God Manifest/Conclusion/Acknowledgment

by Oliver Prescott Hiller

I.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT.

In bringing to a conclusion this Treatise on the Goodness, Wisdom, and Power of God, it is incumbent on us to point out the inferences most necessary for and useful to mankind. We have, indeed, sought to draw such inferences, continually, as we went on; to deduce, everywhere, just views and practical conclusions from the principles and arguments presented. It will be well, however, now to bring the leading inferences together, and sum them up; which may be done under two general heads, namely. Acknowledgment and Obedience. The reason why these two heads will include all the necessary inferences, is, because the mind of man is composed of two chief divisions, namely, the Understanding and the Will. Now, Acknowledgment will include all such inferences as belong to the Understanding, such as right opinion and true belief; and Obedience will include all those that refer themselves to the Will and consequent life. We propose first to consider the duty of Acknowledgment.

In the First of the two Parts into which this work is divided, we have sought to set forth the goodness, wisdom, and power of God, as manifested, first, in His works of the Material Universe or outward world; secondly, in His works of the Spiritual Universe or world of mind; thirdly, in His revealed Word; and fourthly, in Jesus Christ, "God manifest in the flesh." In the Second Part, we have sought to obviate difficulties in regard to the Divine wisdom and goodness, arising from the existence of evil and suffering in the world; and this, by showing that all such evil and suffering are derived, not from God, but from man; and we have endeavoured, moreover, to remove difficulties arising from another source, namely, from certain expressions and statements found in the Sacred Scriptures. Now, if we have been successful in these endeavours—if the reader have found his mind convinced—then, plainly, Acknowledgment should follow—acknowledgment of God, and of His infinite wisdom, power, and goodness. But to this it may perhaps be replied, "If I am convinced, is not that a sufficient acknowledgment? is not the very state of not denying but assenting to the truths which have been presented, a state of acknowledgment?" Upon this we would observe, that a state of intellectual non-denial or of conviction is not precisely the same with a state of acknowledgment. The difference between them is like that between the theoretical and the practical. A man may not deny the existence of the Divine Being,—he may even have a general vague belief of it, and recognise the fact as true enough, when he hears the subject mentioned; but this is not Acknowledgment. The former is a kind of negative state: the latter, a positive and practical one. The acknowledgment of God is a real and practical belief, habitually pervading our thoughts, and influencing all our views of life, for time and for eternity.

To show the difference between a vague idea of the existence of God, and a sincere acknowledgment of it, we may instance the case of Voltaire. Voltaire did not deny the existence of God: he even built a chapel, and inscribed upon it Deo erexit Voltaire, "Voltaire has erected this to God."^[1] Yet did either his words or actions show anything of a religious spirit? Did they display either that reverence or obedience, that properly attends a true acknowledgment of a Divine Being, infinitely wise, good, and powerful? How can he be said to acknowledge a sovereign as a sovereign, who entirely disregards his laws and commands, and tramples them under foot? How can he be said to acknowledge God, who denies His Word?—and, still more, who rejects the Divine Saviour, "God manifest in the flesh?" "He that honoreth not the Son," said that Saviour, "honoreth not the Father who hath sent Him."

David Hume, too, by no means denied the existence of God. He even declared, at a dinner-table in the city of Paris, when surrounded by professed atheists, that he could not believe that such a being as an atheist existed.^[2] As is affirmed by his biographer, "the tone of his thoughts sometimes even rose to enthusiasm," when alluding to the greatness and wisdom of the Deity.^[3] Yet what an utter absence is there in his writings of recognition of the Divine presence and providence. What a lifeless waste of barren speculations—dreary and cold, for want of the shining upon it of the living Sun of Righteousness! Could such writings possibly flow from a mind, possessing a true acknowledgment of God, and consequently pervaded by the idea of the Divine power and influence? The truth is, Hume's pride of intellect and desire for fame—with the pleasure of exercising acuteness and ingenuity,—were what led him away into those wintry regions of metaphysical speculation, causing him to shut his eyes against the light of Revelation, which would have guided him in the true path. Thus, he virtually blotted out the thought of the Divine Being from his mind—preferring, rather, in his intellectual pride, to lead himself, even though it were into the depths of error, than to be led by his Heavenly Father, even into the ways of truth and peace.^[4]

Few, indeed, comparatively, have there been in the world, with minds so dull and darkened as wholly to deny the existence of a Divine Creator, when His

footprints are to be seen on the earth all round them, and His handiwork in the heavens above them. One might, indeed, reasonably be inclined, with Hume, to doubt whether such a being as an atheist ever existed,—were there not found some, so doubly weak as to declare their own folly. "The philosopher, when asked how he could prove the existence of God, answered—'Why, by opening my eyes. God is seen everywhere,—in the growth of the grass, and in the movement of the stars; in the warbling of the lark, and in the thunder of heaven.'"^[5] And an illiterate Arab, when asked how he felt assured of the existence of God, replied, "In the same manner as I know, by footprints in the sand, that a man or beast has there passed by."^[6] Every man, indeed, carries about with him indubitable proof of God's existence in his own wondrous frame-work. He has but to look at his own hand: there, he may see proofs of skill and wisdom, far above that of any man or of all men together: and such wisdom we call Divine. Now, all wisdom dwells in a personal form. We cannot conceive of wisdom and goodness, either without form, or diffused like the air or ether, or round like the globe. It is man, man alone—the human form—in which wisdom finds its fit abode and expression. Thus, then, this Divine Wisdom that made all things, must dwell in a Divine Human Form,—that which was the great Prototype of humanity; for we are taught in the Revelation derived from that Wisdom, that God created man in "His own image and likeness." It matters not, that that Divine Person is invisible to the eyes of our fleshly bodies: we know that these are comparatively most gross in their faculty—so much so, that there are, as is well know, myriads even of material existences, that are imperceptible to them. The very atmosphere about us, which we feel, and at times very powerfully, is yet invisible to us. What multitudes, too, of living and organised beings, animalculæ, do we know to exist, quite invisible to our unaided sight; and by analogy, we may presume the existence of other multitudes, quite beyond the reach of our finest glasses. Thus, then, we have proof that both life and organised forms may exist, though quite invisible to us. Yet, these are only material, existences. When, then, we rise, or rather retreat, into the still more interior and delicate sphere of spiritual existences, what difficulty is there in believing that, notwithstanding their invisibility,—there, too, exist both life and organism? and thence ascending still higher to the Divine, there is to the reflecting mind little difficulty in believing in the existence of a Personal God, although invisible.

From simple and obvious considerations such as these, every one may convince himself of the existence of the Divine Being:—though a far higher ground for belief, is the mind's inward perception of this great truth, impressed there by our God Himself. Hence, as before observed, few human beings have been found, so gross of perception as to deny the Divine existence. But this state of mere non-denial, is, as already remarked, a distinct thing from true acknowledgment. That real acknowledgment, which not only accepts the fact of the existence of God, but perceives and confesses His attributes of love, wisdom, and omnipotence, and His consequent daily providence, can not exist—at least within the limits of tke Christian world—without an acknowledgment of, and belief in, that Revelation, that Revealed Word, whereby the Divine Being has been pleased to make Himself distinctly known to His creatures. Apart from this, no searching or reasoning can form such an idea of God, as will be distinct and satisfactory to the mind. Voltaire himself confessed this: "Philosophy," he said, "which clearly teaches that there is a God, is unable to teach us what He is." But the Holy Scriptures, especially those of the New Testament, bring our God distinctly to view. In Jesus Christ, He stands before us, embodied in all His majestic loveliness. And it is by contemplating God in Jesus Christ and as Jesus Christ,—and in no other way—that we can distinctly see and apprehend Him, and have a true Object for the mind's acknowledgment and worship. "God," says Stilling, "has chosen to be worshiped in Christ, because it is utterly impossible that it could be otherwise. Out of Christ, God is to us only a purely metaphysical abstraction."—"Out of the pale of Christianity," says Madame Necker-Saussure, "there has always been something wanting to the idea of God. Philosophy leaves the idea inanimate, inactive, and even negative. It says what the Creator and Preserver of the universe ought to be, but not what He is. Christ alone introduced life, and caused the blood to circulate in those three dead letters, by which we express an idea of GOD."

Upon this important subject, a late able writer thus speaks:—"Aside from Revelation, there is no religion.—It is is the German philosophy of the last and present century, that we most clearly perceive the dependence of religion on Revelation. The culture of all anterior ages has been forced, as by a condensing pump, into the German mind; while traditionary faith and reverence have grown old and obsolete. The result has been the origination of numerous abstract formulas for the Divine nature, bristling with indefinable terms of unimaginable abstractions. In one system, God is the plastic principle inherent in self-existent matter; in another, an otiant spectator of a system evolved by an a priori necessity. Now, He is a logical terminus, and then a metaphor for brute nature. In this philosophy, He is the unconscious totality of being: and in that, He attains a Protean self-consciousness, in every human soul. Here, He has no existence apart from the universe; and there, He is the antithesis of the material creation. But, in none of these formulas, does the Deity present a point of attachment for the soul of man,—anchorage for his doubts, fears, or aspirations,—holding-ground for his faith or trust. He is a shoreless ocean, an impenetrable mist, an impalpable ether, an omnipresent nothing, a no-where present One-and-all, or an incomprehensible Not-me: but never an all-embracing Providence, an Omnipotent helper, the Hearer of prayer, the Father of all spirits, the "Rock of Ages." Devotion, Divine service, and retribution, are all eliminated from the transcendental philosophy, and from the so called theology. The indefinite formless idea of the Divine unity, the God of natural theology, is not an object of religion. The conception, whether detached and isolated from the outward universe, or indissolubly blended with it, is too vague to proffer any hold for the personal relations of trust and homage and service. Thus, theoretical monotheism resolves itself into practical atheism." Religion presupposes absolute being and objective truth. It implies, not a Deity conformed to the individual conceptions, but a Deity whose readied attributes are the paradigm for individual conceptions. It presupposes, not truths which derive their validity from the reasonings and convictions of the inquirer, but truths which furnish an immutable standard of validity for those reasonings and convictions.—Religion claims definite knowledge from authentic sources; and as it relates to the Infinite Being, it claims definite knowledge from Him who alone knows Himself, and can alone teach us of Himself.—The Divine revelations and manifestations all culminate in Jesus Christ, as the representative, the image, of the invisible Creator: so that 'God in Christ' comprises all that we know or can know of God."^[7]

This is the great Christian truth: it is that which distinguishes Christianity from all previous religious systems, and makes it the crown of them all. We can now know our God—we can see our God: the Invisible has made Himself visible to us; the Infinite has assumed a finite form: God has become MAN. When, therefore, we would look to God in our prayers, or contemplate Him in our thoughts, we have no longer to strain the mind in an effort to conceive of that which is inconceivable,—but we behold in thought the Lord Jesus, at once the Creator and the Saviour of the world—standing meekly yet majestically before us, saying tenderly, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."^[8]

Having thus sought to make plain in what acknowledgment consists, as distinguished from mere knowledge, or bare non-denial, and having endeavoured, at the same time, to point out clearly the object towards whom religious acknowledgment is to be entertained, namely, "God in Christ,"—we proceed to consider first the duty, and next the advantage, of such acknowledgment; which are the cheif practical inferences we purpose, in this Section, to draw.

The acknowledgment of God, it was before remarked, is a real and practical belief, habitually pervading our thoughts, and influencing our views of life for time and eternity,—and, it may be added, naturally expressing itself in worship. Taking it, now, for granted, that "there is a Being All-Powerful, Wise, and Good, by whom every thing exists," the duty and advantage of an acknowledgment of Him, His existence, presence, and providence, must be clearly seen. In the first place, common gratitude demands this. We find ourselves in existence: we did not make ourselves: the Being, who did make us, has made Himself known to us by a distinct Revelation. We now know, therefore, whom to thank for the great gift of life, with its manifold enjoyments. Shall we not, then, express our gratitude? Though invisible to us, He has declared

that He hears us when we speak. Shall we not, then, express to Him our thanks for His goodness in bringing us into being, in bestowing upon us the great boon of life and consciousness, in endowing us with various faculties and capacities for enjoyment, and in making this beautiful world for our abode, carpeted with green, and lighted by His sun, and productive of all things needful for our support and delight? Shall we live on, like the brute beasts, enjoying all these things, and yet making no return of thanksgiving to the bountiful Hand that has formed and continues to sustain them? Do we not detest and despise ingratitude? When we bestow a favor on an individual, what do we think and feel if he makes not the least return and acknowledgment, but without a word turns his back and departs? Do we think such a one either noble-minded or just-minded? Should we not feel hurt by such ingratitude? Now, this—and a thousand times worse than this—every irreligious man is doing daily. An irreligious man can be neither a just-thinking nor a truly honorable man. He is guilty of one of the meanest of vices—ingratitude, habitual ingratitude to his greatest benefactor. He is daily receiving immense benefits, for which he makes not the slightest acknowledgment. Who keeps him in life and breath, during the dead of night, when he lies utterly powerless and helpless? Who keeps his lungs regularly heaving, and his heart beating, through the darkness, as he lies there in his unconscious slumbers? Who watches over him, protecting him from a thousand dangers? And yet he makes no return, no acknowledgment. When the morning light comes, and he wakens, he does not look up, thanking his unseen but all-powerful Protector and Sustainer, but rises and goes forth to his business, as the brute beast issues from his stall. O man, thus doing, call not thyself a man of honor! Thou hast not discharged thy first debt;—thou art lying under a weight of obligation, for which thou hast not nobleness or common justice enough to make the slightest acknowledgment. Is this true-heartedness? is it honorableness? is it even common honesty and morality?

No! the first demand of religion on man is the duty of simple gratitude. The truly honorable and just-minded man, conscious of having received, and of daily receiving, the greatest benefits from his Maker and Heavenly Father,—yet conscious of his inability to make any adequate return for that goodness,—rejoices to make the little return that is in his power, that of gratitude and thankfulness. On rising, therefore, in the morning, he is unwilling to go forth to his worldly business, till he has first on his knees looked up in a simple prayer of acknowledgment, to Him whose sleepless eye and mighty arm have been over him and around him, through the darkness and stillness of the night. He utters in truthfulness the Divine prayer, "Our Father, who art in the heavens, hallowed be thy name." He knows, indeed, there is little need of words—for the Lord sees his thoughts and his heart; but yet he does express himself in words, both to make his thoughts more distinct to himself, and also to lead on his thoughts and to warm up his feelings; for, by a law of the mind, utterance helps thought, as the stream runs itself clear.

But having uttered his prayer of thanksgiving, he does not stop there, but continues and offers up a prayer for guidance and assistance: grateful for the Divine care during the past night, he humbly asks a continuance of that protection through the coming day. And may he not well do so? Who can tell what a day will bring forth? How knows he what trials, what temptations, he may meet with, in his business, in his family, before that sun goes down? What need may he have for strength, for fortitude, for patience, for the power of principle—lest he suddenly fall! How knows he, indeed, but that, ere the setting of that day's sun, he may be no longer a living man upon the earth? How many hundreds and thousands have risen in the morning in health and strength, and yet have never seen the night-fall: but when the evening stars came out, they shone upon the pale corpse,—their glimmer fell unheeded on the glazed eye of death! So may it be, on any day, with any one of us. We are environed by dangers. A collision of railway-trains may dash us in pieces; a passing horse in the street may strike us down and trample us under foot: we may fall from our own door-step and receive a mortal injury.^[9] Any moment we may be hurried into eternity. And will not one who reflects upon these things, be anxious, before going forth to the duties and the dangers of the day,—to commit himself solemnly to the care of Him who knows all things and has power over all things; who sees at a glance all the workings of all men; who knows perfectly everything that is taking place, and by consequence, foreknows everything that is about to take place; and who by His power can guard us against those dangers, which by His wisdom He foresees?

"But"—it may be said—"He will do this without being asked: since He is a Being, all-good, as well as all-wise and powerful, from His own love He will take care of us, and therefore prayer is unnecessary." This does not follow: there is a break here between the premises and the conclusion. It does not follow, that because God is good, He will therefore protect us in dangers, and sustain us in trials and temptations, without being implored—without prayer. God, indeed, loves all His creatures, and desires to bless them all to the utmost degree possible. But all ends, even Divine ends, must be effected by means; and the man who will not avail himself of the means which the Divine wisdom has pointed out, cannot expect to attain the end. Now, one of the means, and a most effective means, by which man brings himself under the Divine protection, is prayer. The object of prayer is not to change God, but to change man. God is ever good, unchangeably so; but man is a finite, changeful being: he may be in one state, and he may be in another state, and in quite opposite states, at different times. In some states of mind, man is, as it were, with his back turned towards heaven; states, in which he forgets that there is a God, and rushes on in his own way after some phantom of good—as riches or power,—in the hot pursuit, breaking through all laws human and Divine, and trampling his fellow-men under his feet, regarding them as nought in comparison with the attainment of his own selfish ends. Now, can the Divine protection be with such a man? has he not spurned it and thrown it off? Nay, is he not rushing right in the face of it? or, what is the same, acting directly in opposition to the course of Divine Providence? and is he not consequently plunging into dangers? It is to be remembered, that Divine Providence, from its very character of love, has for its end the good and happiness and peace of all: consequently, it is willing and able to protect all who fall in with its plan—that is, those who are good. But those who will not thus concur with the will and ways of Providence, but rather run counter to them, seeking some selfish plan of their own at the expense of their neighbour's welfare—such cannot be protected by Divine Providence: to do so would be to thwart its own end: to protect the evil would be to destroy the good. This is plain enough.

Now, apply this illustration to the question before us, and it will at once be seen why it does not follow that, because God is good, therefore He will protect every man during the dangers, trials, and temptations of the day. The evil, as we have just seen. He cannot protect, consistently with His very goodness itself. The temptations, and also trials and dangers, which will meet the evil-minded man before the day is through, are such as in the very pursuit of his evil end he is about to bring on himself: he is rushing right into dangers, he is plunging amongst temptations, and will consequently subject himself to painful trials and sufferings. Thus he throws himself out of the Divine protection. But how, it may be asked, does this apply to our case? It applies clearly enough; we are evil-minded men, every one of us, before regeneration,—evil-minded, in a greater or less degree. Have we not, all, bad passious and propensities? are we not all selfish? and is not selfishness the root and essence of all evil, and is it not that which leads to all manner of evil, and produces all the suffering and misery in the world? Do we not love ourselves better than our neighbor? Are we not, perhaps, this very day making plans for our own aggrandizement, which may cross our neighbour's path, and disturb his peace, which may be opposed to God's purposes and contrary to His will? And in that degree, are we not about to throw ourselves out of the Divine protection, and to plunge into trials, temptations, and dangers? We are—we are. We need to be protected against our evil selves. And there is no security for us, but in falling down on our knees, before going forth to the cares of the day, and looking up, praying to the Lord, that we may be kept from the evil of our own hearts, which will certainly lead us astray;—that we may be kept within the course of His Divine will, and in the stream of His providence;—that we may be led by Him, and that we may not lead ourselves, lest we fall into temptation. Thus looking up and thus praying—in simplicity, and earnest sincerity—the prayer will be answered in the utterance; in the very act of thus submitting ourselves humbly to the Lord's guidance, we bring ourselves under His Divine protection: because, by this act of prayer and self-submission, our own evil and self-will, which is our most dangerous enemy, and which was about to lead us astray, is broken. The spirits of darkness, which make one with the evil in our hearts, and have their habitation there,—are put to flight; and in their place, good angels from the Lord descend—messengers from Him, to be our guides and guardians throughout the day.

Such is the power and effect of genuine prayer. Thus, then, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the presence and providence of the Divine Being—such real acknowledgment as naturally puts itself forth in prayer—is seen to be not only a duty springing from gratitude, but also a great advantage and benefit, as affording us a protection against our own evil passions within, and consequently from numberless dangers without.

But, in the next place, a true and practical acknowledgment of God is not only a protection against dangers, but is the greatest aid and assistance in all right undertakings. The man of the world thinks it a great advantage to have the countenance and aid of some distinguished personage: the patronage of a noble or prince is thought invaluable: to be befriended by the king himself would be a fortune. What, then, will it be to have the patronage, friendship, and aid, of the King or kings?—of one all powerful, able to do what He will; all-wise, knowing just how to do it in a perfect manner; and all-good, ready to assist those who trust in Him, to the fullest degree—even to the very accomplishment of their wishes, provided this would be for their real advantage. "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass," says the Psalmist, speaking by Divine dictation. "Delight thyself also, in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.—Trust in the Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. The wicked plotteth against the just, and gnasheth upon him with his teeth: the Lord shall laugh at him, for He seeth that his day is coming,—A little that a righteous man hath, is better than the riches of many wicked: for the arms of the wicked shall be broken, but the Lord upholdeth the righteous.—The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delighteth in his way: though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, for the Lord upholdeth him with His hand.—I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay-tree: yet he passed away, and lo, he was not; yea, I sought him, but he could not be found.—Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace.—The salvation of the righteous is of the Lord: He is their strength in the time of trouble. And the Lord shall help them and dellver them: He shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in Him."^[10]

Here are the promises: here are assurances, sufficient to set the good man's heart at rest; sufficient, too, to put the bad man into a state of fear and trembling. It is here shown, that, as we often see in the world, the unprincipled man may go on in a flourishing manner, for a time—may seem to be attaining all his ends, and accomplishing all his wishes: but "the Lord shall laugh at him; for He seeth that his day is coming." This strong language is used to express the powerlessness of those who think to carry on their wicked plans to success, and to thwart the Divine will: as well may a rush-light blaze up against the sun. Providence permits them to go on for a time,—all the while secretly, turning their evil plans into the very opposite of what they intend; and when they have been suffered long enough, and can no longer be made instruments of service—down they go into the very pit which they dug for others: "in the net which they hid is their own foot taken."^[11]

But with the good, it is just the reverse. They may be permitted by Divine Providence to pass through many troubles; but it is for their purification, and consequent greater elevation at last. "Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all."^[12] Every wish, the accomplishment of which will be for their real good, shall be gratified: "delight thyself, also, in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart."^[13] How comprehensive is this promise! If we but look to the Lord, and seek to do His will, and to please Him, all our desires shall be attained. The reason why the condition is made, that we "delight ourselves in the Lord," is because in that case our minds are brought into a state of agreement with, and submission to, His Divine will. Now, His will desires nothing but our very highest happiness, not only for this short life, which is but the commencement of existence, but for ever. Consequently, if we but learn to give up our own temporal wishes, which, like children's, are often directed to what will not be really for our good,—and yield to the gentle leadings of our kind Father above, we shall be brought to that which, after all, is our final end, namely, happiness. Our "heart" being brought into a right state, that is, such as to desire only what is truly desirable, then we shall be allowed to "have the desires of our heart," gratified. This is truly a beautiful plan, and a most reasonable one.

Moreover, in seeking the accomplishment of our ends, after they have been once directed to the right objects, we are promised Divine and infinite aid, and therefore we cannot fail of success. "Commit thy way unto the Lord," He says, "trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass." In seeking the attainment of any good end, the religious man has always this delightful promise to comfort himself with. He is, therefore, sure of success, just so far as success is really desirable. He has but to hold fast by the Divine hand, and he will find himself led on,—sometimes through dark vales, where the path is hardly discernible—sometimes over pleasant flowery meads—again perhaps among slippery places, where he is obliged to cling to his Guide lest he fall—then again up rocky steeps, hard to climb—till at length, after many trials, he attain the summit:—and there stands the object of his wishes, a thousand times more beautiful than he ever pictured to himself—true Happiness, with all her charms. And looking back over the path by which he had come—winding and perilous as it is—he feels, in humility of soul, that only a Divine Guide could have brought him through.

Thus do those, who "commit their way unto the Lord," find their wishes "brought to pass." And this spirit of trust may and should be carried into all the concerns of life, great and small, into business affairs, into family concerns, and into all one's private thoughts, doings, and goings: and in all these, it will be found to be a most potent comforter and support. There is nothing that concerns us, so minute as to be beneath our Heavenly Father's notice and care; nothing so great or difficult, but that with His aid we may accomplish it, if it be an end that ought to be accomplished. How tender and comforting are those words, "The very hairs of your head are all numbered;" "Not a sparrow falleth to the ground without your Father; fear ye not, therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows."^[14] Now, to the sincerely religious man, this is a real and practical and constant source of comfort. The man of the world sets out, in his own strength, on the accomplishment of plans which he has formed for himself,—formed without ever looking up to the All-wise Guide for direction; and which, perhaps, the Divine Eye sees are immediately to be crossed and thwarted by certain counter-plans laid by some one else. Presently, they are so crossed and defeated; and the unsuccessful planner frets and is mad at his ill-success,—exclaims against the world and against Fortune (as he terms it)—has his heart embittered against his fellow-men—distresses, by his ill-temper, his wife and family—is anxious, wretched, and in despair. But the truly devout man, living in habitual and peaceful trust in Divine Providence, accustoming himself in all his undertakings to look up for guidance and direction,—is preserved from these difficulties and dangers: there is the leading of Providence with him, in all his ways. And if occasionally allowed to fall or be unsuccessful, it is because success would have been an injury to him; and misfortune (or what is called such) is permitted, as the means of humbling and purifying him, and thus of fitting him for higher happiness hereafter. Thus, even misfortune proves to him a blessing: trouble is turned into joy: and thus, in truth, as the Apostle declares, "do all things work together for good to them that love God."

In this manner, the man, who is in the habitual acknowledgment of God, is led on peacefully through life. He has a perpetual Guide and Support. He may not, indeed, lay up the immense and superfluous wealth, which some men of the world do, giving their whole hearts and souls to the piling up of useless riches, which they may die and leave to-morrow. But he will have enough. They who look to the Lord, and place their trust in Divine Providence, and at the same time, are industrious and faithful in their duties, will not be permitted to want. "I have been young," says the Psalmist, "and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread".^[15] Will not He, who, is the Creator and Preserver of the Universe—He, who, while clothed with humanity upon earth, fed five thousand with five loaves, thus actually creating food before their eyes,—and who, now ascended into heaven, has "all power in heaven and in earth"—will not He provide for those who trust in Him and seek to do His Will? He will, assuredly, provide for them all things needful: "No good thing," it is declared, "will He withhold from them that walk uprightly."^[16] In the mean time, the good man is laying up riches, too; but they are "treasures in heaven;" treasures, that he need not leave behind, but can take with him into the spiritual world. They are the riches of the soul,—knowledge of truth, affection of heart, love to God and love to man, and "the peace that passeth all understanding." These are riches that will avail him after death. The mere man of the world, who has spent all his days in heaping up earthly treasures,—when Death comes, is stripped of his all; and with his care-worn or pleasure-polluted body, leaves, too, his gay apparel and equipage, his furniture, his mansion—all, all, behind him; and goes creeping into the spirit-world, a poor shivering creature,—poor, poor indeed. And poor he must remain—to eternity. For he has laid up no spiritual wealth, no wealth of mind and soul, which can enrich him in the next life: he is beggared for ever.

But the man who has lived as man ought to live, for the true end of living,—while he has been comfortable even in this life, and has had as much as was needful and for his real good,—at the same time has been steadily laying up a great store of spiritual riches. Acknowledging and worshipping Him, who is truly The Rich One,—for He is the Owner, as He is the Maker, of the Universe,—he has been continually receiving from Him the inward wealth of true thoughts, kind affections, peaceful and happy states of mind—all which, when once received, remain and are increased for ever; they are not left behind with the body, but accompany the spirit into the next life. And there, not only will they be perceived and felt as inward riches, giving content and peace of mind, but they will also put themselves forth in beautiful forms around him, producing visible beauties, and elegancies, and charms, thus affording outward riches corresponding to the inward. So that he, who in this life was poor in the world's estimation, but yet was "rich towards God^[17],"—after death, will find himself in mansions and paradises, surrounded by all things beautiful to the eye, as well as charming to the soul:—"Eye hath not seen, neither hath ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him." And those delights will endure for ever, ay, for ever. Ages on ages will roll away, without diminishing, but rather with continual additions to, his joys. The more hundreds and thousands of years he lives, the more and more happy will he become; for ever approaching nearer and nearer towards the Divine joy of Him who is the very "Prince of Peace;" and only not reaching it, because the finite can never attain the infinite. But his soul is ever full, and his capacity for happiness for ever enlarging:—what can he desire more? He has accomplished the true object of his being: he is an angel of heaven.

Is it not then worth while to acknowledge the God who made us? Is not religion a simple and a reasonable thing? Is not the religious man the only truly wise man? "Religion," says Robert Hall, "is the final centre of repose; the goal to which all things tend; apart from which, man is a shadow, his very existence a riddle, and the stupendous scenes of nature which surround him, as unmeaning as the leaves which the Sybil scattered in the wind."—"Religion," said the great Daniel Webster, "is a necessary and indispensable element in any great human character. There is no living without it. Religion is the tie that connects man with his Maker, and holds him to His throne. If that tie be sundered,—all broken he floats away, a worthless atom in the universe—its proper attractions all gone, its destiny thwarted, and its whole future nothing but darkness, desolation, and death."

1. This inscription was obliterated daring the French Revolution, when the madmen of those days set up the idol of Reason, as an object of worship, in the place of the God of religion. No one had conduced more to this consummation than Voltaire himself, by the irrellgious spirit of his writings. Yet his followers went even beyond him: rushing blindly after their leader, they plunged headlong down the precipice of atheism, where Voltaire himself, indeed, just hung by his hands.
2. Nor was he willing even to be called a deist. "A notorious lady," says his biographer, "meeting Hume one night at an assembly, boldly accosted him thus: 'Mr. Hume, give me leave to introduce myself to you: we deists ought to know each other.' 'Madam,' replied he, 'I am no deist; I do not style myself so, neither do I desire to be known by that appellation.'"—Burton's Life of Hume, vol. 2, p. 141.
3. "The son of his valued friend, Ferguson, remembers his father saying, that, one dear and beautiful night, when they were walking home together, Hume suddenly stopped, looked up to the starry sky, and said, 'O! Adam! can any one contemplate the wonders of that firmament, and not believe that there is a God?'"—Burton's Life of Hume, vol. 2, p. 241.
4. Hume confessed that his love of abstract speculation was what had led him into trains of reasoning, which he acknowledged were not likely to be very profitable or lastingly esteemed. He should have considered that loose speculation on such subjects was "playing with edge tools." He says, addressing a friend, "I assure you, that without running any of the heights of scepticism, I am apt, in a cool hour, to reflect, that most of my reasonings will be more useful in furnishing hints, and exciting people's curiosity, than as containing any principles that will augment the stock of knowledge, that must pass to future ages."

   That his private thoughts were often different from what might be implied from his published writings, was declared by himself on an occasion, when his sincerity could not be questioned. "David [Hume]," says his biographer, "and the Hon. Mr. Boyle, brother of the Earl of Glasgow, were both in London at the period when David's mother died. Mr. Boyle, hearing of it, soon after went into the apartment (for they lodged in the same house), where he found him in the deepest affliction, and in a flood of tears. After the usual topics of condolence, Mr. Boyle said to him, 'My friend, you owe this uncommon grief to having thrown off the principles of religion; for if you had not, you would have been consoled with the firm belief that the good lady, who was not only the best of mothers, but the most pious of Christians, was completely happy in the realms of the just' To which David replied: 'Though I throw out my speculations to entertain the learned and metaphysical world, yet, in other things, I do not think so differently from the rest of the world as you imagine.'"—Life, vol. 1, p. 294.

   This interesting anecdote places the character of Hume in a softer and more pleasing light, than that in which we are accustomed to contemplate it. His biographer remarks, "Those who knew him solely by his philosophical reputation, will perhaps believe him to have been

   Parous deorum cultor et infrequens

   [i.e. but little disposed to worship]. But this does not seem to have been the case, at least in his outward conduct. We find him, in writing home from France, casually mentioning his not having seen [his friend] Elliott's sons 'in Church;' and, on another occasion, making a like allusion, indicative of his having been a pretty regular attendant at the ambassador's chapel. He is said to have been fond of Dr. Robertson's preaching, and not averse to that of his colleague and opponent, John Erskine."—Ibid. vol. 2, p. 452.

5. Kossuth's Speech at Manchester.
6. Dublin Review.
7. North American Review, for April, 1853, pp. 456—461.
8. Burn's touching Prayer in the Prospect of Death, commences with the words, "O thou Unknown:"—had he addressed his prayer directly to the Lord Jesus, "God manifest in the flesh," he would have had no need to say, "O thou Unknown," but he would have said, "O Saviour God." Jesus said to his disciples, "If ye had known me, ye would have known my Father also; and henceforth ye know Him and have seen Him." (John xiv. 7.) It was the heathen Athenians, who had an altar "to the Unknown God" (Acts xvii. 23); but it is the glory of Christians, that their God is no longer unknown.
9. The celebrated traveler Bruce, who had passed through the wilds of Abyssinia and the deserts of Arabia, unharmed, was killed by a fail down his own stair, in showing some guests to the door.
10. Psalm xxxvii.
11. Psalm ix. 15.
12. Psalm xxxiv. 19.
13. xxxvii. 4.
14. Matthew x. 29–31.
15. Psalm xxxvii. 25.
16. Psalm lxxxiv. 11.
17. See Luke xii. 21.