Christian Love,
or the Influence of Religion upon Temper
By John Angell James, 1828
THE PERMANENCE OF LOVE
"Love never fails."
Permanence is the climax of excellence. How often has the
sigh been heaved, and the tear been shed, over the perishable nature of
earthly possessions. Their transient duration presented a painful contrast
to their great worth, and extorted the sorrowful exclamation, 'Alas! that
such excellence should be mortal!' The charm of beauty soon fades, the force
of genius is at length exhausted, the monuments of art decay; an incurable
taint of corruption has infected everything earthly, and even true religion
itself does not confer immortality upon everything that belongs to its
sacred economy. One thing there is, which shall remain forever, for "love
never fails," and its permanence is the crown and glory of all its other
noble qualities. It is a truly immortal virtue—bearing no exclusive relation
to earth or to time—but destined to pass away from the world with the souls
in which it exists, to dwell in heaven, and flourish through eternity!
When it is said that it never fails, we are not merely to
understand, that being once planted in the soul, it remains there as the
center and support of all the other practical virtues—that it will so
remain, is unquestionable; for its continuance is essential to the existence
of personal and social religion. A man may change his opinions on some
subjects—he may give up some sentiments once believed by him to be truth;
but he cannot give up love, without ceasing to be a Christian.
Nor does the apostle mean that it remains as the spirit
of Christianity until the end of time, amid every change of external
administration—that it shall so abide is unquestionable. The genius of piety
is unchangeable. This was the temper obligatory upon the primitive
Christian; it is obligatory upon us; and it will be no less so upon every
future generation. A holier and happier age is in reserve for the church of
Christ, "compared with which, invisible though it be at present, and hidden
behind the clouds which envelope this dark and troubled scene, the brightest
day that has yet shone upon the world is midnight, and the highest splendors
that have invested it, the shadow of death," but this glory shall consist in
a more perfect and conspicuous manifestation of the grace of love.
The apostle's reference is evidently to another world—his
eye was upon heaven, and he was looking at the things unseen and eternal,
when he said that "love never fails." He was then soaring on the wing of
faith, and exploring the scenes of eternity, among which he saw this
celestial plant surviving the dissolution of the universe, outliving the
earthly state of the church, transplanted into the paradise of God, and
flourishing in the spirits of just men made perfect, near the fountain of
light and love!
To give still greater emphasis to what he says of its
continuance, he contrasts it with some things, which, however highly valued
by the Corinthian believers, were of a transient duration, and therefore of
greatly inferior value to this.
"Whether there be prophecies, they shall fail."
By prophecies here, we are to understand the giving of the inspired
Scriptures; all new revelations from God, by oral or written communication,
for the instruction and edification of the saints. These, so far from
belonging to the heavenly state of the church, did not survive its primitive
ages. The gift of inspiration was soon withdrawn, the oracle of prophecy was
hushed, and all further responses from heaven were denied.
"Whether there be tongues, they shall cease."
This, of course, refers to the miraculous power of speaking any language
without previous study. This gift also ceased with the other extraordinary
endowments of the primitive ages, and bears no relation to the heavenly
world. Whether the communication of ideas in the celestial state will be
carried on by speech, is at present unknown to us; if it be so, what the
language will be is beyond conjecture.
"Whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish
away." This expression most probably refers to what is called, in the
preceding chapter, "the word of knowledge," and of which the apostle speaks
in the beginning of this chapter—"Though I understand all mysteries, and all
knowledge, and have not love, I am nothing." It means an inspired knowledge
of the types, predictions, and mysteries of the Old Testament, and of their
accomplishment by the facts of the Christian economy. This, also, was among
the signs and wonders which were to vanish away; which, having been granted
as attestations to the divine authority of the Word of God, and for the
edification of the church, were discontinued when the canon of Scripture was
completed and settled.
Some extend the apostle's reasoning so far as to include
every kind of our present knowledge; which, as to its imperfect attainments,
and inadequate mediums, and present modes of communication, shall be
removed, and give place to a more easy and perfect method of acquiring
truth, and a more entire comprehension of its nature and relations.
As to the knowledge of the arts, of the practical
sciences, and of literature, this shall be lost and forgotten, as utterly
useless, and as bearing no relation whatever to the celestial state. You
master spirits, you commanding geniuses, you magnificent minds, who exhaust
the force of your intellect, and lavish its reasoning upon themes of mere
earthly interest—see here the termination of all your labors. Scholars,
poets, painters, sculptors, warriors—you who assemble in the temple of fame,
amid the mightiest productions of human skill, to pay homage to each other,
to receive the admiration of the world, and to immortalize your names—giving
to your mighty works the full measure of their value, in reference to earth
and to time—admitting that, in this view, they are bright scenes in the
history of man; yet still in reference to heaven and to eternity, they are
nothing—less than nothing, and vanity. Not an angel would turn to gaze upon
the noblest production of human imagination, nor will a plea be put in by a
single inhabitant of heaven, to exempt from the destruction of the last
fire, the most sublime specimens of human skill. Myriads of volumes have
been already lost and forgotten; myriads more are on their way to oblivion;
myriads still shall rise—but only to vanish—and of all the accumulations
that shall have been made, and which shall have been going on through the
longest and the purest age of reason—not one shall be saved from the general
conflagration, as worthy to be borne to the heavenly world. "Knowledge shall
vanish away."
But not only shall the knowledge contained in the
scientific, and literary, and imaginative productions of men vanish,
together with the volumes by which it was circulated—but all theological
works—our creeds, our catechisms, our articles of faith, our bodies of
divinity, our works of Biblical criticism; our valued, and justly valued,
commentaries; our sermons, and our treatises—all shall vanish. The imperfect
knowledge we gain from these sources is not that which will attend us to the
skies, and be sufficient for us when we have arrived at the region of
cloudless splendor, the element of wisdom, the native land and
dwelling-place of truth.
The introduction of this idea by the apostle has given
occasion for one of the most striking digressions from his track of thought
which he ever made. His argument only required him to state that love is
better than the gift of knowledge, because the latter shall cease; but he
proceeds to show why it shall cease, and ascribes its discontinuance to its
imperfection—he then takes an opportunity to draw one of the most sublime
contrasts to be found in the Word of God, between our knowledge in the
present world, and our more perfect comprehension of truth in the world that
is to come.
And why shall knowledge vanish away? "Because
we know in part,
and we prophesy in part." A part only of truth is made known, and
therefore a part only is received by us. This may imply that there are
many things we do not know at all. Who can doubt this? Upon the
supposition that we were perfectly acquainted with all that is proper to be
known—all that could be acquired by the aid of reason and the discoveries of
revelation—still we would hear a voice saying to us, "Lo, these are a
part of his ways—but the thunder of his power who can understand?" There
are, doubtless, truths of vast importance and of deep interest, which have
never yet approached, and in the present world never will approach, the
horizon of the human understanding. There are paths in the region of truth,
which the vulture's eye has not seen, and which are hidden from the view of
all living.
When on his death-bed, the great Newton was congratulated
upon the discoveries he had made, he replied, with the modesty usually
attendant on vast attainments, "I have been only walking as a boy on the
shores of truth, and have, perhaps, picked up a pebble or two of greater
value than others; but the vast ocean itself lies all before me! My
profoundest knowledge on the laws of nature may very possibly appear to the
Almighty as the merest trifles of a infantile imagination." This is strictly
correct in reference to the material universe, to which the remark was
intended to apply. Of natural truth, the ocean, with its
depths, its islands, and the continents and kingdoms to which it leads, is
all before us. We have only looked upon the surface, and seen merely some of
the objects passing upon it; we have only seen a few landmarks, on one part
of one of its shores; but the infinitude of its extensive space, and the
innumerable objects which that space contains, are yet to be explored.
And with respect to the spiritual world,
although we possess in the volume of inspiration a revelation of the most
sublime, important, and interesting objects of knowledge; yet, probably,
there are truths of which, after all that divines and philosophers have
written, we can form no more conception than we can of the objects of a
sixth sense, or than a blind man can of colors. "We know only in part."
It is implied also, that what we do know,
we know but imperfectly.
In some cases, our knowledge is uncertainty, and amounts only to opinion;
faith is weak and mixed with many doubts. We cannot exultingly exclaim, "I
know," we can scarcely say, "I believe." The object sometimes
presents itself to our mind, like the sun seen dimly through a mist, now
appearing, and then lost again, in the density of the fog—now a truth comes
upon us, in a thin and shadowy form; we think we see it—but it is again
obscured. We only see 'glimmerings'. We perceive appearances, rather than
realities—dark outlines, not perfect pictures.
And where no doubts undermine the certainty of our
knowledge, what narrow limits bound its extent! We walk as through a valley
shut in on each side by lofty mountains, whose tops are lost amid the
clouds, whose shadows add to the obscurity of our situation, and whose
mighty masses stand between us and the prospect which lies beyond. How
imperfect and limited is our knowledge of the great God—of the spirituality
of his nature—of his necessary self-existence from eternity—of his triune
essence! How feeble are our conceptions of the complex person of Christ, the
God-man Mediator; of the scheme of providence, embracing the history of our
world, and of all other worlds; and of the connection between providence and
redemption! How have divines and philosophers been perplexed on the subject
of the entrance of moral evil; on the agreement between divine
predestination—and the freedom of the human will; between moral
inability—and human accountability! How much obscurity hangs, in our view,
over many of the operations of nature! How soon do we arrive at ultimate
laws, which for anything we can tell, may be only effects of causes that are
hidden from our observation! In what ignorance do we live of many of the
most common occurrences around us! Who has perfect ideas of the essences of
things, separate and apart from their qualities—of matter, for instance, or
spirit? Who can perfectly conceive how the idea of motion results from that
of body, or how the idea of sensation results from that of spirit? On what
theme shall we meditate, and not be mortified to find how little progress we
can make before we are arrested by insurmountable difficulties? On what
eminence shall we take our stand, and to what part of the horizon direct our
eye—and not see 'clouds and shadows' resting like a veil upon the prospect?
How truly it is said, "We know but in part." Angels must wonder at the
limitation of our ideas; and glorified spirits must be astonished at the
mighty bound they make, by that one step which conducts them across the
threshold of eternity!
The apostle illustrates the present imperfection of our
knowledge, compared with its future advancement, by TWO SIMILITUDES.
The first is, the
difference between the ideas of a child and those of a man.
"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood
as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away
childish things." The meaning of Paul in this verse is—that our knowledge in
the heavenly state will be as different from, and as superior to, anything
we gain on earth, as the ideas of an adult in the maturity of his
intellectual powers, are to those which he entertained when he was a child.
Our knowledge at present is that of children; we are not only in the
childhood—but in the infancy, of our minds. Our notions are the
opinions of children; our discourses are the lispings of children; our
controversies the reasonings of children. The prodigious scientific
attainments of those luminaries, Bacon, Milton, Boyle, Locke, Newton; and in
the science of theology, of those great divines, Owen, Howe, Charnock,
Baxter, Bates, Butler, Hooker—all these are but productions of children,
written for the instruction of others less taught than themselves!
Yes, the apostle includes himself and his writings
in the description. "We know in part, and we prophesy in part. When
I was a child, I spoke as a child; but when I became a man, I put
away childish things." He alludes to his own childish conceits, and
infantile simplicity, which had given way to the matured knowledge of his
riper years; and, by implication, declares his expectation that the
knowledge which he should gain in the celestial state, would be as much
above his present views, as they were beyond those which he entertained when
he was a child! Yes—that greatest of mere men—that illustrious individual
who had been in the third heaven—who had explored, as we imagine, some of
the secrets of the unseen world—who had fathomed so much of the depth,
measured so much of the height, of truth; even he tells us that
his knowledge was but in its infancy!
What an idea does it give us of the infinitude of
knowledge yet to be obtained, when we are informed that the Bible itself,
even the New Testament—that book of books, the work of which it is said,
that it had God for its author, truth without any mixture of error for its
contents, and salvation for its end—is but a book for children, a work for
Christians in their infancy; a mere elementary treatise on the subject of
eternal truth, written by the finger of God, for his family, during their
beginning education on earth!
The second similitude by which the present imperfection
of our knowledge is set forth, is
that very partial acquaintance which
we gain with material objects by looking at them through a glass.
"Now we see through a glass darkly."
Considerable diversity of opinion prevails as to the
precise object of the apostle's allusion in the expression which he here
employs. It is admitted that the word in the original literally signifies a
mirror, and hence most expositors consider that the comparison is to a
mirror; and that his meaning is that our knowledge of divine truth in this
world, is only of that partial kind which we gain by seeing objects
reflected from a mirror. But does this accord with his design, which is to
represent the obscurity of our present ideas, compared with what we
shall know hereafter, when that which is perfect has come? The knowledge we
gain of an object that is reflected from a highly polished surface is too
accurate to furnish such a comparison.
Hence some are of opinion, and this is the view I take,
that the allusion is to those semi-transparent stones, which were used in
windows before glass was known, and through which objects would be but very
dimly seen. Nothing could better accord with the apostle's purpose than
this. How dim and shadowy do those forms appear, which we discover through
such a medium; we discern only the mere outline; everything is seen
imperfectly, and many things connected with the object are not seen at all.
"We see it through a glass darkly." The term rendered "darkly," signifies an
enigma, a riddle, a form of speech in which one thing is put for
another—which, though in some respects like it, is but an obscure
representation, and calculated to puzzle those who are required to find out
the thing which is thus darkly shadowed forth.
Here it may be proper to inquire WHY divine truth is
at present involved in so much comparative darkness and obscurity.
It is designed to accord with the analogy of faith.
We are to walk by 'faith', which is not only opposed to the testimony of
'sense'—but is distinguished also from the clearness and certainty of
perfect knowledge.
It comports also with the purpose of divine revelation.
There is no doubt but that some of the clouds which envelope the subjects of
revealed truth, could have been dissipated, and many things put in a still
clearer light. A studied caution, a designed reserve, is maintained in some
places; for as the Bible is given to be a test of moral disposition, the
evidence should be sufficient to demand belief, without being enough to
compel it. The Bible affords us light enough to assist us in discharging the
duties of this world, and to guide us to glory, honor, immortality, and
eternal life; but it concedes nothing to idle curiosity—nothing to a spirit
of restless inquiry. It stands like a way-mark on the high road to eternity,
and is intended simply to announce what is truth, and the way to its
dwelling place—but not to make known to the traveler all the details of the
city to which he is journeying.
And in another view, this obscurity is absolutely
necessary. If the disclosure were more obscure, it would be beyond our
apprehension; we could know nothing—and in that case true religion could
have no existence, or exist only as the blind offspring of ignorance. If it
were more cloudy and shadowy, it would have no power to arrest attention, or
interest the heart—it might indeed point to a brighter state, where it would
throw off the dense covering in which it had enwrapped itself on earth; but
too little of the beauty of truth would be seen, to captivate our
affections, and to allure us to follow her to that world where she displays
her unveiled glories.
But as revelation is now given to us, enough of the
beauty of truth is revealed to inspire us with a pure
affection—enough is concealed to make us long to see her face to
face. And were all the knowledge that it is possible for us to receive,
actually communicated to us, who amid such acquisitions could attend to
the low pursuits of ordinary affairs? The immediate effect of such a
disclosure would be to produce, so far as real Christians are concerned, a
total stagnation of the affairs of this life. All the studies and pursuits,
the arts and the labors, which now employ the activity of man—which support
order or promote happiness—would lie neglected and abandoned. It is
necessary that something of the 'magnitude of truth' should be concealed;
something of its effulgence softened; something of its beauty veiled—or the
holy mind of the Christian, absorbed in such a vision, would find all that
is important in earthly life would seem utterly insignificant; and all that
is attractive in this world would become tasteless and insipid. Disturbed in
his lofty meditations, and interrupted in his ecstasies, by the din of
business, and the obtrusion of low, groveling cares; and judging that scenes
of secular activity unfitted him for communion with this heavenly
visitant—he would retire from the social haunts of men, to converse with
truth in the solitude of the hermitage, or the silence of the desert. So
necessary is it to hang a veil on the too dazzling brightness of divine
subjects.
This partial obscurity is also necessary, on account
of the feebleness and limited extent of our faculties. Our minds could
no more bear to look upon the unmitigated glory of divine truth, than the
eye of an infant could sustain the unsoftened effulgence of the mid-day sun.
Our minds cannot grasp in its full extent one single subject out of all the
mighty Scriptural subjects. Some 'vague idea' may be formed of the almost
illimitable range of the gospel plan of redemption, when we recollect that
its development is to employ our understanding in the highest state of
intellectual perfection—and to employ it, not for a measured term—but
through the countless ages of an endless existence! The study, the
discovery, the enjoyment of truth, will form one of the chief felicities of
the heavenly state; but what must that knowledge be, which is to afford
something new and interesting through eternity? How can this be obtained by
man in the infancy of his existence upon earth? There are subjects yet to be
known, which would have no less surpassed the understanding of Newton, than
his profound discoveries in science would the mind of a child.
No wonder, then, that we walk at present amid 'mere
shadows and glimmerings'. But how humbling is this view of the subject to
the pride of intellect! "The breath of the Almighty, that gives him
understanding." Job 32:8. The thinking mind is the glory of our nature; it
is the candle of the Lord shining "in the earthly house of our tabernacle,"
and giving light to all the faculties of our soul, to guide their
operations, and to direct them in their appropriate business. To what an
immeasurable elevation does the thinking mind raise man above the brute
creation! What wonders it has achieved—what stupendous monuments of wisdom
and power it has raised! Who can mention the names of the giants of the
'world of mind'—and especially who can survey the productions of their
genius, without having high notions of the capacities of the human
understanding?
But what are all the works of the greatest theologians,
the profoundest philosophers, when compared with the knowledge of the
eternal world—but as the ideas of one who "thought as a child, and spoke as
a child? "Shall any man—shall the greatest of men—be proud of
their 'crumb of knowledge', their vain of 'childish notions', puffed up
with their 'poor scantling' of information? Were the lowest and least of all
the glorified men, to come down and teach a synod of the greatest divines on
earth—how soon would he baffle and confound them—amid their most sagacious
discoveries and most celebrated works! What infantile conceptions, what
childish compositions, would be found out in their most finished
productions! So little reason has man for 'the pride of his knowledge'—so
much cause to clothe himself with the 'garment of humility'!
HEAVEN A STATE OF PERFECT KNOWLEDGE
"But when that which is perfect has come, then
that which is in part shall be done away. NOW we see through a glass
darkly—but THEN face to face. NOW I know but in part—but THEN shall I know,
even as I am known."
All these expressions refer to the celestial world, and
unite to teach us that heaven is a state of perfect knowledge. Here
on earth, we know only part of truth—then we shall know the whole. Here on
earth, we know everything in a partial manner; there we shall know
everything completely. Here on earth, we see truth only as we perceive a
dark shadow through a dense medium; there we shall behold truth as clearly
as when we see face to face. There we shall know truth with certainty and
comprehension.
This last expression has been sometimes explained, as
conveying the intimation that we shall recognize each other in the celestial
state. "We shall know 'others', even as we are known by them." Many reasons
concur to produce the expectation of this mutual recognition. We suppose
that we shall somewhat maintain our earthly identity, not only of person but
of character, and also the reminiscence of our earthly existence and
history. We also suppose that we shall again be mutually known to each other
in the heavenly world. This is one of the sentiments which the sacred
writers rather take for granted, than stop to prove. But certainly this is
not the meaning of the passage now under consideration. The apostle here
speaks of our knowledge of things, not of people.
The felicity of the celestial state will, doubtless,
include everything that can yield delight to a sensible, social,
intellectual, and moral creature. It is eternal life—everlasting existence,
attended by everything that can render existence a blessing. It is LIFE in
the fullest sense of the term—life in the highest degree of perfection. The
glorified body will probably retain the organs of sound and sight—the
purest of the senses, which will become the inlet of the most pleasurable
sensations; while it will be forever free from the cravings of appetite, the
languors of sickness, the distress of pain, the weariness of labor. The
social impulse will be gratified by the sublime converse of the
"innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect."
The moral feelings will all combine in the most unsullied purity;
while the intellect will be irradiated by the light of eternal truth.
The heart will thus repose in the enjoyment of the chief good—beyond
which nothing remains to be enjoyed. And the mind will repose in the
contemplation of the truth—beyond which nothing remains to be known.
But we are now considering heaven under the
representation of a state of knowledge, and as an intellectual
condition. In this viewpoint the Scriptures frequently speak of the glory to
be revealed. They call it an inheritance "in light," they describe it as a
world where there is NO NIGHT. There "we shall see him as he is," "behold
his glory," "see him face to face," expressions which relate more to the
"eyes of the mind" than to those of the body. Perhaps we do not sufficiently
contemplate heaven in this view of it. The greater part of mankind are taken
up with mere sensations, and are but little acquainted with the pure
enjoyment connected with the perception and the apprehension of truth. The
rapturous exclamation, "I have found it!" is rarely uttered by the multitude
over anything but the acquisition of wealth—or the gratification of
appetite. But those who have been engaged in any measure in intellectual
pursuits, will be able to appreciate 'the pleasures of knowledge'. Knowledge
is to the mind, like light to the eye—and the perception of truth, like
water to the thirsty.
Even the comparatively barren science of mathematics,
which presents nothing to exercise the passions or gratify the
imagination—the truths of which derive all their interest from the objective
evidence by which they are supported—yes; even these are a source of high
and pure enjoyment to the human mind, which is ever seeking to arrive at
infallible certainty, and can repose no where else. What exquisite delight
has been experienced by some men, when, after a long process of reasoning,
or a fatiguing course of experiments, they have at length arrived at a
conclusion. If, then, in the present world, where the subjects of our
research are often so insignificant, where our knowledge is obtained with
such labor, is limited by so much ignorance, and blended with so much error;
if amid such circumstances the pleasure of knowledge is so great—what will
it be in the heavenly state?
Let us consider
what will be the OBJECTS of our
knowledge.
If we may be allowed the expression, we shall know all
things that are knowable, so far as an acquaintance with them will
contribute to our felicity. We shall know everything that is essential
to the right performance of duty, or to the most perfect gratification of
our intellect—all that lies within our proper sphere or compass as glorified
creatures.
We shall perfectly comprehend all the laws which
govern the material world. The discovery
of these is presently considered to be among the most dignified and
gratifying employments of the human understanding. It was his discoveries in
natural philosophy which gave to our great Newton his notoriety. What a high
station in the records of fame is assigned to those who have explored the
secrets, and explained the laws, of nature! They are ranked among the
illustrious members and most valuable benefactors of their race. They are
looked up to with a kind of semi-idolatry, and their praises are continually
chanted for their vast attainments, not only in adding to the stock of
knowledge—but in accumulating fresh honors upon human nature. What sublime
and astonishing facts are included in the sciences of astronomy, medicine
and chemistry! How much of the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Divine
Architect is displayed in the works of creation! Yet these earthly
discoveries are now hidden from a great portion of the redeemed, who by the
disadvantages of their education are shut out from these sources of
knowledge. But they will be admitted to them in heaven.
Creation will not be destroyed at the judgment day—but
only purified. The 'vast and splendid machine' will not then be thrown
aside, broken up, and consigned to oblivion. Nothing which the hand of the
Creator has framed shall be forgotten. The brilliant scenes which are now
passing before our eyes—but on which many even of regenerated minds look
without understanding them—are not a 'mere passing pageant'. Beautiful was
the remark of the eminently pious Bishop Hall, who, on being told in his old
age that his views of astronomy were not quite correct, replied—"Well, it
may be so—but I am going to heaven, and as I shall then perfectly understand
the stars—I must leave the subject until then, when every mistake will be
rectified."
So completely will all the disadvantages of our earthly
condition be removed in heaven, whether those disadvantages arise from
the Christian being born in an age when knowledge is in its infancy, or amid
those privations of poverty which deny him access to the sources of
information. In the hour of death, the pious but illiterate tenant of the
cottage, on whose mind the orb of science never rose—though the Sun of
Righteousness poured upon it the light of a spiritual illumination—ascends
above the disadvantages of education, makes a glorious transition from the
shadows of ignorance, in which he dwelt upon earth, into the cloudless
transparency of the skies on high. His natural faculties, compressed and
enfeebled now by the circumstances of his birth, shall then expand to a
comprehension, and attain to a vigor, which is unsurpassed by the loftiest
intellect of the human race! And he, too, shall know in heaven, the works of
the God of nature—as he knew below, and shall still better know
above, the works of the God of grace.
PROVIDENCE will
form another mighty range of inquiry, and another source of delightful
knowledge in heaven. By providence, we mean God's moral government of the
universe—the course of the divine administration towards rational and moral
creatures—that mighty scheme, which commenced its application before time
was born, or the foundations of the earth were laid; which embraces the
annals of other worlds besides ours; which includes the history of angels,
men, and devils. Providence comprises the whole range of events which have
taken place from the formation of the first creature, to the last moment of
time, with all the tendencies, reasons, connections, and results of things;
the separate existence of each individual, with the continuation and
influence of the whole, in one harmonious scheme.
Providence is now full of mysteries. We are puzzled
at almost every step. Innumerable are the events over which, after having in
vain endeavored to sound their depth with the line of our reason, we must
exclaim, "O the depth!" But we shall know all—why sin was permitted, and how
it entered, with all the attendant train of now incomprehensible results
which followed its introduction into the moral universe. It will then be
made apparent to us, why so long a period elapsed between the first promise
of a Savior, and his incarnation, sufferings, and death—why, for so many
ages, the world was left in ignorance, sin, and misery—why such errors were
permitted to enter the church, and so soon and so extensively to corrupt the
simplicity and deform the beauty of the Christian profession—why the Man of
Sin was allowed to establish his seat in the temple of Christ; to exalt
himself above all that is called God; to utter his blasphemy; to shed the
blood of the saints; and so long to spread the clouds of superstition, and
the shades of death, over Christendom—why the impostor of Mecca was allowed
to arise, and for so many ages to render a large portion of the earth
inaccessible to the rays of the Sun of Righteousness—why idolatry, with all
its murderous deities, and all its bloody and obscene rites, was left so
long to insult the heavens, to pollute the earth, and to curse mankind.
What deep, unfathomable mysteries are these! How
confounding to our reason, and how utterly beyond our research! What
astonishment and delight, what inconceivable emotions, will be produced by
the gradual unfolding of the mighty scheme, by the progressive discoveries
of the connections and outcomes of things, and the wondrous display of
divine glory which will be made by the whole. How shall we be enraptured to
find that those events which now so confound us, were dark only by excess of
wisdom, and that those facts which so often distressed us upon earth, were
but the more somber shades of the perfect picture! What manifestations of
Deity will then be made, when God shall admit us to his cabinet, and lay
open to us the mysteries of his government!
And, doubtless, we shall not only see the harmony and
wisdom of Providence in its general aspect and its more comprehensive
combinations and arrangements—but in its particular bearing on our own
private and personal history. The most important and interesting chapter
in the volume of universal history is, to us, that which contains the record
of our life. What clouds and shadows still rest, and in the present
state ever must rest, upon our obscure and humble annals! How often is
Jehovah, in his dealings with us, a God who hides himself! How often does he
wrap himself in clouds, and pursue his path upon the waters, where we can
neither see his goings, nor trace his footsteps! How many of his
dispensations are inexplicable, and of his judgments how many are
unfathomable by the short line of our reason! But whatever we don't know
now, we shall know hereafter—the crooked will be made straight, the clouds
of darkness will be scattered, and all his conduct towards us placed in the
broad day-light of eternity. We shall see the connection which our
individual history bears with the general scheme of providence; and perceive
how, notwithstanding our personal insignificance—our existence was no less
necessary to the perfection of the whole plan than that of the great ones of
the earth. We shall see how all the varying, and numerous, and seemingly
opposite events of our history, were combined into one gracious purpose of
mercy, which was most perfectly wise in all its combinations.
Now we believe that "all things work together for
good," then we shall see how this end was accomplished by
events, which at the time put us to so much grief, and involved us in so
much surprise. Delightful, most delightful, will it be to retrace our
winding and often gloomy course, and discern at each change and turning, the
reason of the occurrence and the wisdom of God—delightful will it be to
discern the influence which all our temporal circumstances, all our
disappointments, losses, and perplexities, had upon our permanent and
celestial happiness. How much of divine wisdom, power, goodness, and
faithfulness, will our short and simple history present; and what rapturous
fervor will the discovery give to the song of praise which we shall utter
before the throne of God and the Lamb!
REVELATION , as containing
the scheme of human redemption by Jesus Christ, will be another object of
our study and source of knowledge. The Bible is given to make God known; and
one page of the Bible, yes, one verse, makes known more of God than all the
volume of nature. But, after all, how little do we know of God, of his
essence, of his triune mode of subsistence, of his natural perfections, of
his moral attributes! What an unfathomable mystery is Deity! In what a
pavilion of darkness does Jehovah dwell! Who by searching can find out God?
In heaven we shall know him, for we shall see him face to face—we shall
behold his glory, and see him as he is. We shall have as perfect an
acquaintance with the divine character, as a finite mind can attain to; and
in this one object, shall find employment and bliss through eternity. We
shall never exhaust this theme. Eternity is necessary to study that which is
infinite.
We shall there comprehend, so far as it can be done by a
finite mind, the complex person of Jesus Christ. We cannot now understand
this "great is the mystery of godliness—God manifest in the flesh," but what
we know not now, we shall know hereafter. Then will the cross be seen as the
central point of the divine administration, bright with ten thousand
glories, and sending out its beams to the extremity of the moral system. The
ruin of the world by its federal connection with Adam; the election of the
Jews, and the long abandonment of the Gentiles; the slow advance of
Christianity to its millennial reign and triumph; the bearing of redemption
upon other orders of beings besides man; the difficulties which hang like
impenetrable clouds upon the doctrines of personal election, regeneration,
perseverance, the freedom of the will viewed in connection with divine
prescience and predestination—all, all, will be laid open to the view of
glorified saints in heaven. Everything in the Scripture which is now dark,
shall be made light. A reconciling point shall be found for every seeming
contradiction, and the faith and patience of the saints be rewarded, for
having received the truth on the credit of him who spoke it, without
demanding to see before they believed.
Such shall be the sources of knowledge in heaven. O the
bliss of eternally drinking in knowledge from such fountains!
We may now consider
THE ADVANTAGES which the heavenly
state will possess, for the acquisition of knowledge.
The soul will there be perfect in holiness, and thus the
understanding will be delivered from the disturbing and bewildering
influence of sin. In our present state of imperfection, the depravity of
our nature contracts and misdirects our judgment—the corruptions of the
heart send up a mist which veils the luster of truth, and conceals its
extent and glory from the mind. The judgment cannot now see spiritual
objects in all their range, and order, and beauty, because of sin. But in
heaven this contracting and darkening influence will cease forever. No evil
bias, no sinful prejudice, will ever warp the judgment—no disease of the
soul will dim its eye, or enfeeble its power. With eagle pinion it will soar
to the fountain of radiance, and with eagle vision bear the full blaze of
its glory.
The natural faculty of the mind will then attain to its
full maturity of strength. The mind is here in its infancy, there it
will come to its maturity. Even the intellects of the greatest geniuses,
while on earth, are but human minds in childhood, as we have already
considered, and their most prodigious efforts but as infantile exercises.
Here they only tried their powers—but in heaven the mind will put forth, to
their full extent, all those wondrous faculties which are now shut up and
compressed in our nature, for lack of room and opportunity to expand.
In heaven, we shall not be diverted and called off from
the pursuit of truth, by the inferior interests of the body. The soul
will not be prevented from making excursions into the regions of light—by
the cares, needs, and anxieties which abound in this state of being—but will
be left at leisure to pursue her sublime researches. She will have nothing
to hinder the acquirement and enjoyment of knowledge.
To crown all, heaven is an eternal state, and
everlasting ages will be afforded through which the glorified mind will
carry on its pursuits. Were the term of human life again protracted to
the antediluvian age, what vast attainments would be made by us all in the
discovery of truth! What, then, must it be to have eternity through which to
grow in knowledge.
We might notice
the CHARACTER of our knowledge.
It will be PERFECT—by which we are not to
understand that it will be as complete as the nature of things admits of,
for we should then possess a comprehension equal to that of God. We cannot
perfectly know everything as it may be known—our ideas of many things must
be limited, especially those which relate to the divine nature. By
perfection, we mean freedom from error—our knowledge will be free from all
admixture of doubt, suspense, and fallacy; our attainments will be bounded
only by our capacity; there will, perhaps, be a gradation of mind in heaven,
no less obviously marked than that which exists on earth—but all capacities
will be filled.
Our knowledge will doubtless be PROGRESSIVE.
Increase of ideas is, perhaps, in the case of a creature essential to
felicity. We now find more pleasure in receiving a new and important truth,
than we experience in all we before possessed. A state in which there
remains nothing more to be known, conveys not an idea of happiness so
vividly as that where the delight of discovering something new is ever added
to the joy of contemplating so much that is old. What a view of heaven!—An
eternal advance in the most important knowledge; an everlasting accumulation
of ideas; an interminable progression in truth.
"In the march of the mind through intellectual and moral
perfection, there is no period set—this perfection of the just is forever
carrying on—is carrying on—but shall never come to a close. God shall behold
his creation forever beautifying in his eyes, and forever drawing near to
himself, yet still infinitely distant from him the fountain of all goodness.
There is not in true religion a more joyful and triumphant consideration
than this perpetual progress which the soul makes in the perfection of its
nature, without ever arriving at its ultimate end. Here truth has the
advantage of fable. No fiction, however bold, presents to us a conception so
elevating and astonishing as this interminable line of heavenly excellence.
To look upon the glorified spirit as going on from strength to strength,
adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge; making approaches to
goodness, which is infinite; forever adorning the heavens with new beauties,
and brightening in the splendor of moral glory, through the ages of
eternity, has something in it so transcendent, as to satisfy the most
unbounded ambition of an immortal spirit. Christian! does not your heart
glow at the thought that there is a time marked out in the annals of heaven,
when you shall be what the angels now are; when you shall shine with that
glory; and when, in full communion with the Most High, you shall see him as
he is?"
How our knowledge in heaven will be acquired, whether
by testimony, by immediate revelation, or by some method of mental
application, it would be idle to speculate. We know that whatever mode is
determined upon by God, will promote, and not interrupt our felicity; we
shall have nothing of the weariness of study—nothing of the concern of
doubt—nothing of the torture of suspense. Ideas will flow into the soul with
the same ease and pleasure on our part, as rays of light come to the bodily
eye.
Whatever knowledge we gain in heaven will be
TRANSFORMING—it will not be 'mere opinion' or 'uninfluential
speculations'. All our ideas will be as fuel to feed the flame of love,
which will then burn upon the altar of the soul; all will be quickening,
penetrating, influential. Our opinions will be principles of action.
Everything will lead us to see more of God, to love him with a more intense
glow of holy affection, and to be more conformed to him. The light of truth
will ever be associated with the warmth of love. "We shall be like God,
for we shall see him as he is!"
It is difficult to find in the volume of revelation a
stronger internal evidence of its divine original, than the view it gives of
the celestial state, combining as it does the perfection of knowledge and of
purity. Every other representation which has been given of heaven, bears the
mark of an earthly source—the proof of being a human device. As in seeking
for a Deity, man found the prototype in his own passions, when he had
abandoned the one living and true God; so, in forming a heaven, he collected
all the materials from the objects of his own fleshly delights. The Elysium
of the Greeks and the Romans; the Hall of the Scandinavians; the sensual
Paradise of the Mohammedans; the fantastic abodes of the departed Hindus—are
all adapted to their depraved appetites, and were suggested by their corrupt
imaginations.
A heaven made up of perfect knowledge, and of perfect
love, is a vision entirely and exclusively divine, and which never beamed
upon the human understanding, until the splendid image came upon it from the
Word of God. How worthy of God is such a representation of celestial bliss!
It is an emanation from his own nature, as thus described, "God is light—God
is love." The glorious reality is evidently the provision of his own wisdom
and grace; and the sublime description of it in the Scriptures, is as
evidently the delineation of his own finger.
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