The other opinion is equally founded upon error,—namely, that which considers it essential to faith, that a man be assured of his personal acceptance in the sight of the Deity. It is obvious that this is a sophism clearly opposed to sound reasoning, and to the first principles of the philosophy of the moral feelings. For faith, viewed as a mental process, must always have for its object facts; and these facts must rest upon such evidence, as is sufficient to convince the understanding of their truth. To talk of faith, without such facts and such evidence, is a mere logical fallacy, or an absurdity in terms. But there is no disclosure of the personal acceptance of any individual, and consequently, on no principle of sound reasoning can this ever be considered as the object of faith. This doctrine, therefore, applies a most important principle of the mind, not to facts, which alone can warrant the exercise of faith, but to a vision of the imagination, which admits of no evidence, and cannot be subjected to any test of its truth.
Widely different from all such flimsy and imaginary hypotheses is the great system of Christian truth,—harmonious and consistent in itself, and challenging the approbation of the soundest understanding. It reveals, as we have seen, a dispensation of mercy, in accordance with the highest ideas we can form of the divine perfections. It is supported by a chain of evidence, which carries conviction to the mind of the most rigid inquirer; and thus it is a sound and legitimate object of faith. It reveals also a provision for purifying the moral nature; and this in every case accompanies the dispensation of mercy to those who receive it. The effects of this powerful agency, therefore, become the test and the evidence of the reality of faith. Does a man seek a proof of his acceptance,—the reference is to facts in his own moral condition. He is to look for it in a change which is taking place in his character,—a new direction of his desires,—a new regulation of his affections,—a habitual impression, to which he was a stranger before, of the presence and the perfections of the Deity—and a new light which has burst upon his view, respecting his relations to this life and to that which is to come. He is to seek this evidence in a mind, which aims at no lower standard than that which will bear the constant inspection of infinite purity;—he is to seek it, and to manifest it to others, in a spirit which takes no lower pattern than that model of perfection,—the character of the Messiah. These acquirements, indeed, are looked upon, not as a ground of acceptance, but a test of moral condition; not as, in any degree, usurping the place of the great principle of faith, but as its fruits and evidences. As these, then, are the only proofs of the reality of this principle, so they are the only basis on which a man can rest any sound conviction of his moral aspect in the sight of the Deity;—and that system is founded on delusion and falsehood, which, in this respect, holds out any other ground of confidence than the purification of the heart, and a corresponding harmony of the whole character. Such attainment, indeed, is not made at once, nor is it ever made in a full and perfect manner in the present state of being; but, where the great principle has been fixed within, there is a persevering effort, and a uniform contest, and a continual aspiration after conformity to the great model of perfection. Each step that a man gains in this progress serves to extend his view of the high pattern to which his eye is steadily directed; and, as his knowledge of it is thus enlarged, he is led by comparison to feel more and more deeply his own deficiency. It thus produces increasing humility, and an increasing sense of his own imperfection, and causes him continually to feel, that, in this warfare, he requires a power which is not in man. But he knows also that this is provided, as an essential part of the great system on which his hope is established. Amid much weakness, therefore, and many infirmities, his moral improvement goes forward. Faint and feeble at first, as the earliest dawn of the morning, it becomes brighter and steadier as it proceeds in its course, and, "as the shining light, shineth more and more unto the perfect day."
THE END.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Byron's Letters, Moore's Life, Vol. II, p. 581.
[2] Lecture on the Theory of Moral Obligation. Oxford, 1830.
[3] See this subject eloquently argued in Dr. Chalmers' Bridgewater Treatise.
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