PART II.
INFERENTIAL.
So far we have been employed in elucidating the principles which are involved in the terms of the inscription—which is enthroned in the front of the Royal Exchange,—The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof. These words, taken alone, distinctly recognise the existence of God, Creation, and Providence. They express, or imply, through their own inherent and independent force, the acknowledgment of these great primary truths. In the course of our remarks, we have glanced at one or two of the clauses of the psalm immediately succeeding the words of the inscription; rather, however, as illustrative of the extent of its significance, than as bringing to it any additional thought. We now propose to take the acknowledgment, “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof,” in connexion with the whole psalm of which it is the commencement, and the psalm itself in connexion with the whole revelation of which it is a part; and thus to bring out those additional forms of both truth and duty, which the scriptural recognition of God’s existence and government, and his general relations to the world and man, may come to suggest to a devout and reflective Christian observer.
I.
Worship.
Immediately after the assertion of God’s proprietorship of the world and man, the psalmist inquires, “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place?” Language this, which refers to the locality and the uses of the temple, as the appointed place of Divine service. The existence of God and the obligation to worship him, would seem to be associated by an indissoluble necessity. The two ideas, indeed, mutually involve and illustrate each other. Admit the Divine existence; it is felt to extend downwards into the domain of human duty, and to suggest and enforce the obligation of worship: admit the reality of the religious instinct, and mark its universal and irrepressible force,—it swells upwards and amounts to a proof of the existence of God. The Divine Being has not only set his glory above the heavens, and spoken of himself by the myriads of voices that are perpetually issuing from the earth and the sky; he has not only stamped his image and superscription on the personal and intellectual attributes of the race; but he has provided an unimpeachable witness for himself, in the religious constitution of human nature. If there is one thing more than another which forms the peculiar distinction of man, and which places him in secluded and solitary grandeur apart from all the tribes of sentient existence by which he is surrounded, it is his possession and consciousness of a religious capacity. It may show itself in grotesque or disgusting forms,—it may blunder in its search, and babble in its utterances,—it may even become ferocious and malignant in its character; but there it is, in man, and in him alone, manifested everywhere, active always, forming a palpable and impassable distinction between his nature and that of all other creatures. The lower animals have senses and appetites similar to his; they can see and hear—they hunger and thirst; in many of them, indeed, some of the things that he and they possess in common, exist in greater acuteness and perfection in them than they do in him; while others make approaches to thought and reason, memory and will, affection and passion; but none of them share with him the capacity to adore,—none of them can pray,—none but he can entertain the conception of an invisible power,—engage in individual, or unite in acts of social, devotion. It is the prerogative of man to be able to say either, “Our Father,” or “I believe.” Even if it were admitted that specimens of humanity have been found, or could be produced, utterly destitute of the religious capacity, and with nothing about them, when they gaze on the universe, beyond the vacant stare of unintelligent natures; and even if it were further asserted and acknowledged, that it was utterly impossible to awaken in them a sense or perception of anything Divine,—yet it would be found that their children could be taught to comprehend and feel religious ideas,—that they had within them the spiritual capacity,—from which it would be evident that their fathers had originally possessed it too. The religious instinct, then, or susceptibility, or faculty, or whatever it may be called, is inherent in human nature—divides and distinguishes it from all else in the wide world, though it may express itself in the grossnesses of superstition and idolatry, or may have sunk into dormancy in extraordinary cases; but neither old, nor young, of all the tribes of the inferior races,—the most sagacious or the most domesticated,—can be found to display, or be taught to comprehend, religion at all!
It is a simple fact, then, beyond all question, that humanity possesses this distinguishing attribute. All things beneath and around him seem to be made for man; but he is the subject of a strong, active, predominating impulse, that appears like a consciousness, on his own part, that he is made for something else. This impulse finds utterance and embodiment in religious ideas and religious service. Now, it would be a strange anomaly in a world like this, in which every faculty of every creature finds its corresponding and appropriate object,—in which wing and hoof, scent and speed, eye and ear, hand and horn, powers and passions, appetites and attributes of all sorts, are fitted exactly to something that seems to be made for them, or for which they are made,—it would be a strange thing, that the only exception to this law, should be in the Lord and Master of the world himself!—and that it should occur, too, just in that one faculty that at once distinguishes and dignifies him more than any other! The existence and actings of the religious instinct in man thus constitute a proof of the existence of God, just as the admitted existence of God involves the obligation to religion in man. The tendency in humanity “to feel after God if haply it may find him,”—and to have something it may call God,—whether it succeed in finding him or not,—is demonstrative of a Divine objective reality answerable to itself, in the same way as the half-formed wings of a bird in the shell are proof of the existence of an external atmosphere, and of the ultimate destiny of the bird itself.
It is worth observing, too, that this duty of worship, which results from the truth professed in the acknowledgment that “the earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof,” like the other things already mentioned, involves or illustrates the Divine personality. Worship, at the very least, is adoration and gratitude,—the utterance, generally in words, of thought and affection towards the Supreme Nature, as the subject of high attributes and the source of universal good;—exercises these, that can have no meaning, if that nature has no consciousness of its own perfections, and no knowledge of the language addressed to it. For man “to ascend into the hill of the Lord, and to stand and worship in his holy place,” He, to whom he approaches, must be a personal intelligence. Worship is the communion of mind with mind,—not only the sympathy of worshipper with worshipper, but the communion of each and of all with the worshipped. There can be no communion or sympathy with a force;—no intelligent adoration of a law; no affections can be warmed and excited, and drawn forth in psalm and song, towards a mere senseless physical power,—an unintelligent, mechanical necessity! Without a personal God, everything like worship is a mockery and a lie; the whole service is nothing but a masquerade. If worship could be conceived to be honestly attempted in connexion with the denial of God’s personal existence, it would be an attempt on the part of the worshippers to produce subjective states of mind by the conscious temporary assumption of a falsehood, and the employment upon themselves of a system of direct deception and imposture. The thing is impossible,—or impossible to be continued. There must either be the admission of a personal God as the object of worship, or worship itself will soon cease. Our belief and persuasion as a people are recorded in the front of our Royal Exchange. We may adapt to the fact the beautiful words of the Book of Proverbs: “Wisdom crieth without; she uttereth her voice in the streets. She crieth in the chief place of concourse; in the CITY she uttereth her words, saying, ‘The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof.’” And this publicly recorded persuasion,—this proclamation of our faith in the ears of all men, and our meaning it for the proclamation of the common and universal faith of humanity,—this involves in it the corresponding duty,—the duty of worshipping Him who is acknowledged as God,—the God of the whole earth,—and the duty of “all that dwell therein.” “O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come.” “The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice; let the multitude of isles be glad thereof.” “Sing unto the Lord a new song, sing unto the Lord, all the earth.” “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing. Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.” “Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men.” “Praise the Lord, all ye nations; praise him, all ye people. For his merciful kindness is great toward us: and the truth of the Lord endureth for ever. Praise ye the Lord.”