
their fidelity ? I answer, Let no minister marry, then, un-
less the wife he chooses have such a spirit of martyrdom as
♦vould make her prefer to be stinted in daily bread rather than
eee her husband sacrifice one jot or tittle of his moral inde-
pendence. Is it said, that congregations would be broken
up by perfect freedom in the ministers ? Better far would
it be to preach to empty pews, or in the meanest halls, and
there to be a fearless, disinterested witness to the truth, than
to hold forth to crowds in gorgeous cathedrals, honored and
courted, but not daring to speak one's honest convictions,
and awed by the world."

" How shall the minister quicken and preserve a heavenly
23*

270 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

tone of spirit ? Let him cherish an habitual consciousnes3
of God's infinitely tender, paternal love for every human
being, and of the infinite capacity of goodness in all spirits.
Let him accustom himself to regard each individual with
whom he holds intercourse as made and designed for
wisdom, love, power, happiness, without limits. Let him
learn to regard all men as now related to God and goou
spirits, and as welcomed to an endless participation in the
ever-unfolding, infinitely benevolent designs of God. Let
him joyfully and unreservedly consecrate himself to this
work of elevating souls, concentrate his whole being upon
it, forget comparatively every thing but this divine end of
human development, esteem all power and opportunity as
of worth in proportion as they are applicable to this great
purpose, and resolve to live and die in advancing GocVs
plan of spirilual perfection. Let him not permit himself
to be distracted by litde interests, inconveniences, engage-
ments, but secure such outward accommodations as favor
health, and think no more of circumstances ; thus will he
avoid frittering away his strength in petty details, and keep
his soul whole for great objects. Let him abstain from
living in his own past deeds, and waste no energy of
thought or will in self-complacent recollections or idle re-
grets, but use success, praise, reputation, position, as a
ground of nobler efforts and larger hopes, as an incentive
and encouragement to wider usefulness. Let him be wise
in labor, so as not to exhaust the elastic force of mind and
thought, and be habitually calm, so as to maintain that clear-
ness of purpose on which enduring strength of will depends.
Let him put all liis powers in tunc, and make his whole life
harmonious by inward unity. Above all, let him constant-
ly look up to God as the all-communicating Father, from
whom pour down into the faithful soul unfailing streams of
spiritual life."

CENTRAL TRUTHS. 271

CENTRAL TRUTHS TO BE TAUGHT. THE TRUE REVIVAL.

" Are there not seasons of spring in the moral world, and
is not the present age one of them ? Is not a new power
now making itself felt ? Are we not all asleep ? Is there
any just sensibility to our connection with God and the eter-
nal world ? Is it an improvement of the existing forms of
religion which is wanted, or a new form of religion at once
more intimate and more universal ? Is a nobler manifesta-
tion of religion to be given, independent of and supericr
to preceding modes of manifesting it, and comprehending
and reconciling all ? Can a nobler life be revealed to men,
which they will feel to be nobler, as placed in contrast with
present evils ? Can a new condition of society be pre-
sented in a spirit raised above actual degradations, so
that the brightness of the Divine Life may be seen to dim
all. other mterests, and draw to itself the entire energy of
human thought and feeling ? "

" Is God seen to be a Parent ? Is not the intercourse
with him too formal ? Do we not need an exhibition of his
near relations to us, which will awaken a more filial, rejoic-
ing, confiding piety ? Do we believe that he loves us, loves
us infinitely^ that a stream of goodness is for ever flowing
down upon us, that he delights in forgiving, that he joyfully
welcomes his returning children ? Is this the great view
to be presented, that God is desirous to impart himself to
us, to unite us to him in perfect love ? Any view of God,
of which love is not the centre, is injurious to the soul wnich
receives it. Is not religion to be unfolded as a profound,
serene love of a Moral Parent, who calls us to immortal
glory, who by duty is guiding us to a nearer perception of his
own glory, to resemblance to himself, to communion with
him for ever ? Is not this faith in the perfect love of God
the grand, commanding, central view which is to fill the
thoughts, to take strong hold on the will, to excite a calm,
full, concentrated enthusiasm ? "

272 THE MINISTItY .\.\D I.ITEKATURE.

" Are we not to aim chiefly at calling forth in men a
consciousness of their capacity for embracing God and the
universe in a pure love, — a love unfolding without limit
in strength and vastness ? Is not this perfection of soul to
be brought before men as a great reality ? Are they not
to be taught to see the germs of it in the common atfections
which move them, in the moral principle, and, above all,
in their capacity of communion with the Infinite Fountain
of all goodness, joy, beauty, life ? Is it not the main design
of Christianity to give a revelation of this love as the end
of man, and as God's ever- fresh inspiration? Is not the
world within thus to be laid open, and the spiritual glory of
which all outward splendor is the faint emblem made clear,
until men are taught to feel a divine joy in their own na-
ture ? Should not the great aim be to awaken the con-
sciousness of the greatness of the soul, and a reverence for
the moral element in man as an emanation from the Infinite
Being, as God's image, voice, life within us ? He who
would promote this great reformation, for which the re-
ligious world is now ready, should live with a vivid, absorb-
ing comprehension of the Divine Life. It should each day
revive him, be a perpetual light to him, determine his views
of society, and give a tone to eveiy word and action."

" A new voice is needed, a voice of the deepest, calmest,
most quickening conviction, in which the whole soul speaks,
in which every affection and faculty is concentrated. The
divinity of goodness must burn within us, — must awaken all
our sensibility, call the whole being into action, come forth
irresistibly as from an exhaustless, overflowing fountain, —
must give to the voice a penetrating power, and infuse
through the whole manner an inspiring animation. What
is this new spirit which is striving to utter itself, to give a
new manifestation of the soul in individuals, a new form to
society, and to awaken enthusiasm in overcoming evil ?
The knowledge of the Perfect God as Infinite Goodness,

DIVINE BENIGNITY. 273

Infinive Energj of Good-Will, All-commuiiicating, All-inspir-
ing Love, -r- is not this the great truth ? Must not religion
be presented habitually as such an exercise of the moral
power in pure, enlarging charity as will bring us within the
near and constant influence of Infinite Goodness, till the
whole being is penetrated with this spirit of disinterested-
ness, and filled with trust, gratitude, sympathy, hope, joyful
cooperation ? Philanthropy, a noble, victorious benevo-
lence, like that of Christ, is to be the great end, — not a
precise, defined virtue, but an expansive, ever-enlarging
action of goodness. And this love must not be vague, ab-
stract, spiritual merely, but wise, practical, specific, effi-
cient, just, tender, vigorous, in all relations, — of home, of
friendship, of society at large, of patriotism, of human-
ity."

" A profound conviction of God's moral purposes to men,
of his design to exalt the soul infinitely, must kindle a pur-
pose in us vast and enduring as his own, give us faith in
the possibility of redeeming mankind, give us a respect for
every individual, make us feel our unity with all. God
must be regarded as enjoining this unlimited love, as calling
us to universal brotherhood, and forbidding all that sepa-
rates us from our kind. He is to be looked up to as the
ever-quickening source of life to all men, as the all-embrac-
ing, all-communicating spiritual Father of every human be-
ing. Love is to be cherished as the fountain of spiritual
life within us ; we are to feel an adoring, grateful sympathy
with the Divine Love, which will prompt us to breathe it in,
and to be renewed by its power in the image of God. Man
is to be loved as God's child, as God's temple, as the being
in whom God reveals himself, and presents himself to us for
our love. A confidence in the Divine benignity is to show
itself in our unfaltering efforts to lift up the race, to awaken
all that is generous and noble in the soul, to remove ob-
structions to human elevation, to breathe into all men a con-

274 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

Bciousness of their greatness and a reverence for their fel-
lows. We are to be animated with this new life of love,

— of love for man as man^ — a love which embraces all
of every rank and character, — which forgets divisions and
outward distinctions, — breaks down the old partition walls,

— sees a divine spark in every intelligence, — longs to re-
dress the existing inequalities of society, to elevate all con-
ditions of men to true dignity, to use wealth only as a means
of extensive union, not of separation, — which substitutes
generous motives for force, — which sees nothing degrading
in labor, but honors all useful occupation, — which every-
where is conscious of the just claims and rights of all, re-
sisting the idolatry of the ^ew, ceasing to worship the great,
calling upon the mighty to save, not crush the weak,
from reverence for our common nature, — and which, in a
word, recognizes the infinite worth of every human spirit.
This is the true spirit for the minister, a love like that of
Jesus on the cross, which sacrifices all to the well-being of
man, and the glory and infinite designs of God."

"To raise up the fallen world, the minister needs some
sublime objects which can fire the imagination, stir the
whole souls of men, and waken Ihem from their selfishness,

— some principles suited to human nature, — some truths
fitted to work penetratingly, with mighty renewing power.
How much is lost by adulterating the truth, by bringing it
down to the condition of existing society ! Christ stood
alone. True Christianity still stands in contrast with the
spirit of the world. Its ministers should be more uncom-
promising, searching, pungent in their preaching. Men
need something which will take a strong hold of them, rouae
them up to earnest, resolute action on themselves. What
are these great truths, principles, objects .'' What are the
central truths to be taught .•' Is not the character of God
as a Moral Parent, an Infinite Fulness and Fountain of
Perfection, — who gives moral powers to his children for

GREATNESS OF MAn's DESTINY. 275

infinite development, who desires to communicate his own
life, who has no other end in creation, who is ^always pres-
ent with infinite, parental interest in the soul, — is not this
the truth of truths which is to quicken us, and to reveal the
ineffably glorious end within our reach ? Cannot this spir-
itual perfection, in all its excellence, beauty, power, be
made a visible reality to men, and be set forth to them as
the supreme good, the condition of all other good, — as that
in which all other good is contained, and, in giving which,
God gives all things? "

" What a quickening thought is it, what a ground of infi-
nite hope, that God has given us a nature like his own ! — that
the whole universe is formed as a field for its nutriment and
growth ! — that all our relations with nature, society, family,
are designed to call out this holy love ! Should not heaven
be presented as essentially consisting in goodness, in a
joyful communion with God, with good spirits, with the uni-
verse, by an all-pervading love ? Cannot the practical
errors, means, and processes of spiritual growth be ex-
plained ? Moral perfection, of which all particular virtues are
the germs, — is not this the grand thought which shows the
true glory of the soul, which reveals to us the infinite love of
God and the immensity of his designs of benevolence, which
gives such profound and awful interest to our relations with
him ? God's infinity, — does it not make all things possi-
ble to us ? — does it not open before us an infinite future of
progress ? — does it not offer to us a Being of exhaustless
love, with whom we may commune more intimately for ever ?
What will he not be to us, if we heartily adopt and obey his
law ? What will he not communicate from his fulness to
those who use their moral power to avail themselves of his
omnipotence ? "

" The distinguishing gloi-y of Christ's character is to be
brought out and unfolded with new power. Is he viewed
enough as a whole ? Is it seen that his virtue was a perfect.

276 THE MINISTRY AND LITKRATURE.

harmonious one ? The blessedness of the spirit of Christ, as
a universal love which can choose, at all sacrifices, the high-
est good, and give self wholly up in disinterested service, —
this is to be shown in all its quickening reality ; it is to be
exhibited as God's own spirit, the inspiration of the Holy
Ghost, the principle of heavenly life, the bond of vital union
•with the Divine Being, the germ of infinite and eternal
virtue. God -is the source, object, model, of this perfect
love. His infinite excellence gives infinite glory to the soul
which is fixed on him as its object. This goodness is his
delight ; he nourishes it in us, renews it from himself, makes
it one with him. The true good, to which the soul should
turn, is moral likeness to God, being perfect as he is perfect.
This union with him, this devotion to the cause of spreading
his kingdom through the universe, is the spirit of Christ.
This makes Christ's character the image of the Infinite
Beauty. This is to be taught as the only true life. Christ
taught an abandonment of all objects which men delight in,
from a profound and earnest aspiration after perfect good-
ness. Shall the ministers of Christ make compromises with
lower principles ? Shall they bring Christianity down to the
standard of the world ? "

" Nothing will be done by the minister till he arouses
in men a fervent energy of the moral principle. Decency,
prudence, self-interest, regard to comfort, respectability, are
nothing. Men must be made to thirst for perfect goodness,
to see its eternal beauty, to long for it with the full force of
their spiritual affections. Will not the heart respond to the
claims of God and Christ and celestial virtue, when plainly
urged ? Is there not an inward tendency of our spiritual
being to moral perfection, which insures a joyful acquies-
cence in the highest appeals ? May not men be made to see
the rudiments of these heavenly capacities in themselves, —
to feel that they have experienced a peculiar joy in love, ■^-
thut they have gained new life by sacrifices to uprightness i

TRUE PREACHING. 277

Unbounded progress in virtue, m love, light, power, — all-
embracing philanthropy, — the absorption of SQjUlshness in
univereal good-will, — victory over debasing influences, —
spiritual liberation from all low impulses, — the ever-near
influences of the Holy Spirit, — the divine love manifested
in Christ, — the almighty design of God to redeem men
from all iniquity, — the prospect of immortality, of never-
ending approach to God, of ever-growing participation in his
life, and ever-widening cooperation with his beneficence, —
these are the great truths which come home with irresisti-
ble power to the divine principle within us. Ought any
views but these to be presented ? He alone can speak of
sin as an infinite evil, and concentrate against it the whole
energy of the soul's aversion, dread, displeasure, who has
risen into the Divine light, who has faith in the unlimited ca-
pacities of our spiritual nature, who perceives the reality of
heavenly goodness, who knows that by love man has affinity
to God."

TRUE PREACHING.

" I can conceive of a style of preaching seldom heard as
yet. It will spring from the conviction of a higher state of
humanity as possible now, and must come from the souls of
teachers who have reached to that new state themselves.
Would not a preacher, really inspired with the grandeur
of Christian virtue, come into so vivifying a union with the
minds of his hearers as to raise them to an intensity of in-
tellectual and moral action of which they were incapable
before ? In proportion as the minister attains to this eleva-
tion, he will speak with plainness and without evasion.
There is a certain fastidious way of treating subjects, as it
they would be tarnished by direct speech, which destroys
the power of preachers. The minister has other work than
to amuse men. Grace, harmony, energy, should be blended
and merged in the unity of the sublime end to which they
VOL. II. 24

278 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATtJRE.

all conspire. No poetical, imaginative air should color his
discourse ; but divine goodness should be spoken of as the
great practical reality. He must arouse the conscience to its
solemn claims ; he must waken the will to the earnest and
resolute pursuit of it. He should speak with urgency, —
not that urgency which belongs to personal and narrow in-
terests, but that which befits a mind exalted by the living
knowledge of an infinite good."

" We ought to stand up before men, so filled with the
greatness and beneficence of our function, as to be wholly
unconscious of self, and utterly superior to frowns or fa-
vor,— strong, serene, free, inspired. For true eloquence
there is but one preparation ; it is to make the thought of
spiritual perfection, of God's life within the soul, real to our-
selves by habitual experience. We need calm, collected,
fearless minds, elevated by the contemplation of spiritual
truth, and brought near to men by a most earnest feeling of
brotherhood. O the unspeakable littleness of a soul which,
intrusted with Christianity, speaking in God's name to im-
mortal beings, with infinite excitements to the most enlarged
and fervent love, sinks down into narrow self-regard, and is
chiefly solicitous of its own honor ! The pulpit should be to
the minister an altar upon which he may offer himself up
as a living sacrifice, pure, spotless."

" How can a man preacli as he should, until he sees in
his fellow-creatures an infinite moral capacity ? A single
sentence from the lips of one who has faith in humanity is
worth volumes of ordinary sermons. What sympathy should
the minister feel with the crushed, imprisoned, fallen spirits
of men ! He should comprehend what a depth he looks into,
when he looks into a soul, of which endless space is but a
faint emblem. The common tone of our minds is in utter
contradiction to our professed faith as Christians. We Jiave
no faith in the spiritual in ourselves and in others, — in
the unspeakable grandeur of a human being. Our daily

TRUE PREACHING. 279

skepticism makes us weak preachers. We are to accustom
ourselves to see infinite heights and depths in man. The
preacher should have such a conviction of the divinity of
Christian goodness, such a faith in love as a participation of
the Divine Life, as to have the whole energy of his being
concentrated in an inextinguishable thirst for the Holy Spirit
in himself, an irrepressible longing to awaken a like aspira-
tion in his fellow-men."

" The minister is to speak with the same convicl Jon of
spiritual life that filled Jesus Christ. He is to be truly an in-
spired, Heaven-ordained prophet. What sanctity, what sep-
aration from selfish views, what entire dedication of his whole
being to the recovery, freedom, growth, perfection of the im-
mortal spirit should characterize him ! His whole life should
be a discipline of purification from earthly influences. He
should be a perpetual testimony of godlike goodness to the
world which he would raise. He should so live, that the
Spu'it may shine out through him, and quicken all around
him. What an office, — to awaken the divine in man ! The
glorious form of humanity set before us in Christ should be .
ever before the minister. The preacher can never preach as
he ought, never write or speak with the power belonging to
his office, unless he feels ever present the deep conviction
of union with God and Christ and all good spirits. He is
not alone. The mightiest energies in the universe are co-
operating with him. He must blend himself with God's
grand reconciling agencies. The Roman, the Spartan, could
merge his own individual good in the national well-being.
In a far higher tone of feeling, the minister should enter
into, and be absorbed by, the Spiritual Community of which
God is the Life."

The fervent enthusiasm with whicli Dr. Channing re-
garded the privileges and responsibilities of his profes-
sion, and his vivid sense of the grand tendencies of the

280 THE BIINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

age towards an embodiment in social life of the spirit of
love, made him most anxiously desire to see a body of
young men entering the ministry who could rise above
sectarian enthralments and worldly hindrances and give
themselves up unreservedly to the work of advancing a
revival of practical goodness. This state of mind ap-
pears in all his printed sermons of this period,* as well as
m his private papers, from which we select three.

The first is a letter to Henry Ware, Jun., who had just
been appointed Professor of Pastoral Care in the Cam-
bridge Divinity School, and was about entering upon the
office in which, for so many years, he opened his pure
and earnest spirit as a fountain of living waters for his
younger brethren. Humble as he was wise, Mr. Ware
had sought counsel from Dr. Channing as to the best
modes of performing his duties, and the following is the
reply to his letter : —

" St. Croix, Janvarxj 29, 1831 .

"My dear Sir, — I thank you for your letter. I have
received few which have given me greater pleasure. To
know that you are getting strength for your great work is
almost as gratifying to me as to your own family. I have
sympathized with you in your sufferings, and would share
your gratitude in your present bright prospects.

" I will begin with answering the end of your letter. You
ask my views respecting your work. The discourse which
you have thought fit to publish from my volume shows you
the spirit which, as I think, should characterize the institu
lion. I wish the young men to be more and more imbued
with the ' spirit of truth,' the supreme love of truth, the
least understood, least honored, least cherished of the virtues
and yet the cardinal virtue of a religious teacher. It is no*

• Works, Vol. Ill, pp. 137, 209, 229, 259.

SPIRIT OF MARTYRDOM. 281

hard to stir up young men to seek distinction by paradoxes
and startling novelties ; but to inspire that love of truth
which makes the young fear their own errors as much as
those of others, opens the mind to every new ray of light,
and quickens it to improvement in all known virtue, as the
best preparation for knowing higher, — this is no easy task.
And yet, until a new thirst for truth, such, I fear, as is not
now felt, takes possession of some gifted minds, we shall
make little progress. I apprehend that there is but one way
of putting an end to our present dissensions ; and that is, not
the triumph of any existing system over all others, but the
acquisition of something better than the best we now have.
The way to reconcile men who are quarrelling in a fog is,
to let in some new and brighter liifht. It seems to me that
■we are fighting now in a low, misty valley. A man who
should gain some elevated position, overlooking our imag-
ined heights of thought, and who would lead us after him,
would set us all right in a short time.

" Another idea expressed in my discourse impresses me
more ; and that is, the importance of a spirit of martyrdom.
No man is fitted to preach or promote Christianity who is not
fitted to die for it. He, in whom the pure and sublime vir-
tue of Christianity has not wrought the conviction of its own
unrivalled worth and glory, so that he can ' count all things
loss for it,' cannot go forth with the power which is neces-
sary for one who is to be its minister in this crooked and
perverse generation.

" I think, in my discourse, that I did not attach sufficient
importance to the spirit of humility. I am satisfied that
when Jesus said, 'He that shall humble himself as a little
child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven,' he
meant by greatness singular efficiency and eminence in
promoting his religion. By humility, in this place, we are
to understand the triumph of love over the passion for supe-
iority, and a deep sympathy with the weakest and lowest
24*

282 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

of our brethren. All our institutions, domestic, political, and
religious, are feeding the passion for distinction and superi-
ority ; and yet nothing, I believe, is so hostile to the power
which a minister should covet above all things, — the power
of approaching the souls of men, and of communicating to
them what is best in his own soul. If I could, I would blot
out from the minds of our young men the ideas of distinc-
lon and superiority. I would have them venerate the Divine
image in their poorest fellow-creatures too much to think of
making them subservient to their own glory. I would have
them specially concerned for the poor, ignorant, and suffer-
ing ; and, for this end, I wish they would work with Dr.
Tuckerman in the ministry at large.

" In your discourse at the inauguration, I understand you
express a desire to imbue the theological students with a pro-
fessional spirit, and speak of the influence their profession
gives them. I fear I differ from you. The separation of
the ministry from their brethren has wrought incalculable
mischief. The ideas of any peculiar sanctity belonging to
them, of their enjoying a peculiar nearness to, or influence
with, God, or of their obligation to any peculiar virtues, are
false, and injure alike the teacher and the taught. Every
Christian is a teacher ; and, under Christianity, nothing but
personal sanctity should win respect.

" You did not name the particular points on which you
wished my views. If my little light can be useful to you in
any respect, I will communicate it most cheerfully."

The second is a brief essay on Public Prayer, which
Dr. Channing wrote out, at Mr. Ware's request, for the
use of the students in the Divinity School.

" Public prayer answers its end in proportion as it makes
the hearer pray. To excite the spirit of prayer in the con-
gregation is the test of true public devotion.

PUBLIC PRAYER.

283

" Player is the expression of deep want to a Being of In-
finite Fulness and Goodness.

" The spirit of prayer, therefore, consists iii'consciousness
of deep want, and in faith in God's infinite power and wil-
lingncss to supply.

" The minister, to excite this spirit in others, must possess
it himself, that is, must cherish this consciousness and this
faith.

" The want which prayer breathes is spiritual, or the want
of spiritual life, of moral perfection, of godlike love, of re-
demption from moral evil, of spotless purity, of union with
God, of universal charity, &c.

" No minister can pray aright in whom this want is not
deeply felt. It should be intense, — the yearning of his soul.
To excite it, his mind should turn often to its object, — that
is, to moral perfection, as manifested in God, in Christ, in
great and holy men, — to virtue, in its most lovely and inspir-
ing forms, to the workings of the spiritual life in himself and
others, — and to all the motives by which moral excellence
will become to him the supreme good, absorbing all others.

" Another means of exciting this consciousness is this.
When the bright idea of moral. Christian excellence is awak-
ening strong aspiration, he should look into himself and see
his deep deficiency, and learn the greatness of his want, the
vastness of the change required to realize his conception of
excellence.

" But faith is as needful as consciousness of want ; and to
cherish this, nothing is so important as to view God in the
peculiar light in which he is placed by Christianity. The
minister must habitually look up to him as a Spnntual
Father and Fountain, as having an infinite interest in the
human soul, as desiring its recovery and perfection, as ever
present to give his Spirit, and as having sent his Son to man-
ifest him in this character and to awaken this faith in his
spiritual love. Until this view of God takes the place of all

284 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

Others, becomes habitual, becomes associated with his name
and every thought of him, we shall not know the full worth
and power of Christianity, and shall pray imperfectly.
Christianity has no higher end than to awaken faith in God,
as the Spiritual, Celestial Father, as the Friend of tile soul,
as desiring to impart to it a celestial life.

" If these views of prayer be just, then the form of public
prayer is easily settled.

" It must be simple. Deep want is ambitious of no orna-
ments.

" It must avoid diffuseness. Earnest want gives direct-
ness and condensation to language. It must overflow with
natural expressions 6f love, of Christian virtue, and of de-
light in God as its source. • A spiritual tone must pervade it.

" This naturalness, this expression of spiritual sensibilities
as if they formed the soul's essence and life, is the chief
power of public prayer."

The third is an extract from a letter to a young friend
who had but little sympathy with the ministerial profes-
sion as at present conducted. In this, Dr. Channing
expresses a favorite view, which he revolved much in
thought, with a growing conviction of its importance, and
which he frequently advocated in conversation, although
he was fully aware of the difficulties in the way of such
an enterprise, and had neither strength nor time to give
to it himself.

" I wish there were a theological institution in which young
men might be educated who have no taste for philosophy,
and no great respect for a theology which must be dug out
of lexicons and antiquities, but who desire to get into the
heart of the religion and use it for the elevation of the peo-
ple, for the redress of all wrong."

DF. CHANNKNG AS A PREACHER. 285

And now tliai we have learned, in these various ways,
how high was Dr. Chauning's estimate of his vocation,
let us, for a few moments, regard him in th^ active dis-
charge of his ministerial duties. No description, indeed,
can convey an adequate impression of the peculiar charm
of his presence and manner as a preacher ; yet a few out-
lines may awaken grateful memories in those who enjoyed
the privilege of listening to him, and, by the power of
sympathy, may call up some not unworthy image in the
minds of others who never breathed in his influence by
personal communion. In the following familiar letter to a
friend, a frequent hearer has rapidly sketched the effect
of his preaching, and therein justly delineated one source
of its power, — its pervading humanity. Without a trace
of sentimentalism, Dr. Channing overflowed with genuine
feeling, which was all the more affecting because he
never purposely manifested, but rather restrained, his
sensibility.

" Notwithstanding Dr. Channing's varied talents, benignity
is the most conspicuous feature of his character. He is fer-
vently devout ; and when the saint extends his arms to im-
plore a blessing on his beloved people, we fancy his God
smiles upon his request, and silently respond, ' Whom thou
blessest is blessed.' He prays ; — we hear the patriot inter-
cede for his country, and the philanthropist for mankind.
His prayers are not preaching. He returns thanks for natu-
ral affection and family attachments, and we see the dutiful
son, the affectionate brother and husband. Before he read
the apostolic precept, ' Rejoice with those who do rejoice
and weep with those that weep,' nature bad written upon his
heart the law of sympathy, and be never could mock the ear
of grief by pitiless recited consolation. Does he plead the
cause of the poor i We shudder while ' the unkind blast of

286 THE MINISTUY A^D LITERATUEE.

winter pierces the walls of the decayed cottage, and while
the half-covered bed yields no refuge from the cold.' Hia
words reach the heart, when he warns us not to repeat
' Our Father who art in heaven,' unless we are really breth-
ren to the poor and afflicted. An attentive observer of life,
he delineates the operations of the passions, and his hearers
whisper, — ' Who has betrayed our secrets ? what penetrat-
'ng eye has pierced our hearts .? how knows he so to de-
ssnbe the tortures of envy, ambition, and shame } ' He
shows us the vicious youth, ' irritable and desponding,' a
prey to the agonies of remorse, and ready forcibly to stop
the rapid pulses of his heart, and we exclaim, — ' Forbear !
forbear ! the picture is too faithful ! ' Yet admiration at his
skill almost makes us pleased to be pained. The passions
obey his voice. He excites at will hope, fear, and pity."

Another source of Dr. Clianning's power was his
sincerity. He was transparent in simple earnestness.
The personal limitations of the speaker and writer dis-
appeared, and he seemed to be only a pure medium
through which truth was uttering itself. The style of
composition, so clear, graceful, and strong, — the rich
variety of manner, so fervent and beautiful, and so
doubly affecting from the contrast it presented of phys-
ical infirmity with spiritual force, were forgotten, and
the hearer found himself translated to the mount of vis-
ion upon which the proj)het was standing face to Hice
with heaven and Deity. He was wholly unartificial, un-
conscious, and absorbed in his subject. He stood awed,
yet animated, between God above and his listening
brethren. _ " On no account," he once said to a young
brother in the ministry, "on no account, in your public
services, try to exhibit by look or tone any emotion which
you do not feel. If you feel coldly, appear so. The

POSITION OF THE PUEACIIER. 2S"3

sermon may be lost, but your own truthfulness will be
preserved." By this rule he invariably governed him-
self. The effect which he produced wes deep and
indelible, because his eloquence was so lost sight of
and swallowed up in the glory of his theme.

And this leads us to a recognition of the chief source
of his power, which we have already noticed as char-
acterizing his youth, — his living sense of spiritual re-
alities. The pulpit was to him the grandest position
upon earth, and he entered it with a most exalting, yet
disinterested, sense of its dignified and solemn trusts.
In standing up before a congregation as a minister of
God, he was conscious that he assumed responsibilities
as much vaster than those of the judge upon the bench,
of the legislator in the halls of council, of the executive
officer upon his seat of power, as conscience is higher
than intellect, common social affection, or natural de-
sires. He voluntarily became a mediator between the
Infinite Being and finite spirits. It has been well said,
— " There was no power of mind, however lofty, tha
his function did not to him appear to bring into urgen
requisition. Preaching never seemed to him for an in-
stant the discharge of a mere professional duty, the ful-
filment of a formal task. It tvas the great action of his
life. It was the greatest action that could be demanded
of any hfe. He felt that never Demosthenes nor
Cicero, that never Burke nor Chatham, had a greater
work to do than he had every Sunday. He poured
into his office his whole mind and heart. The prepa-
ration for it was a work of consecrated genius ; it was as
if every week he had made a poem or an oration." *

" Dr. Dewey's Discourse on the Character and Writings of Chan-
ging, pp. 7, 8.

288 THE MINISTRY A.\D LITERATURE.

It was more ; for he consiclered the sermon, in our day,
as the highest possible mode of expression, combining
oration, poetry, and prophecy in one.

We cannot better sum up these general views ol
Dr. Channing as a preacher, than by continuing our
extracts from the notice just quoted. " No preacher,
perhaps, had ever at command the stores of a richer
imagination. But all was sober, in his administration
of religion. To utter the truth, the naked truth, was
his highest aim and ambition. The effect he was will-
ing to leave with God and with the heart of the hearer.
He never seemed to labor so much to enforce truth as
to utter it ; but this kind of utterance, this swelling and
almost bursting of the inmost heart to express itself,
was the most powerful enforcement. There was always,
however, a chastening and restraining hand laid upon
the strong nature within ; and this manner has led some,
I believe, to deny to Channing the gift of the highest
eloquence. I know not what they call eloquence ; but
\his restrained emotion always seems to me one of its
most touching demonstrations ; surely that which reaches
the heart and unlocks the fountain of tears is its very
essence ; and that which penetrates to the still depths
of the conscience, that lie beneath tears, is its very
awfulness and grandeur. Such was the eloquence of
Channing. I shall never forget the eflect upon me of
the first sermon I ever heard from him. Shall I con-
fess, too, that, holding then a faith somewhat diflercnt
from his, I listened to him with a certain degree of dis-
trust and prejudice ? These barriers, however, soon
gave way ; and such was the eflect of the simple and
heart-touching truths and tones which fell from his lij)s,
hat it would have been a relief to me to have bowed my

DR. channing's preaching. 289

head and to have wept without restraint, through the
whole service. And yet I did not weep ; for there was
something in that impression too solemn and deep for

tears. I claim perfection for nothing human ;

but certainly no preaching that I have heard has come
so near, in this respect, to the model in my mind, — I
say not irreverently, the Great Model, — as the preaching

of Channing In most men's religious feeling,

there is something singularly general and vague ;

they do not meditate their religion deeply in their hearts.
But it was not so with the remarkable and ven-
erable person of whom I speak. His thoughts on this
theme, the deep and living verities of his own expe-
rience, had an original impress, a marked individuality,
a heart-felt truth, and a singular power to penetrate the
heart. His words had a strange and heart-stirring vi-
tality. Some living power within seemed to preside
over the selection and tone of every word, and to give
it more than the force and weight of a whole discourse
from other men." *

And now let us go, on some Sunday morning, to the
meeting-house in Federal Street, and hear for ourselves
this wonderful preacher. The doors are crowded ; and as
we enter, we see that there are but few vacant seats, and
that the owners of the pews are hospitably welcoming
strangers, whom the sexton is conducdng up the aisles.
There is no excitement in the audience, but deep, calm
expectation. With a somewhat rapid and an elastic
step, a person small in stature, thin and pale, and care-
fully enveloped, ascends the pulpit stair. It is he.
For a moment, he deliberately and benignantly surveys

* Ibid., pp. 9-11
VOL. II. 25

290 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

the large congregation, as if drinking in the influence of
so many human beings ; and then, laying aside his outer
garments, and putting on the black silk gown, he selects
the hymn and passage from Scripture, and, taking his
seat, awaits in quiet contemplation the time for com-
mencing the service. What impresses us now, in his
appearance, is its exceeding delicacy, refinement, and
spiritualized beauty. In the hollow eye, the sunken
cheeks, and the deep lines around the mouth, the
chronic debility of many years has left an ineffaceable
impress. But on the pohshed brow, with its rounded
temples, shadowed by one falling lock, and on the
beaming countenance, there hovers a serenity which
seems to brighten the whole head with a halo.

The voluntary on the organ has been played, the
opening invocation has been offered by the assistant in
the pulpit, and the choir and congregation have joined
in singing the first hymn ; — and now he rises, and
spreading out his arms, says, — " Let us unite in prayer."
What a welcome to near communion with the Heavenly
Father is there in the tremulous tenderness of that invi-
tation ! This is a solemn reality, and no formal rite, to
him. The Infinite is here, around all, within all. What
awful, yet confiding reverence, what relying affection,
what profound gratitude, what unutterable longing, what
consciousness of intimate spiritual relationship, what
vast anticipations of progressive destiny, inspire these
few, simple, measured, most variously modulated words !
How the very peace of heaven seems to enter and settle
down upon the hushed assembly !

There follows a pause and perfect silence for a few
moments, which the spirit feels its need of, that it may
reassume its self-control and powier of active thought.

DR. CHANNIiNo's PREACHING. 291

And now the Bible is opened ; the chapter to be read
is the fifteenth of the Gospel of John. The grand an-
nouncement is spoken, the majestic clami is made, —
"1 am the true vine, and my Father is the husband-
man." How often we have heard these sentences ! and
yet did we ever before begin to know tiieir exhaustless
wealth of meaning .'' What dei)th, volume, expressive-
ness in those intonations ! " That my joy might remain
in you, and that your joy might be full.''^ Yes, O
most honored brother ! now we have gained a glimpse
of the rich hfe of thy godlike disinterestedness. We
shall be, indeed, thy "/nentZs," " when we love one
another as thou didst love us." It is enough. No
mere rhetorician, however trained and skilful, could have
made these words so penetrating in pathetic sweetness,
so invigorating in unbounded hope. The very smile
and hand of the Saviour seem to have been upon us in
blessing and power. Every emphasis and inflection of
the reader was fraught with his own experience. The
saying is no longer a mystical metaphor to us, — " If a
man love me, my Father will love him, and we will
come unto him and make our abode with him "; for the
fact is illustrated before our eyes. The hymn is read.
W^hat melody ! what cadence ! The tone may be too
prolonged, and too undulating the accent ; but we can
never, never again forget those lines. In many a distant
scene of doubt and fear, of trial and temptation, their
music will come vibrating through the inner chambers
of our hearts, and, at the sound, our bosom-sins will
disappear, " awed by the presence " of the " Great
Invisible."

The singing is over. The hearts of the hearers are
attuned. The spirit of the preacher has already per-

292

THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

vaded them, and softened them to harmony. It is the
"new commandment" of which he is to discourse.
He begins by portraying the overflowing sympathy with
which Jesus forgot his own impending sufferings, in his
desire to cheer the little band so soon to be scattered.
We are there with them in the upper chamber ; we are
bathed in that flood of benignity ; can we ever be faith-
less to this most lovely and all-loving friend ? Thencf"
passing outwards, he lays open before us the universal
humanity of the Son of Man made Son of God, till we
seo that the fulness of the Spirit in him, his oneness with
the Father, was his pure and perfect benevolence, — till
we begin to apprehend how such a sublime self-sacrifice
might fit the Christ to be the abiding mediator between
heaven and earth, the ruler over the ages to introduce
among mankind the kingdom of God. What affec-
tionate devotion, what adoring reverence, what quick
discrimination, what delicate perception, what vividness,
characterized this sketch of the Master ! Thus ends
the first branch of the sermon. And now he is to as
sure us, all selfish, immersed in the busy anxieties of
life, habitually incased in prejudices and conventionality,
as we may be, that this spirit of unlimited brotherly
kindness is the only befitting spirit for any man, for
every man, — that we are encouraged to aspire after it,
that we can attain to it, that we are Christians only in
the measure in which it sanctifies us. How carefully he
meets and disarms objections ! how calmly he removes
all fear of undue enthusiasm ! how deliberate and definite
does he make the statement of his propositions ! The
sound sense and judgment of the preacher strike us now
as much as his devout earnestness did before. There
is nothing vague, dreamy, extravagant in this cool rea-

DR. channing's preaching. 293

soner. Gradually he awakens the memory and con-
science of his hearers, and reveals to them, from their
own observation and experience, with a ttffi'ible distinct-
ness of contrast, what the professed Christians of Chris-
tendom actually are. There are no expletives, no
fulminations, no fanatical outpourings. But the small
figure dilates, — the luminous gray eye now flashes with
indignation, now softens in pity, — and the outstretched
arm and clenched hand are lifted in sign of protest and
warning, as the wrongs which man inflicts on man are
presented with brief but glowing outlines. How the
accidental honors of the so-called great flutter like filthy
rags, and crumble into dust, as the meanness of arbi-
trary power and worldly ambition is exposed ! How
the down-trodden outcasts rise up in more than royal
dignity, as the intrinsic grandeur of man reveals itself
through their badges of ignominious servitude ! The
preacher now enlarges upon the greatness of man ; he
shows how worthy every human being is of love, for his
nature, if not for his character. Sin and degradation
are made to appear unspeakably mournful, when meas-
ured by the majestic innate powers, the celestial des-
tiny, appointed to the most debased ; every spirit be-
comes venerable to us, as heir of God and coheir
of Christ, as the once lost but now found, the once
dead but now living, the prodigal yet dearly loved child
of the Heavenly Father. And as our gaze wanders
over the congregation, in kindling or tearful eyes, in
pallid or flushed cheeks, in smiling of firm-set lips of
many a hearer, is displayed the new resolve just regis-
tered in the will, to lead a truly manly life, by conse-
crating one's self to the divine work of raising all men
upright in the image of God.
25*

294 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

A brief petition and benediction end the service ;
and after a few warm pressures of the hand, and mutual
congratulations that such a sermon has been heard, the
congregation disperses. If this is the first time we have
listened to the preacher, we walk home through the
thronged streets, we look upon our fellow-men, we
tread the earth, we breathe the air, we feel the sunshine,
with a new consciousness of life. This hour has been
an era in existence. Never again can we doubt God's
love, disbelieve in Christ, despond for ourselves, despise
our fellows, — never again sigh over the drudgery, the
lameness, the tantalizing disappointments of this work-
day world. How solemn in grandeur, how unspeakably
magnificent, how wonderful, how fresh with beauty and
joy, open now before us the present lot, the future
career, of man ! This sketch may seem to some readers
extravagant, but it will be thought, on the other hand,
tame and cold by those who in memory recall the
reality which it so faintly resembles.

It was doubtless owing to the energy with which
Dr. C banning threw his whole soul into his ministra-
tions, that he found the usual pulpit services so exhaust-
ing. Full of conscientiousness and deep emotion, i.deal
and aspiring to a most rare degree, concentrated and
intense in all his mental and moral processes, unhabitu-
ated to relaxation and variety of employment, he con-
stantly experienced extreme nervous prostration after
preaching. Though benefited by the rest and refresh-
ment of foreign travel, he innnediately found, upon his
return, that he r.hould be entirely broken down, if he
attempted to resume the whole of his duties. And so,
with the sense of duty to his parish which was con-

CONTINUED DEBILITY. 295

spicuous throughout his ministry, he determined at once
to lay before them his condition and the exact measure
of his abiUty. His own wish was to ha^e a colleague
settled with him ; but he chose to leave the society
free to make the fust movement, and addressed them,
therefore, as follows : —

'^ Portsmouth, R. I, Sept. 4, 1823.
" Christian Friends : — My much esteemed assistant, Mr.
Dewey, having made known to me his desire to be released
from his present engagement, I am compelled to solicit again
your attention to the subject of obtaining for me such aid as
circumstances may render necessary. I have already stated
to you, and I beg to repeat it, that the improvement of my
health, though very encouraging, is not such as to warrant
me to take on myself all the duties and services ordinarily
expected from ministers ; nor ought I to make the attempt,
until the strength which I have gained is not only confirmed,
but increased. Without undue solicitude for life, I desire
earnestly to be capable, whilst I live, of some exertion
which may be useful to my people and family ; and this
object demands, especially at the present moment, great
care in proportioning my labors to my strength. The
thought of being reduced again to the inactivity and use-
lessness to which I have been condemned for some time
past almost overwhelms me ; and although I trust, that,
should God appoint me this trial, he would strengthen me to
bear it, still I feel that I am not only permitted, but re-
quired, to use whatever means of averting it he may afford.
I have no right, by laboring beyond my strength, to throw
away the degree of health which I have gained by so many
sacrifices ; nor should I, in this way, consult your interests
any more than my own comfort. Under these impressions,
I have endeavoured to judge to what extent I may now
resume my labors. I have a strong confidence that I can

296 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

take half the services on Sunday without injury. Moni
than this I cannot attempt with safety, and the experienca
of several years "makes me fearful that it will occasionally
be prudent for me to abstain from preaching on both parts of
the day. How long I may require these indulgences I cannot
even conjecture ; for the effect of returning to labors which
have been so long discontinued is very doubtful. I am com-
pelled, however, to say, that, as debility has oppressed me
for yeai-s, I am authorized to anticipate only a gradual and
slow increase of strength, and that there is no probability
of my resuming speedily all the duties of my office. Under
these circumstances, I am exceedingly desirous that such
provisions should be made for the pulpit as will secure to
my people the most edifying and acceptable services ; and
I feel as if this would prove a medicine to the body, by the
relief and joy it would give to my mind. For this end, _
have thought proper to make this free communication in
regard to my state, prospects, hopes, and fears, and to as-
sure you of my disposition to concur with you in whatever
measures the welfare and religious improvement of the
church may be thought to require.

" I cannot close this communication without renewing my
thanksgivings to Almighty God for restoring me to you with
some ability to serve you. Longer experience, and more
extensive observation of human affairs, have only served to
recommend to me the Christian ministry, and to strengthen
my wish to live and die in the discharge of its duties. Im-
ploring for you every blessing in this world and in the world
to come, I subscribe myself

" Your affectionate friend and grateful pastor."

At a meeting of the proprietors of the meeting-house
in Federal Street, Sej)tenibcr 22, this letter was read,
and the vote unanimously passed, " That it is expedient
to settle a colleague with the Rev. Dr. Channing, pro

DESIRE FOR A COLLEAGUE. 297

vided It will meet with his concurrence, and provided
that an arrangement can be made in relation to salaries
satisfactory to the society and the pastors." A com-
mittee was also appointed to confer with Dr. Channing.
His wishes were thus expressed in consequence : —

" Boston, Sept. 2G, 1823.
Gentlemen : — The votes of the proprietors of the
church in Federal Street, at their meeting on September
22, 1823, having been communicated to me, I take an
early opportunity to express my views and feelings in re-
lation to the subjects to which they refer, and I shall aim to
do this with all possible simplicity.

" The Jirst question suggested by the votes is, whether 1
wish a colleague. On this point I have not spoken freely,
because I have not wished to influence the opinion of my
parishioners. I have chosen that they should act from their
own deliberate and independent convictions in an affair so
important as the settlement of another minister, — one of
the most important in life, — the effects of which will ex-
tend beyond themselves to their children, and be felt in the
society perhaps long after I am separated from it. But
now that my opinion is requested, I have no hesitation in
saying that I shall receive a colleague with pleasure ; not
merely because I shall find the greatest relief in such an
arrangement, but chiefly because I hope from it the greatest
good to the society. I should be most grateful to God, had
I strength equal to the whole duties of the ministry. For
these duties are my happiness, and I am aware that there
are strong motives for having them discharged by a single
pastor.

" But conscious as I am that I have at no period had
sufficient health to perform them thoroughly, and persuaded
that I must now be assisted in them, the question offers
itself, whether aid shall be sought for me in a variety and

298 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

succession of young unsettled preachers, or in a p(;rmanenJ
assistant ; and the last mode seems to me to possess decided
advantages, provided the parish can secure an individual
whose piety, ability, and general acceptableness shall afford
pledges of a useful ministry. From such a man they will
receive instructions more adapted to their wants, character,
and state, more matured by experience, and more imbued
with a deep, affectionate interest in their welfare, than can
be expected from young men and strangers ; and they will
receive pastoral aids, not only from the pulpit, but of a mon;
private and perhaps not less useful nature. His instructions,
too, will be heard with less of that curiosity and spirit of
criticism by which the efficacy of preaching is weakened,
and with more of that personal regard which adds weight
to truth.

" Under such a man, I should hope to see an improve-
ment of the condition of our society, — not of its outward
condition, for this is sufficiently prosperous, but of its inte-
rior, religious, spiritual state. I should hope to see the
marks and evidences of profounder veneration for Chris-
tianity, of more faithful application of it to the character,
of a more living and fruitful piety, and of a stronger interest
in the cause and diffusion of our religion. I feel that greater
improvements are needed among us. Not that I have
ground to complain of deficiency of attachment to myself.
But what I desire is, a greater attachment to that cause, that
religion, of which I am merely the instrument, and in com-
parison with which I am nothing, and deserve no consider-
ation. With God's blessing on the labor of another joined
to my own, I trust that the purposes of our connection
would be answered more effectually than they have yet
been ; and this is my great motive for concurring, as I
candidly do, in the opinion of the society on the subject of
a colleague, as expressed in their vote.

" The question of salary is the second on which I pre-

RELINQUISHMENT OF SALARY. 299

svime I am expected to speak ; and I wish to speak as
frankly on this as on the preceding one. I am aware that
this is a question of great delicacy, for the connection of a
minister with his people is one of sentiment, not interest ;
and his usefulness can hardly suffer more than by his falling
under the suspicion of mercenary views.

"To prevent misconstructions which may diminish my
power of doing good to my people, and not from any selfish,
excessive sensitiveness to opinion, I think proper to observe,
then, that my expenditures equal my income, and that dur-
ing my ministry I have laid up nothing. By this I do not
mean, that my whole salary and other income are necessary
to the support of myself and my family. But on every man
there are various claims, which generally multiply as he
advances in life ; some of a sacred character, which must
on no account be slighted ; others less binding, but still of
such a nature that the inability to meet them is painful, and
should not be voluntarily incurred. In addition to more
private claims, there are at present so many institutions and
enterprises for promoting the cause of religion and human
happiness, which invite and deserve a Christian's assistance,
that I should be grateful to Providence for an increase of
property, and must regard a diminution of it as an evil.
If, indeed, I were connected with a poor congregation, I
should feel that to serve them without a salary, or with a
very small one, was the method prescribed by Providence
for the exercise of my charity ; but knowing that my peo-
ple respect themselves too highly to desire or receive
charitable aid, and believing, too, that none of us contribute
too much, and few enough, to the cause of Christianity, I
do not consider myself as called or authorized to give up
a large part of the compensation which I have received
I will cheerfully relinquish one quarter of my salary, which
will leave me about sixteen hundred dollars per annum ;
and when the conditions on which I was settled are remem-

300 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

bered, and when it is considered that I am devoting my hfe
and best powers to the ministry, I presume that my claims
will be thought by none unreasonable. I am, however, quite
ignorant of the feelings of the society on this point ; and
earnestly desiring, that, in such a connection as ours, all se-
cret discontents and heart-burnings may be avoided, 7 ] nre
that these feelings will be fully and freely expressed.

" I cannot close this communication without impiorins;
Divine guidance for my people and myself, that we may
adopt such measures as will strengthen our union, and build
us up in the faith and hope, in the spirit and most exalted
virtues, of our religion.

" With great affection and respect, your friend and pas-
tor."

On September 29th, the foregoing letter was read to the
proprietors, who voted, " That the letter of the Rev. Dr.
Channing to the Committee is highly acceptable to the
proprietors of the Federal Street meeting-house," and
that the propositions of the letter and of the Committee
be accepted. The Committee, in their report, had said
that the proposed salary of Dr. Channing " is the result
of his voluntary relinquishment, in the event of the settle-
ment of a colleague, of a portion of his present income,
the continuance of which he is entitled to claim. The
motives and views on this head expicssed in his lett:ir are

entirely satisfactory to the Committee They

believe it to be unnecessary to enlarge on such a topic,
and in relation to a connection so highly and justly valued
by every member of the society."

In a private letter to a friend, Dr. Channing thus brief-
ly, yet lully, opens his heart in relation to the proposed
arrangement : —

" Sept. 24, 1823. My mind is somewhat engaged no\f

REV. E. S. GANNETT. 301

by parish affairs, my people having expressed a desire of es-
tablishing a colleague with me, an event too interesting tu
them and me to be anticipated without some concern, though
1 earnestly wish to make the experiment. I dare not hope
to be equal to all the duties of my office, and I cannot but
fear lest my people may suffer through my infirmities. I
am aware of having my full share of imperfections ; but il
seems to me that I should find satisfaction in having a col-
league, who will be much more useful than myself, and con-
spicuously more useful. I do not despair, indeed ; but 1
have not done as much good as I hoped, though as much,
perhaps, as I had a right to expect."

In the spring of 1824, the Rev. Ezra Stiles Gannett
was invited and ordained to be the Associate Pastor of
the Federal Street Society. The relations between Dr.
Channing and his colleague were, for the long period of
eighteen years, most intimate, cordial, and mutually ben-
eficial. Dr. Gannett has expressed, for himself, in his
address at the funeral services of his spiritual father, his
tender and reverential affection "for one whom he hon-
ored not less because he may have loved him more than
others who beheld him at a greater distance," and has thus
borne his testimony to Dr. Channing's faithfulness in the
delicate and difficult duties of their official intercourse : —
" After my connection with this society, he encouraged
me in every plan T undertook, welcomed every sign of
increasing sympathy and energy among us, and cheered
me under every occasion of despondency. How often
would my spirit have wholly sunk within me, if he had
not animated me to new struggle with the discouragement
of my own heart ! " And, on the other hand, Dr. Chan-
ning paid the following warm tribute to Mr. Gannett, on
the occasion when that conscientious and indefatigable

VOL. II. 26

302 THE MINISTRi' AND LirERATURft.

minister was for a time worn out by his excessive labors,
and was compelled to seek, in foreign travel, a renewal
of his powers of usefulness : — "Of the faithfulness of our
friend, to this congregation I need not speak. He toiled
day and night for the cause to which he had given him-
self, until, at length, he sunk under his labors. Of his
connection with myself, let me say that it has never for
a moment been disturbed by a word, I may add, by a
thought, which friendship would wish to recall. JNIutual
confidence, a disposition in each to concede to the other
unrestricted freedom of opinion and operation, and, I
trust, a disposition to rejoice in one another's success,
have given us the benefits of this relation, unmixed with
the evils to which it is thought to be liable. I rejoice,
niy friends, in the proofs you have given our friend of
your interest in his welfare, of your gratitude for his ser-
vices. I rejoice in the testimony you have borne to the
worth of the Christian ministry. Our friend will carry
with him, wherever he goes, the consoling, cheering re-
collection of your sympathy and kindness. May he be
followed by our prayers, as well as affections ! May he
meet friends in strangers ! May a kind Providence in-
fuse new life and strength into his debilitated frame !
May he return once again, to instruct, comfort, improve,
and bless this congregation ! "

Throughout their long intercourse, from the time of
his settlement to that of his death, Dr. Channing and liie
Federal Street Society vied with each other in liberality ;
and, as the facts do honor to both parties and reveal in-
teresting points of character, it seems but just to give
some indications of the mutual respect and kindness which
bound them together. The resignation of a portion of

RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 303

his salary by Dr. Channing, as a means of better enabling
the society to provide suitably for a collg^ue, has been
noticed. But, from period to period, as he found that
his friend's labors and responsibilities were multiplied,
while his own were proportionately lessened, he gradu-
ally gave up the remainder of his salary, until the pecuni-
ary lie between himself and his congregation became al-
most nominal. A few letters and votes, taken from the
records of the Federal Street Society, illustrate the gen-
erous spirit upon both sides.

" My Christian Brethren : — Having reason to appre-
hend that I shall be obliged to diminish my exertions for a
time, and feeling increased doubts as to the degree of ser-
vice which I may be able to render hereafter, 1 have thought
proper to relinquish five hundred dollars of my salary, after
the present parish year, which will close with this month. I
still hope to labor, and gradually to extend my labors among
you, as a Christian minister. This object, however, requires
that I should carefully abstain from every efibrt which may
threaten any injury to my health, and I trust, that, in exer-
cising my discretion on this point, I shall not be considered
as consulting my ease rather than my usefulness, or as de-
serting those great interests to which my life has been devot-
ed. 1 am happy to add, that I have found much relief and
satisfaction in the zeal and cheerfulness with which my col-
league has performed the duties which have multiplied upon
him in consequence of my impaired health ; and I pray that
his connection with you may prove a continually increasing
good.

" With Christian regards, I remain

" Your affectionate friend and pastor.

" April 4ih, 1825."

"Reverend and dear Sir: — We duly received youi

304 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

communication of the 4th instant; and we should immediate-
ly have acknowledged it, but for the hope we indulged that
possibly a more speedy restoration to health and strength,
than either your friends or yourself at that time anticipated,
might afford us a reasonable ground for urging you to delay
for the present a step which seems to loosen in some degree
your connection with our society.

" It is with the most sincere pleasure we now learn that
yDur disease has abated and that your strength is returning
to you, and we therefore take the liberty of making the sug-
gestion, whether it may not consist as well with your own
views on this subject, and with the views and wishes of your
friends and connections, that the relinquishment of salary
proposed in your communication to us should be deferred, or
at least confined to a limited time, until a few months' relax-
ation should enable you better to decide whether your health
and comfort will render it impracticable for you to continue
to perform so large a portion of the pastoral duties as you
contemplated at the settlement of Mr. Gannett.

" We make this suggestion, dear Sir, with great diffi-
dence, entertaining the highest respect for your own judg-
ment, and that of your friends, on this subject, and feeling
the most perfect conviction that nothing but absolute neces-
sity would induce you to diminish your exertions in a cause
to which you have hitherto devoted your life, and in which
your labors have been so eminently beneficial to your fellow-
beings. If you continue to be of opinion that the course al-
ready adopted is the most judicious one, we shall lay your
communication before the proprietors at tlie annual meeting
which will be on the 4th day of May.

" With tlie most earnest prayers that your health may be
completely restored and confirmed to you, we are, dear Sir.
" Your sincere friends and parishioners,

"John Lee," &c.
Boston, April 19th, 1825.

RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 305

Dr. Channing's letter was consequently withdrawn by
him. In his note, he says : —

" I made the proposition to reUnquish a part of my salary,
in the behef that I was consuUing my own usefulness and
the welfare of the society. I am persuaded, however, that
you understand what the interests of the parish demand bet-
ter than I do ; and if you apprehend that any injury will re-
sult from communicating my letter at the next parish meet-
ing, or that greater good may be anticipated from withhold-
ing it, I am entirely willing that it should be passed over for
the present.

" Your friend.
^•^ April 28/A, 1825."

" To the Committee of the Religious Society in Federal Street.

" Gentlemen : — I have thought fit to relinquish four hun-
dred dollars of my salary from the commencement of the
present parochial year, so that the salary will be twelve hun-
dred, instead of sixteen hundred, per annum. My intention
was to communicate this to you before the day of the annual
meeting ; but, through mistake, I have not done it. I have
some views which I may lay before you at a future time,
and can only add, that I remain, with the best wishes for
yourselves and the society,

" Your sincere friend.

" May 2, 1827."

" Dear Sir : — I believe that this is the evening on which
the Committee of the Federal Street Church meet, and I wil.
thank you to inform the gentlemen that it is my wish (o re-
linquish two hundred dollars of my salary after this time. 1
presume that no objections now exist to such an arrange-
ment.

" Very sincerely, your friend.
" May 4, 1829."

26*

306 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

" Dear Sir : — I believe that this is the evening on which
the committee of our parish meet ; and if so, I will thank
you to express my desire that my salary may be reduced to
the sum of eight hundred dollars, and that I may be released
at the same time from the tax I pay for my pew.

" With sincere regard, your friend.

" May 3, 1830."

On May 5th, a vote was passed by the proprietors in
accordance with his wish. The three deacons were
appointed " a committee to wait upon Dr. Channing and
to express the gratitude of the society to him for this act
of liberality."

" Dear Sir : — I learned from your letter yesterday that
a meeting of the proprietors of our church is to be held to-
day, to settle some of its pecuniary concerns. I will thank
you to inform the meeting, that, as I was absent from the
country half of the last year, it is my wish and purpose to
relinquish one half of a year's salary.

" Very truly your friend.

" October 24, 1831."

October 24, it was voted unanimously, " That the
clerk be directed to present the thanks of the proprietors
to the Rev. Dr. Channing for his liberal offer, but re-
spectfully to decline accepting it."

" To the Members of the Congregational Socictij in Federal Street.

"Boston, Nov. 1, 1832.

" My Christian Friends : — This day being the com-
mencement of the last half of our parochial year, I have
thought it a fit time for a communication which, perhaps,
ought to have been made before. The uncertainty of my
health and consequent uncertainty of my oflicial services have
led me to think that a change, in one respect, should be

RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 307

made in the relation subsisting between us. It seems to me
that my salary should cease ; and, accordingly, I relinquish
it from the present time. In taking this step, 1 have no de-
sire to dissolve my pastoral connection with you. I wi&h
to continue it, provided you shall believe, that, in so doing,
I may promote your best interests. I still hope that I may
recover strength for occasional preaching. To be wholly cut
off from this means of usefulness would be to me a great
affliction. I feel, however, more strongly than I have done,
that I ought never to preach without a decided conviction that
my health will not suffer from the effort ; and I believe, that,
in relinquishing my salary, my judgment on this point will
be more unembarrassed than at present.

" I beg you to accept my thanks for the interest which
you have so long taken in me and my labors. No one of
you can feel more than I do how broken and imperfect my
sermons have been. Under my infirmities, however, I have
found comfort in knowing that you were enjoying the faith-
ful and able labors of my colleague. It is my earnest desire
and prayer, that the religion of Christ may be preached to
you in its purity and with increasing success. This divine
truth becomes more and more precious to me, under every
new visitation of sickness and suffering. I can ask nothing
better for my dearest friends than that they may know, by
experience, its purifying influences and never-failing sup-
ports.

" With great affection and respect,

" Your friend and pastor.

" Mv. 1, 1832."

On November 19th, 1832, it was " Voted, That a
committee of five persons be appointed to express the
unabated respect and affection of the society to the Rev.
Dr. Channing, and their grateful sense of his past ser-
vices, and to request that he will continue to act as their

338 THE m:nistry and literature.

pastor on the same terms as at present, with the under-
standing that he shall not be expected to officiate, ex-
cept when he can do it conveniently and with perfect
safety to his health."

" To the Commillee of the Federal Street Socictrj.

" Gentlemen : — Allow me, through you, to offer to the
members of our parish my grateful acknowledgments for
the recent expressions of their regard. I will also thank jou
to inform them that I accede to the request contained in the
vote passed at their late meeting. It is not necessary to state
particularly the considerations which have led me to this re-
sult. I would only observe, that, from the communications
which I have received, I am satisfied that the condition on
which I offered my services would not be acceptable to them,
and therefore I forbear to urge it. I desire, however, that
one thing may be understood ; — if, at any time, the state of
my health, or any other circumstances, should induce me to
relinquish permanently, or for a season, a part of my salary,
I ask that my wishes may take effect by being simply ex-
pressed to the standing committee ; and that no communi-
cation on my part to the society, and no deliberation of the
society on the subject, may again be required. I fear that
on this point I have already said more than its importance
justifies; and I believe that I shall consult the feelings of my
parishioners, as well as my own, by suggesting a mode of
procedure which will render any future recurrence to it un-
necessary.

" Accept my thanks for your friendly interest, and believe
me, with sentiments of respect, your sincere friend.

"JVor. 24, 1832."

" Dear Sir: — This day being the beginning of our paro-
chial year, I will thank you to express to the committee of
our society my desire, that, from this time, a reduction of two
hundred dollars may be made in my annual salary. You

RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 309

will probably recollect, thai, according to my last letter to the
society, this desire will take effect without being communi-
cated to them for their concurrence.

" Very sincerely, your friend.
" Philadelphia, May 1, 1833."

" Gentlemen : — I will thank you to express, at some
suitable time, to the members of our religious society, my
purpose of relinquishing, at the end of the parochial year,
the compensation which I now receive for my services. It
is a deliberate act, and I beg them to acquiesce in it. I
am not solicitous, however, to give up entirely my relation
as one of their ministers, should they desire its continuance.
My long connection with the society, the tender recollections
which spring up when I look back on the many years devot-
ed to the ministry among them, and the hope that I may still
confer some benefit, however small, incline me to continue
the relation as long as it shall seem to me not to interfere
with higher means of usefulness. They will naturally ex-
pect that my labors among them will be diminished, and will
not be surprised, if I should use the freedom which I shall
enjoy in giving a somewhat different direction to my exer-
tions in the cause of humanity and religion. It is my earnest
prayer that their deliberations and efforts for securing to
themselves and their children the mer.ns of religious im-
provement may be blessed by God, — that their union may
be unbroken, — that they may be more and more established
jn Christian faith and virtue, — and that, under the merciful
discipline of our Heavenly Father, we may all prepare our-
selves for the indissoluble ties and everlasting happiness of

the world to come.

" Your sincere friend.
"Jan. 9,1828:'

This letter was written because the Society in Federal
Street was desirous of settling a colleague to aid Mr.

310 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

Gannett, at a period when he was very much enfeebled,
and Dr. Channing considered the burden of three minis-
ters altogether unnecessary. But as Mr. Gannett's
health became restored, the plan was abandoned ; and at
the request of the society. Dr. Channing resumed his
former relations. The series of tliese communications
was closed by the two following letters, which seemed
prophetically to announce the close of his earthly min-
istry : —

*' To the Standing Committee of the Proprietors of the Church in
Federal Street.

" Gentlemen : — This day being the beginning of our
parochial year, I think it a fit season for a communication
which I have for some time intended to make. I have, as
you may recollect, proposed more than once to relinquish
my salary, but have as often been requested by the society
to retain it. The last request was communicated to me by
the Hon. J. Davis and the Hon. J. Welles, with a kindness
which I shall always remember with gratitude. I observed
to them, that one reason for relinquishing the salary was,
that by receiving it I should excite expectations which I
might not be able to fulfil. But I was assured, that I was
to consider myself as wholly free, and to preach only when
it might be convenient. I have never lost the hope of being
strengthened for greater public labors ; but as yet it has not
■ been realized. Under this experience, I have gradually re-
duced my salary, and have resolved definitely to relinquish
it from this day. It is also my wish and purpose that all
my public functions should cease. I do not desire, however,
that a formal dissolution of our connection should take
place. Having sustained the relation of pastor nearly forty
years, it will be gratifying to me that it should continue,
whilst circumstances remain as they are. I wish that the
members of the society may feel that they have a right to

RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 311

seek friendly and spiritual counsel from me, when in need
of such, and thqt I may have a right to communicate with
them, when I can hope to do them good. I ^eg, however,
that it may be understood, that the prosperity of the society
IS far dearer to me than any personal gratification of this
nature ; and if it should be thought best that there should
be a formal dissolution of the relation, I desire that this may
immediately take place.

" In thus bringing my public labors among you to an end,
! cannot but acknowledge with gratitude that kind Provi-
dence which has sustained me so many years amidst much
physical infirmity, and which has made it the employment
of my life to study and teach the religion of Jesus Christ.
After a long experience, I feel that life could not have been
devoted to a more worthy end. My time has been given
chiefly to the work of acquiring juster, clearer, more quick-
ening views of truth and duty. In this pursuit I have spent
my strength, and cheerfully surrendered most of what are
called the pleasures of life. That in so doing I have obeyed
a Divine impulse, I believe ; but I may have followed it too
exclusively. The inquiries and contemplations which be-
long to my profession may have encroached on its more ac-
tive duties. My studies, which would have been light to a
man of ordinary strength, have produced almost daily an
exhaustion which has left me little spirit for social inter-
course. It might have been better for myself and for others,
had I more frequently torn my mind from the subjects
which have absorbed almost my whole intellectual energy.
For this error, if such it be, I ask and hope a lenient judg-
ment, because I have not given myself to intellectual indul-
gence, but have carried into my seclusion a sincere, and I
hope a growing, interest in my fellow-creatures, and in the
Christian cause. Other and more serious deficiencies I
might recall. Indeed, no one can feel more than I do the
imperfections of my ministry. For these I desire forgive

312 TIIK WINISTKY AND LITERATURE.

ness of God and man. Still, I do not feel as if I had
labored^ in vain. My public services have Jbeen listened to
■\vilh interest, and I have had proofs, for which I am most
grateful, that deeper effects than transient interest have
beerj produced by my ministry. Not that I have accom-
plished what I wished. As a people, I fear, we are greatly
wanting in that spiritual elevation, that superiority to the
world, that love of God, of Jesus Christ, and of mankind,
which is the end of religious institutions. In truth, all our
churches need a new life, a new comprehension of the
spirit and high purpose of Christianity. This I say for the
truth's sake, and in sorrow of heart, and not from any
wounded feelings under the consciousness of having exerted
no greater influence. As far as I am personally concerned,
I have nothing to complain of, no reproaches to utter. I
have received for many years expressions of kindness, for
which I offer my sincere thanks. It is, indeed, a gratifying
consideration, that our long union has not been disturbed even
by a word of contention. I am not aware that a thought or
emotion of unkindness has risen within me towards one ot
my parishioners. Were I now to leave them, I could from
tlie heart bid an affectionate farewell to all.

" I have spoken of the past. It is natural for me at such
a moment to cast a look towards the future. It is possible
that some sphere of action, not now anticipated, may open
on me. It is more probable that my present sphere will be
contracted. When I look round me, I see not one of the
ministers who filled the pulpits of this city at my ordination.
All have gone to their account ; and not a few, settled since,
have also passed away. He, who seemed destined to go
among the first, survives alone. Can I help applying to
myself the language of the Apostle, — ' The time of my
departure is at hand '? Nor is the time very distant, when
all to whom I have ministered will have entered the un-
known world. It is my fervent prayer that we may meet

RELATIOxNS TO THE SOCIETY. 313

m the temple ' not made with hands,' and that a holier
worship than has united us here may bind us together
for ever. ■*•

" I may on another occasion express my feelings more
fully to the society. I earnestly desire that they may con-
tinue to enjoy the laboi-s of their devoted pastor, and that,
through this and other means of religion, their harmony
may be pirpetuated, and their spiritual improvement never
cease.

" With respect and affection, your friend.
''May 1, 1840."

" The Proprietors and Congregation of the Church in Berry Street to
their Senior Pastor, the Reverend William Ellery Channing, D. D.

" Reverend and dear Sir : — We have received from
the standing committee of the proprietors the letter you ad-
dressed them on the first instant, announcing your purpose
from that day to relinquish the small remainder of salary,
which, at our earnest request, you had till then consented to
receive from us ; and expressing your desire, that, without
formally dissolving the connection that has so long and so
happily subsisted between us, your public functions as a
minister of Christ to this society may cease.

" We do not wish to conceal from you that we receive
this decision with regret and pain. Perhaps we feel it the
more sensibly, because it seemed to be our duty to ac-
quiesce in it, and thus make it final. For several years, we
have known that you considered such a separation as you
now propose desirable, on account of the state of your
health; and if we have heretofore been unwilling to give it
• oui concurrence, it has been from feelings of respect and
attachment to yourself, that have grown old in many of our
hearts, and sunk deep in all of them. We may, from these
feelings, have resisted your wishes longer than we ought to
have done, but we hope and trust we have not been un-

VOL. II. 27

314 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

reasonable ; and now that the time has arrived when \vc are
not permitted to hesitate in giving to them our full assent, it
gratifies us that you do not seek to make the separation
absolute and entire, but that you are desirous on your part,
as we are on ours, to retain some of the bonds that have
united us during a connection that has been permitted to be
so happy and to last so long.

" You allude to the possibility, that some inconvenience
may hereafter arise to us from the continuance of these
bonds. We anticipate none. We can imagine nothing but
good from their continuance. Still, if, in the course of
Providence, any inconvenience should be felt, we shall, in
the spirit of frankness with which you have spoken of our
union and its motives, avail ourselves of your permission to
dissolve it, trusting, that, with the same frankness, you would
claim the right you grant ; and if it should at any time seem
important or desirable to you to exercise it, that you would
do so, and separate yourself from us wholly. We do not,
however, suppose it at all likely that either party will take
a step which we are sure neither would take but with great
reluctance and from a strong sense of duty ; and we allude
to its possibility only because you have done so, and be-
cause we think it important that both should feel perfectly
free to act in circumstances that cannot be foreseen.

" Our connection, as you intimate, has been continued
through a longer period than could at first have been an-
ticipated, — a period, indeed, so long, that few remain
among us who bore witness to its beginning. You came to
us thirty-seven years ago, when our numbers were so few,
and our circumstances so humble, that it was apparent you
came only from a sense of duty, and from a disinterested
desire to serve your fellow-men. Under your care, however,
we soon prospered and grew numerous. But at eveiy step
of our progress, we felt, that, under God's good providence,
we owed it chiefly to you. We have, too, as we trust, been

RELATIONS TO THE SOCIETY. 315

fhaiikful for the ministrations we have enjoyed. We have
certainly felt them to be a privilege, — a great privilege, —
and we have greatly valued them. Nor h«R6 their influence
been confined to ourselves. They have been felt and ac-
knowledged beyond the limits of our own society, beyond
the limits of our own country ; and we trust that even yet
neither their work nor yours is wholly accomplished. We
trust, that, long after both you and we are gone to render
up our last account, your spirit, in the record of what you
have here spoken, will be still active in the great cause of
Christ and of human improvement, to which you have de-
voted your life. The only regret we feel, when looking
back upon the period of your connection with us, is, that we
have not profited as we ought to have done by the privi-
leges we have enjoyed ; that we have not become spiritual,
and superior to the world, devoted to duty, as you have
labored to make us. We pray God to forgive us for our
deficiencies, and to make your teachings more effectual to
the generations that are to come after us than they have
been to us and to our own.

" We feel gratified by the suggestion, that your public
labors may not' wholly cease ; and that you may not only
speak again to us, but that it is possible you may become
active in some other sphere of usefulness. Amidst what-
ever circumstances the course of God's providence may
place you, we doubt not that your influence will be elevat-
ing and improving ; and that we shall always witness and
share its effects with thankfulness, seeking such personal
and more immediate intercourse with you as our relative
positions may permit and authorize, and looking to you
at all times, as to a Christian pastor and spiritual friend

" It is, we know, a satisfaction to you, as it is to us, thai
you do not leave us alone, but that we remain under the
ministrations of the able and devoted pastor who has been
so long associated with you. We pray, for your sake, as

316 THE MIMISTRV AND LITKRATURE.

well as for our own, that his health may be fully restoreo,
and that his services, such as you have yourself been ac-
customed to witness and share them, may be yet many
years continued to us and to our children. We can desire
nothing better than such fidelity and devotedness as his,
except a corresponding faithfulness on our own part to im-
prove by them.

" In conclusion, we would invoke on you the blessings
you have so often besought for us, adding, for the sake of
the cause of Christianity and human improvement, our
prayers that your strength and health may be increased, and
that your faculties may be preserved unimpaired to a re-
mote and happy old age.

" On behalf of the proprietors and the congregation of
Berry Street Church,

" Samuel Greele, Chairman.

" George S. Hillakd, Proprietors'* Clerk.'''*

In proportion as the ties were gradually loosened
which bound Dr. Channing to the Federal Street Soci-
ety, and as his indefatigable colleague became, by well-
earned influence, peculiarly the pastor of the congre-
gation, he felt himself more free to devote his time and
thoughts to larger interests of truth and philanthropy.
In fact, for many years a change had been slowly taking
place in his views of the relative importance of different
branches of ministerial labor. In his early professional
life, he had been, as we have seen, most devoted to his
pastoral duties, and ill health, more than any other cause,
had compelled him to limit his exertions in that direction.
But experience, at length, suggested to him the ques-
tion, whether his enforced life of secluded meditation had
not, on the whole, been more serviceable to his fellow
men than one of more constant social Intercourse and

DUTIES OF THE MINISTER. 317

practical activity would have been. The course of his
reflections may be partially indicated by giving the fol-
lowing extracts from one of his unfinished manuscripts : —

" The several duties of the minister may be laid down
easily ; but it is not so easy to establish the relative rank of
his various offices. Some would make the minister a stu-
dent, some a visiting pastor, some a public speaker. Un-
doubtedly, the same rule cannot be applied to all. Different
modes of labor are appropriate to different men, and to dif-
ferent conditions of society. Still the great idea of the Chris-
tian minister is plain. He is to be a teacher ; and, in order
that he may teach, he must learn. His peculiar work is, to
quicken the community by the promulgation of exalting
truth. The acquisition of this truth, and the clear, powerful
expression of it, are, then, his chief labors ; and these imply
much solitary thought. He is to be a thinker. To this se-
vere toil his life is to be mainly given. Of course, he is to
preach, converse, counsel. But the sermon which he
preaches in an hour may be the result of months and years
of meditation. The truth which he utters in a sentence
may have cost him long, laborious, exhausdng research. If,
indeed, a minister is satisfied to retail the views with which
he commenced his professional career, — if he can bear to
preach over and over his first sermons, — he need pass but
little time in his secluded study. But such a man is unfit fcr
his profession. No one is worthy to be a minister of God,
who does not earnestly aspire to leave beneath him the crude
conceptions and errors of his early years, and to ascend into
purer, brighter, serener realms of thought. Only private
meditation can lead him up to worthy conceptions of the
great realities of the spiritual life. His chief work he must
do alone. He must live much in his study, and live there,
not as a hypocrite and cheat, amusing himself with light
reading, whilst the world considers him a student, but in good
27* '

318 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

faith, tasking his powers for the discovery and forcible exhi-
bition of truth. The study is too often an idle place, and yet
a faithful student is the most laborious man on earth. These
views are important, because the age is so much an out-door
age. There is little solitary thought anywhere.

" Great stress is laid upon what is sometimes called pas-
toral duty, on the personal intercourse, that is to say, of the
minister with his congregation ; but much visiting may be to
a minister, as to others, a species of dissipation. Profitable
conversation is a fruit of meditation, the overflow of a full
heart and mind. To do good, as he goes from house to
house, a minister should carry with him living thoughts, which
have been matured by vigorous inquiry, which belong to a
system of truth for ever enlarging and gaining strength in
his mind. No one believes more than I do in the benefits of
free conference between the minister and his parishioners ;
but their intercourse should be truly a conference, — the sug-
gestion of awakening ideas, which open the inward experi-
ence. Such conversation requires, above all things, that a
minister should rid himself of the technicalities and formal
restraints of his profession, and exciiange mere traditional
notions of religion for fresh, clear, profound views. Where
a minister does not lead a life of thought, it is to be feared,
that, as a visitor, he will become a gossip ; and a religious
gossip is no more profitable than any other. To tell reli-
gious news may do in its season and place ; but to fill up any
considerable portion of life with it is a sad waste of power,
and a minister should respect his function too highly to spend
his hours in such enfeebling talk.

" It is sometimes said, that a minister does more by win-
ning the love of his people than by hard study, because he
thus secures an access to their hearts, which no mere intel-
lectual power could give. A minister should, indeed, be
loved ; but this scntimont should be a moral, rather than a per-
sonal sentiment. It should be a respect for his high virtues,

DUTIES OF THE BIINISTER. 319

a trust in his uncompromising fidelity, a grateful sense of
his devoted, conscientious labors for a glorious end, more
than an attachment growing out of private syiiTpathies. Re-
spectful confidence, founded on the recognition of consistent
principle, is better than affection. The minister must be-
ware of an intercourse with his congregation which flatters
their self-love and endears him as a partial friend. The
sympathetic minister may fail to be the faithful spiritual
guide. The only sure ground for a man to stand upon is
elevation and purity of character. Popularity, founded on
individual sympathies, has no certain permanence.

" It is said, that, in proportion as a minister is loved, he is
heard with profit. Is this so ? Are the most amiable min-
isters, who are ever welcome companions, generally found
to be the most efficient ? Many men promote social kind-
ness, and keep up a good understanding among their hearere,
who touch no deep spring, give no powerful impulse. Love
of the teacher is, at the best, but a tottering foundation for
religious principle. Truth should be heard, not for the sake
of him who utters it, but in its own right. It should come to
men in its own majestic authority, and not under the patron-
age of a beloved preacher. The minister who serves us is
he who aids us to gain convictions which will endure when
the very remembrance of him shall have passed away, —
principles upon which we may build for ever. The kind of
attachment which makes a people acquiesce without inquiry
in his opinions is the last which a minister should desire.
He should wish his hearers to love truth infinitely better than
they do him. Candid, earnest, deliberate, respectful atten-
tion to his views is the utmost he should look for.

" There are peculiar dangers which attend the minister
who wishes to make himself useful by being loved. The
very effort to win affection is a hazardous one ; it may in-
jure simplicity of character, and mingle calculation with the
desire of doing good, till natural, genuine, spontaneous sym-

3C0 THE MINISTRY AND LITF.nATURE.

patli)' is vitiated and impaired. Tliere is a temptation, too,
to stoup from tlie true dignity of the ministerial office by a
dread oi giving offence or causing pain. No quality is more
needed m the Christian minister than moral independence.
Fidehty to his convictions is infinitely more important than
wmning manners. His highest work is, not to echo public
opinion, out to bear testimony to great' principles which do not
exen tlioii rightful sway over men's minds, — to teach what
Ihoise around him fail in, or are slow to recognize, — to oppose
more tarnestly what is unchristian in proportion as it is con-
firmed by iiadition, prejudice, usage. Hostility to prevalent
evils ii! the viue position for the minister. This calm, deter-
mined, unwafcring loyalty to truth finds a snare in the fear
of breaking the ties of friendship. Thus the minister, in
aiming to gain attachment, may sacrifice true honor.

" There is gieat danger in seeking influence. How many,
for fear ot sacvificinc; it, do little or nothing ? In order
to keep it, itiey refuse to exert it, and thus make it useless.
The truest infiuence comes unsought. The best way of
gaining it is to act without calculation or solicitude, accord-
ing to our Clearest convictions, and to leave our lives to
speak for themselves. Of course, we shall often be misrep-
resented ; but, m the long run, the true principles from
which a man acts become plain. Confidence in us will be
sooner or later established, if we are faithful to the right.
A young minister sometimes receives a confidence which
he has not earned, and, consequently, is compelled to pass
through an after season of neglect. He retains only the in-
fluence which he hus honestly earned by the exercise of his
best powers. Patient fidelity in seeking truth may win him
firmer friends than much visiting. An invigorated intellect
and a disciplined spirit make themselves silently felt, and
command a respect which is enduring.

"These remarks are the more important, because, in this
cotmtry, the dependence of the minister on the good-will of

DUTIES OF THE MINISTER. 321

his congregation strongly tempts him to make himself agree-
able to his hearers. If he yield to this temptation, he is
lost. If the desire of pleasing takes the place^f aspiration
after truth, the dignity of his mind is gone. We never
should enter into communion with our fellow-men with the
view of being agreeable as our chief end. We enter no
circle without taking the chance of encountering opinions
and feelings which we ought not to reciprocate, or of being
called to utter what may give pain or offence. Our first
purpose should be, to hold fast to truth and justice, however
we may fail of sympathy ; and this is especially the duty of
the minister, whose great function is to bear witness to the
truth. The minister is only degraded by his profession, if
he seeks transitory approbation by accommodating truth to
men's passions and prejudices. The whole power of his of-
fice lies in his moral self-subsistence ; yet he is tempted to
veer with every change of popular opinion. Let him there-
fore live much by himself, that he may learn to stand firm
among his fellow-men ; let him dwell habitually in the re-
gion of everlasting truths, that he may not be the sport of the
caprices of the day.

" It will not, of course, be supposed that by these remarks
It is meant that a minister is to be unsocial, repulsive, un-
conciliating, severe. He should not make his study a dun-
geon, or solitary cell, where his affections become blighted.
He is to leave it, bound by new ties to his race through the
great truths upon which he has there meditated. Let him
come forth to share in all the innocent joy of his fellow-
creatures, with a heart widely open to whatever is beautiful
around him, — to the loveliness of childhood, the buoyant
spirits of youth, the graces and excellences of mature life, the
venerableness of age. Let him express simply the real in-
terest he takes in those for whose highest good he lives ; and
he may thus find that the overflow of his spontaneous feelings
will win him as much true, deep love, as if he were to de-
vote the most of his time f.o social intercourse."

323 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

It must by no means be understood, from there ex
tracts, that Dr. Channing held pastoral duties in low es
ieem. He considered them secondary in importance^
indeed, to the pursuit of truth and spiritual culture, but
itill of high obligation. To a friend he wrote, —

"I think your influence over your people will be exceei.'-
ingly diminished, if you have no private intercourse witr
them. I doubt whether a minister can preach as he ought,
can write such sermons as a people need, if he never sees
them but on Sunday."

The thoughts expressed in the foregoing extracts do
embody, however, though in a hasty and imperfect man-
ner. Dr. Clianning's views of his own special duties as a
minister. This will appear from the following letter : —

"■Jan. 23, 1828.* A hoarseness has closed my mouth
for two Sundays, and I know not when liberty of speech will
be given me. Happily, the spirit is free, and I try to turn
my solitude to some account. I have been refreshed to-day
by a visit from our friend Tuckerman, who seems to be, and
is, happier in visiting the hovels of the poor, than any spoiled
child of fortune in haunting the saloons of taste, rank, and
wealth. He enjoys his poor, and I enjoy his power of virtue
in extracting from such materials such rare happiness. Thus
virtue is a spreading good indeed. Next to my own func-
tion, I am tempted to think his the best.

" And what is my function ? Striving humbly, and not
impatiently striving, to penetrate the clouds which encom-
pass us, and to catch some new glimpses of the Uncreated
Light, the Infinite Beauty, the Perfection of the Parent Mind,
and of the Human Soul ; and through this to understand my-

* To Orville Dewey, D. D.

HIS FUNCTION. 323

self and other beings, — to turn all things to their true and no-
blest ends. What I have lately published was meant to be
a trial of the sympathy which I might hope fiw.

" When I told you that my last sermon had not answered
my hopes, I did not mean to say that it had not been talked
of enough, but that it had not excited the kind of interest
which I have wished. Still I do not complain, or for a mo-
ment waver in my hope. I blame as much, to say the
least, the imperfection of the writer, as the want of suscepti*
bility in the readers. I believe that the seed has been sown
in some minds where it will take root, and this fully satisfies
and recompenses me. But there has been no general re-
sponse to the sentiments, or rather, a general indifference ;
so that to hear even of a few to whom they are living
truths is a great encouragement ; and my friends do me good,
when they let me know of such cases. My own opinion of
the value of what I publish is not at all affected by the gen-
eral reception it meets with ; but if no souls are reached,
there is cause of distrust."

The rare blending of conscientiousness and humility,
independence and self-distrust, firm faith and aspiration,
so simply manifested in this estimate of his intellectual
function, pervaded the writer's character, and determined
the course of his literary life. Without the addition of a
word of comment, the following series of letters will open
to the reader the hidden springs of Dr. Channing's con-
duct as an author, and reveal, as no description could,
the pure disinterestedness by which he was animated.

" May 14, 1842.* It is not unfrequent for an author tc
be praised, even admired, whilst he feels that the view of
his work most interesting to himself has been seized by very

• To Ferris Pell, Esq.

324 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

few of his hearers. He is praised, but not understood. I
remember a minister who, on being deprived of a partic-
ular hearer, expressed great sorrow ; ' For,' said he, ' I al-
ways felt, when he was present, that one of the congregation
understood me.' I have had some sad proofs of the obtuse-
ness of too many of my readers, in the kind of criticism
passed on me. Some people have groaned at my deserting
my profession, and becoming ?l politician. Some wise ones
even intimated that I had an eye on a seat in Congress !
Things of this kind do not discourage me, but show what a
d'xrkness surrounds us on every side. I thank you for un-
derstanding me. Not that you are the only discerner of my
spirit; others have done me the same favor; and, indeed, I
am persuaded that there is an increasing tendency to see the
application of moral and religious truths, of the highest prin-
ciples of Christianity, to political affairs, to the relations of
nations, and to all civil and social arrangements and insti-
tutions.

" As to what you say of my profession, it is but too true.
Still, ministers must not be judged too hardly. There is
much truth in the old proverb, 'Like people, like priest.'
The two act on one another, and carry on the work of mu-
tual assimilation ; and we must not wonder if the people, be-
ing the immense majority, should act to most effect. Un-
happily, both start with the notion that the priest is not a
man, — that his holiness is something\prq/es5iona/, not /m-
7nan, — that he is to be good for the sake of his office, and in
the way which his office prescribes. He is to keep apart from
men, from common life, to be ' religious,' which means some-
thing different from being perfect in spirit and life, perfect
in common matters and evcry-day relations. The errone-
ous views which doomed the Catholic clergy to celibacy are
far from being banished from Protestantism. The minister
is too holy for business or politics. He is to preach creeds
and abstractions. He may preach ascetic notions about

ESTIMATE OF HIS WRITINGS. 325

pleasures and amusements ; for his official holiness has a
tinge of asceticism in it, and people hear patiently what it is
imderstood they will not practise. But if he 'tjome down,'
as it is called, from these heights, and assail in sober earnest
deep-rooted abuses, respectable vices, inhuman institutions
or arrangements, and unjust means of gain, which interest,
pride, and habit have made dear, and next to universal, the
people who exact from him official holiness are shocked,
offended. ' He forgets his sphere.' Not only the people,
but his brother-ministers, are apt to think this ; and they do
so not mainly from a timeserving spirit, not from dread of
offending the people, — though this motive too often op-
erates, — but chiefly from false notions about the ministry
its comprehensive purpose, its true spirit, which is an all-
embracing humanity. Ministers in general are narrow-
minded and superstitious, rather than servile. Their faults
are those of the times, and they are more free from these,
perhaps, than most of the people. And are they not becom-
ing less and less ministers, and more and more men ? "

" Boston, July 21, 1828.* Dear Sir : — Your letter gave
me great pleasure. Many of your expressions of approba-
tion I am compelled, by my self-knowledge, to limit, perhaps
I should say, to disclaim. But, whilst I question the sound-
ness of the estimate which many make of my labors, I do
not the less rejoice in the proofs which occasionally come to
me, that what I have written has been quickening and exalt-
ing to some of my fellow-beings. 1 have a deep conviction
that Christianity was intended to communicate energy and
elevation far beyond what we yet witness, and that our na-
ture was made, and is fitted, for the sublimest influences c:
this religion. If I have helped to spread this conviction, — if I
have awakened in any soul a consciousness of its powers and

* To the Rev. George Armstrong.
VOL. ri. 28

326 THE MIN'ISTRY AND LITERATURE.

greatness, — if I have thrown any light on the grandeur of
God's purposes towards his rational creatures, — if I have
done any thing to expose the monstrous error, that curbs and
chains are the indispensable and best means of educating the
individual and the race, — or if I have vindicated for the
mind that freedom which is the chief element and condition
of its growth, then I have accomplished the end to which
1 have devoted my powers.

" I thank you most sincerely for encouraging me to hope
that I have not been wholly unsuccessful. I feel my poor
labors — for I cannot estimate them very highly — recom-
pensed beyond measure by such language as you have used.
You have given me a kind of approbation which I may en-
joy without injury to my virtue, for your letter breathes
sympathy much more than it expresses praise. I thank you,
and I thank God, for this. Truth, though not responded to,
is still truth ; but how are we strengthened and encouraged,
when, having sent it abroad, it comes back to us in tones
which show that it has penetrated the inmost souls of some,
at least, who have heard it ! "

" Axigxtst 27, 1828.* Your letters do not make me vain,
but thankful, by assuring me that I am not living for nothing,
— that I even give strength and elevation to minds like yours.
I am so tempted to think lightly of whatever I send forth,
that I need such testimonies to sustain my courage."

" Boston, March 30, 1829.1 My dear Mrs. Baillie : —
I thank you from the heart for your letter. Expressions of
interest in my writings, from the enlightened and virtuous,
arc a recompense for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful
to Providence, and which I need as an encouragement. I
am naturally inclined to self-distrust. I do not know that
my case is singular ; but, whilst I have the deepest convic-

* To Mrs. Felicia Hemans. t To Mrs. Joanna Baillie.

SELF-DISTRUST. 327

lion of the truth and greatness of my leading views, and look
lo them as powerful means of quickening and elevating the
human mind, I am so dissatisfied with my expreesion of them,
that I sometimes hesitate about scndins my writings to my
friends, after they have gr:ne through the press. My princi-
pal encouragement is, that the truths which I have published
seem to have found their way to the hearts of some young
men of fine powers and a noble spirit, who, as I trust, are to
do much more than myself. I have for many years had a
deep feeling of the present degraded state of moral and re-
ligious science. My desire and hope has been, to awaken in
others the want of something purer and more ennobling.
My success has certainly exceeded my expectation, but has
done little to remove the consciousness of deficiency. I have
written this that you may understand the good which has
been done me by sympathy on your side of the ocean."

" Boston, March 30, 1S29.* Great public favor is a great
snare. We are in danger of an excessive sensitiveness to
reputation, and of losing, through this blighting selfishness,
the very loftiness of spirit through which reputation is to be
preserved. I wonder if one cause of the decline of great
reputations be not the tendency of fame to distract and nar-
row the mind, by the selfish elations and the selfish anxieties
which it alternately engenders. I feel these to be the perils
of authorship in my own case. I want approbation, for I am
by nature self-distrusting ; and yet I am not sure that the
little simplicity and disinterestedness which I may possess are
at all aided by it. In truth, life is throughout a trial, and
wisely made such ; for through trial moral power is called
forth, and our dependence on a higher power strengthened.
AVe aim to do good ; and the very good which we do may,
by a selfish reference, become to ourselves an evil. We
would lay open whatever is pure and elevated in our own

* To Mrs Felicia Hemans

328 THE MINISTRY AND LITEKaTUKE.

spirits, that others may commune with and participate in It
and the very sympathy of otiiers may make us idols to our-
selves, and render us unworthy of it."

" Boston^ June 8th, 1830.* You needed no apology for
writing to me. Believe me, I have fewer gratifications than
5he proofs which are occasionally afforded me of an interest
taken by intelligent and distant strangers in what I have pub-
lished. The voice of sympathy coming to me across the
ocean is most welcome. It gives me reason to hope that I
have reached and set forth some great, everlasting, universal
truths. This recompense is the most delightful, because un-
looked for, and would give me unmixed pleasure, could I
escape from the consciousness that it is disproportioned to
my efforts. It is true, that I have aimed, as you say, to pro-
mote the spirit of Individuality. It grieves me to hear the
multitude repeating perpetually the deafening cries and
watchwords of party. It grieves me that so few speak
from personal conviction, that men despair of doing any
thing except by banding together in sects, and that even
truth has caught a sectarian tone. Your letter was gratify-
ing to me, by the freedom with which you dissented from
some of my opinions. I differ so often from myself, that
commendation which comes to me without some qualification
wants one mark of value."

" Boston, March 8th, 1833.t My Dear Sir : — I smiled
a little at your solicitude about the reception your article
would find with me. It will be relieved, when I tell you
that I have not read it. | You will not infer from this that
you have been neglected. I have felt, for some time, that
the less I read about myself the better. The most laudatory

" To Miss Emily Tnylor, New Biickenliam.

t To Orville Dewey, D. D.

\ Review of his writings, in the Christian Examiner.

IMPARTIALITY. 329

arlicle on my writings ever published, as I suppose, appeared
in the Westminster Review, two or three years ago, and I
did not read it, though the number containing it was more
than once in my hands. The vindication of me, in the
North American, from Hazlitt's abuse in the Edinburgh, I
have never read. I am always gratified by a few lines in a
letter or newspaper, showing me that my writings are spread-
ing, and are producing their effects on one and another mind.
I read such notices now and then ; for my tendency is to
discouragement, to depressing views of whatever I do. None
are more grateful for a word of heartfelt approbation ; but I
can dispense with any thing more. So much for my inter-
est in laudatory criticisms. As to those which expose my
defects, I am glad to receive them from fair-minded mvn.

Accordingly, I desired , when reading your article,

to extract the fault-finding passages; and you can judge
how they affected me, when I tell you, that, on finishing the
extracts, I asked, ' Is this all ? '

" You say something of the policy of finding fault, as a
proof of impartiality. I reply, — without the slightest rcfci--
ence to my own case, — that here, as elsewhere, policy ami
truth are one. The mischief done by seeming to give u]) an
able advocate of a cause to the violence of its opponents out-
weighs all the benefits of a calculating impartiality. Nothing
injures a cause more than the appearance of weakness in its
friends ; and whilst this is no reason for assuming, as is so
common, an over-confident tone, it is a reason for not yield-
ing an inch of ground, beyond what truth demands, to our
adversaries. In what I have said above, as to my not read-
ing much which is written about myself, I have given you a
piece of secret history, known to no other person ; and which
I wish not to be known, because I should be sorry that my
eulogists should think me ungrateful, because I earnestly de-
sire such favorable notices as will spread my works, be-
cause the true state of my mind on the subject could not be
28*

330 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

understood, and because, in my progress, I may come to
find benefit in what I do not read now."

" Boston, May 5, 1834.* The truth is, I have been an
author by accident, not by profession or of set purpose.
Most that I have pubHshed was written without a thought of
pubHcation, and nothing was written to appear in my own
name ; so that I have not been exposed, in a great degree,
to the sensitiveness which cleaves to authorship. I never
could attach much importance to these ahnost fortuitous pro-
ductions. The truths which 1 have insisted on seem to me,
indeed, infinitely important, — more so than to any body
else. But I am conscious of having done no justice to them ;
so that I am little disposed to blame those who differ from
me."

" Boston, Jan. 19th, 1835.t As to the interest you take
in my writings, I can only say to you, what I have often
said, that the reception they have met with surprises me. I
had no expectation of the effect they have pi'oduced. I am
not, on this account, less g»*'iteful for the good which I trust
they are doing, and I have encouragements to labor, without
which my life would be less active and happy.

" I do not wonder that you have discovered inconsistencies
in my last volume. | When I engaged to publish it, I in-
tended to rewrite all the sermons ; but I was able to do this
only in the case of the first, and the rest were printed very
much as they were delivered, and not one had been com-
posed with care."

" March, 1836.§ I was a little surprised by your appli
cation in behalf of a good duchess in the heart of Germany

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillio.

t To the Kev. George Armstrong.

t Tlie Becoiid volume of liis Sermons.

§ To Ceo. Ticknor, Esq., Dresden, Saxony.

HIS WRITINGS IN GERMANY. 331

1 did not suppose that my name had ever been heard in that
country, and I can hardly conceive of my finding much fa-
vor among a people of such different habits of tK&ught, and
whose learned men and men of genius leave me so very,
very far behind. However, I will send my books with
pleasure. I know they contain some great truths, written,
not from tradition, but from deep conviction, from the depths
of my soul, — may I not say, from inspiration? I mean
nothing miraculous ; — does not God speak in us all ? No
one does, or can, see the imperfections of what I have writ-
ten as I do myself. But in the ' earthen vessel ' there is
still a heavenly ' treasure.' Of this I am sure. I will there-
fore send my books, with all their imperfections, to the
duchess. They contain principles which it would be well
for dukes and duchesses to learn, all the world over; and
who knows but that I may give to one in high station a new
sympathy with his or her fellow-creatures, a new reverence
for humanity, a new perception of the nothingness of the out-
ward compared with the inward ? I live in hope ; for is it
not the will of God that all men shall be brought to the
knowledge of the truth ^ "

" William E. Channing respectfully requests the Duchess
of to accept the books now forwarded. He has under-
stood from an American friend residing at Dresden, who

has communicated with Count , that the duchess had

expressed a desire to see his writings, and he trusts that she
will do him the honor to accept from him such as he can
now collect. No one can be more aware than himself of the
imperfect manner in which he has unfolded his views ; but,
having entire and joyful faith in the great and life-giving
truths which he feels himself called to teach, he takes pleas-
ure in sending his writings to any who may be disposed to
read them, and especially to those whose high station gives
them peculiar influence over the minds of their fellow-beings.

832 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

Ele begs the Duchess of to accept his assurances of re

spect and his sincere wishes for her happiness."

" William E. Channing respectfully asks the Duchess of
to accept an address delivered by him on a subject

which has excited great interest and much philanthropic exer-
tion in his own country. Thanks to God, these efforts have
been crowned with wonderful success. It is true, we havo
yet a fearful amount of intemperance in the United States of
America ; but the change produced in the habits of society is
most beneficial. No attempt at moral reform, in this age
of benevolent enthusiasm, has been so successful. To the
philanthropist, it is a most encouraging thought, that the vice
which has been thought more hopeless than any other, and
which does more than all others to degrade the laboring
classes, that is, the majority of mankind, may be arrested by
benevolent effort. We learn, that, in Sweden and Denmark,
temperance societies, similar to ours, are fostered by govern-
ment. We of republican America, who look on less popular
institutions with jealousy, do yet rejoice when we find sov-
ereigns thus becoming the parents of their people. It will be
seen, in this address, how gladly we welcome good reports
of the progress of education in Germany. A new impulse is
already given, from that country, to education in America.
The most interesting feature in our age is a calm, deliberate
faith in the capability of human progress. Thus the friends
of humanity arc exerting a wider influence than they hoped.
"The author received with much sensibility the note in
which the duchess acknowledges the receipt of the volumes
forwarded by him. He cannot be indifferent to expressicns
of approbation from persons of distinguished rank, bu he
would be unjust to himself, were he not to say that his great
pleasure on such occasions arises from the hope that ho may
do something towards strengthening, in those whom God has
clothed with great power, an interest in the cause of human-
ity, in the improvement and happiness of their race."

TOLERANCE. 333

" Sept. 18, 1839.* My dear Sir: — I cannot deny my-
self the pleasure of thanking you for your Rhymed Plea for
Tolerance. The poem was already in my librav^r; but I am
glad to add a copy from the hand of the author. Some have
lioped that the fiend of intolerance was expelled for ever
from the more enlightened parts of Christendom ; but new
cases of possession seem to multiply, and I welcome every
friend of humanity and freedom who will undertake the part
of exorcist.

" As to the ' review ' of my writings which you refer to,
I do not need much solace under it. I wish I could ascribe
my indifference about such matters to philosophy or religion.
I suppose it has grown, in part, out of my exposure for
years to like attacks. But there is a deeper cause. My na-
ture inclines me to keep out of tlie world, and to interest my-
self in subjects more than in persons. This tendency I have
to resist, as injurious to the affections and to Christian sym-
pathy. But one effect of it is, that what is said of me makes
little or no impression. Indeed, I forget it in a few days.
There are some who can ' forgive, but not forget.' The dif-
ficulty with me is, that I cannot forgive, because I so soon
forget. I have so many subjects more interesting than my
opponent, that he is crowded out of mind. In all this there
is no virtue, but much comfort.

" I might complain of my reviewer, that he has seized on
my first work, instead of the last. I have not read my re-
marks on Milton for many years ; but I can easily believe
that they furnish j)roofs enough of bad taste. I seem to my-
self to have gained a good deal, in the power of expression,
by time and use. My last Letter on Slavery, I believe, is
svritten with a good deal more of freedom and purity than
my earlier productions. However, I will not complain. An
adversary must be expected to aim at the weakest side ; and

* To Jolin Keii} on, Esq., London.

834 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

perhaps I ought to feel that there is something of a compli.

ment paid me, when such a man as can think

me so dangerous to the republic of letters as to need the re-
sistance of his veteran arm. To be serious, reviews trouble
me only on one account. They may deter some from giv-
ing attention to what seem to me great truths. I do think
that I have said what deserves to be weighed. No one can
be more sensible than I am of the imperfect way in which I
have said it."

" Newport, June 15, 1841.* Perhaps you are not aware
how entirely I have abstained from all efforts to give circula-
tion to my writings. I never solicited, however indirectly,
any aid in "making them known. As a general rule, I have
not read the reviews of them. Not that I have been indif-
ferent to their success, but because I have felt that the less I
thought about them, when once given to the world, the bet-
ter."

" Boston, Aug. 29, 1841.t I am much cheered and
strengthened by learning that my testimony to truth has not
been in vain, that it is responded to by inquiring and serious
minds at a distance, that I am doing something for the cause
of God and man. We all of us need encouragement. I
certainly do. My natural tendency is, to ascribe little im-
portance to what I do ; and I should have written very little,
without expressions of sympathy. I should have prized the
truth which I hold as I do now, but I should have questioned
my own power of setting it forth to any effect. You have
done me good. I thank you for your encouraging words.
Still more I thank God, who strengthens me to speak to the
Bouls of my fellow-creatures."

It thus appears how incidentally Dr. Channing entered
* To George G. Channing, Esq. t To Wm. Trevilcock, Esq.

HABITS AS A WRITER. 335

the sphere of literature. The etJiical element was the
predominant one in his nature ; and although his love of
beauty was too strong, independent of overiflastering en-
thusiasm, ever to have permitted him to be a mere dilet-
tante, it was not so active as to make him dissatisfied,
until he had concentrated into a symmetric work of art
his. thought ,and emotion. He was too earnest as a
prophet, to waste hours, which were only too swift in
their flight for one so feeble, upon giving form to the in-
spiring truth which he knew he was called to communi-
cate. Fully aware, as he was, too, that he had attained
but to glimpses of most glorious realities, he could not
be so presumptuous and irreverent as to attach an unreal
value to what he humbly regarded as fragmentary sugges-
tions ; and the conceptions struggling within him, over
which he delightedly brooded, in meditative days and
wakeful nights, were so sweet and majestic, that any
portraiture of them would have seemed incomplete and
unfinished. He could give, at the best, but a sketch of
his meaning, like a child's rough outline of some statue
or landscape. His chief care, therefore, was, to be true ;
and he left his expression to take its hue and shape spon-
taneously. A glance at his manuscripts shows how un-
labored was his style. The corrections are, for the
most part, erasures ; and, where words are exchanged
for others, in all cases, it is by substitution of a simple
phrase for a composite one. Systematically, from even
early years, he disciplined his fancy to severe sober-
ness ; though any one who knew him intimately could
not but see how richly stored were his galleries of thought
with exquisite natural images. He feared that the sense
of the hearer or reader would be lured from the aspect
of truth to the splendor of her robes by the use of meta-

336 THE Ml.MSTRY AND LITERATURE.

plior, and 30 habiiually checked his instinctive i)ropensity
to present laws and principles by the medium of syn)bols.
His effort was, to utter himself plainly. The exercise
of imagination, also, he restrained, limiting its sphere to
giving a fresh and vigorous embodiment to his ideas in
the most obvious form, though he was apt and able for
original creation, if he had seen it to be a befitting wqrk.
The very play of the affections he subdued, and constant-
ly sought for a calm, attempered, equable tone of state-
ment, though his fervent will necessarily infused a glow
of eloquence through the whole texture of his composi-
tion. And, finally, he would not allow himself to be ab-
stract or scientific in his method or vocabulary, for fear
that the public would be deterred from listening to, or
prevented from apprehending, the divine thoughts which
he was empowered to teach, unless won to attention by a
familiar mode of treatment. In a word, he saw an imme-
diate duty to be done, which was, to rouse his lethargic
fellow-beings to a consciousness of the grandeur of man's
spiritual existence, and he resolutely consecrated himself,
by iteration and reiteration of one sublime lesson, now
breathed softly in whispers, now rung out like an alarum,
to break the dream of the world and to summon the mul-
titude to the labors and joys of a brightening morning.

The history of his various publications confirms this
view of Dr. Channing as a literary man. He became
an author unawares. When the " Anthology Club "
commenced the course of labors which did so much to
give an impulse to the intellect of New England, he was
invited to be a contributor to their journal ; and, in con-
sequence, he communicated to its pages two or three
essays, a few fragmentary thoughts, and one or more
short pieces iji verse, which were probably the only at-

PUBLICATIONS. 337

tempts he ever made at poetical composition. But he
could not enter cordially into what he felt to be, for him-
self, at least, but " busy idleness." His work was to
preach. As great political occasions called from him
sermons which contained declarations of sentim.ent and
opinion adapted to the wants of the times, he reluctantly
yielded to the demand for their publication, and allowed
them to be printed, as first written, with scarcely a ver-
bal amendment. In the Christian Disciple, he sought
to do what he might to pour oil upon the stormy waves
which were then swelling beneath the tempest of contro-
versy ; and only when he could in conscience no longer
keep silence, addressed to his fellow-Christians his re-
monstrance against spiritual despotism, in his letters to
Mr. Thacher and Dr. Worcester. Thus, in the first
era of his ministry, it is seen how accidentally he found
himself summoned from his quiet study and round of par-
ish duties, to modes of address for which he felt no taste.
And in the last era of his life, until within a very few
years before his death,' he had the same disinclination to
make any special call upon the attention of his fellow-
men. Apart from the restraints of his native modesty,
and the influence of his lofty ideal, measured by whose
standard most of the literature of the age appeared tame
and frivolous, he was so eager to climb to serener
heights, that it satisfied him to send forth a cheering cry
to brethren struggling upwards through the shadows, as
prospects of beauty opened amidst the fog. His pub-
licadons were still occasional addresses, drawn from him
by request. Friends urged him continually to embody
his thoughts in a more permanent form, to which he re-
plied, that they were not quite ripe. And when be-
sought at least to revise, select, and print in a volume
VOL. II. 29

338 THE BIINISTRY AND LrrKKATLTRE.

what he had already given to the public, he could not
be prev^ailed upon to think it of sufficient importance to
authorize his expending on such a work hours which he
felt bound to consecrate to progressive inquiry.

At length the desire to aid in giving a higher tone and
securing a wider sphere of influence to the Christian Dis-
ciple, which in 1824 was enlarged, and took a new form
under the name of the Christian Examiner, drew from him
some essays, which attained a most unlooked-for celeb-
rity, and made him universally known in the world of let-
ters. The attention excited by these papers was a great
surprise to him, and he always considered the estimate
placed upon them by the public exaggerated. To redeem
his promise of communicating an impulse to the review
which was the special organ of Liberal Christianity, and to
set an example of a bold, free, manly treatment of great
subjects, in hterature, pohtics, education, science, &c.,
he poured out, with his usual rapidity of composition,
trains of thought, which at all times interested him, and
which were freshly recalled by the successive appearance
of Milton's " Christian Doctrine," Scott's " Life of
Bonaparte," and " Selections from Fenelon " ; but his
chief aim was, to awaken his own immediate circle of be-
lievers to a more comprehensive, cordial, direct applica-
tion of religion to life. The themes, however, were
most interesting to him, and the very spontaneousness
with which he expressed himself was favorable to the true
manifestation of his character and mind. These hasty
effusions, which, considered as literary models, he val-
ued but little, let a sympathizing reader very deeply into
the essential spirit of the man. His tender sensibility,
delicacy of taste, chivalric heroism, loyal love of truth,
high integrity, expansiveness, aspiration, pervade the no

MISCELLANIES. 339

tice of the sublime poet and stern republican. His pro-
found veneration for man, grand estimate of the end and
method of life, and devout confidence irfGod's infinite
purposes of benignity to his human family, give to his
searching analysis of the springs of action in the military
despot an awful sincerity ; and as the culprit is brought
before the piercing eyes of the congregated spiritual
world, stripped of the tinsel rags of false glory, pity
prompts the reader to recall every good trait and deed, as
a mantle to cover his shame. The uncompromising con-
science of the writer here appears with the grave, firm
aspect of an impartial judge upon the bench. The me-
thodical habit of his mind is also shown, in the manner
'n which he passes from the condemnation of lawless
power in an individual instance to the discussion of the
rightful function and scope of government, closing with
an unreserved expression of reverence for the judiciary.
The second part of the essay on Bonaparte — it may
be said, in passing — was written with n)ore care, prob-
ably, than any of the occasional pieces of that period.
It is in the notice of Fenelon, however, that what was
most characteristic of Dr. Channing appeared. Tn count-
less little strokes and touches throughout that paper, he
sketched his own likeness with a fidelity which no second
hand will ever rival ; and the almost angelic ideal of piety
there given was an unconscious portrait of the beauly of
his own holiness.

Soon after the publication of these essays in the Ex-
aminer, the desire to aid a friend induced Dr. Channing
to collect and revise what he thought worth preserving in
his past writings, — a private feeling of kindness present-
ing a motive, which sense of duty as an author did not
supply. And thus the volume of Miscellanies came to

340 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

be printed in 1830. In the Preface to the first edi-
tion, he thus indicates his own estimate of his literary
labors.

" The reader cannot be more aware than I am, that these
various tracts, called forth by particular occasions, and nev-
er intended to appear in their present form, need many
and great changes; but they probably would never have
been repubhshed, had I waited for leisure to conform them
to my ideas of what they should be, or to make them more
worthy of the unexpected favor which they have received.
They were written to meet the wants of the times, and to
place what I deem great truths within reach of the multi-
tude of men. If the reader will bear this in mind, some
defects will more readily be excused. The second Review
in particular should be referred to the date of its original
publication

" I esteem it a privilege that my writings have called
forth many strictures and been subjected to an unsparing
criticism. I know that in some things I must have erred.
I cannot hope, that, even in my most successful efforts, I
have done full justice to any great truth. Deeply conscious
of my fallibleness, I wish none of my opinions to be taken
on trust, nor would I screen any from the most rigorous
examination. If my opponents have exposed my errors,
I owe them a great debt; and should I fail, through the
force of prejudice, to see and acknowledge my obligation
to them in this life, I hope to do so in the future world.

" I have declined answering attacks made on my writ-
ings, not from contempt of my opponents, among whom
are men of distinguished ability and acknowledced virtue,
but because I believed that I should do myself and others
more good by seeking higher and wider views, than by
defending what I had already oflbrcd. I feared that my
mind might become stationary by lingering round my owo

MISCELLANIES. 341

writings. I never doubted, that, if any thing in these were
worthy to live, it would survive all assaults, and I was not
anxious to uphold for a moment what was horned, by its
want of vital energy, to pass away

" Very possibly this volume may seem to want consis-
tency. I have long been conscious that we are in more
danger of being enslaved to our own opinions, especially
to such as we have expressed and defended, than to those
of any other person ; and I have accordingly desired to
write without any reference to my previous publications, or
without any anxiety to accommodate my present to my
past views. In treatises prepared in this spirit and at dis-
tant intervals, some incongruity of thought and feeling can
hardly fail to occur.

" An opposite objection may be urged, that the volume
has too much repetition. This could not well be avoided
in articles written on similar topics and occasions, — writ-
ten, too, witliout any reference to each other, and in ex-
pectation that each would be read by many into whose
hands the others would not probably fall. I must add, that
my interest in certain great truths has made me anxious to
avail myself of every opportunity to enforce them ; nor
do I feel as if they were urged more frequently than their
importance demands.

" I will only say, in conclusion, that, whilst I attach no
great value to these articles, I still should not have sub-
mitted to the labor of partially revising them, did I not
believe that they set forth some great truths, which, if car-
ried out and enforced by more gifted minds, may do much
for human improvement. If, by any tiling which I have
written, I may be an instrument of directing such minds
more seriously to the claims and true greatness of our na-
ture, I shall be most grateful to God. This subject deserves,
and will sooner or later engage, the profoundest meditations
of wise and good men. I have done for it what I could j
29*

342 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

but when I think of its grandeur and importance,' I earnestly
desire and anticipate for it more worthy advocates. In
truth, I shall see with no emotion but joy these fugitive pro-
ductions forgotten and lost in the superior brijihtness of
writings consecrated to the work of awakening in the hu-
man soul a consciousness of its divine and immortal pow-
ers."

The publication of a second volume made up of
Sermons was owing to a like motive of private benev-
olence. He had pledged a subscription of five hun-
dred dollars to the Boston Farm School, and being at
the time so situated pecuniarily that he could not oth-
erwise well meet the claim, he resorted to this plan as
a means of raising the sum. It so happened, however,
that he was immediately seized with severe illness, with-
out having been able to correct and prepare more than
one discourse for the press. The rest of the volume
was selected and arranged by his friend. Dr. Dewey,
and the sermons now appear as they were first written
for the pulpit. And, finally, it was a characteristic
close of his literary career, that the chief inducement
which led him to put forth the complete edition of his
works, in six volumes, was a desire to make the publi-
cation serviceable to a brother, who was then turning
his attention to printing and editing as a branch of busi-
ness. From first to last, audiorship was the accident
of Dr. Channing's life. With greater physical vigor,
he would have been an evangelist, preaching far and
wide, with the living voice, the exalting views which
had been opened to his earnest, prayerful, patient seek-
ing, or an active reformer, applying directly to the
wants of the age the great principle of love with which
he felt that Providence was inspiring mankind.

LORD BYKON. 343

Dr. Channing's 'publications were the means of intro-
ducing him to a society of most refined and high-minded
correspondents, and extracts from his letters to them will
still further illustrate his literary character.

" Newport, October 4, 1821. It wants massiveness, depth,
fulness of thought, that is, it wants the essential properties
of high poetry. I smile when I hear poetry called light
reading. The true poet has far-reaching thoughts, a per-
ception of the harmonious and exquisite relations of the uni-
verse, an eye that pierces the depths and mysteries of the
soul, placing him amidst the most gifted and exalted intel-
ligences."

" June 28, 1824.* I can hardly express the feeling the
news of Lord Byron's death has given me. That a mind so
gifted should have been left to devote its energies to the
cause of impiety and vice, and should be so soon and sud-
denly taken, without making reparation to insulted truth and
virtue, — that such a mind is to live for ages in its writings
only to degrade and corrupt, — in all this we see the myste-
rious character of God's providence. I always hoped, that,
after the fever of youthful passion, this unhappy man would
reflect, repent, and prove that in genius there is something
congenial with religion. But he is gone — where human
praise and human reproaches cannot follow him. Such
examples of perverted talent should reconcile the less gifted
to their obscure lot.

" In his whole life he was by way of eminence a law
less man, spurning all restraint, whether divine or human,
whether from his own conscience or from society ; and he
seems to have valued no power more than that of defying
and resisting all wills which interfered with his own. Tha/

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillie.

344 THE MI^MSTKV a:<d literature.

any talent, however stupendous, should have made such a
man an idol to your sex shows that you must divide with us
the reproach too justly brought against our age of great
moral degradation. I learn that there is not on the face of
the earth a more corrupt class than the fashionable young
men of Englanc^. Would this be so, if young women were
more true. to the cause of virtue? This is almost too grave
for a letter ; but the toleration of gross vice, so common in
what are called the higher classes, is not to be thought of
without sorrow and indignation.

" You ask me what I think of Moore's doctrine, that men
of the first genius are naturally unfitted for friendship or

domestic life. I have no faith in it I have no

doubt that genius is often joined with vice, but not naturally
or necessarily. Mediocrity can boast of as many irritable,
self-willed, licentious subjects as high talent. Moore seems
to think genius a kind of fever, madness, intoxication. How
little does he understand its divinity ! I know that some-
times the ' great deeps ' in the heart of a man are broken
open, and the mind is overwhelmed with a rush of thought
and feeling ; but generally genius is characterized by self-
mastery. It is true of this inspiration what Saint Paul says
of a higher, — ' The spirit of a* prophet is subject to the
prophet.' The highest genius, I believe, is a self-guiding,
calm, comprehensive power. It creates in the spirit of the
Author of the Universe, in the spirit of order. It worships
truth and beauty. There is truth in its wildest inventions,
and it tinges its darkest pictures with hues of beauty. As
to Moore's notion, that genius, because it delights in the
ideal, is soon wearied and disgusted with the real, it is false.
The contrary is rather true. He who conceives and loves
beauty in its highest forms is most alive to it in its humblest
manifestation. He loves it not by comparison, or for its de-
gree, but for its own sake ; and the same is true of beauty.
The true worshipper of beauty sees it in the lowliest flower,

MRS. HEBIANS. 345

meets it in every path, enjoys it everywhere. Fact is
against Moore. The greatest men I have known have been
the most beautiful examples of domestic virtue. Moore's
doctrine makes genius a curse, and teaches that the Creator,
the source of harmony, has sown discord between the no-
blest attributes of the soul. I shall not wonder if some
half-witted pretenders to genius should, on the strength of
Moore's assertion, prove their title by brutality in their do-
mestic and social relations.

" I rejoice with you in Mrs. Hemans's success. She
needs it, and I hope it will not harm her. She will not, I
think, be intoxicated by the praise of the Edinburgh. The
article to which you refer in that work seemed to me to be-
tray little real admiration, but more of studied courtesy
and chivalrous resolution to be generous to a lady. You
and Mrs. Hemans seem to show, in opposition to the review-
er, that a woman may exceed the limits of a page without
betraying her inferiority to man. When I consider how
much the life of woman is broken up into little details, and
what the routine is to which she is doomed by the present
state of society, I do not wonder that she has not written
epic poems. As to the Edinburgh, I consider its dispar-
aging tone towards me as an offset for the undue praise re-
ceived from other quarters. The author of the article is
now dead ; and as I did not feel a moment's anger towards
him during his life, I have no reproach for him now. He
was a man of fine powers, and wanted nothing but pure and
fixed principles to make him one of the lights of his age."

'■'Portsmouth, R. J., June 16, 1828.* I received dis-
tinctly the impression that Shelley was a noble nature sadly
perverted, and that, under happier influences, he might have
proved the glory of his race

• To Miss Ruth P. Olney, Providence.

346 THE BIIMSTRY AND LITERATURE.

" I should like to know something of Shelley from one
worthy of belief and capable of estimating him. I am in-
clined to think him a man lost to religion through the folly,
hypocrisy, and intolerance of its ' friends.' How many
noble spirits have been ruined by identifying religion with
its loud professors ! But I mean not to make excuse for
such persons. They have no right to take their ideas of re-
ligion from the pulpit and vulgar cant. They have access
to her true oracles and expounders, to the teachings of the
universe and of Jesus Christ ; and these teachings it is their
duty to .ay open to their less gifted brethren, not to unsettle
the foundations of human hope and to precipitate weak-
er minds from the Rock of Ages into the gulf of doubt,
darkness, and despair. I mean not, however, ' to shut the
gates of mercy ' against the skeptic. That he is sometimes
more virtuous than many a believer who condemns him,
I doubt not. The mass of people who never think under-
stand little the trials of a superior mind which must think,
which cannot but question Nature and Providence, and which
nas been taught to associate almost indissolubly with moral
and religious principles opinions which it sees to be without
foundation.

" On such a mind, when it seems to me to err, I dare not
pronounce sentence, and I see with pleasure whatever
proofs it gives of principle, of respect for duty, amidst its
aberrations."

" /m/ip, 1827. I have sometimes felt, in reading Mrs.
Hemans's works, that her sense of the evils of life is too
keen and colors her views too much. I love to be touched,
moved, but not depressed. No genius, no power of execu-
tion, can recompense me for what I suffer from the tones of
sorrow coming to me from a highly gifted mind in which
the deepest impressions are those of suffering, and over
whose brightest inventions there is a hue of sadness. My

BONDS BETWEEN NATIONS. 347

confidence in the great purposes of God towards us, my
persuasion that all suffering is meant to purif^and exalt the
soul, to be the occasion of moral strength and victory, leads
me to feel that a deep peace and an unbroken resolution m
all changes arc due alike to ourselves and to our Creator. 1
may err. Perhaps a life of prosperity has made me inca-
pable of understanding the sorrow-stricken spirit. But it
seems to me one of the great purposes and blessed influ-
ences of Christian faith to reconcile intense sensibility with
peace and energy."

" Boston, March 30, 1830.* You have not yet, I trust,
fulfilled your mission on earth, though, were it now to end,
you would leave behind you emanations of your spirit to act
far and wide and in ages to come. I thank you for the last
volume you sent me. The last two pieces but one were
new to me, and seemed to me to express with great truth
and pathos that union of upward aspiration and earthly at-
tachment which I should call a just tribute to both worlds,
and which shows the unity of our whole being

" I know that the effort which you ask is a slight one ; but,
to a man overburdened already, a slight addition of labor is
soTTiething serious. The motive which you suggest is a
more powerful one with me than you can well imagine. I
perhaps owe it to myself to say, that I know no one quite
as anxious as I am to multiply intellectual, moral, and re-
ligious bonds between my own and other countries. Few
estimate as humbly as I do the moral worth of what is called
national spirit, compared with the spirit of Christianity. I
have hoped, by turning men's thoughts on their own nature,
— a nature which all hold in common, — to do something
toward substituting a more generous and universal bond for
those selfish and narrow ones which, as yet, have done more

• To Mrs. Felicia Hemans.

348 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

towards dividing than uniting the human family. Of course
I have no desire to exclude national attachments, but I
would have a new spirit of humanity, founded on respect
for human nature, spread abroad, and if, by being a con-
tributor to any literary work on your side of the ocean, I
can strengthen a virtuous sympathy between our countries,
I will do so very cheerfully, when I have time and strength,
both of which are now wanting."

'■''April 2, 1831. I am glad to have an excuse for ex-
pressing again my affectionate solicitude for you. May I
not hope that you have found increased strength for suffer-
ing .'' Does life still present itself so much under its dark
aspects } Are you not attaining to a more reverential con-
sciousness of your own soul, and of its relations to God, so
as to feel yourself the possessor of a celestial treasure amidst
all earthly changes .? Does not the infinite purpose of Hfe
open more upon you and interpret to you your sufferings ?
I cannot bear to think of you as sinking under the evils of
life. There are some in whose depression I acquiesce.
When I read Byron, for example, I have a satisfaction
mixed with compassion in hearing from him the tones of
gloomy, angry despondence. I mean that my sense of jus-
tice is satisfied. I see him receiving a fit recompense of his
guilt. He refused to see and walk in the ' light of life,' and
deserved to walk in darkness. He renounced his allegiance
to God and to the everlasting law of duty, and abandoned
himself without restraint to self-will and pride ; and how
fit and necessary was it that he should endure the miseries
of a lonely, desolate soul ! No wonder he looked with a
bitter discontent on life, for he carried within himself no
revelation of the good for which the trials of life are or-
dained. There was nothing within him to oppose to the
evil without, and he was conquered by that evil. To his
diseased apprehension, the power of evil was triumphant in

CHANTREy's WASHINGTON. 349

the universe. He had no suspicion of its infinite weakness,
compared with the power of good. He did not understand
its ministry in caUing forth what is most Divine in man. He
was therefore, I say, conquered by it. But evil ought not to
conquer you. You carry ite interpretation within you. You
have aids granted but to few, for transmuting it into good.
May I not hope that you are gradually rising to that serene
' starry height ' .'' "

« July 16, 1835.* We have just heard of Mrs. Hern-
ans's death. She has done lier work nobly, and has gone,
I trust, to a higher sphere of action. She has aided the
spiritual life in very many whom she never saw

"We are all admiring here a statue of Washington by
Chantrey. We think it a noble work. Is it true that the
arts have reached their perfection ? Their highest province
is to express exalted conceptions of human character ; and
are we not, however slowly, rising to juster and loftier ideas
of moral greatness than the ancients had .'' They are never
to be excelled, perhaps, in expressing the perfection of the
animal nature and the simpler or more primitive emotions.
But in proportion as superstition and slavery disappear and
leave the mind to unfold itself more fully, I trust that nobler
and more beautiful forms of character will be manifested,
which genius will embody in works of art. You and I may
not live to see these hopes fulfilled. But a good hope is worth
keeping for its own sake."

" 1838.t As to Scott's Life by Lockhart, I have read the
first volume with singular pleasure. It answers one end of
biography better than any I have seen. It shows the forma-
tion of the hero's mind. It has always been a puzzle to me,
how a man in such an age as this could contrive to fill, cram,

* To Miss Jane E. Roscoe, Liverpool,
t To Miss Harriet Martineau.

VOL. II. 30

350 THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

his mind with the stories, costumes, &:c., of border warfare
and a race of barbarians. Lockhart explains it all. Scott's
character is much what I expected. I knew that he had no
comprehension of the high purposes of literature, — that to
him it was a plaything, not a sacred power; that his knowl-
edge of human nature was that of a man of the world, not a
philosopher, — that he was, in a word, a most admirable
specimen of a man of the world. The union of so much
shrewdness and goodness with his absurd Tory prejudices is
an illustration of the inconsistencies of human nature. I ask
myself, ' Am I as inconsistent as every body else .' ' But I
must ramble on no longer. I wish I could say more of Scott.
I certainly owe him a great deal. He and Miss Mitford have
solaced many hours of illness."

" Boston, May 4, 1838.* I have read with great pleasure
the first six volumes of Scott's Life, though sometimes wearied
by letters which might as well have been omitted. The
work lets the reader into the formation of the subject's mind,
or into the circumstances which determined it, and this is no
small merit. Not that I think the mind the creature of cir-
cumstances ; but some men are reflections of the outward
more than others, and this I think was eminently the case
with Scott. His was not a mind to penetrate itself, haunted
with its own mysteries, and conscious of mightier conflicts
and processes within than any abroad. He lived abroad.
He was a keen, shrewd observer of whatever passed around
him. No man ever understood more of what is called life,
and of the more superficial workings of the human heart.
Philosophy he had none, and he interpreted very poorly the
passions which he painted, or suspected little what they indi-
cate. Thus he seems to me to have been formed from
abroad, and hence he is a good subject for biography. The

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillie.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 351

greatest minds admit no biography. They are determined
from within. Their works spring from unfalhomed depths
in their own souls, from silent, secret thoughts, inqaisitions,
aspirations, which come they know not whence, go they
know not whither.

" You see 1 do not place Scott among the greatest ; and
yet, when I think of his vast range of observation, of his
power of appropriating all he saw to his purposes, of his
inexhaustible invention, of his wide sympathy, and of the
spirit of humanity pervading his writings, I feel something
like self-rebuke as I think that I may have spoken of him
disparagingly. He discovered want of moral greatness in
his want of reverence for his own mind, in his unconscious-
ness of the holy purpose to which genius may always be
consecrated, in his childish admiration of hereditary honors,
and his incapacity of conceiving of a higher state of human
nature and of society than now exists. He was, as I have
more than once said, the ideal of a man of the world, — the
highest, most attractive manifestation of that character which
I have known. Let me add, that in one thing I sympathize
with him, and that is the affectionate reverence ^yhich he
bore to yourself"

1838.* " I could not but be grateful to you for the kind
manner in which you received my remarks on Sir Walter
Scott. After sending them, I began to doubt whether I might
not have given some pain to so old a friend of Scott. How
litde mercy great men find from the world ! Their very
greatness invites unreasonable criticism, for, after all our
experience of human nature, we look for consistency in
men, and greatness in one particular excites expectations of
something proportioned to it in other parts of the character,
and when the hero in one walk is found to be much like

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillie.

352

THE MINISTRY AND LITERATURE.

common men in others, we are more ready to wonder at hi3
deficiency than his superiority.

" One thing I admired in your friend, and that was his pa-
tience with dull people. Nothing, perliaps, showed more
that his nerves were in good order. To a man of genius,
whose thoughts move at lightning-pace, a creeping proser
must be a terrible annoyance. This single evil was no small
offset against the pleasures of his literary celebrity. Not
that I think that a man of genius can be happy only with
men like himself. Great people may be as tedious as little
ones ; but when dull people came to admire Scott, and
showed off their dulness at length, that they too might share
the joy of admiration, I think his patience must have had a
sore trial, and that he proved his humanity in bearing it so
quietly

" I have not been able to write, except in a very miscel-
laneous manner; but my mind has not been idle, and I
hope that I may be able to do something soon

" was formerly in Congress. knew much of

our distinguished men. But in this country a few years
bring a new set on the political stage, and the distinguished
whom they displace pass from memory. Docs it require
much philosophy nowadays to learn the emptiness of what
is called distinction ? How few, like you, wear fresh lau-
rels in old ago ! An hour ago, a friendly visitor was kind
enough to speak of me as a candidate for posthumous fame.
I felt how many higher reputations had faded away in my
own time. It would be a pity if fame were an essential of
happiness ; for how few get it ! It is not the extent, but the
quality, of one's influence which constitutes glory. All those
who will act nobly on one or a few minds have the prize
within their reach.

" With great respect, your sincere friend."

" What a beautiful conception the character of Sergeant

SUPERFICIALITY OF THE AGE. 353

Talfourd's Ion is. I wish it were brought out with more
dramatic animation, and with a less cumbrous style. Still

it lias delighted me ■*

" Another book has given us great pleasure, and that is
Mrs. Jameson's new book on Canada. I do not know a writ-
er whose works breathe more of the spontaneous, the free.
Beauty and truth seem to come to her unsought. Her free
pencil gives us the Indians with all the signs of life and
reality ; and many of her remarks on society furnish matter
for profound thought." *

"We have had no new book since Bulwer's England
which has made any noise among us. Perhaps we are not
to expect any good ones soon. Whoever wishes to be read
must write for the moment, — must either entertain people
or discuss their immediate interests. It is the ao-e for
speeches, pamphlets, periodicals, and fictions, and certainly
a good deal of mind is thrown off in these forms, and a good
deal of fine thought put into circulation. But as for close
thinking, consecutive reasoning, and broad views of subjects,
we do not superabound with them ; and yet it would not be
a surprise, if some great, immortal work should be silently
matured in this noisy and apparently superficial age.

" The increasing reputation of Coleridge and Wordsworth
I think a good omen, though I differ from them on so many
points. They have not written for the multitude, and yet
live and grow, whilst the writers for the multitude are for-
gotten. I mean, by this phrase, those who write to please
the multitude. I honor those who write for the multitude,
in the true sense of the word, and should value little the
highest labors of genius, did I not believe that the mass, the
race, were to be the wiser and better for them." t

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. t To Orville Dewey, D. D.

30*

354

CHAPTER II.

RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

Dr. Channing was, as we have seen, a prophet. His
function was, to announce to his fellow-men the spiritual
privileges and duties of the present era of Christendom,
to bear to the skeptical an inspiring message, to waken
the worldly to a consciousness of the infinite benignity of
God, to open before the most depressed a vision of the
future glories of our race, to rouse the most disheartened
to large humanity and a rounded godliness. But in pro-
portion as his views grew clear and complete to his own
mind, and as he found his words of calm faith and ear-
nest hope welcomed by the few, while rejected as vision-
ary by too many even of the good, he became desirous
to give some fuller statement of the truth which he knew
he was empowered to teach. He longed to justify to
sober good-sense the thoughts which, uttered in a frag-
mentary way, might and did seem enthusiastic. For his
aim was eminently practical, and he felt that his work
would not be done, unless he succeeded in filling men with
a fresh and profound leverence for human nature in them-
selves and their brethren, a reverence which should prac-
tically manifest itself in reformed modes of life, individ-
ual and collective. For many years, he had been, by
reading, observation, and patient thought, accumulating
a large mass of materials ; and at length it seemed to him
that the time had come when he was in some measure

PLANS OF AUTHORSHIP. 355

worthily fitted to write a work on Man, — his nature,
relations, destiny, and duties. The first allusion to this
purpose which we find in his correspondence appears in
the following letter to the Rev. Dr. Carpenter.

" Boston^ March 20, 1824. I wish I could send you, in
return for your present, some of my own writings. But my
state of health obliges me to be almost idle. I have long
given up regular application, and am obliged to spend the
greatest part of life in using the means of living. Some-
times I hope that I shall be spared to execute a work of
some extent, for which I have made preparation ; but time
flies away, and nothing is done but the accumulation of
more materials, and my plan continues to grow, whilst the
space for accomplishing it is contracted. But this is the
history of a thousand students, — especially of our profes-
sion, and it is certainly well for the world that so many
schemes of authorship prove abortive."

Other references to this proposed work appear in his
letters, and we give a iew passages which will serve at
once to illustrate his plan, and to show how his desire
was constantly baffled, alike by physical infirmity and the
constant drafts made upon his time and power by tran-
sient questions of immediate importance.

" Newport, July 9, 1827.* It will gratify you to know
that all your counsel has not been lost upon me, — whom
you have probably thought more unimpressible than any of
your new flock at the North-end. I have begun to accom-
plish one of the works to which I have long looked.

rejoices, and I feel, that, after having provoked you by my
insensibility to exhortation, I ought to give you a share in her

* To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D.

356 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

joy. What I shall do I am not sure. I somctuTies hope
that God may give me a place, however low, in the class of
his most honored servants, — I mean, of those who throw
Bome new light on the subjects in which human nature has
the deepest interest. At the same time, I am not forgetful
that one of our infirmities is, to magnify the importance of
our own views, and that greater intellectual toil than mine
has often pi'oved unprofitable."

" Sept. 1837.* It has long been my purpose to give a
connected, systematic view of my most important opinions,
or convictions, on the subjects to which my life has beer
devoted. I have made large accumulation of materials, bu
have wanted strength to labor on them effectually. I anr-
now in better health, and have begun my work. What 1
shall be able to accomplish I know not. I cannot but feai
that I shall disappoint my friends, not only in consequence
of the want of physical energy, but from intellectual defects,
of which I am deeply conscious. I am not, however, dis-
couraged in the least by such thoughts. We must do what
we can, and be grateful, if we can do but little. The imme-
diate reward of seeking the highest truth is inexpressible.
It is a reward to know that even a few minds have received
light and strength from our labors."

" July 10, 1838. t By the kindness of Providence I have
now what is called tolerable health, yet for four months I
have been disabled from labor. I long to write, for I feel as
if I had delivered but a small part of my message. JMy
whole life seems to me but a preparation for a work which
I have not done and which I may not be able to do in this
world. This is one of the corroborations of a higher life.
1 feel that I have not exhausted all my spiritual activity, —

* To William Pliimcr, Esq., Epping, N. U.
1 To J. Blanco White.

OPPORTUNITIES OF THE AGE. 357

tliat there is an indefinite, I had ahnost said infinite, power
and life within, which physical infirmity has not enabled me
to bring out. Is this divine energy to perish T Is there
nothing of prophecy in these aspirations after higher spheres
of action r These anticipations are joyful, though 1 cannot
say that they fully satisfy me. I want to act now, to act in
a world the darkness, sins, and suffering of which weigh
often as a heavy burden on my spirit. It seems to me that
there never was so much to be done on earth as at this mo-
ment, never so great a demand for clear and bold exposi-
tions of truth, and for manifestations of the pure spirit of
Christianity. There never was more to contend with, and
never more aids for the conflict. The authority of the past
never was more unsettled, and the possibility of acting benef-
icently on the future never was greater. You and I, how-
ever, my dear sir, are too advanced to do what we would, or
to see the results of others' agency. No matter. The foun-
tain of moral power is inexhaustible, and Providence will
raise up mightier champions of truth and virtue."

" May, 1839. I look forward with peculiar hope to this
summer. I feel now as if 1 had done my duty in regard to
great immediate public interests, and my desire and hope is
to give myself to what seems to me the work of my life, —
the exposition of my views of truth and duty. I am not
sanguine, yet hopeful. 1 have something to say, yet I feel
I may not be spared to do it; — nor shall I count my life's
labor lost, if I fail ; for all our action here is but the child's
preparation for the spiritual manhood which awaits us, and
in ripening for this we live gloriously, though we produce
no perceptible outward effect now."

Before proceeding to a notice of this work on Man,
however, let us first contemplate the position of thought
which the author occupied, and breathe in the liberal,

358 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

inspiring atmosphere in which he dwelt. We shall thus
catch the tone of his mind, and be better prepared to
understand, if not to sympathize with, his views.

We will commence with some sketches given by him-
self, in annual addresses to his people, of the discipline
by which he had been trained to freedom and tolerance.

1827. " It has been my lot, as you well know, to per-
form among you the duties of a minister in a peculiarly try-
ing time, — in a day of angry passions, and of revived intol-
erance and bigotry. I was about to say that it had been my
misfortune to live and preach in this stormy season. But
no ; I have learned that the great design of the present life
is to form the mind and character by difficulty and conflict,
and I doubt not»that the all-wise God has assigned to me. as
well as to others, the conflict which I need. It is not un-
common to hear the wish expressed for peace ; and there is
no one who breathes this desire from the depth of his soul,
I believe, more earnestly than myself. One of the greatest
attractions to my summer retreat is the shelter I find there
from all the collisions of life ; and sometimes, when em-
bosomed in that entire seclusion, seeing nothing around me
but the beautiful order of nature, and hearing only its melo-
dies of winds and woods and waters, I have said, ' It is
good to be here,' have felt as if a paradise were spreading
round me, and have shnuik from the thought of entering
again the field of strife, and opening my ear to new sounds
of discord. But I remember that the virtue which flies to
the shade when God gives a work to be done in the world,
which puts away anxiously every |)ainful sight and sound, is
not the virtue of Christianity ; nor do I believe that the
greatest happiness, even in this life, is secured by escaping
from its conflicts. Christianity, indeed, recommends and
promises peace to its followers. But this is a peace of in-
ward origin, growing from the root of a vigorous piety and

KEHGIOUS LIBERTY. 359

Virtue ; not that which is infused into us by scenes of out-
ward tranquillity. It is a peace which subsists and thrives
amidst storms, which the world giveth not, antt cannot take
away, — the peace of a strong mind, not of a yieldino- one,
a peace which is never more entire than in moments of
undeserved reproach and of perilous duty, when the soid,
conscious of upright pui-pose, leans confidently on God.
Notwithstanding my love of tranquillity, I have felt called to
take part in the great struggle which is now going on be-
tween religious liberty and the spirit of intolerance and
domination, between an improving and a corrupted Chris-
tianity ; and various circumstances have conspired to give
me a prominence in this conflict, which I should have been,

and am, the last to covet

" Perhaps the motives which have governed me in this
part of my public career have not been sufliciently under-
stood. It may have been supposed by some of you, that
was acting from a vehement attachment to a particular
creed ; and it is true that I have a strong and growing con-
viction of the importance of the prominent religious doc-
trines which I teach. But another principle has operated on
my mind more strongly than a zeal for my particular opin-
ions, and this is my attachment to the cause of religious
liberty. To vindicate the rights of the mind, to maintain
intellectual freedom, to withstand intolerance and the spirit
of persecution, to save our churches from spiritual despo-
tism, — this has been nearer my heart than to secure a tri-
umph to any distinguishing doctrine of a sect.

" Soon after coming into life, I saw that a new era was
opening in this country and in this age, — that a violent
struggle was commencing for the restoration of doctrines
which had gradually fallen into neglect. The cry of Or-
thodoxy was opened, and a system of measures adopted
for stifling free inquiry. Vague apprehensions were in-
dustriously spread abroad of a secret conspiracy against

360 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHV.

what were called the ' Doctrines of the Reformation,' — the
' Essential Doctrines of Cin-istianity ' ; and the brand of
heresy was affixed to doctrines which had been espoused by
some of the wisest and greatest men in this country and
Europe. It was not so much for the purpose of defending
these opinions, as of encouraging fellow-Christians to use
their own minds, and to examine freely the doctrines of re-
ligion, that I entered the field of controversy, I felt then,
what I now more deeply feel, that the human mind is to
make progress by freedom, by the deliberate, impartial, and
independent exercise of its faculties. I could not submit to
have my intellect chained by men whom I knew to have no
warrant for their sway, and in some of whom I saw plain
marks of inferiority, both as to understanding and heart.
I could not endure to see chains fastened on others. I felt
the ignominy which we of this enlightened Commonwealth
should incur, and with which we should be justly chargeable,
if a few men — for few they were, and few they still are — ■
should be permitted to dictate to us our opinions on the mosf
important subjects in the whole range of thought, and should
frown into silence the ingenuous lovers of truth. The at-
tempt to fasten on us an antiquated faith, by excommuni-
cating those who were seeking nobler views of Christianity,
first summoned me to conflicts from which I have not yet
been released. The part which I have taken I have had no
cause to regret. My love of freedom has grown with the
growth of my mind. It is now interwoven with all my re-
ligious feelings, and with all my sympathies and benevolent
sentiments ; for I am persuaded that the glory of God, or
just and ennobling conceptions of his character, and the
happiness and progress of the human race, demand nothing
so urgently as that our faculties should be unimpeded, and
the widest range be given to thought. If we are to grow,
it must be by a free use of our powers. If we arc to at-
tain brighter and more enlarged conceptions of Christianity,

PURE CllRISriAMITY. 361

we must begin with feeling that past ages have not exhaust-
ed Christian truth, and tliat we may make advances on the
wisdom of our fathers. I know nothing wlnich indicates
greater ignorance of the history of tlie Church and of the
history of mankind, nothing more fitted to reduce the intel-
lect to imbecility, and to carry back the race to barbarism,
than the idea that we have nothing more to learn, that
Christianity has come down to us pure and perfect, and that
our only duty is implicitly to receive the lessons of our cate •
chisms. I am sure that this is not true. That Christianity
has been dreadfully disfigured, all true hearts must know.
That it was purified from all corruptions by the first Reform-
ers is to suppose them gifted with miraculous lights as
bright as those which beamed on the Apostles. Christianity
IS not thus purified. None of us hold it in its purity. I feel
deeply the imperfections of all classes and denominations •
and the hopes of Christianity rest on the courage and piety
of men who, disclaiming all human authority, and the fet-
ters of all creeds, give themselves to deliberate, devout,
feavless study of God's word, in connection with his works
and providence. Freedom of intellect, joined with obedi-
ence to whatever truth is already known, is the appointed
spirit and energy by which the Chui'ch and the world are to
be disenthralled from the many errors which yet darken re-
ligion jmd impair its ennobling influence.

" If my own faculties have made any progress, I owe it
to nothing so much as to the spirit of intellectual freedom
which I have imbibed ; and the place of this, I believe, no
endowments of nature, no books, no association with learned
men, would in any measure have supplied. It was my lot
to come forward at a period when the question was to be
settled whether this freedom should be enjoyed, or whether
an inquisition, with ministers at its head, should bind the
chains of death on the mind of this country. God's good
providence, joined with an eax'ly disposition to live and to

VOL. II. 31

362 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

think alone, and with an education which had made freedom
dear, decided the part which I took. The decision whicli I
made in tliis great controversy, the cause which I espoused,
and I hope I may say the consistency with which 1 have ad-
hered to it, you know. My ministry, amidst all its imper-
fections, has, I think, been uniformly marked by an asse'rtion
of the rights and duty of every individual to exert his own
faculv.es, and by urging on every man the duty of using his
best powers, in the free, unbiasea investigation of religious
truth. I trust that I have not been wholly useless. That I
have contributed something to give to others courage in
thinking and in expressing their thoughts, I trust; and I have
not a doubt that, at this moment, this whole country is in-
debted to the exertion made in this our city for the degree
of religious liberty which it enjoys.

" I have stated what has been my leading ami in the con-
troversies in which I have mingled. I now return tc you,
my hearers, not merely with undiminished, but with an in-
creased, desire to respect and uphold your intellectual free-
dom, and to defend this great cause of the human race. 1
bring with me no desire to dictate, to force upon othei-s my
own views, to awe, to intimidate, or to use any weapons but
those of reason and persuasion. I am more and more
shocked with the tyranny of the pulpit, with the abuse
of the influence which this sacred place affords, with the
desire of the teachers of religion to be heard as oracles,
■with the hardihood with which they make a partisan of tho
Supreme Being."

1630. " On one point, you will bear me witness. I have
never aimed to alienate you from any body of Christians.
I am not conscious of having yielded to a sectariati spirit,
even when I contended most earnestly for my peculiar views.
I have never thought myself a better man because I have
escaped what seem to me gross errors prevailing in Chris-

RESPECT FOR OPPONENTS. 363

tendon), nor have I, as I believe, ever shut my eyes on the
virtue and piety of those by whom these errors may have
been sustained. I have felt that it is not tffe greatness of
our light, but our faithfulness to our light, whether great
or small, by which character is to be judged. If I have
ever infused unkind or disparaging feelings towards other
Christians, I have grievously injured you, and, instead of
being a minister _of righteousness, have been the minis-
ter of sin. May you triumph over any such unhappy in-
fluence !

" One of your trials arises from the state of the Christian
world, to which reference has now been made ; and I would
offer you, on this point, a few words of counsel. Our prin-
cipal duties in such circumstances may be expressed in two
plain precepts : — Respect those who differ from you^ and
also respect yourselves. Give due honor to men of different
sects. Do not feel as if you had monopolized truth or good-
ness. Treat none with derision. Esteem no man the more
for thinking as you do, and no man the less for thinking
otherwise ; but judge all men by the principles wiiich govern
their lives. Ascribe not what you deem error to weakness
of intellect or corruption of heart, but rejoice in witnessing
superior powers and tried virtue in the neighbourhood of
what you cannot but account superstition or prejudice.
Never think of Christ's church as shut up within limits of
human invention, but as comprehending all sects, and let
your attachment to the whole triumph over your interest
in any of its parts. Honor all men.

" At the same time respect yourselves. Claiming no su-
periority, allow not this claim in others. Expect ard re-
quire from others the same deference which you feel your-
selves bound to pay. As you set up no pretensions to ex-
clusive sanctity in yourselves, distrust them in your neigh-
bour. The exclusive saint bears one broad marls, of the
want of sanctity. The real Christian is the last man to be

364 RELIGION AND FHILOSOPHV.

a pretender. Never suffer your opinions to be treated with
scorn in social intercourse, any more than you would youi
characters ; but whilst you force them on none, let men see
tliat you reverence them as the truth, and that you expect
decorum and courtesy in those who converse with you on
this, as on other deeply interesting subjects. Always feel
yourselves standing on the ground of equality with every
sect and party, and countenance none by your tameness, or
by shrinking from your convictions, to assume towards you
a tone of dictation, superiority, or scorn. Be true to your-
selves and to your principles. One of the great lessons
taught me by my experience is, that self-respect, founded,
not on outward distinction, but on the essential power and
rights of human nature, is the guardian of virtue, and itself
among the chief of virtues."

The last sentence of the foregoing extract gives us
insight into one of Dr. Channing's chief springs of action.
Though naturally diffident and modest by principle, though
conscientious and cautious almost to an extreme, and
though even reverential to his fellow-men of every grade
of intellect and character, he was at the same time singu-
larly self-relying. On his calm and gentle countenance
there reposed an expression of firm dignity, which com-
manded a just deference. His very consciousness of the
greatness of the human spirit in its essential powers and
heavenly destination made him incapable of trifling with
another or of submitting to be trifled with. He felt, too,
that the claims of honor and manly courtesy, as well as
of Christian charity, were sadly slighted by religious con-
troversialists, and sought, therefore, to carry into the
sphere of theological discussion the san)C generous and
magnanimous, while self-balanced and brave, spirit which
becomes high-minded persons in all their uitercourse.

DANGERS OF CONTROVERSY. 365

This trait was so characteristic, that it may be well to
illustrate it by some passages from his papep and letters

1823. " It was intended that the Christian Disciple should
he distinguished by proposing as its great end, not the de-
fence of particular opinions so much as the spreading of the
mild, candid, and tolerant spirit of Christianity. It was be-
lieved that the best service which can be rendered to the
truth is to bring men's minds into that dispassionate and
benevolent frame which is congenial with truth, and, like the
gift of sight to the blind, lets in at once new light and wide

and unexpected views The plan of the work is

now to be extended, and it will be made the vehicle of arti-
cles which may at once explain the views of its friends, and
repel the attacks so often made, both on their opinions and
characters. To this duty the editors are unhappily called by
a long experience of the utter inefficacy of silence and en-
durance to disarm prejudice and produce a more tranquil

and dispassionate state of the public mind

" They are not insensible to the dangers of controversy,
and are aware that men, in disputing for what they call truth,
lose the very virtues which truth should promote, — candor,
sincerity, and good-will, — and that they are tempted to
compass their ends by misrepresentation and calumny. But
it is not impossible, they conceive, to be at once earnest and
honest disputants, to unite zeal for a system with readiness
to renounce it if it should be proved false, to oppose a man's
opinions without hating his person. Controvei-sy may be fair
and generous, and if the conductors of this work can demon-
strate this by example, they will render a rare service to the

Christian community By the fair and kind spirit

of controversy we mean a disposition to state the opinions of
an adversary truly, to meet the full force of his arguments,
to acknowledge his intelligence and virtues, to respect his
motives while we expose his opinions, to avoid expressioDS
31*

^6Q RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

of irritation and ill-will, to seek truth and not the humiliation
of an adverse party. There may, indeed, be a necessity for
personalities in controversy, and this takes place when an
opponent relies for success on abuse, malignity, and dishon-
est statements. Justice may demand a free exposure of such
base practices. But the necessity is always to be lamented,
and the friends of truth will be anxious to prevent points in
dispute from being complicated with the characters of indi-
viduals and circumstances of irritation."

1826. " The temper of the sermon* is arraigned. If the
author has said a word to make Trinitarians odious, to rob
them of their Christian rights or of the love and esteem of
their brethren, let him be condemned. No matter from
what party an unkind, censorious, intolerant spirit proceeds,
it is evil, unchristian, and a sure proof that he who possesses
it has not drunk largely into the spirit of Jesus Christ. Any
publication tending to spread bitterness through any denomi-
nation should be disowned

" The temper of the discourse is censured. Why ? Be-
cause it expresses anger or unkindness towards opponents ?
Is there the least impeachment of their motives ? Not a word
to this effect can be found in the discourse. The author has
only set forth in plain and strong language what seems to
him to be irrational and dishonorable to God and injurious to
the human character in the system which he is opposing.
He expressly states that he has no disposition to make the
opinions he condemns measures of character, and cordially
acknowledges the virtues of multitudes who espouse them.
And is it, then, ' uncourtcous,' ' reprehensible,' ' unjusti-
fiable,' ' mexcusable,' to say that an opinion is absurd and
of degrading tendency .'' We invite our fellow-

* Sermon ut the Dedication of the Second Congregational Church,
New York,

OPPOSITION TO ERRCR 367

Christians to examine freely our opinions, and to tell us
plainly what they see in them dishonorable to God or inju-
rious to man. The freer such discussion, the better. Let
opinions be spoken of unreservedly. We blame no class of
Christians for exposing the absurdities and weak points of
prevailing creeds. We only say to them, ' Do not judge the
motives of your brethren in embracing the opinions which
you reject. Do not shut your eyes on their virtues, because
they adopt different views. Rejoice in the proofs of their
piety, coupled though it may be with error. Error is not
guilt. Do not blame them for not yielding to your argu-
ments ; your judgment may be as fallible as theirs. In a
word, esteem them and love them as heartily as if their
creed was your own.' If the sermon fails in this generous
feeling, let it be condemned

" It should be considered, that false doctrines, just so far
as they are wide-spread and deeply rooted, need free and
firm resistance. Men through long use grow blind and
callous to their inconsistency. Old errors must be placed
in new lights and broadly exposed. Such was the principle
on which this sermon was written, and we venture to say,
that, if any individual would do good, he must adopt this
course. Is it said, men thus opposed will be exasperated ?
We answer, they may be at Jirst, but they will learn by de-
grees to bear with frankness ; whilst, if they are accustomed
to have -heir worst opinions treated with deference, they
witi ;on.inue foolishly sensitive to the faintest contradiction.
But we repeat that the bolder the opposition to opinions,
the greater should be the care to avoid personalities

" There are good men who will say that it is impossible to
make this separation between opinions and those who hold
them, that to attack the first is to exasperate the last, and
that peace is so great a good as to make it better to leave
errors to the power of time than to create controversy.
We answer, that truth is a greater good than peace, that we

368 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHV.

do not des^ air of the progress of the human mind and virtue,
that \vc know those who differ in views yet who love one an-
other, and that on the whole there is a growing forbearance
and moderation amidst the freest discussions. Men who,
when treated with respect and kindness, will not allow their
opinions to be touched, and resent earnest exposure of their
supposed errors as wrong, are alone responsible if contro-
versy is embittered ; nor must we shut up in our own breasts
what we deem great truths, lest some sensitive persons should
be wounded

"In the Trinitarian theology we see, as we believe, a
principal obstruction to a purer piety and more exalted mo-
rality. We acquit those who hold it of any desire to with-
stand this progress. Still the system seems to us false and
pernicious, and one which ought to be exposed. There are
peculiar reasons for exposing it. Its chief prop in the com-
munity, as we think, is fear. Multitudes believe that to
doubt about it is to be damned. Their minds are spell-
bound. They dare not exert their faculties in these myste-
ries. They are too sacred to be touched. The spirits thus
enthralled should be set free from these heavy chains of
terror. They cannot move a step towards truth without
courage to think. And this courage can be re-awakened in
the community only by examples of frank, strong, earnest
discussion. Better is it, far better, to rouse some bad pas-
sions, than to perpetuate the prevalent slavery and lethargy.

" Some there may be who will say, ' The world will go on
as it has done ; why disturb it in the vain hope of enlighten-
ing it ? ' We have not so learned the wisdom of Jesus. We
beheve that Christianity is destined to exert a mighty energy
on the human soul, that the piety which prevails, however
sincere, is greatly debased by erroneous views, and that just
as far as purer thoughts of God and of his purposes prevail,
a holier and more divine spirit will be diffused. We dare
not, then, as we would be true to our Master or to our own

AVERSION TO CONTROVERSY. 369

consciences, refrain from an open and strong testimony to
what we deem the truth. We would do it in all charity.
We would not, for the universe, sully one goocl man's hon-
est name. We would not question the worth of those whom
we are summoned to oppose. But we must speak freely,
earnestly, and fearlessly, and we would encourage freedom
of thought and speech in all men as our noblest birthright."

1825.* " I received from Mr. Kinder, the other day, Mr.
Wellbeloved's Letters to Wrangham, for which I thank him,
and which I read with much satisfaction. You may have
perceived that I do not entirely sympathize with the Unitari-
ans of England, and their system seems to me to need some
important modifications to make it correspond with the deep-
est wants of our nature, and with some of the strongest im-
pressions which the Scriptures give to plain, unprejudiced
mmds. But still I feel with great indignation the wrongs
done to them by such men as Magee and Wrangham, and
Providence seems to me to smile upon them in raising up
among them vindicators so powerful and so distinguished by
the spirit of Christianity as Carpenter and Wellbeloved. I
regret that I did not see these excellent men, for such I am
authorized to esteem them by the concurrent testimony of
all who know them."

" Sept. 19, 1827.t I find an increasing aversion to this
mode of controversy. What an example we give to men of
the world ! Where will you find more invective than among
us Christians? My wish is to expose doctrines most fully"^
hut to let individuals alone. I know the answer, — ' Must
unprincipled men have the field to themselves .? Must not
good men defend themselves ? Must not vice be called by
lis right name } ' &c. In all this there is truth ; but it seems

• To Mrs. L. Kinder. f To Joseph Tuckerman, D. D.

370 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

to me we have yet to learn the weapons which the good
must oppose to the bad. Vh'tue has not learned her true
tone yet. It is the tone of conscious superiority^ and this,
I apprehend, is always calm, and expressive of unaffected
dignity. It feels a strength in itself, and is not therefore
disturbed by clamor. I can conceive of a tone of insulted
virtue, which will be at once mild and awful, and will be
felt by the multitude, though betraying no emotion. This
we want. Who has it } When I conceive of this, and
compare with it the ordinary tone of controversy, I am dis-
satisfied

" I could have been amused with your account of your

conversation with , had he spared liis compliment at

the end, — ' You are an honest man.' There is insolence
in this concession of honesty to- us. These exclusive pre-
tenders to piety seem to think that they confer a great favor
by admitting that we are not unprincipled. You performed
your part to admiration. When will men who hold great
truth feel what they owe to it, and meet the assumptions
of others with a righteous confidence ? I fear you will think
I am somewhat belligerent in my feelings; but I was never
calmer, and should not have thought of religious controversy
but for your letter."

" August 30, 1839.* I have received many insulting
tnomjvious letters in the course of the last thirty years,
out never before, as far as I can recollect, received an
nsultinji communication from an individual claiming to be
«garded as a Christian or a gentleman. As far as I am
lersonally concerned, the matter gives me not the slightest
mcasiness ; but it is painful to me, as a Christian and a
rfiember of society, to sec a leader in the Church failing
hort of the common decencies and courtesies of life.

• To Orville Dowcy, D. D.

MILDNESS AND FIRMNESS. 371

Whether the pamphlets were sent by a Unitarian minister is
of course doubtful. I hope they were not ; for anonymous
writing is always open to objection. But b© this as it may,
in fastening on me without a shadow of reason as the of-
fender, and in writing to me as has done, he has

been guilty of a rudeness, which, by the common law of so-
oi(;ty, respectable people do not practise towards each other.
I write this, not that I desire any apology ; for, having done
this duty, I shall dismiss the matter from my thoughts; but
if you are acquainted with any right-minded, honorable

men of 's congregation, you will do well to state the

matter to them, that they may counsel him to abstain from
such discreditable proceedings, fitted only to breed strife
within the Church, and to bring reproach on it from abroad.

" P. S. Perhaps you may think the matter about which I
have written you too unimportant to be spoken of, and if so,
do say nothing about it, for, I assure you, I have not the
slightest sensibility on the point. Long use has hardened
me to attacks, especially from professed theological com-
batants. The question is simply, — ' Can any good come
from the matter } ' "

Thus bold and strong, and even sternly just, was Dr.
Channing in guarding the rights of all seekers of truth.
His mildness was free from mawkishness. He treated
others, and expected to be treated, with a manly decis-
ion. Practically he made the discrimination between
ofunions and persons which he so constantly urged as
a di ty. He asked for his errors no tolerance ; he
only demanded justice as a man. This frank, straight-
forward honesty of mind did not contract, but deepened
and widened, his liberality. He looked round respectful-
ly and earnestly upon all fellow-inquirers, hoping to gain

372

RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

!rom them the light for which his whole spirit was long-
ing. This temper of mind may be best illustrated by a
few manifestations of it, as given in his letters.

" Boston, February 26, 1836.* I am not a stranger to
your writings. Your Letters on Spain were very interesting
to me, and made me desirous to see every thing from your
pen. I thank you for your testimony to great truths ; for the
clear hght in wliich you have placed them; and, above all,
for the ardent and all-sacrificing love of truth, which has
given so singular a direction to your life. It would give
me great delight to be near you, to learn from your own
lips the history of your mind, of your doubts, researches,
and illuminations, of your joy in reaching a brighter light,
and of your trials, obstacles, discouragements, and sufferings.
I trust, I cannot doubt, that you find, in your more spiritual
and enlarged views of Christianity, in your more filial views
of God, abundant compensations for sufferings. I have
wished you would give us, or leave behind you, an auto-
biography; With what eagerness should I devour such a
work ! The progress of every mind is interesting ; but how
few minds have travelled such a path as yours! On one
subject, I should be very glad to have the fruits of your ob-
servation. We all feel that there is an evil to be deplored
in the Christian world far more than doctrinal errors ; and
that is, the unfaithfulness of Christians to the Hght which
they have attained. We are sometimes almost tempted to
say that Christianity is but a name, so little is its power felt.
I should like to know among what bodies of Christians there
lias S(^emed to you to be the greatest fidelity to their convic-
tions, be these convictions just or not. I should like to
know what particular views of our religion have seemed to
you to take the strongest hold on the human mind ; what

• To J. Blanro White.

DESIRE OF PROGRESS. 373

causes cor. tribute most to the general unfaithfulness, and
what seem to you the most effectual means of resisting
them. That the great moral purpose of Chmtianlty is so
little answered would be the most painful of all thoughts,
had not habit seared us to it."

" Boston, July 29, 1836.* Your experience is a type of
the world's history. You have passed, in your short life,
through the stages which centuries are required to accom-
plish in the case of the race. When I see in an individual
mind such transitions from error to large and sustaining
views of God and human destiny, I see a pledge of the tri-
umphs of truth in which the struggles of ages are to termi-
nate. By this I do not mean that you or I have attained to
much truth. I am speaking of your present mind only in
comparison with the past. Undoubtedly what you and 1
call light seems obscurity to higher intelligences, and will
seem so to more improved periods of society. But we have
gained something through spiritual effort, conflict, — and
this is a pledge of greater attainment to ourselves and the
race. May our hearts swell with bright anticipations !

" I am glad that you are to write the history of your
mind. I grieve that I may not see it ; but I would not pre-
cipitate its publication. How I should delight to talk with
you of the doubts, trials, through which you have made
your way ! I should be glad to know what you think of the
probable results of the great efforts now made by Catholi-
cism to regain its lost sceptre. Some of the sects in this
country are quite alarmed, and, what is very striking, the
greatest alarm is among those who think themselves about
as infallible as the Pope. Have they a consciousness, that,
if men are to choose between different infallibilities, they
will be apt to choose the Pope's as the oldest and sustained

* To J. Blanco White.
VOL. II. 32

374 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

by most votes ? Have they a consciousness of laying down
the very principles on which Romanism rests, and do they
therefore fear that consistency will carry over their converts
to the mother church ? I have been thinking lately of pre-
paring a few lectures on the fundamental, great idea on
which each church or sect is built, and of expounding by
this the past history and future prospects of each. I form
plans, however, only to see them fail. By much quiet, I
feel myself in comfortable health, and am advancing in life,
accomplishing hardly any thing which I propose. I do not,
however, repine. I am not needed by God. That I am
suffered to do any thing, I owe to his goodness ; and that
goodness, I trust, is leading me onward wisely, by disap-
pointment, privation, as well as success, to spheres of action
beyond all imagination and hope."

" September 10, 18.37.* I thank you for the effort you
made to write mc in May last, when you were laboring un-
der severe indisposition. You will be rewarded, when I tell
you how much pleasure your letter gave me. I am so liable
to self-distrust, that the confirmation of my views by those
who have had peculiar advantages for judging them wisely
gives me relief and strength. I know no one whose opin-
ion of my Letter on Catholicism I should value as much as
your own. The essay, indeed, was an humble one, hardly
worth the notice you gave it. Still, to know that I have ex-
pressed some great truth, even in so humble a form, is a
happiness. To know that I have escaped the extravagances
and prejudices into which difference of faith so commonly
leads is a relief. The fear of giving circulation to error
has made me almost too cautious about giving my mind to
the public. In this state of mind, it has been a comfort to
me to see my writings subjected to unsparing criticism. If

• To J. Blanco White.

INFALLIBILITY. 375

I have published little myself, I have drawn out a great
many publications from others ; so that I trust that my mis-
takes will do no great harm. Should a few ytnrs of tolera-
ble health be given me, I shall not regret that I have defer-
red writing on many subjects ; for many mists which once
hung" over them have been scattered, and I shall write with
greater consciousness of seeing my way plain before me.

" Your remarks about infallibility in your letter and vari-
ous publications are very interesting. One thing must make
us indulgent towards many of the ardent champions of in-
fallibility. They feel as if there were no medium between
this and utter skepticism. The dread of losing hold of vital
truths is what produces in multitudes a shrinking from doubt
and investigation. They suspect little that they are betray-
ing a singular distrust of these truths, by their anxiety to
keep them from being called in question, ^t is not suffi-
ciently considered, that infallibility, to be good for any thing,
must be sustained by infallible reasoning ; and this furnishes
an argument against Catholicism which is not always brought
out with sufficient clearness. The Catholic Church, starting
from the fallibleness of individuals, requires them to bow
to an infallible head or tribunah But unless the individual
be infallible, in settling the question where the infalliblencss
resides, he is left in as much uncertainty as if it did not ex-
ist. Individual infalliblencss is thus essentially involved in
Eomanism, although the denial of it is the very foundation
on which the system rests."

' " Boston, July 10, l{d38.* You would probably say
something in which I could not join you ; but where I see
proofs of a sincere love to truth and mankind, I wish a man
to give out his whole mind. Undoubtedly he will send
forth error, for this is a condition of all human speculations;

Draft of a letter to J. Blanco White.

376 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

but in his free spiritual activity, he must have caught some
new glimpses of truth ; he must furnish hints, at least, by
which future thinkers may profit. I have often received most
salutary impulses from works with which I have not agreed.
The danger of most of us is, that we narrow ourselves to
particular trains of thought, and from this an opponent is
more likely to save us than any other person. Indeed, I
owe my highest convictions of truth to its ablest opponents ;
for I never feel my grasp of it so firm, as after knowing the
strength of all that can be objected to it. I should expect
from you, however, other aid than this ; for though in some
things we should difl^er, in how many should we agree ! "

" September 18, 1839.* How happy should I be to talk
with you of your history, and to get your views (among
other subjects) ^f the late Popish explosion at Oxford ! Not
that this is matter of surprise. I am prepared for such
bursts of Romanism. This system could not have lasted so
long, or spread so far, without some deep foundations in our
nature. The ideas, or names, of Church and Antiquity are
potent spells. Men, in their weakness, ignorance, and sloth,
delight in the shelter they find in a vast and time-hallowed
organization. How strong and bold we become, when
backed by crowds, and great names, and the authority of
ages ! It is ni wonderful that Romanism should revive at
this moment, wnen a morbid dread of innovation is reacting
against the spirit of reform, and driving men back on the
past. This Oxford movement is the more likely to spread,
because it seems not to be the work of policy or priestly
ambition so much as a genuine fanaticism. England is
more given to sui)erstition than this country, and as little
given to the study of moral and religious truth. Still, there
is no great danger. In an age when the people are study-

" To J. Blanco White.

CATHOLICISM. 377

mg and applying physical laws, and dealing earnestly with
physical realities, and getting the shrewdness which arises
from the spirit of trade and money-making, fanaticism must
be hemmed within narrow limits. The great, especially the
ultra-conservatives, are more exposed to the contagion thau
the multitude. How desirable, amidst all these corruptions,
that a nobler form of Christianity should be preached and
practised with an unaffected, all-sacrificing earnestness,
zeal, force ! It is not by assailing the low in practice or
principle, but by manifesting the high, that the great work
of reformation is to go on. Whence shall this force
come ? "

^^ Fehruary 27, 1841.* I have been reading, or rather
am just finishing, a book which I doubt not you have read
with great interest, — Ranke's History of the Popes. I
confess I was not before fully aware of the powerful reac-
tion of Catholicism against Protestantism at the close of the
sixteenth century. It is plain that the civil power was the
right arm of the Church, and that she reconquered her lost
possessions chiefly by force. But the civil power did not
act wholly, or perhaps mainly, from policy, but very much
from religious impulses, so that the religious principle lay at
the foundation of the mighty movement which rocked all
Europe. What so formidable as this principle in its perver-
sions ! Men really believed, from the throne to the cottage,
that a fellow-creature, holding what was called a heresy, was
God's personal foe, that their hatred of him was shared by
the Creator, and that to drive him into the Church, or to drive
him out of the world into hell, was the most acceptable ser-
vice they could render to Heaven. It is comforting to think
that this horrible doctrine was really held, — that it was not a
mere ^reiexf of tyranny, — that the Pope and Emperor yield-

« To J. Blanco White.
32^

378 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

ed as hearty assent to it as the common man. But, on the
other hand, it is a fearful thouglit, that men are liable to such
delusions, — that God's name may be enlisted conscientious-
ly on the side of the fiercest passions, — that tyranny, in its
most terrible forms, may be grounded on ideas of duty and
religion. Are we sure that we are safe now against illusions
equally pernicious, though of a different character ? We
have certainly gained something. Tlie fundamental errtr
of Catholicism was an utter distrust of human nature on the
subject of religion. It was universally believed that religion
was to be imposed on man from abroad, that there was
nothing in his intellect or affections to carry him to God,

— an opinion not very strange in an age of darkness, — and
nothing more was needed for the superstructure which was
reared on it. This we have outgrown in a measure, and I
have no fear of the revival of the notion ; and still more, I
have great hopes from the partial recognition of men's ca-
pacities and rights. But the great fact of history, that tlie
development of our mysterious nature has been made
through so much error, suffering, conflict, must always chas-
tise our hopes. What a spell seems to bind the nations at
this moment ! What has France learned from the past ?

— But I have no thought of inflicting on you gloomy fore-
bodings. Such are some of the ideas which Eanke's book
suggests, but on the whole it is very encouraging. He
teaches that a dangerous principle or force, by its very
prevalence, awakens counteracting forces, and that the
springs which are at work in human affairs are too compli-
cated and vast to be comprelicnded or managed by civil or
religious despots. Catholicism met resistance to its project
of univei-sal empire from the jealousies of the very slates
on which it leaned. May it not be added, that the Jesuits,
by their very intelligence and subtlclics, at first so success-
ful, awakened an intellectual force fatal to their cause .-•
They undertook to reason men out' of their reason ; an

CHRISTIAN UNION. 379

enterprise which could not but fail in the long run. — All
this is an old story to you, but Eanke is on my table, and I
am fresh from his pages ; and I fell naturally into this train
of thoughts."

" Newport^ May 8, 1841.* I show you by my speedy
reply how acceptable your letter was to nie. Its spirit is
indeed encouraging and delightful to me, not for any selfish
/easons, not because I am included in its liberality, but for
its own sake, because it is the spirit of Christianity, and
such as man should always cherish toward man. I certain-
ly ought not to suspect myself of taking pleasure in anoth-
er's candor because I am sheltered under it, for I have
learned to live without experience of candor. I have pass-
ed nearly forty years under no small reproach, denuncia-
tion, and proscription. I have been deprived, not merely
of good name, but of what is far dearer to a Christian,
of no small degree of the moral injluence which I am
bound to exert, and yet I have made no angry complaint.
Perhaps, in my love of quiet, retired thought, I have not
been sensitive enough to the injury done me. I invite no
liberality toward myself, but when it is extended to me, I
welcome it, especially as I see in it the sign of a better day, of
a brighter manifestation of the spirit of our religion

" You say that the Unitarians might make ' many conces-
sions ' to the Trinitarians. It is true I might adopt much
of the Trinitarian language, not only on the Trinity, but
the Atonement. I could say, that Christ died to magnify
the law, to satisfy Divine justice, and that God cannot for-
give without manifesting his displeasure at sin. But I can-
not think with Talleyrand, that the 'use of language is to
hide our thoughts.' Such approximations to those from
whom we really differ seem to me to put in peril our ' sim-

* To Professor George Bush, New York.

380 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

plicity and godly sincerity.' I know not where they wil.
stop. They also obstruct the progress of truth, and to the
truth every Christian must be willing to be a martyr. Still
more, the usurpation which demands such concessions is a
wrong to our common Lord and Master, and to the human
mind, which must not be debarred from seeking truth, and
giving utterance to its deep convictions. In saying this,
I do not speak as a Unitarian, but an independent Christian.
I have little or no interest in Unitarians as a sect. I have
hardly any thing to do with them. I can endure no secta-
rian bonds. With Dr. Priestley, a good and great man,
who had most to do in producing the late Unitarian move-
ment, I have less sympathy than with many of the ' Ortho-
dox.' I shall soon publish a discourse on ' the Church,'
which I will send you, and which will show my position in
this respect. I would not have you imagine that any secta-
rian feeling prevents my advances to other sects."

" August 29, 1841.* Your religious experience, as you
relate it, has been fitted to carry you forwai'd. There are
advantages in having known error and felt its power, if we
are so happy as to escape from it. We know the truth
more distinctly by contrast. We have a wider field for ob-
servation and comparison, and, what is of great importance,
we can understand the feelings of those from whom we dif-
fer, and do them greater justice. I am strongly opposed to
Methodism, not for its speculative errors, but for its spirit
of domination. No sect seems to me more fettered, or to
have more the spirit of a sect. It is a religious aristocra-
cy, combining a great power for narrow ends. As I grow
older, I grieve more and more at the impositions on the
human mind, at the machinery by which the few keep down
the many. I distrust sectarian influence more and more.

• To Mr. W. Trevilcock, CarhaiTuck.

RELATION TO UNITARIANS. 381

I am more detaclied from a denomination, and strive to feci
more my connection with tlie Universal Church, with all
good and holy men. I am little of a Unitariaj*^ have little
sympathy with the system of Priestley and Belsham, and
stand aloof from all but those who strive and pray for clear-
er light, who look for a purer and more effectual manifes-
tation of Christian truth."

The passage last quoted, breathing as it does the
temper of liberality and aspir&tion, which, characterizing
Dr. Channing's youth, had strengthened through his
manhood, gave rise to the rumor of his having changed
his opinions, — a rumor so absurd, that it would be un-
worthy even of a passing notice, had not disingenuous
theologians systematically perverted the plain meaning
of the words, " / am little of a Unitarian.''^ William
Ellery Channing was a member of the Church Universal
of the Lovers of God and Lovers of Man. He knew
that religion was a life, and not a creed or a form. In
the spirit of pure, holy goodness, he aspired to be one
with the Heavenly Father, — in generous, respectful,
overflowing kindness, he purposed to be one with all
human brethren. Meanwhile he sought truth, — such
views of the Lifinite God, of his relations to created
spirits, of man's appointed end and rightful aims, as
should be in accordance with reality. Jesus Christ he
welcomed with unlimited reverence and affection, as the
full manifestation of what human existence in communion
with the Divine Being might be and should be. He
saw in this " first-born of many brethren " a revelation
of a spiritual mystery, whose depth of glory no ages of
the past had fathomed. He wailed in prayerful confi-
dence for a fuller apprehension of the sublime career
opened before mankind. Out of superstition and cant,

382 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

skepticism and fear, sophistry and selfish strife, he long-
ed to be delivered into " the glorious liberty of the chil-
dren of God.'" On sectarianism and tiieological ^varfare
he looked down with profound disgust and pity, and val-
ued bodies of believers and individual disciples accord-
ing to the degree in which he saw reflected in them the
image of the common Master, who prayed that "all"
might be "one." Unitarianism he conscientiously con-
sidered an advance towards an unobscured view of the
Christian religion. But die thought of resting in a
Unitarian creed, or of limiting his sympathies to a Unita-
rian denomination, never for a moment shadowed his
mind. He knew his ignorance, he felt his limitations,
too well for any such bigotry and narrowness. Chris-
tendom w^as to him a living body, for ever animated
from on high, constantly unfolding, instinct with a spirit
of reform, providentially guarded and guided, destined
to become a true catholic unity, by means of love em-
bodied in holy characters and humane deeds. He join-
ed hands with the grand circle of the hopeful and de-
voted " followers of God " who were working together
with Him to introduce the kingdom of heaven upon
earth. In mere speculative opinions, he was never
more decidedly a Unitarian, or, to use his own defini-
tion, a believer that " the God and Father of our Lord
Jesus Christ is alone and exclusively the Supreme and
Independent God," than in the last year of his life and
on his deaih-bed ; but at no previous period eiiher was
he so humbly watching for some influx of the light of
life which might renovate the nations. Constitutionally,
he had a dread of sacrificing independence by too close
ties of association ; from the whole cast of his philos-
ophy, he was led to attach a superlative value to indi-

INFLUE.NCE OF NATURE. 383

viduality in character, thought, action ; and experience
had taught hiai to " fear the shackles which a party con-
nection imposed." In a word, he regard'ed hniiself ''-as
belonging, not to a sect, but to the con)niunity of free
minds, of lovers cf truth, of followers of Christ both on
earth and in heaven."* In the following passages he
has so fully defined his position, that no person of intelli-
gence and candor can misunderstand him.

" 1827. It is the influence of the works of God to set our
minds free from all bigotry and prejudice. In the presence
of nature I forget the religious and national distinctions which
divide mankind, and sympathize with the benevolent Power
which sustains all. I feel that I belong not to a part, but to the
whole, — to the universe of God. The creation is a power-
ful teacher of liberal feelings, and does much to counteract
the illiberal preaching which passes for Christianity. After
hearing in a church a discourse which makes God a partial
being and identifies him with a sect, I delight to escape into
the open air, and one view of the heavens, or of any of the
great features of nature, is enough to scatter the gloom which
had gathered over me, and to teach me that what has been
said, however well intended, is false. God's works con-
firm his word, — assure me, after all which I have heard,
that he is still the universal Father. I have not come,
then, from viewing God's works to breathe into you narrow-
ness and bitterness of feeling. I would come in that spirit
of universal charity and benignity which befits a pupil of
the universe, and still more a disciple of Christ. I aim
not to sever you from others ; I aim only to give you a just
self-respect, a sense of what is due to your own minds, —
moral and religious independence, energy of character which
will not yield blindly to any external influence, whenever

"Works, Vol. III., p. 211.

384 RELlGlOiN AND PHlLO.SUl'HY.

exerted, or however it may strive to wrap itself in a sacred
garb. This spirit is not inconsistent with true love, but is
its ally and natural associate."

" Boston, June 2, 1828.* There was one part of your
letter which gave me peculiar pleasure, — that in which you
speak of the favor which my discourse on the evidences of
Christianity has found in England. I pretend not to be
indifferent to literary reputation, but I hope I may say that
the thought of contributing any thing to a more intelligent
reception and to more generous views of our religion is
dearer to me than any human praise. Your letter gives me
reason to think that you accord with me, not, perhaps, in my
peculiarities of faith, — for of these you say nothing, — but
m the conviction, that Christianity is often injured by nar-
row and degrading modes of Exhibiting it, and that its gen-
erous character and ennobling influence are very imper-
fectly understood. Allow me to say, that I take the more
pleasure in making these inferences as to your state of mind,
because your sex, with all their merits, — and these are
above praise, — have had their full share in fixing the pres-
ent low standard of religion, by the ease with which they
have given up their minds to be awed and formed by vulgar
and menacing teachers. I do hail the marks of intellectual
freedom and moral courage in your sex with peculiar hope ;
for woman, through her maternal and social influences, must
always act on the religion of a community with great power;
and if subdued by an illiberal, irrational faith, she will do
much to spread the infection around her.

" I speak to you freely, for you have encouraged me to
do so, — and the more freely, because, if you agree with me
as far as I suppose, I should rejoice to enlist you in what
seems to me the greatest cause on earth. Do not imagine

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillie.

RELIGION IiN FRANCE. .386

Ltiat 1 would draw you into sectarian warfare. I would have
you bear your public ieslimony to Christianity, as a religion
of benignant aspect, of a liberal spirit, of kifty purposes,
given to free and enlarge the intellect, to form a higher order
of charaeter, a filial and. elevating piety, and an unbounded
charity, — and to indue the will with invincible strength in
well-doing. I want our religion to be taken out of the hands
of technical, professional men, — who look at it through the
mists of the dark ages. It is the property, not of priests,
but of the human race, and every superior mind may and
should do something towards asserting its celestial dignity."

^^ June 16, 1831.* The immense moral power now ex-
erted by France over the civilized world, a power growing
from her geographical position, from her political relations,
as the centre and spring of the great revolutionary movement
in Europe, and from the universality of her language and
literature, renders her at this moment the most interesting
nation on earth. The cause of free institutions and of hu-
man improvement seems specially committed to her. When
I take this view of France, I am greatly afHicted by what I
hear of the want of religious principle among all classes of
the French population ; for, without this principle, I see not
how a people can rise to any moral greatness, or do much
for the human race. I wish to know if the accounts I have
heard are true. Is Christianity classed by the great majority
of thinking men in that country among exploded impostures ?
Is religion in all its forms neglected, contemned, and without
power ? Are those who are alive to its importance — for
such there must be — so few and scattered as to exert no
influence ? Is Voltaire as much an oi'acle as formerly ? I
once thought him the truest expression of the French mind.
Is he so still .-' I will not overpower you with questions.

• To M. J. C. L. Siraonde de Sismondi.
VOL. II. 33

Bob RELIGION AND PHILOSOFHY.

But an .mportant one remains. From what means or efTorts
may a better state of things be hoped in France ? What
can be done for religion in that country ? Your article on
rehgion, translated by Miss Sedgwick, satisfies me that you
sympathize with me in my interest in this subject, and I
know you must have thought on it seriously. What, then
I repeat it, can be done? My remoteness exposes me to
many errors ; but I have a general conviction that Chris-
tianity is not to revive in France in any of its old forms.
Gatholieism is fallen, and so is Protestantism. In truth, the
last was an antagonist to the first, a belligerent religion,
framed to put down Rome, and so far was a great good.
But its work is very much done, nor is it enough adapted to
the present wants of the human mind to regain its power.
A purer, higher form of Christianity is needed, such as
will approve itself to men of profound thinking and feel-
ing, as the real spring and most efficacious instrument of
moral elevation, moral power, and disinterested love. If I
may put another question, I would ask if there are any
symptoms of this purer religion in France. Is the want of it
beginning to be felt ? St. Simonianism, as far as I know it,
is a political engine, a worldly movement ; not the struggling
of the moral, religious, and immortal nature for freer action
and a new development. The writings of Cousin and Con-
stant give promise of a better state of things. Do they rep-
resent any considerable number of the thinking class? Can
you name to me any intellectual men, interested in this sub-
ject, \vho would like to open a correspondence with me ? Can
you name any books which would enlighten me ? Dami-
ron's view of the French philosophy of the age I have read."

" Boston, June 29, 1831.* My highly valued friend, Miss
Pcabody, has read to me your letters in which you e.xpress a

• To M. le Baron DegeranHo, Paris.

RELIGION IN FRANCE. 387

Wish to know something of the views of Christianity wliich
prevail to a considerable extent in this par^pf our country,
and I am encouraged by your language to hope that you
may look with some interest into a volume which I have
publislied, and which will give you the general features of
this form of religion. I ought to observe, however, that
what is here called Unitarianism, a very inadequate name,
s characterized by nothing more than by the spirit of free-
dom and individuality. It has no established creed or sym-
bol. Its friends think each for himself, and differ much from
each other; so that my book, after all, will give you my
mind rather than the dogmas of a sect.

"I am particularly gratified by this mode of introduction
to you, because it may authorize a request which I have
much at heart. There are few things which I desire more
than to know with some accuracy the religious condition of
France, the tendencies of the thinking part of society and of
the mass of the people on this subject, and w'hat are the
views of good and intelligent men as to the best means of
increasing the power of religion among you. France, from
her geographical and political position, and from the im-
mense moral influence which she is exerting, may be con-
sidered as the central power of Europe, and nothing dis-
courages me more than the accounts which I often receive
of the absence, the almost total want, of the religious princi
pie among all classes of her population. Are these accounts
true .'' Has France, as a nation, lost sight of man's connec-
tion with God, and with a future and higher existence .''
Is Christianity without honor and without power among
you ? Arc there not signs of the revival of the religiour?
principle ? If so, what direction or form is it taking ? Is
any deep consciousness of the need of it springing up ? I
know that recent events have absorbed the people, nor ought
any striking development of religious feeling to be expected
under such circumstances. Still, a tendency to a better state

388 RELIGION AAD PHILOSOPHY.

of things, if real and profound, will give some signs of ils
existence. I wish to propose another question, which, I trust,
you will answer with entire frankness. It is, whether the
views of religion given in my volume are in any degree
suited to the wants and state of mind of any considerable
class in France.

"I am not sorry to learn from your letters that the Eng-
lish sects meet little success in spreading their own forms of
Christianity among you. They can give you only a poor
form of religion. England has made little progress for some
lime past in the highest truths. Her missionaries, if listened
to, would carry back France three centuries. I trust that
religion, when it does return to you, is to spring up in a
diviner form. I trust that France, after all her struggles for
improvement, is not to resume the worn-out theology of the
dark ages.

"You see to what object my mind chiefly turns. In the
struggle of France for freedom, I have sympathized with her
most fervently. But I wish for her a freedom worthy of the
name, and this cannot be hoped for, unless it shall ally itself
with a pure and rational religion. I will only add, that one
part of my volume may not meet your full approbation. I
refer to my remarks on Bonaparte. If I know myself, I
wrote that article from a sincere interest in the cause of
freedom and mankind. I may have erred, however, and if
my errors are important enough to be exposed, I will thank
any friend of truth to undertake the work."

" Dcccmher 19, 1832.* I continue to look towards France
with great interest. She must be roused sooner or later
from her present indiflcrence to a new action on the subject
of religion, and this will have an immense influence on the
progress of society. I am not at all discouraged by thr

* To M. J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi.

ESSENTIAL CHRISTIANITY. 389

failure of attempts to restore the antiquated systems of the-
ology. I neither expect nor desire Christianity to revive in
France under its old forms. Something better is needed.
Christianity, I conceive, is to be reestablished by clear de-
velopments of its original, essential truths. One of the great
means of restoring it is, to disconnect it from its old forms,
to break up the habit, almost universal in France, of identify-
ing it with Catholicism and old Protestantism. Another
means is, to show its harmony with the spirit of freedom, of
philanthropy, of progress, and to show that these principles
require, in order to their full expansion, the aid of Chris-
tianity. The identity of this religion with the most uncon-
fined and self-sacrificing benevolence needs especially to
be understood. No religion can now prevail which is not
plainly seen to minister to our noblest sentiments and
powers, and unless Christianity fulfils this condition, I can-
not wish it success.

" With these views, I do not altogether acquiesce in what
you think the duty of the friends of enlightened religion at
the present moment. You think they must loait. If you
mean that the time has not come for them to organize them-
selves into a new sect, I shall not differ from you. I doubt
whether that time will ever come. I doubt whether the puri-
fied Christianity which I anticipate is to rise in the form of a
sect or party, whether its friends are to distinguish them-
selves by any outward badge, or whether it is to make its
way by the imposing efforts of masses. The age of symbols,
of pompous worship, of the priesthood, and of overpowering
religious combinations, is passing aw-ay. Religion must be
spread more and more by rational means, that is, by the
unfettered efforts of individual minds, by clear development
of great truths, by moral suasion, and by examples of its
sublime efficacy on the character and life. These means
are always seasonable, and were never more needed than
now. I expect, indeed, that they who receive this higher
33*

390 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

manifestation of Christianity will be attracted to each other,
and will unite their exertions as far as consists with perfect
intellectual freedom. But their enlarged views and sympa-
thies, and their reverence for the religion, will make them
shrink from giving it a sectarian form,"

^^ Boston, April 16, 1835.* My interest in the state
and prospects of Europe is very strong, and I can rely so
little on the discordant statements in the public prints, that I
am very grateful for the views and impressions of intelli-
gent friends of freedom and humanity residing on the spot.
I hope for the world, but am not secure. I see grounds for
alarm, in the strength which despotism derives from concen-
tration and unity of action, in the divisions which necessarily
spring up among men who think for themselves, and, above
all, in the selfishness and factious views of the pretended
friends of free institutions. To myself nothing is so dis-
couraging as the want of moral and religious principle in
France. I do not see how a profligate people is to lead the
way to a better state of things, or how a free government is
to be secure in a country where there are no grounds of
mutual confidence, and no spring of self-sacrifice. I am
looking with earnest desire for some manifestation of the
religious sentiment in France. I have lately learned some-
thing of the Abbe Chatel's ' French Church,' but hope little
or nothing from it. A new sect, to do good, must start with
a profound faith, with deep conviction, with all-absorbing
devotion to great truths. Religion, I suppose, perished in
France chicHy from two causes, the corruptions of the Cath-
olic Church, and a superficial, material philosophy. A purer
church and a spiritual philosophy would do much to restore
it. By a purer church, I moan a community, no matter how
small, in which there would be a distinct manifestation of the

* To M. 3. C. L. Simonde de Sisniondi.

CONTROVERSIAL THEOLOGY. 391

peculiar power of Christianity to piirify and ennoble human
nature. Where can the materials be found ? In Benjamin
Constant and Cousin I have seen the promf^e of a higher
•philosophy. What may be hoped from this ? Nothing has
amazed and confounded me so much as the Abbe de la
Mennais's late book, ' The Words of a Believer.' I cannot
easily identify the author with the bigot who wrote on ' Re-
ligious Indifference.' He seems to write in good faith.
How is he to be interpreted ? Is he an example or proof
of the general tendency of our age towards an unsettled
state of mind ? Is Catholicism itself unable to control this i
I should be glad to know the influence of his book."

^'Boston, March 29, 1832.* Your book is almost the
only one I have read on the subject for years. If it would
not savor of vanity, I should say that I have risen above
the region of controversial theology. In pi'oportion as the
great moral, spiritual purpose of Christianity shines on my
mind, the unintelligible mysteries of the schools fade away,
and I can hardly muster up interest enough in them to read
either for or against them."

'^^ Boston, March 31, 1832. t I ought to have answered
your letter of July before this. It gave me much pleasure,
and I wish you could find time to write me many such. I
have a deep and increasing interest in the state of society
abroad, and you give me reason to hope for some account
of the religious condition and prospects of your part of
the world. I shall be glad to hear from you on this and
all subjects. What is to come from the present agitation
of your country, it is hard to say. I hope good from the
shaking of men's minds through the civilized world. That
great principles will be unsettled in some by the process, we

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. t To Win. Burns, Esq., Saltcoats.

■ 392 RELIGIOM AND FHILOSOPHr.

know ; but inveterate prejudices and abuses which would
yield to no other influence will also be swept away."

" Boston, February 25, 1833,* You ought not to regret
that your last years are given to such controversy. You are
teaching us all the spirit in which controvei-sy should be car-
ried on, and you are laboring to vindicate the power of Him
to whose gloiy every life should be dedicated, I trust you
are to be spared to complete your other works. One thing
is very gratifying, that theologians feel as never before the
necessity of reconciling their systems to the perfections of
God, They, indeed, adopt strange means for this end ; but
still, the spirit which is at work in these new and indefensible
theories is a good one, and a sure presage of a brighter day,"

" Boston, July 30, 1834.t Your letter by Dr, Tuckcr-
man was very gratifying to me, I am glad that you have
had an opportunity of seeing my two excellent friends, and
of becoming acquainted with their worth. Perhaps these
gentlemen have helped you to understand American Unita-
rianism better than you did before. They are fair speci-
mens of our body in one respect, I think you must have
been struck with the entire absence of a sectarian spirit in
their habits of feeling and thinking, and it seems to me, that,
with our many and great deficiencies, we may be said to be
characterized by this feature. We look at Christianity vei-y
much as if no sect existed, and do not exaggerate the im-
portance of certain doctrines because they distinguish us
from others. The grand spiritual purpose of Christianity is,
I trust, more and more felt among us, and one question is
absorbing all others, namely, — How may our religion bo
administered so as to promote effectual ly its great end of
regenerating the individual and the world ?

• To Noah Worcester, D. D. f To Lant Carpenter, D. D.

GROWING BIGOTRY. 593

' By this I do not mean that we are what we should be.
A great change must be wrought in us, before we shall be
thought worthy to do much for the rcdcmptio« of mankind
from error and sm. This, however, is reserved for those
who shall have attained to the unworldly spirit and the all-
sacrificing love of Christ and his Apostles. I think that I
see some approaches towards this elevation of character ;
and the simplicity of mind with which we look at the re-
ligion is a good omen. Still, how much do we need, to fit
us for the great work of giving a new life to the Church and
the world ! "

" Boston, April 5, 1837.* Nothing svhich a pure pur-
pose prompts is lost. I am not discouraged by the signs of
a growing higotiy. This is preparing its own downfall, by
refusing to learn wisdom from the growing intelligence of
the times. I have often observed how the weapons wielded
by superstition in one age are turned against it in another.
The Inquisition, once so terrible a defence of Rome, now
inspires a horror which more th**'! counteracts its past servi-
ces. So the infallibility of that church, once an imposing
plea, now does it infinite harm, by preventing it from dis-
claiming or modifying old error"*. God and truth are
mightier than all human devices. You see I am full of
hope. I set up for no prophet, I f.x no time for the mil-
lennium, but I see many good signr There must be a
period of struggle and suffering. Butt this does not dis-
hearten me. To struggle and suffer w * good cause are
greater privileges even than to triumph."

" August 23, 1837.t So the Quakers in England, as here
partake of the agitations of the age. I do not know «
stronger proof of the revolutionary character cf our times

" To Mrs. Joanna Baillie. t To Wm. Rathbone, Es ^iv«rnooi.

394 RELIGiOX AND PHILOSOPHY.

One would have thought a Quaker meeting one of the last
fortresses to yield to innovation. Wc must be comforted at
the disappearance of this sect, by thinking that it has done
its work, that its most important principles have passed into
the hands of more enlightened men, who will expound them
more successfully. I grieve that any of their body should
have fallen back into the Establishment What Avould
George Fox say, could he lift up his broad beaver, and see
nis followers returning to Mother Church, the mother of all
abominations ? I fear they have forgotten his favorite
maxim, — 'Be not conformed to this world.' Perhaps a
wise reform might have reconstructed Quakerism, so as to
hold together the body ; but I see sects die without much
mourning. The time for all to die is coming."

" Sepfemher 18, 1839.* I Avould that I could look to
Unitarianism with more hope. But this system was, at its
recent revival, a protest of the understanding against absurd
dogmas, rather than the work of deep religious principle,
/and was early paralyzed by the mixture of a material
philosophy, and fell too much into the hands of scholars and
political reformers, and the consequence is a want of vitality
and force which gives us little hope of its accomplishing
much under its present auspices, or in its present form.
When I tell you that no sect in this country has taken less
interest in the slavery question, or is more inclined to con-
servatism, than our body, you will judge what may be ex-
pected from it. Whence is salvation to come .'' This is the
question which springs up in my mind continually. Is the
world to receive new impulse from individual reformers,
or from new organizations ? Or is the work to go on by a
more silent, unorganized action of thought and great princi-
ples in the mass ? Or are great convulsions, breaking up

• To J. Blanco White.

OXFORD TRACTARIANS. 395

the present order of things, as in the fall of the Roman em-
pire, needed to the introduction of a reform worthy of the
name ? Sometimes I fear the last, so rooted'seem the cor-
ruptions of the Church and society. But I live in hope of
milder processes."

" Boston, November 20, 1839.* I wish you would com-
municate more particulars about the new school of Oxford.
The Church of England has seemed to me so dead, that I
am interested by any sign of life, though it be a fever. I
suppose, too, that the movement is in resistance of the ma-
terial tendencies of the age, and in this way it may indicate
a higher moral feeling, though it is too servile, too distrustful
of the reason, too exclusively given up to the imagination,
to promise any good. Is it a sudden burst, or has it grown
up slowly ?

" I wish to know the result of the Trinitarian controversy
in Liverpool. I have read with pleasure two or three tracts
of Mr. Martineau and Mr. Thom, and hope to see the whole.
I was particularly struck with their freedom from cant,
from popular appeals, with their noble faithfulness to their
convictions, with their calm reliance on the power of truth.
Did they produce immediate effects ? If so, your city must
have made no small progress, moral and intellectual. I do
not subscribe to all the positions of these gentlemen ; but I
feel great respect for the power and spirit manifested in
what I have read."

1839. " I live as did Simeon, in the hope of seeing a
brighter day. I do see the gleams of dawn, and that ought
to cheer me. I hope nothing from increased zeal in urging
an imperfect, decaying form of Christianity. One higher,
clearer view of religion rising on a single mind encourages

• To J. Blanco Whita.

t}96 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

me more than the organization of millions to repeat what
has been repeated for ages with little eflcct. The individual
llere is mightier than the world, and I have the satisfaction
of seeing aspirations after this purer truth

" I see little infidelity here, but much loose thinking.
Not a few think that they pay homage to religious truth, by
receiving it chiefly on the ground of its own excellence and
glory, and very little on authority. The just limits of au-
thority, indeed, and its proper office, need to be settled.
The progress of religious inquiry is bringing this and other
related questions into discussion, and we must all give wliat
light we have

" I believe, — I trust, — that a better age of theological
literature is dawning upon us. The human mind is begin-
ning to throw off the weight of authority which has crushed
it for ages, and although its first strength may be put forth
in vehement wrestling with errors, in the subtilties of con-
troversy, perhaps in rushing from one to another extreme,
yet, if left to the free use of its powers and to the quicken-
ing influences which God is pouring upon it through nature,
through events, through revelation, and through a more se-
cret and inward energy, it will at length arrive, in one and
another gifted individual, to that state of calm, intense, and
deep meditation and feeling, from which all living and life-
giving works on morals and religion are to proceed. One
Buch work may be enough to give a new aspect to theology,
to introduce modes of viewing and studying it as superior to
those which now prevail as those are to the antiquated scho-
lastic subtilties and jargon which once bore its name."

^^ Boston, AprW 13, 1840.* In a late letter I spoke to
you of the Unitarian body in this country as having par-
taken the common indifference in regard to slavery, and as

• To J. Blanco White.

LIVERPOOL LECTURES. 397

wanting the spirit of progress. As to the last point, 1 should
have spoken with greater I'estraint. There arc in the body-
individuals dissatisfied with the present, anlf anxious for
higher manifestations of the truth and spirit of Christianity.
The ministers deserve our grea' praise. They seem to me,
as a body, remarlvable for integrity, for the absence of in-
trigue, for superiority to all artifice. I think Unitarianism is
administered among us with more zeal, earnestness, and
will be more fruitful ; though I expect no great reform,
until Christianity is rescued from the errors, mists, corrup-
tions, which have so long obscured and impaired it."

" Boston, September 11, 1840.* I owe you many thanks
for the volume you so kindly sent me of the Liverpool Lec-
tures. I had read a good part of the Lectures, but was glad
to read the rest, and to own all. I have expressed to my
English friends my admiration of these defences of the truth.
I do not know how the cause could have fallen into better
hands, or could have been more worthily maintained. In-
deed, I ought to go farther, — I doubt whether the battle

could have been fought as well elsewhere They will

lead a certain number to think, and will give them far higher
views than they had before. They will stir up thought.
They are suggesting, quickening, fertilizing, — and such are
the writings which are to do good, not those which produce
immediate superficial effect.

" I was glad that you did not undertake to defend any Uni-
tarianism but your own. I know that in this way the benefit
of authority is lost, and the unity of the sect is threatened ;
but what unity is of any worth, except the attraction subsist-
ing among those who hold, not nominally, but really, not in
words, but with profound conviction and love, the same great
truths ? I see in these Lectures the signs of a freer discus-

» To the Rev. J. H. Thom, Liverpool.
VOL. II. 34

3QS RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

sion than we have had yet. As yet, controversialists who
have broken all other chains have had a feeling of allegiance
to their sect. Pure, supreme love of truth, how hard an
acquisition ! Perhaps our attachment to Christianity may
sometimes blind us, by leading us to force meanings on its
records which fall below the dignity of a revelation. It is no
easy thing to let the records speak for themselves, to take
them as we find them, to let them say what will injure their
authority in the present state of men's minds. We ' rational
Christians ' are in danger of acting the part of their patrons,
rather than their interpreters.

" There is another danger, too, to which we are exposed.
We arc more and more, and very properly, inclined to rest
Christianity on the character, the spirit, the divine elevation
of Jesus Christ ; and the tendency of this is to beget a swol-
len way of speaking about him and his virtues, very incon-
sistent with the simple beauty and majesty of his character,
and which is fitted to throw a glare over him, and not to
present that distinct apprehension of him so necessary to a
quickening and transforming love. It is an age of swelling
words. I must plead guilty myself, and I am not sure that
the Lectures are free from the oflence. Indeed, to see and
set forth Christianity in its simplicity is a hard task. Brought
up as we have been, living in a most artificial, unchristian
state of society, — the antithesis of the kingdom of heaven,
— it is not easy to preserve and feel the force of any precept
or truth of the religion. We must, by one or another means,
escape the world we live in, — its hollow religious convention-
alisms, its denial throughout of the worth of a human spirit,
of the fraternal relation of all human beings, — before we can
get a glimpse of the truth as it is in Jesus."

" June 22, 1840.* I can touch but on one topic more. You
• To Miss H. Martineau.

UNITARIAN ORTHODOX!'. 399

speak of your brother James. Since writing to you, I have
read all his Lectures; and they seem to me among the no-
blest efforts of our times. They have <-iuiQlicned and in-
structed me. Indeed, his Lectures and Mr. Tiiom's give mo
new hope for the cause of truth in England. Not that I
expect any great immediate effect ; but nol»le spiritual action
in a few is an augury of good which cannot fail. I differ,
as I think I told you, from some of your brother's exposi-
tions ; but no matter ; I do not enjoy his mind the less."

'' Septemler 10, 184L* Old Unitarianism must undergo
important modification or developments. Thus I have felt
for years. Though an advance on previous systems, and
bearing some better fruits, it docs not work deeply, it does
not strike living springs in the soul. This is perfectly con-
sistent with the profound piety of individuals of the body.
But it cannot quicken and regenerate the world. No matter
how reasonable it may be, if it is without power. Its his-
tory is singular. It began as a protest against the rejection
of reason, — against mental slavery. It pledged itself to
progress, as its life and end; but it has gradually grown
stationary, and now we have a Unitarian Orthodoxy. Per-
haps this is not to be wondered at or deplored, for all re-
forming bodies seem doomed to stop, in order to keep the
ground, much or little, which they have gained. They be-
come conservative, and out of them must spring new reform-
ers, to be persecuted generally by the old. With these
views, I watch all new movements with great interest."

" Boston, November, 184Lt That further Inquiry will
lead you to think as I do, I am by no means sure ; but that it
will modify your traditional belief, and give you clearer,

* To the Rev. James Martineau, Liverpool,
t To Mr. Harland Coulus, Mahon.

400 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

more quickening views of Chi'istianity, I cannot doubt. I
seem to myself to be free from sectarian biases. That any
existing sect should put down all others would be but a sec-
ondary good. What I feel is, that Christianity, as expounded
by all our sects, is accomplishing its divine purpose most
imperfectly, and -that we want a reformation worthy of the
name ; that, instead of enslaving ourselves to any existing
pect, we should seek, by a new cleansing of our hearts, and
more earnestness of prayer, brighter, purer, more quicken-
mg views of Christianity.

" I value Unitarianism, not because I regard it as in itself
a perfect system, but as freed from many great and per-
nicious errors of the older systems, as encouraging freedom
of thought, as raising us above the despotism of the Church,
and as breathing a mild and tolerant spirit into all the mem-
bers of the Christian body. Metliodism seems to me to have
done much good ; but I apprehend its day is drawing to a
close. It is a system of ecclesiastical oppression. The con-
centration of power in the Conference is intolerable, and I
see not how any free spirit can brook it. We are to be
Christ's freemen, not instruments in the hands of our fellow-
creatures. I owe so much to spiritual. Christian liberty my-
self, that I mourn over every infraction of it, and earnestly
desire to secure it to all my Christian brethren.

" I wish you the best blessings from on high, the ' Spirit
of Truth,' growing light, and growing love."

^'■Philadelphia., May 11, 1842.* Just as I was leaving
Boston, I was told that there was an indisj)osition to aia

• 's church, on the ground of his peculiar views of the

Christian ordinances. He believes in the fitness of a rile
or service commemorating Christ's death, but wishes to omit
the outward signs, believing that among us the letter inter-

• To N. L. Frotiiingham, D. D.

UNITARIANISM. 401

feros with the spirit, and that Christ regards the spirit alone.
That assistance should be withheld on this ground from a

church which has so many claims as 's is a cause of

grief to me

• " Have we no proof here that the Unitarian body is for-
saking ' its first love ' ? Unitarianism was distinguished by
its separation of the essential from the unessential in Chris-
tianity, by its clear discernment of the moral, spiritual pur-
pose of this religion, and by its liberality and respect for the
rights of individual judgment. To withhold aid and counte-
nance from a church which agrees with us in these funda-
mentals, on account of its difference in a matter of form, and
of its zeal, though excessive, for the essential and the spirit-
ual in Christianity, is certainly no proof of the liberaHty to
which we lay claim. The church in question contains witliin
itself all the means of Christian edification, with the single
exception, that it dispenses with certain symbols in a rite.
Is this a difference to be thought of in such a case ? Must
our brethren be taught that on this point they must think and
practise as we do, or forfeit our sympathy ? Is this a
ground on which to run up a wall of partition ? Is this
to be made a denominational fence by the friends of free
inquiry ?

" I can conceive of differences of opinion on the higher
truths of religion so grave as to occasion us some perplexity
as to giving aid to an infant church, — though even here
our error should be on the side of liberality, and we should
fear to lay fetters on the honest inquirer for truth. But in a
matter of outward religion, where there is so much ground
for diversity of judgment, and where such diversity touches
nothing vital, I do fear that we prove ourselves 'carnal,'
outward, earthly, unspiritual, and sectarian, when for such
cause we deny sympathy and aid to single-hearted, earnest
brethren, who are laboring to ' hold fast the light ' under
great discouragements, amidst the darkness of antiquated,
34*

402 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

intolerant systems of theology. I beg you to think of this
letter and make such use of it as you may judge proper.''

Thus does it appear how truly Dr. Channing said of
Inmself, — "I desire to escape the narrow walls of a par-
ticular church, and to live under the open sky, in the
broad light, looking far and wide, seeing with my own
eyes, hearing with my own ears, and following truth
meekly, but resolutely, however arduous or solitary be
the path in which she leads."* To him there was " one
church, grander than all particular ones, however exten-
sive,— spread over all lands, and one with the church in

heaven, the family of the pure in all worlds,

the innumerable multitude of the holy everywhere."
"With this church he felt bound by " vital, everlasting
connection," and regarded himself as " a member of a
vast spiritual community, as joint heir and fellow-wor-
shipper with the goodly company of Christian heroes
who have gone before." f The grand " heresy " to him
was the substitution of any thing, " whether creed, or
form, or church, for the goodness which is essentially,
everlastingly, by its own nature, lovely, glorious, divine,

which is the sun of the spiritual universe,

which is God himself dwelling in the human soul."
Growth in goodness was what he longed for throughout
Christendom.

Let us now briefly describe the work, wherein, as we
have seen. Dr. Channing so earnestly hoped to embody,
with some degree of organic symmetry, the truths which,
through long years, he had been assimilating. It was to

' WoiUs, Vol. Ill, p. 211.

* Works, Vol. VI., pp. 203, 205, 208, 223,224.

PEKFECTION OF MAN, 403

have borne the title, apparently, of " The Principles of ■^
JNforal, Religious, and Political Science " ; and the fol-
lowing extracts from a first draft of the Introduction wiL
show the author's stand-point.

• " In a work devoted to the exposition of moral, religious,
and political truth, a minute description of all the principles
and powers of human nature will not be expected. Vol-
umes would be needed for the fit discussion of such a topic.
The TRUE PERFECTION of man is the great idea of the
moral sciences. His nature is therefore to be examined so
as to determine its central law, and the end for which all
religious and political institutions should be established ; it is
to be studied for the purpose of ascertaining its true propor-
tions, its highest powers, the relations of its affections and
faculties to each other, its ruling principles. ,

" In every department of nature we discern differences
and varieties. The universe is not a monotonous repetition
of one form of being. Each single object is composed of a
variety of parts ; each sustains various relations, exercises
various functions, is receptive of various influences. Nor
are all parts of equal importance ; some are prominent,
others subordinate ; some essential, others accidental ; some
are ends, and others means. The same properties also are
developed in an infinite variety of degrees. As each color
presents an indefinite number of shades, so each power of
living creatures is manifested with a like diversity of intense-
ness. In beings of the same class are found all possible dif-
ferences in the degrees of their correspondence to the stand-
ard or type of the class. Thus nature everywhere reveals
Variety, Difference, Relation, Degrees, Order, Perfection.

" That Human Nature should present to us a similar va-
riety is to be expected from the analogies which are seen to
pervade the universe. Man is not a single power, but a
wonderful diversity of pi'operties are combined in his consti*

404 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

tution. The laws which control the material world are in
him conjoined with the energies of mind. That his various
organs, faculties, functions, differ in importance, — that some
are ends, while others are means, — that some are supremo
and others suboi'dinate, — that there is an Order or Harmo-
ny of powers in which consists the perfection of the humaa
being, — may be confidently inferred from the laws of vari-
ety, degrees, order, which govern the universe

/ " All our inquiries in morals, religion, and politics must
begin with human natui'e. The ends for which a being is
made, his relations, his true course of conduct, depend upon
his nature. To comprehend the former, we must under-
stand the latter. Accordingly, certain views of man are in-
volved in all speculations about the objects of life and the
proper sphere of human action. On such views all schemes
of society and legislation are built. Every groat statesman,
every reformer who has introduced a revolution in the
affairs of nations, has been impelled and guided by his esti-
mate of man. It is the want of a true science of our na-
ture, that has vitiated all past systems of government,
morals, and religion. No book can be written wisely, no
plan wisely formed for the improvement of mankind, which
has not its origin in just reverence of the powers of the
human spirit. And not only is it ti*ue, that morals, religion,
and politics, in their application to masses of men, must have
their foundation in certain views of human nature ; but
every individual's principles, his whole system of duty, will
take its character from the light in which he regards himself
and his race. All the relations of life will wear different
aspects to men who interpret differently the beings by whom
they are sustained.

'■' Just views of hiunan nature arc, then, all-important.
^ In comprehending man, we comprehend God, Duty, Life,
Death, Providence ; we have the key to the Divine admin-
istration of the world. In proportion as man is made known

FLAN OF THE WORK.

405

to us, wc learn wliy he was placed upon earth, and see the
explanation of the discipline which is appointed to him here.
The mysteries of his childhood, progress, and maturity, of
his joys and sorrows, of his temptations and sins, gradually
clear away. Even material nature becomes revealed to ub
in a new light. In proportion as we understand man, —
God's greatest work, — we understand inferior creation;
wc discover new adaptations of the outward and the inward
worlds, new analogies between nature and the human spirit ;
iie Unity of the Universe dawns upon us."

Eight chapters only of the First Part of this work —
vhich, in accordance with the preceding remarks, was
levoted to an analytic and synthetic view of human na-
ure — were composed. The order of their arrange-
nent and their titles are as follows : — I. Sensation ;
11. Idea of Matter; III. Idea of the I or Self;
tV. External Perception ; V. Internal Perception ;
VI. Conception ; VII. Memory ; VIII. Discernment
.if Relations. The plan of the author was plainly to
.race, by ascending degrees, the Order, Proportion,
♦larmony, of man's powers ; and thus, by proceeding
nward, from functions and relations which are most su-
,'erficial and accidental, to those which are most central
■»7\d essential, to exhibit an ideal of a perfect human
A'^eing. It is scarcely necessary to inform a reader of
/>r. Channing's writings, that he recognized as the su-
pieme power in man the Conscience ; and that he saw
:r this primal spring of moral energy an authoritative
manifestation of absolute right, justly entitling it to be
called the Oracle of God. Morality, in his view, flowed
out from, and ascended up to, religion ; the finite will
was for ever newly animated from the Infinite Will ;
and goodness was the inspiration of the All-Good.

406

RELIGIOA^ AN© PHILOSOPHY.

, Thus from Man, the author would have been led to
speak, in the Second Part of his work, of God, whom he
saw revealed in human nature and the universe, as the
One, Eternal, infinite Person, whose essence and energy
are love, the Heavenly Father, who creates all spirits in
his own image, and continually recreates them by his in-
flowing life. Man he considered as actually a child of
God, in exact proportion to the degree of the fulness
and constancy of his communion with the Father of
Spirits. The process of a progressive life he believed
to be a perpetual regeneration. The end of man's des-
tiny to which he should aspire was oneness with the
Eternal Being ; and in Jesus Christ — whatever his rank
in creation and whatever his previous modes of exist-
ence — he saw with grateful trust and all-animating hope
a manifestation of the glory to which man individually
and collectively is welcomed.

Having thus in the central portion of his book pre-
sented the perfection of human nature in its unity with
the Divine Being, as a reality. Dr. Channing would have
1/ passed in the Third Part to announce the laws of duty,
personal and social, which necessarily proceed from the
principles which he had established. In ethics and poli-
tics, as in religion, his leading aim was the spiritualization
of man through the practical embodiment of Divine char-
ity, in every relation of domestic, industrial, commercial,
national life. He was assured that the law of love could
be applied at once to the most comprehensive and most
minute concerns of human intercourse. He anticipated
with unfaltering faith the coming of an era of Universal
Brotherhood, when freedom and order would be perfect-
ly harmonized, and when mankind the earth round would

TRUTHS AND CO.NJECTUKliS 407

be united in one cooperative family of the children of
God *

Dr. Channing has been niisapprehended^alike by his
admirers and critics, through the supposition, that ho
assumed to teach a much more definite system than he
ever considered himself as having attained to. He left
many views aside which others earnestly advocated, not
because he denied them, but because he could not verify
them. He had early learned to discriminate between
truths and conjectures, and he was as conscientiously
strict in his statement of the former as he was unre-
strainedly free in speculating upon the latter. His soul
was illuminated with the idea of the absolute, immutable
glory of Moral Good ; and reverence for conscience is
the key to his whole doctrine of human destiny and duty.
Many difficult metaphysical points he passed wholly
by, as being out of the sphere alike of intuition and of
experience, and in relation to them was willing to con-
fess his ignorance. He believed, to be sure, in the pos-
sibility of man's gaining some insight of Universal Order,
and respected the lofty aspiration which prompts men
to seek a perfect knowledge of the Divine Laws ; but
he considered pretensions to Absolute Science as quite
premature, saw more boastfulness than wisdom in an-
cient and modern schemes of philosophy, and was not a
little amused at the complacent confidence with which
quite evidently fallible theorists assumed to stand at the

• In so brief a sketch, it is of course impossible to do any justice to
theviewsof Dr. Channing, but it is hoped, that in the volumes of
Sermons and of Fragments, which the editor of these papers proposes
hereafter to publish, something may be done to exhibit, with satisfac-
tory completenesa, his " principles of moral, religious, and political

science.

•108 HELIGION AND PHiLOSOPHY.

centre, and to scan and depict the panorama of existence
For himself, he was content to wait.

Much of his correspondence is interesting, however,
as reveahng his habits of thought and inquiry, and ena-
bling us to recognize his cherished views in relation to
Man, the Divine Being, and Christianity. With ample
extracts, therefore, from his letters upon theological and
philosophical subjects, this chapter shall be closed.

" Novemher 29, 1828.* I have road the book t you sent
me with much interest. The phrenological part, I fear, did
me little good. I have a strong aversion to theories which
subject the mind to the body ; and, believing this to be the
effect of phrenology, I have not felt the obligation to study
it, and, to say the truth, I am veiy ignorant of it. I have
been instructed by your views of the laws of our nature,
and of the connection between our obedience to them and
our happiness. I respond joyfully to the hope you express
of the progress of the human race, though 1 do not expect
that any improvements of the race will exempt the individual
from the necessity of struggle and self-denial in the forma-
tion of his own character, or will in any way do for him
what every free being must do for himself. I was particu-
larly gratified by the earnestness with which you insist on
the supremacy of the moral faculties, and point out the inev-
itable miseries which society is to endure until this funda-
mental principle be recognized by the individual and the
community.

" I send you a discourse recently published by me.
You say, you are not of my pei*suasion. I hope this dis-
course, with all its defects, will show that I am devoted to
no party, but that I would promote, to the extent of my

* To George Conibc, Esq., Edinburgh,
t The Constitution of Man.

THE FUTURE LIFE. 409

power, the cause of our common Christianity ana of the
human race.

" I am, with great regard, your filS'nd."

" Boston, March 6, 1829.* The idea of death as sep
arating us from the outward universe, and shutting us up in
our own minds, seems to me quite the reverse of the truth.
Revelation speaks very distinctly of another organization
which we are to receive hereafter, and which I consider as
a means of communication with all God's works. This
doctrine seems to me veiy'rational. There is a progression
in every part of nature, and to suppose the mind to emerge
from its present connection with gross matter to a purely
spiritual existence is to imagine a violent transition, quite
irreconcilable with this great principle. Death is not to
separate the mind from matter, but, in the case of the virtu-
ous, is to raise it from its present subjection to matter to a
glorious triumph over it. I confess, I cannot think without
depression of breaking all my ties to the material universe.
When I think of its infinite extent, of the countless worlds
which astronomy discloses to me, I feel that material nature,
including all the beings connected with it, must offer infinite
food for the mind, unbounded and inexhaustible discoveries
of God. Then I find, that, just as fast as my mind unfolds,
my delight in the universe increases ; new correspondences
are revealed between the inward and the outward world ;
a diviner light beams from the creation ; a more thrilling,
voice comes from it. I cannot endure the thought of being
severed from this harmonious and glorious univcree. I ex-
pect death to multiply my connections with it, and to enlarge
my knowledge of and power over it.

"Your friend would limit us to purely moral pleasures
after death. Why so ? One of the great excellences of

• To Miss Ruth P. Olney.
VOL. II. 35

410 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY

moral good is, that it aids us to enjoy all other good. Ti.e
most perfect man is not he who confines himself to purely
moral gratifications, but he who has a moral energy through
which all things are received and enjoyed by him in a wise
order and in just proportions. Other gratifications, thus
controlled, become moral. In another world, our pleasures
are to be diversified and multiplied. The outward creation
— if on such a subject I may be allowed to speculate — will
minister an increasing variety of exquisite sensations, of
which sight and hearing are but types."

"■Portsmouth, R. /., July 25, 1829.* You want, you
say, a better body. Our comfort is, that, in wearing out
this body in well-doing, we are earning a better one ; and
perhaps the agency of the mind and of our present life in
detei'mining the future frame is greater than we imagine."

" St. Croix, W. J., February 6, 1831.t I believe in this
divine principle, this ray of divine light, in the soul. But
instead of thinking it a foreign aid, I regard it as the very
essence of the soul, the central principle of our nature, —
so central, deep, and ineradicable, that all the appetites and
passions are comparatively superficial. To bring the child
to a consciousness of the divinity within him seems to me
the highest office which parents and teachers can perform.
He should be led to understand and feel that his moral na-
ture— the principle which speaks of duty, which discerns
the obligations of virtue, which carries in itself the presenti-
ment cf a moral government of the univei^e — is the voice
of God, a light from heaven, an infinite germ, a power
given him for endless development, and under which our
whole nature is to be unfolded in health and beauty. I con-
sider the knowledge of God as important, chicHy as it shows

" To Joseph Tuckennan, D. D. t To Miss Emily Taylor

combe's philosophy. 411

his intimate connection and constant communication witli
the soul, and thus awakens in us the consciousness of Di-
vine relationship, of being formed for perpetual approach to
God in his highest attributes. I consider Christianity as
built upon and adapted to these views of human nature.
VVithout ihc divine principle of which I have spoken, I can
see no ground of accountableness, no capacity of religion,
no need of the Gospel. To give this principle the victory
over sin and all hostile influences is the very purpose of our
religion. ' This is the victory that overcometh the world,
even our faith.' Here we learn the true salvation and hap-
piness achieved by faith."

* St. Croix, April 11, 1831.* I refer to your outhnes of
moral philosophy. Your opinions on this point of science
seem to me very valuable. With many of them I entirely
accord. That our physical nature has been too much over-
looked by those who have treated it, I fully agree. That its
end and means have been very imperfectly understood is
equally true. It is my hope to do something in this field ;
and I should undoubtedly differ from you in some important
particulars. You would place me among the ' abstract ' au-
thors who do not study and teach human nature ' practi-
cally,' and very possibly you would censure me with some
reason. I earnestly wish that you would supply the defect
by executing your own plan. You doubt your ability ; but
the conception of it shows that you have no reason for fear.

The success of your ' Constitution of Man ' in our

country has been such as must gratify and reward you. It
has found general favor. The Swedcnborgians (who, in
fact, republished it) are particularly interested in it, — why,
I know not, for I read few of their books. I have heard of
high commendation of it from a distinguished Calvinistic

* To George Combe, Esq.

412 RELIGION AiND PHILOSOPHY.

divine ; and as to the more liberal class, they have highly
approved and recommended it. Some of its doctrines have
found ilieir way into the pulpit. I iiave met on this island
a lady from America, of much distinction in the fashionable
world, who had brought it with her as a text-book, and lent
it very freely to the intelligent here. She tells me that a
gentleman of Philadelphia bought fifty or a hundred copies
of it — all he could find — for distribution, believing that
he could not do more good. Tlie common remark is, how-
ever, that the book is excellent in spite of its phrenology."

''St. Croix, W. L, April 24, 1831.* I received some-
time ago your aphorisms, entitled ' The New Era of Chris-
tianity,' and I hope you will not consider my delaying to
answer your letter as any evidence of indifference to its
object. It gives me great satisfaction to find men waking
up anywhere to the present degraded state of Christianity,
and thirsting and hoping for a purer form of it. I was the
more interested in your communication from the circum-
stance of iiaving read with great pleasure, and I hope profit,
your dissertations on Methodism or Evangelical Religion,
and on the Spirit of Christianity. I met with these acciden-
tally, and sent for them to England, and have circulated
them among my intelligent friends. I find much in your
aphorisms to approve, and perhaps my objections, were I
to make any, would apply to what I think their defects
rather than to positive errors.

" I could wish that the moral perfeclion, which is the
great aim of Christianity and the ultimate design of human
existence, might be set forth in a more enlarged and excit-
ing form. I could wish that the parental character of (Jod
might be taught more as a moral relation founded on the
affinity of the Divine with the human mind, and having for

• To William Burns, Esq , Saltcoats, Scotland.

CHRISTIAN VIRTUE. 413

its end the elevation of the latter to greater and ever-in-
creasing Hkencss to the former. I would \mvc men taught
that Josus Christ has no other or greater good to give than
the improvement of the human soul, than the communica-
tion of his own virtue, that goodness is essentially one and
the same thing with lieaven, and that every other good sep-
arated from this is delusive and worthless. One of the im-
portant evidences of Christianity, as yet hardly touched upon,
should occupy a new place in the teaching by which the
^ New Era ' is to be introduced. The virtue which Christian-
ity inculcates, and which was embodied in Christ, should be
proved, as it has not been, to be or to constitute the perfection
of himan nature, or to involve the vigorous, harmonious, be-
neficent action of all its powers and atfcctions. This adap-
tation of the religion to our spiritual nature, to its develop-
ment, life, energy, peace, health, and perpetual growth, — this
fitness and power of Christianity to connect us by endearing
and generous bonds with God, and his whole rational of^
spring, so that we shall receive most and communicate most,
or become living members of the ' whole family of heaven
and earth,' — this, I think, is an evidence of the divine ori-
gin of our religion, particularly suited to its more advanced
stages, and suited to give man the conviction so much
needed, that Christian virtue is the supreme good to be
sought, first for themselves and then for their race.

" Perhaps I owe to my views some better exposition, but
you will probably understand in what respect I should mod.
ify your aphorisms. As I said, I see in them much to which
I respond. What Christian virtue is, what the regencra-
tion is which society needs, you have expressed justly, I
think, as far as you have gone, and this is an immense point
gained. I shall be truly happy to hear further from you,
and to take part in the good work of carrying forward
society. I am, however, not worth much as a laborer.
I am now in the West Indies seeking health, and shall re-
35*

414 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHT.

turn to my country in a few days, with no great addition
of strength.

" Very truly, your friend.

« Rhode Island, August 29, 1831.*' If it will afford you
any satisfaction, I ought to say tliat my views on the doc-
trine wliich you have examined were mucli the same witli
yours. At the same time I would add, that for years I havi>
felt a decreased interest in settling the precise rank of Jesua
Christ. The power of his character seems to me to lie in
his spotless purity, his moral perfection^ and not in the time
during which he has existed. I have attached less impor-
tance to this point, from having learned that all minds are
of one famihj, that the human and the angelic nature are
essentially one. Holding this doctrine, I am not shocked as
many are by the Humanharian system. Still, it seems to
me to labor under serious objections ; nor am I at all in-
fluenced by the argument which its disciples insist upon so
earnestly, that it brings Jesus nearer to us. His moral per-
fection seems to me his groat peculiarity and separation
from all human beings, and this remains the same on all
1,'ystems, and is more inexplicable on the Humanitarian sys-
em than on any other."

" Boston, March 20th, 1832. That there must be a num-
ber ready to receive Christianity in the purest form in which
it can be dispensed I cannot doubt. I am more and more
satisfied that the policy which modifies Christianity to adapt
t to the human mind is as unwise as it is irreligious. I
ft'isli men would go forth, strong in the faitli that their best
md piotoundcst views of religion, if brought out clearly
and \>'tn the signs of strong conviction, will find prepared
spirits. Christianity is founded on what is universal and

* To Mrs. Joanna Baillio.

RELATIONS OF GOD WITH MAN. 415

everlasting in human nature. Our appeal must be made,
not to wealth or temporary feelings, but to ilic mora! con-
sciousness of man, the consciousness of a spiritual and
accountable nature. I liave less and less faith in address-
ing religion to classes, or of setting it forth as the means of
acting on and carrying them forward. It must be addressed
to the individual soul, and be set forth as revealing the
infinite worth, and as alone commensurate with tlie wants,
of the soul. Each man should feel the greatness of his
own spirit, — that it is so great as to justify all the mighty
operations of Christianity, were there no other spirit which
needed i-edemption. We are to go forth with a deep feel-
ing of the unspeakable worth, wants, and perils of each
fioul, and awaken this consciousness in him that hears."

" Boston, March 30, 1832.* I suppose that my desire to
express strongly the intimate connection between man and
God leads me sometimes to use a mystical language, which
fieems to imply that I confound these beings. No one,
however, can be less inclined to this form of mysticism than
myself. I have friends who lean to Pantheism, with whom
I often contend for our individual, distinct existence, and who
would quite enjoy your misapprehension of my views. It
seems that I ' .spoke of the soul as divine,' by which I must
have meant to express the affinity of its spiritual powers
with the Divine nature, — to express particularly its capacity
of sympathy with the moral perfections of God, of con-
forming itself to them without limit or end. This corre-
spondence of the soul to God, this tendency to him, this
sensibility to the good, the great, and the infinite, this prin-
ciple of virtue or inward law, impelling to unbounded prog-
ress, I consider as the very essence of human nature, need-
ing aid and culture, but still belonging to every soul, whilst

• To Miss Emily Taylor.

416 KELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

, if I understand him, regards it as a foreign prina

pie, something added to the mind by a mysterious operation
of the Holy Spirit. I believe as much as your friend in the
Divine influence. This surrounds us like the atmosphere.
With an ineffable love to the soul, which God has made in
his own image, he ministers to it, through the univei-se,
through outward nature, society, providence, success, ad-
versity, &c., and, still more, he communes with it, and acts
in it immediately , but always according to its free and high
nature, not to give it new elements, but to cherish and ex-
pand its original and infinite capacities, by furnishing objects
and incitements to their appropriate action."

" jBos^on, March 31, 1832.* I have always inclined to
the doctrine of the preexistence of Christ, though I am not
insensible to the weight of your objections

" My mind has long been turned from the controversy about
Christ's person, as it is called, though I acknowledge its im-
portance. His spirit, his distinguishing moral attributes, the
purposes of his mission, — these topics are so interesting as
to draw me from controversy

"You must show that the passages in the Epistles which
are thought to teach other and hicher doctrines than Jesus
taught are in fact only different forms of the same truth, —
and narrower forms, being adaptations of it to a particular
age and very peculiar state of the Church. As long as men
think they find in the Epistles great principles not commu-
nicated in the Gospels, the latter will puss only for initiatory
teaching. Here, I apprehend, is the chief use of Biblical
criticism, — not to disclose new truths, but to show .that the
darker parts of the New Testament, which belong almost
wholly to the Epistles, contain the same doctrine with the
simple and luminous teaching of Jesus."

* To William Burns, Esq.

SPIRITUAL PRIDB. 417

" Boston, September 14, 1833.* Your letter of July, just
received, gives mc great pleasure. You do^c justice in
believing that your freest remarks would be acceptable. My
consciousness of great defects is too strong to allow me to
suffer much, even from unkind and malignant censure. For
friendly criticism I have no feeling but gratitude. I must
suppose myself open to the objections you haye made, be-
cause others make them, perhaps most of my readers • and
there must be a ground for general condemnation. I think,
however, that I am substantially right, and that, whilst I may
have exaggerated a truth, still the truth is most important,
and needs to be brought out, as it has not yet been. You
think that there is a tendency in men to idolize their moral
powers, as they do the wealth and rank to which they are
born. Here I must differ from you. I find almost univer-
sally in men a skepticism as to their moral power. I find
almost all disposed to magnify the power of passion and
temptation, to think themselves creatures of circumstances,
to look on great moral progress as an impossibility, to shield
themselves from remorse under their supposed weakness.
I have seldom, perhaps never, met a human being who
seemed to me conscious of what was in him. I never saw
a man proud of his moral force, or boasting of having put
it forth in resistance of temptation, and in striving for uni-
versal virtue. I have sometimes been almost inclined to
wish that I could see this pride ; for men are proud only of
that to which they attach importance, and I have wanted
some proof that any look on moral energy as the true dig-
nity of the soul. Spiritual pride finds its chief nutriment, not
!n our moral powers, but in special communications from
God, and spiritual influences. My grief at seeing men's self-
contempt, at seeing their strange insensibility to the worth
of their moral and intellectual powers, and their unconscious-

• To William Burns, Esq.

418 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

ness of what they may and ought to become, has induced
me to insist as I have done on the topic which you
think I have carried too far. I have earnestly dcsiicd to
counteract what seems to me one of tlic most degrading
effects of the false theology of this and past ages. This
theology has labored without ceasing to break down human
nature, to cover it with infamy, to destroy all confidence in
its powers of reason and conscience, to crush its energy and
hope, and has labored with such success that no human be-
ing is to be found just to himself. I have grieved to see
how, for the purpose of exalting Christ's merits, the virtues
which he came to form, and which are the great end of his
mission, have been spoken of as of no account. I have
grieved to see how religion, which means the adoration and
imitation of the perfections of God, has been made to con-
sist in speaking contemptuously of tlie nature he has given
us, and in dark and desponding views of his administration.
It has seemed to me that no foundation for a moral govern-
ment has been left by the common doctrine of liuman weak-
ness ; for i-esponsibility is diminished in the same proportion
as power, and the solemnity of human life rests wlioUy on
the greatness of the capacities and means of improvement
now afforded us. It is under these impressions that 1 have
written. I have felt as if the darkness thrown over human
nature, by a corrupt theology, had made the multitude of
men more ignorant of themselves than of any other part of
God's works, and I have wished to do something towards
revealin"- to them their own souls. All this I have now

D

said, not to clear myself from the charge of overstating the
truth, which is very possible, but because I fear that you
my dear Sir, do not sufficiently feel how terrible has been,
and is, the moral discouragement, despondence, debasement,
produced by the popular views of man's slate.

" As to your other principal objection, tliat I have not in-
sisted on Dinne injluence as I should have done, I know

SriRITUAL INFLUENCES, 419

that I have not given my views at length, but I hope that I
have not in this way led to false conclusions. I have waited
to get clearer views. I believe in man's dependence on
God*s influence, and direct influence, and this is all my
hope ; but man's dependence is that of a vioral, responsille
being, and must not be confounded with that of passive mat-
ter. It is only by using the power we have that we can gain
new aids from Heaven, and these aids will be made effectual
only by our own faithful use of them. The essence of
prayer is desire, and to pfay for God's spirit is to desire and
choose virtue, holiness, as our supreme good ; so that in
the promise of the Spirit to prayer, the great moral principle
of the Divine administration is adhered to. ' To him that
hath shall be given.' The common modes of speaking of
prayer, as if it were mere asking, or did not include moral

effort, seem to me very pernicious The place

you ascribe to benevolence in Christianity and in the prog-
ress of society is the true one.

" After a year's idleness, I am beginning to be good for
something, and shall be most grateful to God for strength to
do a little more for truth and human nature before I leave
the world."

" Neicporf, August 29, 1834. I am truly sorry to find
you oppressed with such diflSculties. I have long since left
them behind me, and they have no more influence on my
faith than a breath of wind on a rock. I have time now
only for one or two remarks.

" That Jesus was the Christ, the Anointed, the Commis-
sioned,— that these titles belonged to him preeminently and
as to no other, — is very plain. The question is, whether his
coming was predicted. Now it seems to me very plain that
a higher, spiritual, universal religion is again and again pre-
dicted. The Old Testament looks forward to this contin-
ually. In other words, Christianity was foretold. From the

420 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

very nature of this change, it required to be introduced by a
divinely conmnissioned minister^ by a spiritual licad and
leader, and this work is again and again ascribed in the
prophecies to an individual. It is true that these proph-
ecies are complicated with predictions of nearer deliverances
of the Jews, so that they are said by objectors to refer to
what preceded Christianity. But they certainly were not
ful ruled previously, and if we suppose that the great Deliv-
erer was not only to enlighten the world, but to bless the;
Jews in particular, we can understand why this latter work
should be spoken of in language drawn from the ancient
relations of the Jews to surrounding nations. From the
nature of the work ascribed to the servant of the Lord, I
suppose an individual to be meant. Any other explanation
of the fifty-second and fifty-third chapters of Isaiah seems
to me forced and unnatural. As to the coming of Christ,
spoken of in the New Testament, nothing is plainer than
that the coming of his power, injluence, reign, was the pri-
mary idea ; that of a personal coming but secondary, or an
envelope of the first. A personal coming without power or
influence would have been a disappointment of eveiy hope
excited by the phrase. Christ's coming and the coming of
his kingdom were synonymous, and he gave the key, when
he said, ' My kingdom is not of the world, is within you,'
&c. These phrases were all prophetic, and the language
of prophecy was highly poetical, addressed to imagination
and hope, enveloping the great thought under adjuncts or
signs, indicating the eflect by the cause, and the reverse, &:c.
That the Apostles were not inspired to interpret the proph-
ecies is believed by many. If your objections are allowed
to be valid in their full extent, they might prove the same to
be true of Jesus, — a conclusion which almost all would re-
pel,— but they would not invalidate the great proofs of his
mission, nor at all affect the character of his religion. — I
hope you can read, for I cannot stop to correct."

FUTURE RETRIBUTION. 421

*^ Boston, January 19, 1835.* My views in regard to
future punisliment were not given very distjuoctly, as you
observe, nor have I inquired into the subject, perhaps, as
thoroughly as I shou'd have done. I have rested in the gen-
eral conclusion, that the Scriptures intend only to give us
strong impressions of tlie moral consequences of the char-
acters we form here, that their language on the subject of
the future life has the boldness of the prophetic style, and
that we are in danger of error when we attempt to gather
from it any precise views of the condition of the wicked.
The mercy to be exercised hereafter — if such there be,
and we hope tiiere will be — will be revealed in due time,
and we can see why the annunciation of it now would not
suit our present condition. Under these convictions, 1 have
not felt that I was called as a Christian minister to speak of
future punishment but in the indefinite manner of which
you take notice. My opponents have charged Universalism
on me very stoutly, but I have not thought it worth my
while to set them right

" In regard to the Atonement I have thought much, and
hope one day to give my views to the public. The great
question is, What is the nature of the connection between
the death of Christ and human forgiveness ? That Ortho-
doxy has erred on this point may be made plainer, I think,
than has yet been done. That a theory so wanting in Scrip-
tural proof should have taken so wide and strong a hold on
the Christian world is very remarkable. A thorough work
on this subject would be the most important contribution
which could be made to theology, and the greatest benefac-
tion to the Church."

" Boston^ January 19, 1835.t I thank you for the vol-

* To the Rev. George Armstrong,
t To the Rev. D. Thorn, Liverpool
VOL. II. 36

422 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

umes you kindly sent me on ' The Assurance of Faith.' 1
read them with interest and pleasure, that is, with the pleas-
ure which we receive from seeing great subjects treated
with earnestness and ability. I need not tell you that I dif
fer from you, but sometimes I am more benefited by the
works of opponents than of friends. Perhaps I ought not
to speak of myself as differing from you essentially. I
hold the doctrine of Assurance as strongly as you. I am
sure of God's love to every human being ; but believing as
I do in man's moral freedom, and regarding this as giving a
character to the whole Divine administration towards him,
the government of God cannot present itself under the
same aspects to my mind as to yours. If I may be allowed
one criticism, I would express my sorrow at the tones of
asperity you have used towards your opponents. How can
we help seeing true piety in those who differ from us ? And
how should we rejoice to see it ! I was pleased to learn
througli your book something of Barclay, of whom I haa
never heard. I do not wonder that as a Calvinist he should
have come to the conclusion in which he rested, and I am
still less surprised that Calvinism in your case should have
issued in Universalism. The absurdities of common Cal-
vinism are so frightful, that the wonder is how any can ad-
here to them.

" Very truly, youi-s."

" Neivport., September 20, 1835. I am not surprised that
you think often of your relations to God and to a future life.
The wonder is how any human being can live without .cr-
petual recurrence to tlicse inspiring, elevating subjects. We
need them at once to strengthen our virtue and cheer our
toils and sufferings, to give moral courage and unfailing
hope. You say you believe in God, in virtue, in immor-
tality; may every day give strength to this faith! There is
no inheritance I desire so much to leave you, and the way

■ PAITH AND WORKS. 423

to build up and enlarge your faith is plain. It is not so
3iuch the way of reasoning, — though I wi^h you to use
your reason on all subjects, — but the way of obedience to
all known duty. To fix in our minds the conviction of any
great truth, we must act upon it, be faithful to it. Reason
without an obedient spirit is a blind guide. He who for-
sakes virtue gradually loses the perception of its beauty,
and begins to doubt its reaUty, the very worst form of skep-
ticism. To those who transgress the pure laws of God,
faith in him becomes little more than a naaie. You are so
happy now as to recognize the sublimest principles. I pray
you to be faithful to them. If you are living in one habit
which your Creator and your conscience forbid, renounce,
resist it, as the enemy of all that is true as well as of all
that is holy within you. I want you to put such entire con-
fidence in duty, that you will follow it immediately, without
fear, without calculation ; and with this simple love of the
right and the good, truth will shine more and more into your
understanding, and will raise you to nobler virtues. The
doubts which you express as to Christianity are founded in
misapprehension. There is no reason whatever for suppos-
ing the religion to have changed, since it rame from Christ.
The books of the New Testament have coma down to us as
they were originally written, or the exceptions are so few as
to deserve no notice. Probably no ancient writings have
reached us with so i^ew changes. The reason is, that the
copies of the books of the New Testament were so multi-
plied and so soon spread over all countries, — they were so
soon translated into various languages, and were quoted so
copiously, — that we have more means of determining the

original text than in the case of any other books On

this subject I cannot have any solicitude about you. The
more you know of Christianity, the more you must put faith
in it, unless, indeed, you resist its pure spirit, — which God
forbid ! "

124' RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

" Boston, April 4th, 1837. I feel that among Liberal
Christians the preaching has been too vague, has wanted
unity, has scattered attention too much. In my own labors
there has been more unity, perhaps in consequence of the
strong hold which one sublime idea has taken of my mind.
This is, the greatness of the soul, its divinity, its union
with God, — not by passive dependence, but by spirhual
likeness, — its receptiveness of his spirit, its self-forming
pov.cr, its destination to ineffable glory, its immortality
This great view binds together all other truth. I think of
God as the Father and Inspirer of the soul, of Christ as its
redeemer and model, of Christianity as given to enlighten,
perfect, and glorify it, of the universe as its school, nutri-
ment, teacher, of all outward beauty as its emblem, of life
as appointed for its discipline, and death for its passage to a
higher being, of heaven as its perfection, of hell as its ruin.
I understand the love which passeth knowledge, when I con-
sider that God looks, as none other can do, into the soul,
and comprehends its greatness, perils, and destiny. Love
to God seems to me to be founded not on his outward ben-
efits, but on regard to him as the Father of the spirit, present
to it, dwelling in it, calling it by conscience and by his
providence to perfection, to himself. Love to man has no
foundation but in the comprehension of his spiritual nature
and of his spiritual connection with God. To awaken men
to what is within them, to help them to understand the
infinite treasure of their own souls, — such seems to me the
object which is ever to be kept in sight. This is an entirtly
diflcrcnt thing from filling their heads with vague notions
about human dignity. VVliat we want is, to awaken in them
a consciousness of their own nature, and of the intimate re-
lation which it establishes between them and God, and to
rouse their whole energy to the work of their own redemp-
tion and perfection. A sense of responsibleness, thus
formed, will be at once most rational and quickening. It

INSPIRATION AND INFALLIBLENESS. 425

is very possible that I have been too exclusive in my views,
and I have not given this account of myself for your blind
imitation. I feel, however, that prcaciiing which is to do
good must have its great idea. Christianity undoubtedly has
such an idea. This will be revealed to different minds
under a variety corresponding to their various peculiarities.
It will not produce monotony. Each man will be himself,
and no other."

"■Boston, May 4, 1838.* Your last letter, which I re-
ceived in January, deserved an earlier answer, for it over-
flowed with the kindest feeling ; but, like yourself, I have
suffered for some time from indisposition, which has taken
away my energies, so that it is an effort to put even these
few lines on paper. I have wanted to write you the more,
because Mr. Ripley has put into my hands your long letter,
and this started a thousand thoughts which I wished to com-
municate. How much it would gratify me to visit you, and
to receive your views from your own lips ! I found that I
differed from many of the opinions you expressed to Mr.
Ripley. I do not see the necessary connection between in*
spiration and infallibleness. Inspiration is but one of many
methods of teaching, and a method which does not at all
subvert the principles of our nature ; and this nature is im-
perfect, erring, incapable of comprehending any truth thor-
oughly, unable to comprehend moral truth beyond its own
degree of purity, and compelled, if I may so say, by the
la\v of mental association, to blend its errors with the better
views it has attained. Man may learn much under God's
ordinary and extraordinaiy modes of instruction ; but the
histoiy of the Apostles under Christ's teaching shows us,
that under the happiest auspices, under miraculous aids, man
still conforms to the laws of his present infant stage of be-

• To J. Blanco White.
36*

426 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

ing. The notion has been, that the infallibleness of the
Apostles was necessary in order to the protection of their
converts from error. But this protection is an impossible
thing, and cannot therefore be the end of Divine arrange-
ment. No teacher can secure his pupils from error, can
impart his mind jt^rfeclly to others. Our reception of the
thoughts of a higher mind must be proportioned to our ca-
pacity, our preconceptions, our moral progress. The very
circumstance, that men are taught by words, makes a mix-
ture of error necessary ; for diflercnt ideas are more or less
associated with words in different minds. How little did
Christ's disciples understand him whilst he was with them !
And were the Apostles able to protect their converts from
error ? How immediately was Christianity obscured by the
Jewish and heathen notions of its first professors ! Undoubt-
edly, inspiration, as well as outward means, may communi-
cate most precious light; but are we obliged to think the
light unmixed with darkness ? I apprehend much error has
arisen from heathen notions of inspiration, as if it trans-
ported a man beyond himself, suspended his faculties, 6;c.
This is not only at war with reason, but contradicted by the
New Testament. So the value of inspiration to the recip-
ient has been exaggerated, as if it made him more than
mortal. To me, it seems a higher act to arrive at a great
truth through the development of our own rational and moral
nature, than to be taught this truth authoritatively by another.
These arc very hasty suggestions, but I think they will meet
some of your difficulties. As to your objection, that men
cannot be commanded to believe Christianity, on the ground
of external evidence, I reply that such evidence aJo7ie is not
.he ground on which belief should be founded. I will only
add, that you seem to make faith too much an intellectual
exercise, an assent to propositions. I regard it much more
as a spiritual aspiration, a thirst for perfection, a trust in
Christ as commissioned by God to guide us to perfection, to

DIFFICULT SUBJECTS. 427

inward, moral, celestial, and eternal life. I cnn add no more :
let me only ask, if there is not an important dificrence of
opinion between the letter to Mr. Ripley, and 'The Law of
Libel reconsidered.' Will you allow me to say, that I was
Gained by the thought, that you might lose some of the sup-
oorts and strength which we especially need as we approach
zhe end of life. You will say, that we must think of Lrulh
alone. But are we not to see one impress of truth on doc-
trines, in their ada])tation to the highest w ants of our na-
ture .? I write in great haste, and from an impulse which I
know you will appreciate. It will give me great pleasure to
hear that you are gaining strength, and able still to employ
your powers for your own enjoyment and the good of
your fellow-beings. — On looking over my letter, I feel how
imperfect it is ; but such is my confidence in you, that I
send it, for I know not when I can write another.

" Very respectfully, your sincere friend."

'■'■Boston, February 11, 1839.* I have delayed answering
your letter, simply because I have felt that it demanded a
good deal of thought, and it so happens that my capacity of
thought is so taxed by subjects which ci'owd on me every
day, that I seldom find time for those which I put oif to a
more convenient season. You remember the story told of
Simonides, who was to give his idea of God at a certain time.
When the day came, he desired a longer season for medi-
tation, and then a still longer one, and the more he thought,
the more he felt the need of eternity to comprehend the
Eternal. Your questions would bring with tliem the same
consciousness, were I to undertake to give them a foriral
answer. Happily, I am stirred up by an opportunity to
write without any efibrt at regular arrangement of my ideas.
I am afraid nothing else would secure to yon an answer, if,
indeed, the answer should be worth your getting.

• To Rev. George F. Simmons.

428 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

"You wish to know what manifestations of God bring him
nearest to us, by what views of him a profound, fervent devo-
tion to liim may be awakened and cherished. It seems to
nic very plain, that nature, which you look to witli so much
hope, is not and cannot be the primary or cliief source of
our ideas of God, or the great means of our communication
■with him. Nature, indeed, sliows design ; but the idea of
design we learn wholly from our own souls. These are our
gieat teachers of God. God is a spirit, and his spiritual
offspring carry the primary revelation of him in their own
nature. His attributes are first made known to us by the
shadows or emanations of them in ourselves. The Godlike
within is the primary revelation of God. Outward nature
cannot, of itself, teach him, for it does not manifest to us
the Ultimate, or the End, of the Creator. It is a vast ap-
paratus of means. But the final, supreme good it does
not teach, and yet it is the end of the Creator which deter-
mines his character and manifests his glory.

" It is a fact, too, that science has not made nature as ex-
pressive of God in the first instance, or to the beginner in
religion, as it was in earlier times. Science reveals a rigid,
immutable order ; and this to common minds looks much
like self-subsistence, and does not manifest intelligence,
which is full of life, variety, and progressive operation.
Men in the days of their ignorance saw an immediate Di-
vinity accomplishing an immediate purpose, or expressing
an immediate feeling, in every sudden, striking change of
nature, — in a storm, the flight of a bird, &c., — and nature
thus interpreted became the sign of a present, deeply inter-
ested Deity. Science undoubtedly brings vast aids, but to
prepared minds, to those who have begun in another school.
The greatest aid it yields consists in the revelation it uk'/.cs
of the Infinite. It aids us not so much by showing us ma)ks
of design in this or that particular thing as by showing the
Infinite in the finite. In this I mean nothing mystical

KEVELATIONS OF GOu. 429

God is tlie Infinite Spirit. We know hinn only when we see
and revere liim as such. Nothiiiir deckircs him, but what is
a sign, shadow, expression, of liis infinity. Science does
tnis office when it unfolds to us the unity of the universe,
wliich thus becomes the sign, efllux, of one unbounded in-
tcHigence, — when it reveals to us in every work of nature
infinite connections, the influences of all-pervading laws, —
when it shows us in each thing unfathomable, unsearchable
depths, to which our intelligence is altogether unequal.
Thus nature explored by science is a witness of the Infinite.
It is also a witness to the same truth by its beauty ; for what
is so undefined, mysterious, as beauty .''

" Still, it is not by nature that we first approach God, nor
docs this constitute our great tie to him. I am not unjust to
it, for I live in and by its light. But without a higher revela-
tion than itself, it would be dark and voiceless. We must
look for God in our own souls. From the very nature of
spirit, it must be the chief expression of the spiritual Father.
And this is not all. It is the prerogative of the soul to dis-
cern the ultimate, the supreme good, — that for which man
and all things arc made ; and it is only by knowledge of
the ultimate that we can truly know God. This revelation
is made by the moral principle within us. It is the glory of
this principle, that it perceives that which is good in itself,
immutably good, to which every thing else is to be sac-
rificed. It discerns the everlasting law to which the whole
spiritual world is subjected, and which is the essence and law
of God himself. The moral principle brings God nigh to us
as no other can. Its authority becomes representative to us
of a higher authority. It speaks in a higher name than its
own. It looks up to a judge above itself. It teaches us,
when we do wrong, that a purer eye than our own sees us.
Still more, it wants such a being as God to strengthen it in
its weakness, to aid it in realizing its ideas of perfection,
and to be the object of its love and reverence.

430 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

" The moral nature is man's gi-eat tie to the Divinity.
If so, there is but one mode of approacli to God. It is
by faithfulness 1o the inward, everlasting law. All other
means are vaii;. ' We may study till our eyes are blind and
our brains dizzy, but we shall not take a step towards God
till we begin to resist the evil within us, and to make the
Divine will our supreme law. The pure in heart see God.
Here is the true way to God. We prefer speculation and
outward means. But self-denial, the path rough at first, but
soon flowery, alone guides to him. In proportion as we
obey and feel the reality of virtue, we feel the reality of its
source. We feel that it comes from above. We identify it
with God. A conviction springs up that he is loorking with-
in us. Our holy aspirations and efforts arc seen by a kind
of intuition to be his motions in us. We feel our alliance
with him and understand him by sympathy. In proportion
as we conquer evil within us, our idea of perfection rises,
and we thirst more for his aid to ascend to it, and this thirst
becomes spontaneous, free, fervent prayer. In proportion
as we improve, we gain a practical proof of his infinite in-
terest in us, we feel that he has given us his best gift, and
faith founded oa experience grows more and more im-
movable.

" This purification of the heart also prepares us to turn
all nature to account. It is our sensuality which makes
nature so profitless to us in religion. To the man of the
senses, nature is something substantial, the only reality. It
subsists to him by its own power. As the senses lose their
power over us, nature loses its rigid self-subsistence. The
spirit within it, and of which it is the veil and shadow, shines
out. We look on it as a phenomenon, and pierce beneath
the surface to the deep, infinite power of which it is the
mere sign and instrument. This is a mysterious change,
which only experience can comprehend. Siill more, the
principle of Love, that unbounded spirit which seeks union

FUNCTION OF THE IJUGINATION. 431

with all things, and which is the end of all moral effort,
opens to us the iiifmihj, tiie unihi, and \hoJbeauty of the
universe as science cannot, and makes it radiant with the
Divinity.

" But I have said enough. I have much, much to add ;
but you get my ideas of access to God, and you will easily
see how Christ is the way to God, as he awakens the moral
energies of the soul, by which it is borne upward to the
Father, and as he is the brightest spiritual manifestation
of the Father."

" Boston, November 20, 1839.* I cannot agree with every
part of your letter. You seem to me to make religion too
exclusively a product of the reason, and carry your jealousy
of the imagination too far, though such jealousy is most
natural in one bred to Catholicism. If imagination had no
office but to give material forms to God and heaven, I should
agree with you ; but is it not the function of this glorious
faculty to see in the universe a type of the Divinity, in the sun
a shadow of his glory, in the beautiful, sublime, and awful
forms of nature the signs of spiritual beauty and power } Is
not the imagination the principle which tends to the Ideal,
which rises above the finite and existent, which conceives
of the Perfect, of what eye hath not seen or ear heard .=> I
suppose we differ chiefly in words. I consider religion,
however, as founded in the joint operation of all our powers,
as revealed by the reason, the imagination, and the moral
sentiments. I think, too, you speak too disparagingly of
historical Christianity, though here, also, I may misappre-
hend you. To me the history of Christianity in the Gospels
is inestimable. The life, spirit, works, and character of
Jesus Christ are to me the brightest revelations of his truth.
I know no histories to be compared with the Gospels in

• To J. Blanco White.

432 RtLIGlOiN AND PUILOSOl'HY,

marks of truth, in pregnancy of meaning, in quickening
power. I attach great importance to the miracles. They
have a vital union with the religion, are full of it, and mar-
vellously adapted to it. They are not anomalous, arbitrary
events. I liavc no faith in abstract, insulated, purposeless
miracles, which, indeed, are morally impossible; but the
miracles of Christ belong to him, complete the manifestation
of him, are in harmony with his truth, and at once give to
it, and receive from it, confirmation. I should pay little
heed to a narrative, from ever so many hands, of the resur-
rection of a low-minded man, who had died for no end, and
had risen, according to the story, to lead as low a life as be-
fore. But the resurrection of Christ, related as it is to his
character and religion, taught and sealed with blood by the
grand reformers of the race, and recorded as it is in the Gos-
pels, is a fact which comes to me with a certainty which I
find in few ancient histories. The evidence of such mira-
cles as accompanied Christianity seems to me precisely
suited to the moral wants of men in present and past times,
that is, to a stage where the moral development is sufficient
to discern more or less of divinity in Christian truth, but not
sufficient to produce full, earnest faith. I need miracles
less now than formerly. But could I have got where I
am, had not miracles entered into the past history of the
world .'

" Another topic about which I may have misapprehended
you is supernatural ism. I doubt if I know what you mean
by it ; but I have not room to write about it. I will only
say, that I have no sympathy with those who disparage the
natural. Nature, in its broad sense, as meaning the created
universe, with its order and law, becomes more and more
sacred, divine, in my sight. But a letter would not hold
what I might say here. Your true meaning I should like
to get."

MORAL EVIL. 433

" Boston^ November 29, 1839.* The personification of
moral evil seems to mc a more serious matter than to you ;
for the result is, that people come to fear the pt!rson and his
poroer more than moral evil itself; and whenever the con-
ception of him becomes more vivid, the moral perceptions
are almost lost in selfish dread. I sometimes think that the
Devil has been a more formidable object to the English race
than to the Continental Christians. Luther called him caitiff,
threw an inkstand at him, and tells us that he found no way
of driving him off so effectual as laughing at him. Satan
was evidently a poor creature in Luther's notion. He could
not stand a sneer. Did Milton make him more terrible ? I
know nothing of the history of this conception in later
times. I meet no explanation of the references to Satan
in our Saviour's history which satisfies me. The whole sub-
ject is a perplexing one, and, as it does not enter into the
essence of Christianity, I have for a long time ceased to
think about it

" The part of your discourse which gave me the sincerest
delight, and for which I would especially thank you, is that
in which you protest against the doctrine of philosophical
necessity. Nothing for a long time has given me so much
pleasure. I have felt that that doctrine, with its natural con-
nections, was a millstone round the neck of Unitarianism in
England. I know no one who has so clearly and strongly
pointed out as yourself its inconsistency whh moral senti-
ments in God, and with the exercise of moral sentiments
towards him by his creatures. I have always lamented that
Dr. Priestley's authority had fastened this doctrine on his
followers.

" has spoken of me as using patronizing language

towards Dr. Priestley. I must be strangely wanting in hu-
mility, if I did not feel my great inferiority to that extraordi-

* To the Rev. James Martineau.
VOL. II. 37

434 KELIGJON A.ND PHILOSOPHY.

nary man, or if I could think of liim as needing my patron
age. The truth is, that I could never speak of liim without
qualification, in consequence of my deep conviction of injury
done to tlic cause of truth by his speculations on the moral
nature of man, reaching, as they must do, to the moral na-
ture of God."

" Boston, November 2, 1840. If ever a being under-
stood himself, it was Jesus Christ. He was entirely free
from the self-partiality by which men are so often blinded
to their destiny. His profound humility must have guarded
him from all extravagance of conception and hope. His
clear, bright perceptions of the Divinity and of human duty
and perfection were signs of consummate wisdom, of an
unclouded reason, of a sound, healthful mind. He was
nothing of an enthusiast in the common sense of the word,
no dreamer. There was no passion in his views of life, of
the evils he was to overcome, of the good he was to accom-
plish. He was calm, authoritative, self-possessed, singularly
just in his appreciation of men and things, and had always
the tone of a man dealing with realities. 1 cannot explain
his sublime yet calm consciousness of his end and destiny,
— the wonderful grandeur, and, at the same time, the sim-
plicity and naturalness with which he expressed it, — the se-
rene assurance with which he looked forward to his death,
and to the triumph of his cause in future ages, under the
himible ministry of his disciples, — by any thing but the
admission of the truth of his convictions.

" This conception of the Christ was his own, — so remote
from that of liis nation, that it could not have been borrowed.
Undoubtedly, there were Jews who looked forward to a
moral change under the Messiah ; but he was to extend
religion under the form of Judaism, to spread the law of
Moses, and Judea was to sit on the throne of the world.
The idea of a purely sj)iritual reign, the chief ministers of

PREDICTIONS OF CHRIST. 435

which vere to be the last and least, and servants of all men,

— to be persecuted, martyred, — was, as I conceive, al-
together his own, and wholly inexplicable by outward influ-
ences. Above all, the idea, that lliis kingdom was to rise on
the ruins of Judea and all Jewish hope, shows the entire
separation of Christ's mind from all around him. It is very
remarkable, that, in his prediction of the destruction of Jeru-
salem, he introduces no prophecy of its restoration, and of
the future glory of the Jewish people. Nothing can show
more clearly that Christ did not derive his idea from the
prophets, for the grand idea of the prophets is the glory of
Zion. Her desolations and humiliations, however they
opened on the ancient seers, always had an end, and the
prophets seemed unable to find full utterance for the glory
that was to follow. How entirely Jesus rose above every
thing local and temporary ! ' Ye shall neither in this moun-
tain nor at Jerusalem worship the Father.' How anxious
was he to comprehend the Samaritan and heathen in his
charity !

" As to the prophecies, I acknowledge that an obscurity
hangs over the application of many to Christ, which are
cited as fulfilled in him. I rest on a few general views.
There are clear predictions in the Old Testament of the re-
coveiy of the world to God's worship, and intimations of a
distinguished individual by whom the work was to be done,

— and, indeed, the last was implied in the first, for great
revolutions imply a leader. By these general views I ex-
plain Christ's references to the prophecies.

" As to his biographers, they speak for themselves. Nev-
er were more simple and honest ones. They show us t.idt
none in connection with Christ could give any aid to his
conception, for they do not receive it. If in any respect
they have unconsciously misrepresented him, it must have
been by letting down his idea, by seizing on apparent Jew-
ish views ; for with such they must have sympathized most

436 RKLIGION A.XD PHlLObUPHY.

readily. They have not exaggerated his grand peculiarity
How can we read them, and not see that they give us a real
being ? and if so, how can we escape his miracles ? and
these give us additional assurance of the justness of Christ's
conviction."

'■ Boston^ November 8, 1840. I did not insist in my
lasl ou the correspondence of the event with Christ's pro-
phetic conviction of his having come to accomplish the
great moral revolution which had been foretold. How has
his word been fulfilled, and fulfilled under circumstances
the most unpropitious ! The poor son of the Nazarene
carpenter, with an imagination so exalted as to clothe him
with an unreal, miraculous glory, was not the man to con-
flict successfully with the array of the strongest human pas-
sion, prejudice, pride, interests, — with the whole strength of
the civil and priestly powers, — with all the institutions of
society. In the Gospels we read of the obstacles he had to
encounter in the minds of his chosen companions, and the
internal evidence of this part of the records is very strong.
What could such men accomplish after their Master's death,
amidst the deep agony of their disappointment, if he did not
indeed rise again, — if the dark mystery of his death was
unrevealed, — if no succour, no higher illumination, were
afforded them from God ? According to your view, Chris-
tianity stands in the history of the race as a fact wholly un-
explained and inexplicable ; and the difficulty arising from
the obscurity of the old prophecies seems as the dust of the
balance in comparison.

" The Gospels are to me their own evidence. They are
simple records of a being who could not have been in-
vented, and the miraculous and more common parts of his
life so hang together, are so permeated by the same spirit,
are so plainly outgoings of one and the same man, that I
see not how we can admit one without the other. I liave no

THE SHEKINAH. 43t

difficulty in receiving the miracles, for they belong to the
man, they are in harmony with a character \jiiiich stands so
separate from our common humanity, they form a beautiful
whole. Tliat there arc difficulties I feel, and I am in the
liabit of letting them pass; and in so doing, my idea of
Christianity is not at all touched or obscured. There is an
amount of evidence which satisfies me that the solutioi. jf
the difficulty will come sooner or later."

" May 8, 1841.* You speak generally of Christ as the
Shekinah, but sometimes of the Shekinah as the shadow of
Christ. He is the substance. In him ' the symbol was
substantiated.' This doctrine meets my views precisely.
The Shekinah was a glorious type, symbol, of Christ. Both
were manifestations of God ; the former material or sensi-
ble, the latter spiritual. The former truly preshadowed the
latter. But the shadow and substance are not the same ;
and yet the identity of Christ and the Shekinah seems to be
your doctrine."

'■'■ Neicport, R. I., .Tuly 12, 1841. f I received, a day or
two ago, your letter, and hasten to reply to it. The subject
is of great interest, and I am truly gratified to find you pur-
suing it with s6 single a love of truth. I read but little of
the theology of the day, on account of the plain proof given
by writers that they are communicating other men's thoughts,
not their own. Where I meet the signs of an honest seek-
ing for truth, my interest is awakened, no matter whether
the author arrives at the same results with myself or not.

" I wish to understand precisely your view of the She-
kinah, and of the relation borne to it by Jesus Christ. I
suppose 1 receive your meaning, when you speak of the
Shekinah as the symbol, representative, embodiment, of Je-

* Tf Professor George Bush. t Ibid.

37*

438 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHV.

hovah. But when you speak of the symbol as substantiated
in Jesus Ch.-ist, or in luiman flesh, and of this gloiy of God
dwelling in him, do you intend that the very light, 'un-
wrapped splendor,' ' enshrined glory,' on which the eyes of
the Israelites rested, dwelt beneath the veil of his flesh, —
that lliis was disclosed on the mount of transfiguration?
Your language seems to imply that the very visible light
which moved through the wilderness was enshrined in the
body of Christ. Is this your meaning ?

" I regard Jesus as the Shekinah to us ; as a manifestation,
embodiment, of God to us, but in a far higher sense than
the old Shekinah ; for he was not merely a symbol of the
Divine perfections, but God's wisdom, love, purity, dwelt
really in him. The fulness of the Godhead was subslari'
t'wllij in him. His will corresponded precisely to the Di-
vine. Jesus was the Shekinah in an unspeakably higher

sense than the splendor in the cloud There has

often been an attempt to identify Christ with the Jehovah-
Angel, by those who have considered the latter as a person,
a spiritual being. But I cannot coincide with this. Indeed,
the objection seems insuperable. If Jesus were indeed the
Angel of Jehovah, by whom the Jewish dispensation was
given and administered, how distinctly must this have been
insisted upon by the Apostles in their discussions with the
Jews ! How bright, prominent, would be this relation of
Jesus to the ancient people of God ! What a place would
this topic hold in the Epistle to the Hebrews ! Instead of
this, that Epistle begins with the words, — ' God, who at
sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto
the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days spoken
inito us by his Son.' It seems impossible, if Jesus were the
intelligent, conscious spirit who presided over the Hebrew
nation, that wc should be left to gath.er this from a few doubt-
ful intimations. It would shine in a blaze of light.

" 1 read with much interest your solution of the problem

THE LOGOS. 439

of 'the word' in the beginning of John. At this point I
ask light, for no solutions satisfy me. I incjinc, myself, to
the belief that ' the word ' should be taken in the sense in
which tliis term is habitually used in the New Testament.
The ' Logos' there means ' the doctrine' or Christian truth ;
for example, ' The seed is the word,' ' The word shall
judge him at the last day,' &ic., &c. It seems natural that
the Apostle, in the introduction to his Gospel, should speak
the praise of ' the Gospel,' the everlasting word of God.
Might he not intend to teach that the truth brought by-
Christ was not of yesterday, nor an arbitrary or temporary
doctrine, but divine, immutable, everlasting truth, — that ' it
was in the beginning'? He naturally identified this with the
wisdom spoken of in Proverbs viii. 22 - 30. Considering
him as personifying this truth, is his language at all liard,
forced, — 'This was in the beginning with God. By it all
things were made ' } It contains the principles, the great
ideas, according to and by which the universe was formed.
' It was God.' It is the very mind of God laid open,- — the
eternal truth xoliicli constitutes the Divine Person. ' In it
was life,' spiritual, immortal life. This is the grand idea
of the Christian truth, and the grand purpose of the crea-
tion. Man was made to live the life of God now and for
ever. This idea is the 'light of men,' — the illumination
of the soul. In the thickest darkness some faint ray of it
shines forth. Christ has come ' to bring it to light.' The .
eternal life which was with the Father, which God promised
before the world began, was made manifest by the appear-
ing of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who hath abol-
ished death, and ' brought life and immortality to light.'
Thus divine, eternal truth was made flesh, or became a
human being, or was embodied in Christ. ' I am the truth,
the life.'

" I will stop, as my single object is, not to expound or
defend, but simply to give some notion of an explana-

440 KELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

tion which often occurs to me as most probable. It retains
the common, the New Testament sense of ' the word.' It
seems to mo most natural and fit as an introduction to the
Gospel, and I think there is less forcing of the Apostle's
words than in the usual interpretations; still, I do not say-
that it wholly satisfies me.

" Your hope of reconciling bodies of Christians who are
thought to differ essentially is most gratifying to me. On
this point I can say nothing to the public. A man belong-
ing to a proscribed minority is always suspected, when he
pleads for union and toleration. My own lieart testifies to
me, that I desire this union for the sake of the Christian
cause, not for my own sake. Man's judgincnt of me is of
less and less importance, as I approach the hour when I
must stand before another judgment-seat. My relation to
Jesus Christ is not to be touched in the least by man's
wrath, but I do wish that the divisions which weaken and
dishonor our religion may be done away, and that contro-
versies which generally signify little may not stifle the spirit
of Christianity. The difference of opinion in regard to
Christ would not be found to amount to much, would Chris-
tians fully and freely lay open their minds to one another."

" Newport, June 21, 1841.* I have seen more of the
Philadelphia Quakers and love them much; but, as a people,
they have lost their first life. Rules, usages, and discipline
have taken place of the spirit. My Quaker library has been
increased by the journals of Elias Hicks, David Wheeler,
and John Woolman. Have you read Woolman ? I was so
nlTectcd by his journal, two or three yeai-s ago, that I began
a review of it, and went a good way, but was drawn aside
by other objects. A Quaker lady told me, that Charles
Lamb used to say that ' Woolman drew tears from his

• To Miss E. P. Peabody.

THEODORE PARKER. 441

eyes.' In his exquisite essay on Quaker Meetings he says,
— 'Get the writings of John Woolman by heart.'

" I liavc read this last week, with inexpressible delight,
Nicholas Architecture of the Heavens. How it lifts one
above the earth, and makes him free of the universe ! What
a wonderful being is man, who, from such slight hints, can
construct the universe ! How paltry seem the strifes of
the world after this journey through creation ! Should we
explore this creation with such joy, were it not to be our
everlasting inheritance .''

" As to our friend Theodore Parker, he deals too much in
exaggerations. He makes truth unnecessarily repulsive,
and, as I think, sometimes goes beyond the truth. I shall
judge for myself of his discourse.* Current opinions do
not weigh a feather in such a case. Send me the sermon

as soon as it is published I infer from your letter that

you are somewhat excited about the controversy in Boston.
Possess your soul in patience. Let not rude attacks on any
disturb you. Yours faithfully."

" Neiopori, July 6, 1841. t I thank you for Mr. Parker's
sermon, and request you to thank him for the copy he sent
me. You will wish to know my opinion ; and, though I
cannot go into the subject, I feel that I ought to send a line.

" The great idea of the discourse, the immutableness of
Christian truth, I respond to entirely. I have labored to
separate the notion of arbitrariness, positiveness, from men's
notions of Christianity. That this religion is universal,
eternal truth, the expression of the Divine mind, and cor-
responding to the Divine principles in human nature, is what
I feel, perhaps, as deeply as any ; and I was moved by Par-
ker's strong, heartfelt utterance of it. Still, there was a

* Discourse on the Transient and Permanent in Christianity,
t To Miss E. P. Peabodv.

442 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY,

good deal in the discourse I did not respond to. I grieved
that he did net give some clear, direct expression of his he-
licf in the Christian miracles. His silence under such cir-
cumstances makes me fear that he does not believe them.
I see not liow the rejection of these can be separated from
the rejection of Jesus Christ. Without them he becomes a
mere fable, for nothing is plainer than that from the begin-
ning miracles constituted his history. There is not a trace
of a time when he existed in men's minds without them.
His resurrection was always the essential grand fact in men's
impressions of him, — at least as distinctly recognized as his
crucifixion. Miracles enter into all his conceptions of him-
self, as these have been handed down to us. They are so
inwoven into all his teachings and acts, that in taking them
away we have next to nothing left.

" Without miracles, the historical Christ is gone. No such
being is left us, and in losing him how much is lost ! Re-
duce Christianity to a set of abstract ideas, sever it from its
teacher, and it ceases to be the ' power of God unto salva-
tion.' Allow that it could give us the idea of perfection, —
which I cannot concede, — what I want is, not the naked
idea, but the existence, the realization, of perfection. Some
seem to think that the idea of infinite perfection answers all
the purposes of a God. But no ; the existence of this per-
fection is the ground of my hope, my happiness, and so I
want the existence of human perfection. Christian truth
coming to me from the living soul of Jesus, with his living
faith and love, and brought out in his grand and beautiful
life, is a very, very ditferent thing from an abstract system.
The more I know of Jesus, the less I can spare him ; and
this place which he fills in my heart, the quickening ofiice
which his character performs, is to me no mean proof of \ns
reality and his superhuman greatness.

" In regard to miracles, I never had the least difilculty.
The grand miracle, as often has been said, is the per'

MIRACLES. 443

ftct^ divine character of Christ ; and to suoh a being a
miraculous mode of manifestation seems natural. It is by
no figure of speech that I call Christ miraculous. He was
more separate from other men than his acts from other acts.
He was the sinless, spotless Son of God, distinguished from
all men by that infinite peculiarity, freedom from moral evil.
He was the Perfect Image of God, the perfection of the spir-
itual nature. Is it not plain that such a being must have
been formed under discipline and influences distinct from those
of all other men ? that he cannot be explained by the laws
under which we live ? that he is thus a moral miracle, though
not such as implies any compulsory influence ? To such a
bemg tiie miracles of Christ's history wonderfully agree.
The cutward and the inward correspond in God's system.
Gcd reveals himself to us by outward, material types. So
his Son is revealed. What beautiful types of Christ's moral,
heahng, quickening power we have in the miraculous parts
of his history ! I feel, as I read them, that the conception
of such a character as Christ, and the unfolding of it in such
harmonious acts or operations, transcended human power,
especially in that low moral age, and that nothing but the
truth of the history, nothing but the actual manifestation of
such a being in such forms, can explain or account for the
Gospel narratives.

Mr. Parker supposes Christ's truth to have been revealed
to him by his moral perfection. I will not stop to examine
this, but will only say, that the men to whom Christ was to
unfold this truth were unspeakably distant from this perfec-
tion,— that they were low, gross, spiritually dead, — that
the spiritual evidence which was enough for him hirJiy
gleamed on their darkened understandings. How needed
was some outward, visible symbol of the truth to such
minds! How did they need that the great spiritual De-
liverer should be first made known to them by merciful,
majestic acts of outward deliverance ! Even the more spir-

444 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

itual men of that time, who had longings for immortality
were exceedingly assisted in their earthly state of mind by
Christ''s resurrection. It shows great ignorance of human
nature, and of God's modes of operation, to suppose that he
would approach a darkened, sensual world by purely spirit-
ual, abstract teaching.

" As to Christ's aulhoriti/, there is a sense in which 1
think it important, and reliance on it most natural and rea-
sonable. I never meet a superior mind without some degree
of reliance on it. From such a mind as Christ's I am sure
I can hear nothing but truth. Whatever he says, I am sure
will, when fully understood, be found in harmony with God's
perfection. This leads me to a reverential study of his
words, as of no other man. If in the course of such study
I meet any thing which seems inconsistent with any known
truth, and especially with the pure, liberal conceptions
which .Tesus has given me, I feel that I have not reached his
meaning. I wait for further light, I examine the dark pas-
sage again and again, and the probability is that the light
will at length shine. If not, I cannot suffer from my ig-
norance.

" I will only add, that to us the great evidence of the mir-
acles is found in the religion itself, and in Christ's charac-
ter, neither of which can be understood without them, and
with which they have vital connections. Without the divine
excellence of Christ, the testimony of the miracles would
not satisfy us. This is the grand foundation and object of
faith. Still, the miracles do not cease to be important, for
they are among the bright manifestations of his character.
Their harmony with it is a proof of its existence ; and, above
all, there are vast multitudes, who, with some moral appre-
ciation of Christ, arc yet so imperfect, so earthly, that these
outward manifestations of his greatness and of his connec-
tion whh God have real value as helps to faith.

" I have written this letter with an impatient haste, which

CLEAR CONVICTIONS. 445

sometimes gets possession of me. I cannot correct it. Will
you copy it fairly, and show it to Mr. Parkcrj,. letting him
understand that I have written as a friend, and not as an
author, and whhout any aim at precision. Will you then
send it back to me, as there are thoughts which 1 may wish
to expand when I can get time.

" Your sincere friend."

" Newport, July 18, 1810.* I have no time for a corre-
spondence on the subject of my last. I was not able in that
to do more than throw out some disconnected thoughts.
Nor can I answer your last at any length, but send only a
line of friendly admonition.

" I am grieved to find you talking so lightly of ' daring to
be decidedly wrong.' I mean not to justify myself, but I
ought to say that I have had but one form of ' caution,' as
far as I know myself. I have never hesitated to say clearly,
strongly, what I was persuaded was true. But I have not
' dared ' to send forth opinions round which doubts and ob-
jections lingered in my mind. I hold a clear conviction of
truth to be essential to a religious teacher, and I reprobate
as well as dread the teaching of that which we have not
thought upon calmly and seriously, or which, on being exam-
ined, has opened before us problems, perplexities, difficuhies,
rendering much reflection needful in order to our speaking
with the deliberate consciousness of truth. The want of
reverence for truth, manifest in the rash teaching of our
times, shocks me greatly. I owe the little which I am to
the conscientiousness with which I have listened to objec-
tions springing up in my own mind to what I have inclined
and sometimes thirsted to believe, and I have attained
through this to a serenity of faith that once seemed de-
nied in the present state.

• To Miss E. P. Peabody,
VOL. II. 38

446 RELIGION ANt) rHILOSOPHY.

"lam also grieved to find you insensible to the clear,
bright distinction between Jesus Christ and ourselves. To
me, and I should think to every reader of the New Tes-
tament, he stands apart, alone, in the only particular in
wiiich separation is to be desired. He is a being of moral
perfection, unstained by sin. The great consciousness wiiich
pervades, haunts, darkens, all human spirits, that of moral
evil, throws not the slightest shade over him. His conscious-
ness is his own, his whole tone, indeed, his own, and would
be false in any other. Though he came to be an example,
yet in the points in which we so much need an example,
in our conflict with inward evil, in our approach to God as
sinners in penitence and self-purification, he wholly fails us.
It was in reference to this that I spoke of him as a ' moral
miracle,' not intending by this to refer at all to the formation
of his character, which, though wholly unknown to us,
was wholly free, but to the exception which his character
forms to all human experience. To my mind, he was in-
tended to be an anticipation of the perfection to which we
are guided, to reveal to us its existence, to guide and aid us
towards it, to show us that which exists in a germ in all
souls. This view you must have gathered from my writ-
ings. But my own history, and the history of the race, and
of the best beings I have known, have taught me the im-
mense distance of us all from Christ. He is to be ap-
proached by gradual self-crucifixion, by a war with the evil
within us which will not end till the grave. The idea that
the germ within us is to shoot up at once into the perfection
of Jesus, — that we are to be ' gifted ' in this stage of our be-
ing ' with his powers,' to be ' as powerful as a teacher,' —
this certainly never entered my thoughts, and it shows such a
sclf-ignorancc, such an ignorance of human history and hu-
man life, that one wonders how it can have entered i sound
mind. Of the formation of Christ's mind we kncv noth-
ing, and the secrecy in which his spiritual history .s veiled

FREE SPEECH. 447

Is no small presumption against its applicableness to our-
selves. Infinite wisdom has infinite modts of disciplining-
and unfolding the spirit. His great end of revealing to us
the Perfect is equally answered, be his sjiritual history wliat
it may. All spirits, however unfolded, are essentiallv one.
In the response of our spirits to his perfection, in his deep
fraternal sympathy with the human soul, and in his divjne
promises, wc have foundations of the profoundest, most jcy-
ful faith in our heavenly destiny. I am grieved, as I m.ist
say, by extravagances on this and other points, because I
have lived in hope of the manifestation of a truth and spir-
itual life which is to give a new impulse to the world, and
it is some trial, at my time of life, to have such hope baflled.
However, I do not despair. The true teachers, who arc to
unite ' love and power and soundness of mind,' will come.

"As to Mr. Parker, I wish him to preach what he thoroughly
believes and feels. I trust the account you received of at-
tempts to put him down was in the main a fiction. Let
the full heart pour itself forth. And still more it will re-
joice me to find a good accomplished wlrirh I cannot antici-
pate. I want no dark prophecies accomplished but I do
assure you, the weaknesses of the rrood are among the trials
of my faith. I repeat it, I am too much occupied to follow
up this subject now. Give my love to Mr. Parker. 1 shall
be glad to hear from him, and in perfect fieedom. I think
he is probably one of the many who are to be made wise by
error and suflering, but 1 honor his virtues, 1 feel that he has
seized on some great truths, and I carnc.'^tly desire for him
the illumination which will make him an unmixed blessinff

o

to his fellow-creatures.

" P. S. I ought to tell you that I am the more disinclined
to write on the topics of this letter, because I get no light
from the new views. I seem to learn vury liltle. Their
vague generalities do not satisfy. You seem wholly to over-
look the actual moral condition of the human race on which

44S RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

Christianity is founded, and which renders it important to
the multitude of men that they should have some evidence
additional to that which is purely spiritual. Thousands and
millions, who desire to believe in immortality, would be ex-
posed to all the misgivings on that point which beset the best
and strongest heathen minds, were it not for the resurrection
and promises of Jesus Christ. Without the inward eviden-
ces of this truth, outward testimony would not satisfy me
But with so many phenomena hostile to these evidences, and
M'ith so much guilt and infirmity to darken the future, I am
most grateful for the resurrection and promises of Christ.
Shall I be helped by being robbed of these confirmations of
my faith ? At this moment, most of the ' true spiritualists '
are in danger of losing their faith in immortality through
their pantheistic notions of the soul, and its absorption in the
only substance. Deity. These notions threaten to destroy
all sense of moral responsibility and moral freedom. The
spiritualist is often saved from the wreck of faith by Chris-
tianity without suspecting it.

" preached a touching sermon yesterday upon the

' loneliness ' of Jesus Christ. I claim little resemblance to
my divine Friend and Saviour, but I seem doomed to drink
of this cup with him to the last. I see and feel the harm
done by this crude speculation, whilst I also see much noble-
ness to bind me to its advocates. In its opinions generally
I see nothing to give me hope. Example aids me only by
the moral enthusiasm which its grandeur inspires. The
noblest example, that of sympathy with the fallen, becomes
impressive in proportion to the moral dignity of him who
manifests it.

" Very sincerely, your friend."

" Newport^ August, 1841.* I thank you for your long

• To Miss E. P. Peabody

THE NEW MOVEMENT.

letter, but cannot reply, as I am otherwise engaged, and
therefore 1 could only write with that ' un^iardedness '
which, though so beautiful to some, is to mc a moral defect.
I fear, or rather hope, that I wrote unguardedly about Pan-
theism. I am happy to say, that in my conversation with
Transcendental ministers I have seen no Pantheism. In-
deed, Mr. Alcott is the only man from whom I heard it ;
hut I supposed I saw in him the tendency of a good many
of the school. I knew too little, however, to warrant what
I fear was a sweeping passage in my letter. So much for
ofT-hand judgments.

" You will not infer from my letters that I am at all
grieved at the publication of views from which I dissent.
Let the honest, earnest spirit speak, and the more fully and
freely for attempts to put it to silence. I am somewhat dis-
appointed that this new movement is to do so little for the
spiritual regeneration of society, which, however, must go
on, and which no errors can long keep back. To me,
Christ is the great spiritualist. This view binds me to him.
Under him the battle of the human race is to be fought.
Any specidations which throw mists or doubts over his his-
tory, and diminish the conviction of his grandeur. and im-
portance, are poor, and must come to naught. 1 do not be-
lieve that the great object of faith, which is the perfection
of the human soul, or everlasting, unbounded spiritual de-
velopment, is to be seized as a reality, and made the grand
aspiration and end of life, without the quickening, inspiring
influences of his character and truth. Indeed, perfection
becomes a dim shadow, without the help of his living mani-
festation of it. I do fear a tendency, in the present move-
ment, to loosen the tie which binds the soul to its great
Friend and Deliverer. It would seem as if your experience
had shown you human nature developing its highest senti-
ments without help and confirmation from abroad. To me,
history and observation and experience read veiy different
38*

^x^iGION Ax\D PHILOSOPHY.

450 """"^

-^ns, and the consequences of overlooking them are not

doubtful. The profound ignorance of Jesus Christ shown
by those who find in him a restraint, and also talk of out-
growing him, is discouraging. I find in him only free-
dom.

" I have little hope in this new movement, except as it
indicates deep wants of the soul, and a consciousness of its
greatness. Nor have I feare. I believe in the purity of
those who are concerned in it. I believe, too, that it will
spread but little, for there is little in the times to favor any
who separate themselves comparatively from the grand im-
pulse given by Christ to the world. I see as yet but one
decided step towards a higher practicaP manifestation of
Christianity, and that is Abolition, and how imperfect that
is we both know.

" I have seen, this last week, a member of the Mendon
community. I look to UiaL with a good deal of hope. I
never hoped so strongly and so patiently

" ^Vhat I write without time for reflection is a very poor
picture of my tb.oughts. I shall have time to do justice to
my views by and by. I will only add, that your specula-
tions about the peculiarity of Jesus seem to me unphilosoph-
ical and fantastic. A seraph moving about among us with
his wings would not be a greater anomaly. For the world,
I would not have my faith in the souPs perfection and ever-
lasting growth rest on such foundations. I attach, however,
little importance to such speculations. Jesus will give little
difficulty to those who understand the unity of the spiritual
world, amidst all its varieties. I shall be glad to hear from
you, though I write no more in reply.

" P. S. I hope the spiritualists will be calm and kind, as
well as bold. Great indulgence is due to men who think
that another is about to tear Christianity from them and their
children. I hope I can bear even a bitter zeal from those
who honestly view me in this light. The supercilious scof-

SPIRITUALISTS. 451

fers and selfish conservatives deserve less morcy. But there
are few of these without a mixture of sonic real concern for
Christianity, — and this is so infinite a i>'ood, even in its
lower forms, that much unreasonable sensiiiveness in re-
gard to it may be forgiven.'"

" September 10, 1841.* Here, as in E;:gland, we have
a stir. Happily, we have no material anti-supernaturalisti.
Our reformers are spiritualists, and hold many grand truths ;
but in identifying themselves a good deal with Cousin's
crude system, they have lost the life of an original move-
ment. Some among them seem to lean to the anti-miracu-
lous, have got the German notions of ' myths,' &c., and
1 fear are loosening their hold on Christ. They are anxious
to defend the soul's immediate connection with God. They
fear lest Christ be made a barrier between the soul and the
Supreme, and are in danger of substituting private inspira-
tion for Christianity. Should they go thus far, my hopes
from them will cease wholly ; but as yet the elements are
in great agitation, and it is hard to say how they will ar-
range themselves. I have great sympathy with the spirit-
ualists ; but I know so well the needs of tl:e soul, and the
conditions of its growth, that I look jealously on whatever
may shake the foundations of Christianity. For myself, I
sec no inconsistency between admitting miracles, and rest-
ing Christianity on a spiritual basis, — between recognizing
the inward as supreme, and reverencing the authority of
Christ. You will see from these views that 1 go along with
your movement more than with ours."

" Works may be strictly miraculous, though they do not
transcend the natural power of a being. Were an angel
to enter my family, and heal the sick, and raise the dead,

• To the Rev. James Martineau,

i52 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

4ind sustain us for a year witliout food or sleep, and keep
us in a perpetual glow of thought or feeling, he might exert
only the powers of an angel. But the order of nature here
would be violated, for this order prescribes spheres of action
to beings. Were it the order of nature that angels sliould
mix with us as men do with one another, here would be no
miracle. The action of such a being as Jesus Christ on
earth would be the same thing with the supposed agency
of the angel.

" This argument against the miracles — I use the word
for supernatural agency — is essentially the same with that
of Rousseau and other skeptics. Rousseau says, in effect,
— 'Prescribe, define, the laws of nature, and then I will
allow you to call an event a miracle ; we do not, cannot,
know nature's course, so as to be authorized to call any
thing a deviation. These are idiosyncrasies. AVho can set
limits to them .' Were a man to raise the dead, what would
this prove but some peculiar natural gift.' lie has a dif-
ferent brain or nervous system, or some peculiarity of
constitution adapted to this effect. True philosophy requires
us to set this down as a new fact or new power of nature.
By and by another of these idiosyncrats will appear, and
we shall learn more about it. Who can set limits to human
power.? If a man by his will can move his arm, why not
the sun ? '

" To this ' why not ' I have no answer. I do not sco
why I might not be made to move the sun, as well as my
arm. But when a man by such reasoning tries to satisfy
me that I know nothing of nature's order, and cannot judge
of what surpasses it, I feel as if he were trifling with nie,
ind that such reasonings, if ap|)lIod to any thing but relig-
ion, he would be the first to condemn. That CiuMst's mira-
tilos were wrought without faith in the subjects, we are as-
sured in the case of his speaking to the sea, multiplying the
loaves

MIRACLKS. ♦ 453

" Christ's naturalness or unconsciousness in working mir-
acles appears to some to be a proof that he was putting
forth a power so much his own, that he thought no more of
it than of speaking, and in it they see the ease of unbounded
energy. I see in it the low estimation in which he held
this energy. IVIiracle-working was to him nothing, compared
with moral energy. Moral life, grandeur, beauty, so pos-
sessed him, that he was above all consciousness of his abil-
ity to work outward effects beyond other men. He was
too absorbed in benevolent and spiritual results to think of
physical might. One of the beauties of Christ's character
is his superiority to his miracles. He tried to give his fol-
lowers the same spirit, when he said, ' Rejoice not that the
spirits are subject to you,' &c. Paul liad caught his Mas-
ter's inspiration, when he said, ' Though I have faith to
move mountains and want love, I am nothing.'' Jesus
never speaks of his miracles but from necessity, nor does
Paul

" That miracles are in harmony with the great purposes
of nature, that nature's order is never transgressed but to
accomplish the end for which it was instituted, that they
may be reduced to the great law by which matter obeys
spirit and is made subordinate to its growth, that they are
regularly connected with certain antecedent circumstances
and never occur but in certain exigencies, — all this I
believe, and it seems to me that very possibly, after all our
apparent difference, we shall be found fighting in the main
about words

" Here I was about to stop, but new thoughts rush into my
mind. I see nothing in experience to justify the notion, that
faith or goodness gives us any direct power over foreign
matter. Were this a law of nature, it must appear in the
lapse of ages.

" I hold in no very high estimation our unintelligent [)ow-
er over matter, and to this head I have always reduced

454 BELIGION AND PIULOSOPHV.

miracles, whether justly or not. By unintelligent power 1
mean such as my will exerts over my arm, in which case I
know nothing of the connection of will with the motion of
the muscle us. ', &c. Intelligent power over matter, that
which man gains by studying its laws, by skilful inventions,
&c., — this I respect highly. Now, I have always been in
the habit, without any theory, of ascribing the former to
C\ rist in case of miracles. We know it was the only pow-
er of the Apostles. I do not suppose, when he healed dis-
ease, that he had the whole frame laid open to him, — that
he anticipated all the discoveries of anatomists, saw the ob-
structions, the deranged functions, the diseased organs, and
by intelligent action on each restored the system to perfect
health. I always think of him as willing the effect just as
I will to move an arm, that is, as putting forth unintelligent
power. Such an act, considered in itself, is inferior in dig-
nity to the power which the physician puts forth, who by
wisdom heals a disease. All the superiority of the miracle
consists in this, — that it lies beyond the agency of vian^
and thus attests a peculiar presence of God. The idea of
the peculiar presence of God predominates in all that Christ
says of his miracles, — an idea resting on the inadequacy
of all natural regular powers to their production. As such
they were viewed by the spectators, and as such they pro-
duced the effect on the human mind for which they were
wrought." *

" I have heard Elias Hicks spoken of with great rever-
ence. Those who best know him, as I understand, honor
him as a man of deep piety ; and I doubt not that among
his followers may be found many exemplary Christians.
But I apprehend that this sect, if it may be so called, are
exposed to what Unitarians would deem great crroi-s. They

• To the Rev. VV. H. Furncss.

ELIAS HICKS. 455

are, indeed, ultra-Quakers, carrying the doctrine of immedi-
ate revelation to an extent which greatly diminishes the
value of the New Testament. All Quakerisnris liable to
this objection. By teaching that every man is favored
with an immediate revelation from God, which ought to bo
his supreme standard, it gives a secondary place to the
teachings of Christ. I fear that Elias Hicks and hi«- adher-
ents are following this distinctive opinion of Quakers into
consequences which, whether true or false, are very remote
from the views taken by Unitarians. I have heai-d of iheir
speaking of the inspiration of Jesus Christ as differing
very little, if at all, from what is granted to holy men
at all times ; so that, in their views of it, the New Testa-
ment cannot claim the peculiar authority which we attribute
to it.

" This is a very important difference. Unitarian'ism
may be said to be distinguished by nothing more than by
the prominence which it gives to the teaching of Christ.
Whilst Trinitarians and Calvinists believe that Jesus came
chiefly to make satisfaction for human guilt, Unitarians be-
lieve that the great object of his mission was ' to bear wit-
ness to the truth.'' They esteem Christ an unspeakable
blessing, on account of the unparalleled value of the truth
which he communicates. They believe that he alone re-
veals the Father, and brings life and immortality to light.
They believe that all other illumination fades away before
the brightness of his Gospel. Now, if the common accounts
given of Elias Hicks and of his adherents be in any meas-
ure true, little sympathy exists between them and Unitarians
on this important point. They ascribe inspiration to Clwist,
but not such as makes him the supreme Guide of the human
race ; and still more, they expose themselves, we fear, to
gross delusions by the habit of tracing to inspiration any
singular operations of their own minds. At least, such are
the accounts given of them, and should these accounts be

456 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

accurate, it is not easy to set limits to the extravagances
which they may send forth as Divine revelations.

" In what I have said I mean not to condemn. I want
more extensive knowledge of the views of this body of
Quakers. I simply mean to say, that, as a Unitarian, I
have no disposition to identify their cause with my own, and
for this simple reason, that we differ in some important re-
spects. I can ' greet them as friends and brothers,' just as I
greet all good and pious men of all classes of Christians.
I can and do rejoice that they have thrown off the bondage
of liuman creeds. I hope much from the spirit of inquiry
which is at work among them. But I have fears, too, and, I
must say, many fears. I fear that they may prefer what
they esteem a particular inspiration communicated to them-
selves to the everlasting and universal lights of reason and
of the Christian revelation. I fear that a false standard
may gradually supplant the true ones. I shall rejoice to
find that I err. But it seems to me not wise to expose
ourselves to misapprehensions by seeming to ally ourselves
with those concerning whom we cannot but fear." *

^'■Boston, November, 1841. f You ask my opinion con-
cerning the origin of moral evil ; a question which has puz-
zled far greater minds than mine. I pretend not to ex-
plain it, but I find some solution of it in our moral free-
dom. When I think that we owe to moral evil the character
of Christ, and the celestial virtues with which he inspires
his followers, I see a bright light shed over this mystery.
The solution of the problem concerning the origin of moral
evil, generally given, is liable to this serious and fatal ob-
jection, that the explanation is more difficult, perplexing,
irreconcilable, and contrary to our ideas of God's perfec-
tions, than the fact to be explained.

* From tlie Christian Register.

t To Mr. Harland Coultas, Malton.

RETRIBUTION. AST'

" You ask me to direct your attention to some snitablo

Dooks. It is so Ions, since I studied controversial theolu";^

• T r

out of any book but the Bible, that I scarcely know wliat

to say to you. In this country, a venerable man, Noah

Worcester, has written a tract on the Atonement, and also a

work entitled ' Last Thoughts.' "

" In my present state of mind I cannot but feel some
wonder at the distress which you experience from the threat-
ening language in the New Testament. If I understand
your letter, your imagination is haunted with the idea of lit-
eral flames, and hell is dreaded, not as including all moral
evils, but as a great fire. The spiritual interpretation of
Scripture has so far made its way among all denominations
of Christians in this part of the country, that I do not know
an individual who believes in the literal fire as the punish-
ment of the condemned. In regard to the word eternal.,
this is used in the Scriptures again and again, according to
the free, bold style of the Oriental writings, to express any
great duration. Thus the mountains and the Jewish law are
spoken of as everlasting. If you will read the prophetic
writings, you will see in them the sublimest characteristics
of poetry. I suppose that you are aware that they are
poems, not prose. They abound in the boldest, most mag-
nificent figures, and, unless interpreted according to their
poetic character, will lead into all imaginable absurdities.
The prophetic language of the New Testament respecting
future punishment, and respecting Christ's coming to destroy
Jerusalem, is taken from the old prophets, whose writings
formed a most familiar part of the literature of the Jews,
and must be interpreted accordingly. I beg you to read
carefully the thirteenth and fourteenth chapters of Isaiah,
containing the prediction of the destruction of Babylon, and
you will see the freedom of the prophetic style, and the
VOL. 11. 39

458 RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

danger of interpreting it as if it were the language of pre*
cise and cautious logic."

1841. " These remarks, I think, will help to remove
your Scriptural difficulties. I see, however, that you liave a
deeper difficulty. The fearful amount of sin and suffi^ring
in the world depresses and troubles you. How is God's
goodness to be reconciled with what we see and read of in
human affiiirs ? This is the old problem of the ' origin of
evil,' which has perplexed thinking minds from the begin-
ning of the world. I cannot hope to explain what the
greatest minds have left obscure. In truth, I do not desire
to remove obscurity from Providence ; for in making the
universe a plain thing, I should bring it down to the little-
ness of my own mind ; I should rob h of all its grandeur.
If it be infinite, the work of an infinite mind, it must tran-
scend my conceptions, stretch beyond my intellect, and I
must live encircled with impenetrable mysteries. The dark-
ness of God's providence is to me an expression of its
vastness, its immeasurable grandeur. I cannot doubt. I
adore.

" Of much that is evil in human life I see the cause and the
cure. Many forms of human sufiering I would not remove,
if I could ; for I see that we owe to them all the interest and
dignity of life, and I am sure, that, in proportion as I shall be
able to penetrate the system, much which now perplexes
me will be revealed in a glorious light. Man, if a free
moral leing, must be tried, must be exposed to temptation,
must have a wide range of action, must be liable to much sin
and much suffering. He cannot be happy in the beginning
of his career, for, from the essential laws of a free being, he
can have no happiness but what he wins amidst temptation.
A brute may be made as happy as he can be, at first.
Man, God's free moral child, cannot know happiness till by
his own striving he has risen to goodness and sanctity. I do

DIVINE GOODNESS, 459

not sec how sin and suffering can be removed, but by strik-
ing out from our nature its cliicf glories.

" I have expressed some views on this general subject in
a discourse recently published, in consequence of the loss of
an excellent friend on board the Lexington, which I send
you. Perhaps some of these may interest and relieve you.
It is so long since doubts of the Divine goodness have
crossed my mind, that I hardly know how to meet them.
This truth comes to me as an intuitive one. I meet it every-
where. I can no more question it than I can the supreme
worth and beauty of virtue."

END OF VOL. II.

D

0

Pnncelon Theological Semmary-Speei

1 1012 01099 8245