XVI.

HAND AND HEART.

JOHN XIV. 23.

IF A MAN LOVE ME, HE WILL KEEP MY

WORDS; AND MY FATHER WILL LOVE HIM, AND WE WILL COME UNTO HIM, AND MAKE OUR ABODE WITH HIM.

THERE is no point in theoretical morality more difficult to determine (if we may judge from the disputes of philosophers) than the comparative worth and mutual relation of good affections and good actions. Ought it to be the direct and primary aim of the teacher of duty to produce a harvest of beneficent deeds? or to impart clear perceptions and prompt sensibility of conscience in relation to right and wrong? If the former, his instructions will present an inventory and careful valuation of all possible 'voluntary acts;' and his exhortations be addressed to the hopes and fears, to the prudential apprehensions of good and

evil, which operate immediately upon the will. If the latter, he will meddle little with cases of casuistry, or problems which exhibit duty as an object of doubt; will define and illuminate the secret image of right that dwells within every mind; and present as incentives those models of high faith and disinterested virtue which kindle the reverence of the Heart. In this country, especially among those who have been most anxious to 'enlighten' its religion, the predominant attention has been given to external morality. The practical temper of the English, impatient of loud profession and sanctimonious inconsistency, reasonably enough cried out for 'fruit. Philosophy caught this spirit, and embodied it in a system of no small pretensions. Seeing that fine sentiments are worthless without good deeds, the masters of this school have decided, that the affections have no excellence except as instruments for producing action; that, intrinsically, they are all alike, without any distinction of good or bad; that moral qualities primarily attach merely to practice, derivatively only to the mental tendencies towards practice, and in any case are constituted by the effects of conduct in producing enjoyment or pain; that the moralist has no concern with the motives of an agent, provided he does that which is useful; that the only

measure of virtue, in short, is the amount of pleasure it creates.

This system has been embraced and is still held by many Christians, chiefly among the churches within the sphere of Dr. Priestley's influence. It is expounded, in a form full of inconsistency and compromise, by Dr. Paley, in a work whose popularity appears to me rather a discredit to England than an honour to him: and though it has been a general favourite with irreligious moralists, and appears in natural reaction from the enthusiasm of the most earnest pietists, it has seldom been considered hostile to Christianity itself. This is no fit occasion for discussing its philosophical pretensions: and were it not for the extent and nature of its practical influence, it might be abandoned to the Academic Lectureroom, where the rigorous methods of thought necessary for its examination would not be misplaced. But there is one particular view of it which may naturally enough be presented here. Its characteristic sentiment may be placed side by side with those of the Christian Morals, and the relation between them ascertained. And no one, I imagine, can perceive in it a trace of Christ's peculiar spirit: few surely can be wholly unconscious of the wide variance between its leading ideas and his: and all who have aban

doned their minds to the impression of his teachings, must feel that he assigns a very different rank to the affectionate elements of character; that, not content with tasking the hand, he makes high demands upon the heart; that public benefit is subordinate with him to personal perfection; and that instead of merging the individual mind in the advantage of society, he is silent of the happiness of society, except as involved in the holiness of the individual. Nothing surely can be further from the spirit of Jesus than to measure excellence by the magnitude of its effects, rather than the purity of its principle: else he would never have ranked the widow's mite above the vast donatives of vanity; or have praised the profuse affection of the penitent that lavished on him costly offerings, esteeming them yet less precious than the consecrating tribute of her tears. Here, it was not the deed, whose usefulness gave worth to the disposition, but the disposition whose excellence gave value to the deed. And this is every where the character of Christianity. It plants us directly beneath an eye that looketh at the heart: it forgives, in that we have loved much:' it throws away without compunction the largest husk of ceremony, and treasures up the smallest seed of life: instead of sharpening us for casuistry, it prostrates us in worship; reveals to

us our inner nature, by bringing us in contact with God who is a Spirit, and to whom we bear the likeness of child to parent; gives us an intermediate image of him and of ourselves, Christ the meek and merciful, whose life was a prolonged expression of disinterestedness and love; and imposes, as the sole condition of discipleship, faith in him,'-implicit trust, that is, in the spirit of his mind;-self-precipitation upon a piety and fidelity like his, without concession to expediency, without faltering in danger, without flight from suffering, without slackened step though duty should conduct us straight into the arms of ignominy and death.

That Christianity does make high demands upon our affections must then be admitted. Indeed this is virtually confessed by the enthusiastic forms into which it has burst, by the outbreak of fervour from which every new church is born, and the eager efforts made to sustain this vivid life. Nay, it is privately confessed by every cold and languid yet honest heart, that cannot lay open before it the story of Christ, without the secret consciousness of rebuke. It is confessed by the anxieties of many good minds, that are ashamed of the slow fires and faint light of their faith and love; that can spur their will, more easily than kindle their affections; and wish they were