The Young Man Leaving
Home
by John Angell James, 1844
THE SUCCESSIVE STEPS OF
GOING ASTRAY
If it is a melancholy fact, which the history of
innumerable families can verify, that many young men, who leave home in
every respect moral and respectable—become wicked, and end their course in
profligacy and ruin—an inquiry presents itself as to the steps which lead to
this dreadful reverse of character and circumstances. It rarely, if ever,
happens, that the heart throws off at once all the restraints of virtue, and
plunges suddenly into the depths of vice. It is not by one stride, that the
moral youth passes from sober habits at home to those of an opposite nature
abroad—but generally by slow and successive steps. The judgment and
conscience would recoil from a temptation which proposed to him to become
profligate at once; and if he ever becomes proficient in vice, he must be
led on by insensible degrees, and little by little make advances in the way
of wickedness, and in the counsels of the ungodly. This is what is meant by
the deceitfulness of sin.
What individual who ever attained to enormity of
wickedness, foresaw or conjectured the end of his career? When the messenger
of Heaven disclosed to Hazael the Syrian, the wickedness of his future
character, he indignantly exclaimed, "Is your servant a dog, that he should
do this?" It was a burst of honest indignation. At that time he was
incapable of the atrocities which it was foretold he would one day commit,
and his whole nature rose in an expression of sincere abhorrence. He knew
not the deceitfulness of his heart, or the corrupting influences of ambition
and power. He was led on by a gradual progress in his guilty career, until
the events of his history surpassed in criminality the picture drawn by the
prophet. Who that ever ended his days at the gallows, or in the felon's
exile, would at one period of his life have thought it possible that he
should ever be so hardened as to commit such crimes? Habit renders all
things easy—even the most atrocious crimes. And habits of vice, like
other habits, begin with acts, many of them little ones. The most alarming
view of sin therefore, and that which should excite the greatest dread
caution and vigilance—is its progressive nature.
I have somewhere read of one who lived in the early ages
of the Christian era, who, on being asked by a friend to accompany him to
the amphitheater—to witness the gladiatorial combats with wild beasts,
expressed his abhorrence of the sport, and refused to witness a scene
condemned alike by humanity and Christianity. Overcome at length by the
continued and pressing solicitation of his friend, whom he did not wish to
disappoint, he consented to go; but determined that he would close his eyes
as soon as he had taken his seat, and keep them closed during the whole time
he was in the amphitheater. At some particular display of strength and skill
by one of the combatants, a loud shout of applause was raised by the
spectators, when the Christian almost involuntarily opened his eyes—being
once open, he found it difficult to close them again; he became interested
in the fate of the gladiator who was then engaged with a lion. He returned
home professing to dislike, as his principles required him to do, these
cruel games; but his imagination ever and anon reverted to the scenes he had
unintentionally witnessed. He was again solicited by his friend to see the
sport. He found less difficulty now than before in consenting. He went, sat
with his eyes open, and enjoyed the spectacle; again and again he took his
seat with the pagan crowd; until at length he became a constant attendant at
the amphitheater, abandoned his Christian profession, relapsed into
idolatry, and left a fatal proof of the deceitfulness of sin. Thousands of
facts to the same signification might be collected, if it were necessary,
tending to illustrate the insidious manner in which the transgressor is
led on—in his gradual descent into the gulf of ruin!
Let us gather up the substance of the preceding chapters,
and trace the wanderer through his sinful course. Perhaps before he left his
father's house he was not only strictly moral—but was the subject of pious
impressions; convinced of sin, and an inquirer after salvation. He heard
sermons with interest, kept holy the sabbath, and made conscience of secret
prayer and reading the Scriptures. His conduct had awakened the hopes of his
parents, and raised the expectations of his minister; but he was not
decided; there had been no actual surrender of his heart to God, through
faith, repentance and the new birth. In this state of mind, he left home.
Instead of taking alarm, as he should have done, at the dangers to which he
was now about to be exposed, he went thoughtlessly to his new situation, and
encountered its perils without due preparation. In his place he found little
to encourage, perhaps something, or even much—to dampen and discourage
serious reflection. The preacher whose ministrations he attended was less
impressive and exciting than the one he had left. The employer whom he
served took little care of his spiritual welfare. Amid these circumstances,
his religious impressions were soon lost, and his concern speedily subsided.
Still he could not at once give up the forms of devotion, and for awhile
kept up the practice of private prayer; but having no separate room, he soon
became ashamed to be seen falling upon his knees in the presence of mirthful
or thoughtless companions, who slept in the same room, and who perhaps
sneered at the practice.
This is a temptation to which many are exposed, and it is
one of the most successful in inducing young people to give up the habit of
prayer. He could not, however, quite relinquish a practice to which he had
been accustomed from childhood, and occasionally he stole away to his room,
and spent a few moments in devotion. This too in time was given up, and
prayer wholly discontinued. A great restraint was now removed, and a barrier
thrown down. The fear of God, even that small portion of it he seemed to
possess, was leaving his heart. He now lives without prayer, and stands
exposed to the ten thousand snares and temptations of the world—without a
single defense! Yet he fills up his place in the house of God; for he cannot
throw off a certain kind of reverence for the sabbath, and a still lingering
attachment to the church.
In the same house in which he lives are to be found one,
or it may be several, who have no taste for sacred things—but are worldly
and sensual. He hears their scoffs at piety, which at first shock him, and
he rebukes them, or expostulates with them, for he is not yet used to
profanity—he goes further, and points out the impropriety of their conduct
in other things, and warns them of the consequences. By degrees, however, he
becomes more tolerant of their sins, and less offended by their wickedness.
They rally him, ridicule him, and flatter him by turns, and on some fine
sabbath evening persuade him to accompany them in a ramble into the country.
After a little hesitation, he consents, enjoys himself and is merry, though
not altogether without his conscience smiting him. In a week or two the
Sunday party is again formed, and the authority of God again resisted and
despised. He now thinks once a day quite enough for public worship, that the
morning being given to God, the evening may be given to pleasure, especially
by one who is all the week shut up in a close town, and who has no
opportunity except on a Sunday—to see the country or breathe fresh air. The
same argument, once admitted to be valid, is soon applied to the morning
service, and the whole Sabbath is at length given by him to recreation.
Conscience, however, has not allowed him to go thus far
without frequent stings and warnings. A letter from home occasionally
disturbs him. His father has been informed of his altered conduct, and, in
grief of heart, expostulates, entreats, and warns. First he is sorrowful,
then he is angry, then inwardly uneasy; but the jest of a sinful companion
scatters every better thought, and he is determined to go on in his downward
course. He is now the constant associate of evil doers, who have gained an
ascendency over him, and are leading him further and further astray. To calm
the apprehensions of his parents, and to silence the remonstrances from
home, he writes a penitential letter, and gives promises of amendment. Lying
and hypocrisy are now added to his sins, and they are dreadful auxiliaries
in benumbing the conscience and hardening the heart.
A celebrated actor comes to the town, or is to appear at
one of the theaters, and he is solicited to go to the performance; he is now
prepared for this, and readily assents. Everything fascinates him. His
senses, imagination, heart, taste, are all carried away captive. His mind is
in a state of mental intoxication. He acquires a passion for the stage, and
as often as his means and opportunity will allow, he is at the theater. News
of his declension again reaches home, and again his shocked and
heart-stricken parents write, and entreat him to alter his conduct, or
return to them—but he can now treat a father's advice with contempt, and a
mother's tears with cruel indifference. The theater, as we have already
shown, is the resort of those unhappy women, of whom the wise man says,
"their house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death." He is
caught in the snare and ruined! He is horror-struck when reflection comes,
and in an agony of expiring virtue, exclaims, "What have I done!" Conscience
is not quite dead, nor shame quite extinguished. To still the remonstrances
of the troublesome monitor within, he revisits the scene where so many are
assembled like himself—to drown their sorrows, or to blunt remorse. The
death of a friend or relative occurs, which renders it necessary that he
should attend a funeral, perhaps hear a funeral sermon. The Book of God, and
God's faithful servant, now proclaim the sinfulness of sin and the sinner's
everlasting doom. He trembles—but repents not. Scripture now haunts him like
a specter, and disturbs him in his course. If he persist in sinning, he must
get rid of this troublesome interference. Is the Bible true? One of his
companions is a skeptic, and now labors for his conversion to infidelity.
Byron's poetry prepares the way for Hume's subtleties, Paine's ribaldry, or
Owen's absurdities. Christianity is now called a fable; man's
accountability, a mere dogma of cunning priests; and hell, only the picture
of gloomy superstition—to hold the mind of man in bondage. He throws off the
yoke of true religion; exults in his liberty; yields his body to lusts; adds
iniquity unto iniquity, and runs to every excess of riot.
But whence come the funds to support his lusts? His
father cannot supply them, nor can his wages; but secret pilfering can, and
does. If he can escape detection, what has he to fear? "Man is the creature
of circumstances," and his circumstances compel him to rob his employer; and
as to an hereafter, it is all a dream. Gambling is now added to his other
crimes. Shame is lost, no, he glories in his shame; and commences the trade
of ruining others; corrupting the principles of his associates, and the
morals of young women. With a character composed of every darkest shade of
human depravity, let his closing scene be narrated in the next chapter,
which, by a melancholy fact, confirms the representation here given. Not
that I mean to assert that all who go astray in youth reach this dreadful
climax—but many do, and all are in danger of it.
What, then, are the
MAXIMS
arising out of this representation, which every young man should always bear
in mind?
1. That sin is the most deceitful thing in the universe ,
as manifested by the insidious manner in which it leads on the transgressor
in its deceptive and destructive way; and the excuses with which at every
stage of his progress it furnishes him.
2. Those who would not be found walking in the path of
sin, should not take the first step in it.
Avoid first sins—they always, or nearly so, lead on to others. It is far
easier to abstain from the first sin than the second. No temptation of Satan
has been more successful than the suggestion, "only this once." That once
may be your ruin forever. Acts may be repeated, and come to habits. No sin
comes alone—but stands in close connection with others which they teach us
to commit, and often afford us an opportunity to commit.
3. Carefully avoid little sins, for they usually lead on
to greater ones. No sin abstractly is
little—but comparatively some sins are greater than others. It is by
inducing you to commit these, that Satan will prepare you for and lead you
on to practices of greater enormity. When under the influence of temptation,
though it be to a seemingly trivial fault, always ask the question, "What
will this sin grow to?"
4. Be very watchful against common and 'acceptable' sins.
It is amazing to think what boldness sinners often derive from this
circumstance, and how hard it is to persuade them of the danger of
common, and generally practiced sins. Even good men are sometimes
carried away by prevailing and epidemic sins. How frequent is the remark,
"If this be sin, I am not singular in the commission of it; there are many
others guilty as well as I!" Common sins lead to uncommon ones. If we follow
others in what is evil in little things, we are preparing ourselves to
follow evil examples in greater matters.
5. Take care not to be misled by 'names'.
Look at things as they are, and do not consider them
merely by the terms employed to express them. "Woe to them," said the
prophet, "who call evil good—and good evil!" This is often done—vice is
called virtue, and virtue vice. Thus gluttony and intoxication are often
called, and unhappily deemed by many—being social and being good company.
Levity, folly, and even obscenity are called—youthful spirit, boyish
cheerfulness, innocent liberty, and good humor. Pride, malice, and revenge
are called—honor, courage, and dignity of mind. Vain pomp, luxury, and
extravagance, are styled—taste, elegance, and refinement.
Under such disguises does sin often conceal itself, and
by such means does it entrap the unwary, and conciliate their admiration. Do
not then be cheated out of virtue by the change of names; lift up the
disguise, and ascertain the real natures of things.
This deceit also discovers itself by its counterpart in
disparaging true piety and goodness by the most deplorable titles.
Tenderness of conscience is called—ridiculous precision, narrowness of mind,
and superstitious fear. Zeal against sin is called moroseness, or sullen
nature. Seriousness of mind is called repulsive melancholy. Sanctity is
called disgusting hypocrisy. Now, as nothing tends more to discredit
goodness than to give it a bad name, and as not a few are led more by names
than the things themselves—I cannot give you a more important piece of
advice, than to admonish you to be upon your guard against this deception—of
covering sin with the garb of virtue—and branding virtue with the name of
sin.
6. Study well the peculiar temptations of the new
situation into which you are introduced , and
anticipate, so far as it can be done, by what snare you are likely to be
tempted and led astray. Look around, and survey your circumstances, that,
ascertaining as far as possible by what door temptation will approach, you
may be the better prepared to meet it. Remember, it is of great consequence
to your future conduct and character, how you act immediately on arriving at
your new situation. I repeat with emphasis—the first steps in the path of
goodness or of sin, are frequently taken very soon after a young man leaves
home!
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