Coelebs In Search of a Wife

by Hannah More

"If I were not afraid," said Lady Belfield, "of falling under the same censure with my friend Ph[oe]be," smiling on the sweet girl, "I should venture to say that I thought the sermon rather too severe."

"Do not be afraid, madam," replied Mr. Stanley; "though I disapprove that cheap and cruel criticism which makes a man an offender for a word, yet discussion does not necessarily involve censoriousness; so far from it, it is fair to discuss whatever seems to be doubtful, and I shall be glad to hear your ladyship's objections."

"Well then," replied she, in the most modest tone and accent, "with all my reverence for Dr. Barlow, I thought him a little unreasonable in seeming to expect universal goodness from creatures whom he yet insisted were fallen creatures."

"Perhaps, madam," said Mr. Stanley, "you mistook his meaning, for he appeared to me perfectly consistent, not only with himself, but with his invariable rule and guide, the Scriptures. Sanctification—will you allow me to use so serious a word?—however imperfect, must be universal. It is not the improvement of any one faculty, or quality, or temper, which divines mean, when they say we are renewed in part, so much as that the change is not perfect, the holiness is not complete in any part or power, or faculty, though progressive in all. He who earnestly desires a universal victory over sin, knows which of his evil dispositions or affections it is that is yet unsubdued. This rebellious enemy he vigilantly sets himself to watch against, to struggle with, and, through divine grace, to conquer. The test of his sincerity does not so much consist in avoiding many faults to which he has no temptation, as in conquering that one to which his natural bent and bias forcibly impel him."

Lady Belfield said, "But is it not impossible to bring every part of our nature under this absolute dominion? Suppose a man is very passionate, and yet very charitable; would you look upon that person to be in a dangerous state?"

"It is not my province, madam, to decide," replied Mr. Stanley. "'God,' as Bishop Sanderson says, 'reserves this royalty to himself of being the searcher of hearts.' I can not judge how far he resists anger, nor what are his secret struggles against it. God, who expects not perfection, expects sincerity. Though complete, unmixed goodness is not to be attained in this imperfect state, yet the earnest desire after it is the only sure criterion of the sincerity we profess. If the man you allude to does not watch, and pray, and strive against the passion of anger, which is his natural infirmity, I should doubt whether any of his affections were really renewed; and I should fear that his charity was rather a mere habitual feeling, though a most amiable one, than a Christian grace. He indulges in charity, because it is a constitutional bias, and costs him nothing. He indulges in passion, because it is a natural bias also; and to set about a victory over it would cost him a great deal. This should put him on a strict self-examination; when he would probably find that, while he gives the uncontrolled reins to any one wrong inclination, his religion, even when he does right things, is questionable. True religion is seated in the heart; that is the centre from which all the lines of right practice must diverge. It is the great duty and chief business of a Christian to labor to make all his affections, with all their motives, tendencies, and operations, subservient to the word and will of God. His irregular passions, which are still apt to start out into disorder, will require vigilance to the end. He must not think all is safe, because the more tractable ones are not rebellious; but he may entertain a cheerful hope, when those which were once rebellious are become tractable."

"I feel the importance of what you say," returned Lady Belfield; "but I feel also my utter inability to set about it."

"My dear madam," said Mr. Stanley, "this is the best and most salutary feeling you can have. That very consciousness of insufficiency will, I trust, drive you to the fountain of all strength and power: it will quicken your faith, and animate your prayer; faith, which is the habitual principle of confidence in God; and prayer, which is the exercise of that principle toward him who is the object of it."

"But Dr. Barlow," said Lady Belfield, "was so discouraging! He seemed to intimate, as if the conflict of a Christian with sin must be as lasting as his life; whereas, I had hoped that victory once obtained, was obtained forever."

"The strait gate," replied Mr. Stanley, "is only the entrance of religion; the narrow way is a continued course. The Christian life, my dear Lady Belfield, is not a point but a progress. It is precisely in the race of Christianity as in the race of human glory. Julius Cæsar and St. Paul describe their respective warfares in nearly the same terms. We should count nothing done, while any thing remains undone,[2] says the Warrior. Not counting myself to have attained—forgetting the things which are behind, and pressing forward to those which are before, says the Apostle. And it is worth remarking, that they both made the disqualifying observation after attainments almost incredible. As there was no being a hero by any idler way, so there is no being a Christian by any easier road. The necessity of pursuit is the same in both cases, though the objects pursued differ as widely as the vanities of time from the riches of eternity.