ed to call conscience, and we do no violence to Scripture, if we employ this word, in place of the word heart. The important thing is, that we recognize the great fact, which the Scriptures here and elsewhere assume, that we have a capacity for thus judging ourselves, and are under a necessity of either approving or condemning our own actions. This does not need to be proved. Every one knows it to be true, as certainly as he knows that grasping a hot iron with his naked hand would give him pain. If there were any one who did not know it, it would be in vain to attempt to prove it, for he could have no conception of what was meant. I offer, then, no proof; but simply ask you to consider this fact, which you all perfectly know, concerning yourselves. Meditate upon this high distinction which God has conferred upon you-this glorious endowment of your moral nature. By this, more than anything else, are we distinguished from the brutes beneath us. In this, more than in anything else, do we trace the lineaments of God's image upon us. The form erect, the face turned heavenward and beaming with intelligence, the noble faculty of speech, the cunning organs fitted for various and wonderful labors, the intelligence penetrating the secrets of nature, and gathering rich stores of knowledge; the energetic will subduing inferior creatures, and subjecting inanimate forces to its dominion-all these do not so ennoble man, as this capacity for moral character-this capability of doing right and wrong, of deserving praise or censure this necessity of blaming or approving himself, and knowing himself to be worthy of blame or approbation from God. Man has a nature which he shares with the brutes, endowed with the same faculties, though generally in greater perfection. In bodily organs and senses, even in the capacity for knowledge, man is only superior* to the brutes. But that capacity which we have been considering, is not only superior in degree of excellence, but it is wholly different in kind from any that the brute possesses. No instruction or discipline can give the brutes ability to make moral distinctions-to know the difference between right and wrong to feel the dignity of virtue, or to suffer the anguish of remorse. Herein it is given to man, to rise to immeasurable heights above, or sink to unfathomable depths below all other earthly creatures. II. The text teaches us that when our consciences condemn us, we have reason to expect a severer condemnation from God. The reasons of this may be seen : 1. In his infinite knowledge. "God is greater than our hearts, and knoweth all things." By as much as His knowledge is greater than ours, by so much is he able more adequately to estimate the evil of our sins. It must be admitted that our views upon this subject are greatly restricted. We know that sin is an evil and bitter thing. We know that its results are exceedingly disastrous to the true interests of moral beings. We are conscious, in some degree, of its debasing effect upon ourselves, and we have witnessed something of the disorder and misery which it has brought into the world. But do we estimate these things as God estimates them? Are we able to understand, as He understands, how dreadful is the enor * In acuteness and power of the senses, man is even inferior to some brutes. 4 mity of that which is opposed to Him and His law? Or to measure, as He measures, the evil results which it has occasioned? Do we know how greatly sin has debased us? Can we tell how far above our present position is that which we should now be occupying, if we had never sinned? Or can we conceive of the beauty which would be covering the earth, and the happiness which would be blessing its inhabitants, if the race had not fallen from holiness? Doubtless, in all these respects, our views are exceedingly inadequate. "We see through a glass darkly." We catch slight glimpses only of the truth. Now it is evident, that our general estimate of the evil of sin will go far to determine our particular estimate of our own guilt, in committing sin. God's judgment of our personal unworthiness will be as much more severe than our own, as he estimates more highly than we the evil and demerit of sin in general. The child knows that he ought to obey his parents, and he feels guilty and miserable when he has disobeyed them; but ordinarily his estimate of his guilt is much lower than theirs, because they have so much more just apprehensions concerning the tendencies and results of disobedience; because they know so much better than the child, what evils it will be likely to occasion, how ruinous it will be to the child, and how destructive of all the precious interests of the entire family. The ignorant men and boys whom you may find in a jail, know that the thefts, and the quarrels, and the frauds which they have committed, are crimes, and that they deserve blame and punishment on account of them; but how much more highly is their guilt estimated by the intelligent magistrates and juries who have directed them to be shut up in prison, and by all intelligent people, who can appreciate the injury to society of such offences. What a contrast must there be between our estimate of our own guilt, and that of Him who "knoweth all things"who sees the whole endless future as clearly as the present, and can distinctly trace all the eternal consequences of every human action! Ah! my hearers, we do not know how excellent and glorious a being He is against whom we have sinned; how perfect a law it is that we have broken; how equitable are all its principles; how just and good all its requirements; how necessary to the true welfare of all moral beings (including ourselves) that they should be strictly enforced. Inasmuch as God can take a broader view of these great interests, and has a better appreciation of these important principles, so much more highly must He estimate the guilt of our transgressions; so much more severely must He blame us for them. 2. Another reason why God estimates our guilt more highly than we, is, that He is disinterested. You will readily see the importance of this consideration. You know how interest sways the judgment of men. It is a righteous principle of human law, which forbids those to be judges and jurors in any cause, who have themselves a personal interest in the decision; and, although it is found impossible perfectly to carry out this principle in practice, we still insist upon it so far as it can be carried out, and we feel that just so far as we fail of securing it a complete application, so far is the administration of justice defective. Who would have trusted the family of Prof. Webster, to determine the question of his guilt or innocence? Could their minds have weighed the evidence impartially, : : and firmly proceeded to a just decision? Would not their deep interest in the case certainly have swayed and perverted their judgment? And the wretched man himself, though he knew that he did the bloody deed, and could never for a moment blind himself to the hideous fact, still, did he estimate the guilt of that deed as impartial men estimated it? Was not his mouth filled with apologies, and did not his whole bearing and all his statements show that he made a strangely low estimate of his wickedness? The same thing must have been observed by all who conversed with those wretched murderers who have been executed in this place within a few years-Wyatt and Baham. Those who give religious instruction in the State prison, see the same thing. How rarely does a convict show that he has any such view of his wickedness as impartial persons have, or as he has of the wickedness of one guilty of some other crime no more heinous than his own? This principle has an important application to the subject under discussion. We are all interested in the question of our own guilt-too deeply interested to judge correctly. The judgment of God is free from this bias. He is disinterested. His nature and his position perfectly secure him from all such perverting influence. He does indeed love us. His love for us is stronger than that of any human friend. But this love exists in his mind, in perfect harmony with all his attributes. He does not love us in opposition to any of his other creatures, nor in disregard of the righteous principles to which his whole conduct is, and ever must be conformed. The love which he has for us can never operate in the least degree as a motive for violating one of those principles which are essential to the integrity of His character, and the steady application of which is necessary to the order and welfare of the universe. He cannot, then, from affection to us, estimate our character otherwise than in perfect accordance with truth. We have reason to feel that our own estimate of our sinfulness is likely to be too low. God's estimate being perfectly correct, is therefore fairly presumed to be far higher than ours. 3. God's perfect holiness is also to be taken into the account. It is not only true that His infinite knowledge makes him so much more capable than we of appreciating the immense evil of sin, and that his nature and position perfectly secure him from all bias of interest in the case; but, from his perfect holiness, he has an aversion to sin, of which we probably have no adequate conception. It is not simply a correct intellectual apprehension of the evil of sin-a right judgment of the mind concerning it, in which holiness consists. There is included a repugnance to it, a dislike and aversion, whereby it is repelled from the soul. Now I suppose that we cannot adequately conceive the utter abhorrence with which God regards sin. The crimson blush of purest modesty, at the most revolting obscenity-the shivering horror of the most sensitive pity, at the most barbarous cruelty-the shrinking dread of the sincerest piety, at the most hideous blasphemy-do but faintly resemble, do most inadequately illustrate God's aversion to sin. With the whole of his infinite capacity, he loathes and abhors it. Now when we consider how the practice of sin blunts the moral sensibility; how, when the mind repeatedly consents to wrong, the conscience gradually loses its sensitiveness, we must perceive that creatures who have sinned so much as we, cannot possess that delicate moral sensibility which is essential to a right estimate of their own sinfulness. Sin has perverted our conscience. Noble as this faculty of our nature still is, it has lost much of its original excellence. Solemn, and earnest, and faithful as are its warnings, surely as they would turn us from all sin if we would completely obey them, they do not furnish a full measure of the evil against which they are directed. If we are ever truly reformed from the wickedness of our hearts-if, by the grace of God, any of us are experiencing sanctification, our consciences will continually grow more tender and sensitive, till at length they will shrink with unspeakable aversion from the slightest taint of moral pollution, and dread the smallest sin more than we now dread perdition. Alas, how far away from this blessed state are we all at present! So far are we also from even the ability to understand the strength of God's aversion to the sins which we are daily committing. REMARKS. 1. The suitable consideration of this subject furnishes an explanation of a phenomenon which to some may have seemed unintelligible--conviction of sin. The anguish of mind which is sometimes experienced by persons, in view of their sinfulness, is regarded by some as absurd and irrational, the result of a religious delusion. And yet this has been experienced by some of the most intelligent and sober persons in any community; has been followed by a most decided and favorable change in their character, and is regarded by themselves as having a most important connection with that change. How was it that these persons came to have such views of their own character? Is it a fanatical delusion that has taken possession of such minds, and has produced such beneficial results? Is it common for insane delusions to produce such effects? Is it not far more likely that they are correct in the opinion that it is the simple and natural result of being made to see their true character, of being delivered from the illusions which before had blinded them? And are they not right in thinking that there is little hope of your applying to the Saviour for the forgiveness of your sins, until God shall open your eyes to similar views of your character? 2. The subject furnishes a strong motive for applying humbly to Christ for salvation. We all have more or less conviction of sin. That is, we are convinced that we are sinners, and that sin is what God, in his holiness, must forever abhor. We see that his disapprobation of us as sinners, must be much stronger than our own, and that it is likely to be unspeakably stronger. How, then, should we view that provision for our pardon which he has made, and which he has declared to be necessary in order that we might be pardoned? Shall we take it upon us to decide what was requisite as an atonement for sins, the guilt of which we are so incapable of estimating? And when God has told us so solemnly that nothing can wash that guilt away but the blood of his Son, shall we call this in question, and stay to speculate upon the philosophy of the matter, and try expedients of our own devising? May God deliver us from such folly, and, making us feel how guilty and how helpless we are, dispose us all to "fly for refuge, to lay hold on the hope set before us," the hope of forgiveness through the atoning blood of Christ. 3. Light is thrown from this subject upon a solemn passage of Scripture: "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living, God." Who can estimate how fearful a thing it is? The punishment which He will inflict upon those who do not seek and obtain forgiveness, will be the expression of his estimate of their guilt-a full and adequate expression of it. It will be his exhibition of the value he sets upon the interests of his kingdom, against which they have warred, and the honors of his throne, which they have so daringly outraged. Who can stand against such a manifestation? Who dares encounter it? If we could but know the extent of the evil, if it were one, the depth and magnitude of which we could measure, and, drawing the lines of our accurate conception about it, could say, "This is the whole," it would then be far less terrific than it is. But, ah! we cannot thus survey it. It is immeasurable. All language is exhausted in describing it; all metaphors are too feeble to represent it. Like the spirit which passed before Eliphaz in his vision, "it stands still, but we cannot discern the form thereof," and well may the contemplation of it have the same effect upon us, "making all our bones to shake, and the hair of our flesh to stand up." Herein especially is the fearfulness of perdition, that we know not, and cannot know, how fearful it is. It is the plunging into an abyss whose depth is unfathomable. It is the dashing away from the fair regions of light and joy into darkness that forever deepens. Oh, let us not run the fearful hazard. Let us grasp the hand which is so kindly extended-let us eagerly seize the mighty arm that can bear us away to the abodes of safety. Let us be forever indebted to the grace of Him who thus plucks us from the jaws of perdition. |