It must be obvious to all people who reflect, that there
are three distinct yet harmonious guides of human conduct—the senses,
reason, and faith. The senses direct us in regard to those objects
which appeal directly to our bodily organs. Reason is our rule in all
matters connected with our varied occupations, tastes, pursuits and duties
in this life. Faith is the ground of action in reference to religion
and the life to come. These are different in their nature and objects—but
they are not incongruous. Reason is not opposed to sense, for it is in part
founded upon it; nor is faith antagonistic to reason—but altogether
consonant with it. The life of sense is concurrent with that of reason, and
the life of reason with that of faith. Sense supplies materials for the work
of reason, and reason guides and controls the exercise of sense. So reason
assists faith, and faith sustains and elevates reason. They are each a step
higher, and a step beyond the other. Reason is an advance upon sense, the
latter being the guide of brutes, the former the chief guide, in matters
pertaining to this world, of men—and faith is an advance upon reason, being
the guide of men viewed as immortal. Of sense and reason it may to a
considerable extent be said, they are of the earth, earthy; while of faith
it may be affirmed it is of heaven, and therefore heavenly. The man is above
the beast by reason—and the Christian is above the man—by faith.
Faith then is our great principle and guide in matters of
religion, and must of necessity be so, seeing religion has to do with
matters of which we can know nothing—but by revelation.
FAITH stands out in the Word of God with a prominence and
boldness that must attract every eye. We could as readily look up to the
cloudless heavens at noon-day and not see the sun, as open the page of the
New Testament and not meet with this omnipresent term. "He who comes to God
must believe that he is, and that he is the rewarder of all those who
diligently seek him." "God so loved the world as to give his only begotten
Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have
everlasting life." "He who believes on him is not condemned—but he
who believes not is condemned already, because he has not believed on
the name of the only begotten Son of God." "He who believes on the
Son has everlasting life, and he who believes not the Son shall not
see life." "By faith we stand." "We walk by faith." "Add to
your faith virtue, and to virtue knowledge." "We are justified by
faith,", "purifying our hearts by faith," "overcoming the world
by faith." But it were to quote a large part of the New Testament to
cite all the passages in which this word occurs.
Faith is, so far as the duty and privilege of man are
concerned, the great central term, around which all our other duties and
privileges revolve, which keeps them in their proper station, and imparts to
them their radiance, life, and vigor. We know nothing of the economy under
which we are placed, and are altogether ignorant of the genius of
Christianity, if we are not intimately acquainted with the nature, the
province, and the importance of this grace of faith. We shall stumble at
every step, and can neither properly perform our duties, nor adequately
enjoy our privileges, if we are ignorant of this. In all systems, whether
theoretical or practical, there is generally some one principle which is the
key to open all the rest. It is so here, and faith is the key of
Christianity! If ignorant of this, we shall blend in confusion the
systems of law and gospel, knowing neither how they differ nor how they are
to be harmonized. Surely then it well becomes us at all times, and
especially in times like these, when the whole system of faith is attacked,
not only by Popery—which is its direct, and we might almost say avowed
antagonist—but by a formalism, which though it refuses to be called by the
name of Popery, is in fact little else than its very soul. It is of immense
importance to a right knowledge of genuine Christianity and its
counterfeits, to look steadily at this one very simple and obvious fact just
stated—the prominence given on the page of Scripture to that one word
"faith," and it is of no less consequence in detecting, on a broad
scale, the errors of many systems of false doctrine, to observe how small a
place this word occupies in them, and how it is shuffled out by their
authors. This glorious term is so characteristic of our holy religion, as we
find it in its own records, that by a figure of speech, the act of
believing is put for the object of faith, and both in Scripture
language and in ordinary discourse, the whole system of Christianity is
called "THE FAITH." "Contend earnestly for the faith once delivered to the
saints."
Let us then very closely observe our situation. We live
and walk by faith. The objects of our religious contemplation are all
matters of mere testimony—we receive them upon authority, by faith. They are
things unseen. Though realities, they are invisibles. In following
them, we abandon the guidance of our senses, and push into regions where
even our reason also, though it accompanies us, cannot lead us. Every step
is, so far as sense is concerned, amid thick darkness and dreadful silence.
Our usual guides have left us; and we adventure forward with only the lamp
of revelation in our hand. Neither God, nor Christ, nor heaven, nor
hell—which are the great objects of faith—is seen or heard. We take all upon
trust.
In some respects Christianity is more entirely a life and
walk of faith than Judaism, which to a considerable extent was a religion of
sense. True it is, the Jew was required in the rites and ceremonies of the
Levitical law to recognize the types and shadows of greater and better
blessings to come, which was itself an act of faith. And there were also the
promises of the Messiah delivered out from age to age by the prophets, the
truth of which could be received, and the reflections which they excited
could be indulged, only by an act of belief. Nor had the godly Israelite any
other way of coming at the knowledge of a future state of happiness beyond
the grave than we possess. So that there was ample room even then for faith.
He had the Word of God containing the records of the past and the
predictions of the future, which to him would become realities only by a
true belief—and through all the varying circumstances of his individual and
national history he was called upon to exercise confidence in God.
Still to him there was much that was palpable and visible
ever appealing to his senses; and therefore to a considerable extent he
walked by sight. Thus before him was at one time the tabernacle of
witness—the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night—there stood the
temple with all its visible rites and ceremonies—its priests and sacrifices,
its altar and heaven-kindled fire, its ark of the covenant, its cherubim of
glory, and its awful shechinah. Signs from heaven were perpetually present
to his senses, and he could speak of what he had seen and heard. These
things were the helps of the church's piety while yet it was in the infancy
and feebleness of its existence, and when its confidence needed such props.
It was a mixed condition of faith and sight which was never intended to be
perpetual—but to be withdrawn when the church, under the dispensation of
Christ and of the Spirit, had arrived at adult age. Some faint traces of
this are even now remaining in the ordinances of baptism and the Lord's
Supper. In these the outward symbols appeal to our senses—but the spiritual
meaning to our minds. With these small exceptions, ours is a system of
unmixed faith. We have the Word of God, and nothing else, to be our guide
through this wilderness to our heavenly Canaan. Mr. Conder's beautiful hymn,
in which he contrasts the Jewish and Christian dispensations, sets this
forth in a very impressive manner.
"O God, who did your will unfold
In wondrous modes to saints of old,
By dream, by oracle, or prophet!
Will You not still Your people hear?
"What though no answering voice is heard;
Your oracles, the written word,
Counsel and guidance still impart,
Responsive to the upright heart.
"What though no more by dreams is shown,
That future things to God are known;
Enough the promises reveal—
Wisdom and love the rest conceal.
"Faith asks no signal from the skies,
To show that prayers accepted rise—
Our priest is in the holy place,
And answers from the throne of grace.
"No need of prophets to enquire—
The sun is risen; the stars retire.
The Comforter is come, and sheds
His holy unction on our heads.
"Lord! with this grace our hearts inspire;
Answer our sacrifice by fire;
And by Your mighty acts declare,
You are the God who hears prayer."
To walk by faith, then, is characteristic of a higher and
more matured state of the church of God; as being the strongest exercise of
confidence in God. Hence, perhaps, we may derive an argument against the
personal and visible reign of Christ, as held by the pre-millenarians. The
New Testament speaks of the Christian life as a life of faith, and that in a
manner which would lead us to conclude that it was to remain such until the
church militant becomes in heaven the church triumphant. But if Christ is to
come and reign visibly, faith ceases, and the church in that case would walk
by sight—and thus there seems a retrogression to Judaism.
Unbelief frets, murmurs, and cavils at this Divine
arrangement—and asks whether it is not dealing hardly with man, that his
eternal destiny should turn on such a hinge—that his probation for
immortality should be passed amid such shadows; that everlasting torment or
misery should hang upon his belief or unbelief—of matters from which his
senses, his usual guides in other matters affecting his interests, are
excluded; so that his weal or woe for everlasting ages should depend upon
faith. And even they who go not so far as to cavil at the arrangement,
sometimes think it strange, and are ready to wish for the testimony of
sense, "O, could we but see God and Christ, and heaven and hell, and thus
know upon the evidence of sense, the truth and reality of these
stupendous objects, instead of believing them by a revelation—would
it not be helpful to our piety, and be a more solid basis of conviction?"
Such is, perhaps, sometimes the aspiration of a feeble and ill-established,
though godly mind.
In giving an answer to this cavil and this complaint, let
us look from religion to the secular matters of this world, and see if there
be not a perfect harmony between the arrangements of Providence with regard
to things unseen and eternal, and the constitution of society with regard to
the things that are seen and temporal. Are not the latter founded and
directed, at least to a very considerable extent, upon the same principle as
the former? What do we know of past history but by faith in human testimony;
or what but by the same medium do we know of any other country but our own?
How much of all the information we possess on every subject of human
knowledge do we not derive from this source? Is not 'belief in testimony' an
instinctive principle of our nature, as evinced by the first buddings of
reason in children, than whom, none more implicitly confide in the
assurances of others, and whose propensity to belief is a credulity which
nothing but experience corrects? Is not the whole system of trade to a
considerable extent founded upon credit; and what is credit but belief in
human testimony? Is not a large part of our daily and ordinary communion
with our fellow-creatures, and our usual course of action, regulated by
faith? Where then is the anomaly, or where the hardship, of our being called
to act in the higher matters of religion upon the self-same principle which
guides us in our lower ones? It might, on the contrary, appear as if our
practice in the lower department of action were only fitting and helping us
to carry out the same principle in the higher one.
Besides, it is impossible it should be otherwise than it
is. The objects of religion are in their very nature invisible, inaudible,
and impalpable. It is their excellence and their glory not to belong to the
objects of sense, nor to find a local habitation within their sphere. None
can see God in his essence—and though we can conceive of the visibility of
Christ, yet as his nature is now, our organ of vision might be too feeble to
bear the blaze of his glory, or with all its exquisite contrivance, too
crudely constructed to take in the stupendous object. Heaven and hell are
the regions of spirits—and can a fleshly eye see minds?
Let it be recollected that we are now in a state of
probation and discipline for eternity, and what so suitable to such a
condition, which necessarily involves something of self-denial, dependence,
and submission to the will of God, as being placed in a state where the
hinge of our trial shall be our simple trust in the Word of God? This was in
part the nature of man's trial in Paradise—there grew the blushing fruit
appealing to his senses, and seemingly inviting his touch and taste—but
there, on the other hand, was the Word of God appealing to his faith,
threatening him with death if he presumed to eat, accompanied, in the tree
of life, with the implied promise of immortality, if he abstained. He had
nothing but the Word of God for either, and his trial was one of faith. Can
we conceive of anything more suitable as a test of character and conduct,
than submission to the will, and trust in the Word of God our Creator, when,
as in this case, both are accredited with sufficient evidence not only to
warrant belief—but to render unbelief inexcusable?
If our probation is to be carried on in the present
world—and in what other world can it be carried on—then must it be in
perfect harmony and keeping with all the arrangements and relations of all
earthly state. The objects of religion and of secular pursuits must not
interfere with each other—they must have no such separate departments or
spheres, as to clash with each other. But how could they be secured in any
other way, and upon any other scheme, than by making the one the object of
belief, and the other the object of sense? By placing the former behind a
veil, where they shall be sufficiently recognized by the eye of faith to
have their proper influence upon all our moral conduct, without being so
clearly seen by the eye of sense as to overpower by their grandeur and
magnificence, our attention to the things of the present world.
Moreover, might we not here bring forward with advantage
the testimony of Christ to prove how little advantage would be gained by any
other system, than that under which we are placed? In the parable of the
rich man and Lazarus, our Lord represents the former as entreating that
Lazarus might be sent as a messenger from the dead to his brethren to
persuade them to repent and escape the torments of hell. To this request
Abraham replies, "They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them—if
they hear not them, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the
dead." Luke 16:29. From this declaration it is plain that our Lord must and
could mean nothing else, than that they who will not take up religion upon a
principle of faith, would not do it upon the testimony of sense.
Let it be supposed that another system had been adopted,
and that any man who is not satisfied with the present constitution of
things should have some palpable or visible manifestation made to his senses
of divine and eternal realities, as far as this could be done; is it certain
he would be more determined and influenced by it than by the testimony of
faith? If this were granted only to him, he would then suspect it a
mere dream, or the vision of a perturbed imagination, or an illusion of the
senses; for how could he suppose that he should be so favored as to be
singled out from the multitude for such a special revelation. If, on the
other hand, the visible manifestation were perpetual and universal, which
all men had in common, and had constantly before them, how soon would they
grow awfully and carelessly familiar with the heavenly vision, and no more
regard it than did the Israelites the pillar of cloud and fire, those
constant and visible tokens of the Divine presence; or the dreadful scenes
of Mount Sinai, when they made a calf and worshiped it, at the base of the
cloud-capped and trembling mountain. Indeed the whole ancient history of the
Jews is an actual demonstration of the fact that a system of religious
teaching which appeals by visible objects to the senses, rather than to
belief through the medium of testimony, has no great advantage for moral
efficiency, and that to walk by sight is no more likely to ensure a due
regard to the will of God, than walking by faith.
A reflecting and candid mind will therefore perceive that
nothing can be more suitable either to man's nature or condition as a test
of character, a rule of conduct, and a ground of obedience, than a
revelation of the divine will addressed to his belief—and sufficiently
accredited to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it is an expression of
the will of God.
Here, then, is our condition, and it is an impressive and
important one. God, in the exuberance of his mercy, has determined upon the
salvation of our lost and ruined world. In the exercise of infallible and
unrestrained sovereignty, and for reasons of which he gives no account to
any one, he has passed by fallen angels, who are left to suffer the just
punishment of their sins—and has resolved upon the redemption of fallen man,
by the incarnation and vicarious death of his only begotten, well-beloved
Son. All that stands connected with the contrivance, the revelation, and
execution of the stupendous scheme of mercy, from the beginning of time, is
committed to imperishable record in the Scriptures of the Old and New
Testaments. These are the revelations of his work of mercy, and of what he
requires of us in order to our availing ourselves of the provisions of his
grace, and to our being saved with an eternal salvation. We live, therefore,
not by sight—but by faith in the book of God—we do not, cannot, see the
objects of our pious regard—but they are here set forth upon the testimony
of God himself; and our personal religion, our whole religion, in
fact, consists in our believing this book, and acting accordingly.
That mysterious, wonderful, imperishable, volume, written
by holy men of old as they were moved and guided by the Holy Spirit,
contains all we know or can know, for certain, about God, Christ,
immortality, heaven, or hell. There it stands apart and
alone, testifying of these high matters to the children of men, and calling
upon them so to believe its facts, doctrines, promises, precepts, and
threatenings—as under the power of this faith, through the Divine Spirit who
wrote the volume and gives the disposition cordially to receive it, as to
fashion their whole inner man and outer self by its contents.
But it is necessary that we now consider the nature of
that principle in the exercise of which this divine book is received. It
might have been supposed that so simple a subject as faith would have
been sufficiently understood to need no explanation; and that a
consentaneousness of opinion would have left no room for controversy—but it
is not so. Even this has been beclouded and made the matter of disputation.
The sacred writers rarely descend to definitions—their
language is generally used, with occasional variations, in the sense
attached to their terminology in ordinary discourse; and it is sufficiently
accurate to be intelligible, without being elaborately precise. We meet
however with one, and but one definition, if indeed it may be so called, of
faith. This occurs in the opening of the eleventh chapter of the epistle to
the Hebrews. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the
evidence of things not seen." We may just stop to remark that it is
evident from the context, that the apostle is here defining faith, not as
the principle of the sinner's justification—but in its most comprehensive
sense, as embracing the whole revealed will of God on all topics; and as
that principle by which the saint lives, and which is called into exercise
by all the ever-varying circumstances in which he is placed. That it is
employed in this general and comprehensive sense in the passage before us,
and not in its specific application to the great business of justification,
is evident from the instances of its operation set forth by the apostle.
It will however be found that this, its generic meaning,
will apply also to all its specific varieties—and that the faith which
justifies the sinner, and that which sanctifies the believer—is
identical in its nature, though various in its relations, and somewhat
diverse in its operations. The word rendered substance in the first
clause of this definition occurs but five times in the New Testament. In
three of which it is translated confidence. 2 Cor. 9:4; 11:17; Heb.
3:14. And in the opinion of the most eminent critics, this is the meaning of
the word in the apostle's definition. Some consider him as intending to
convey the idea of such an exercise of mind towards "the things hoped for,"
as gives a kind of present exsistence of them. That he designed to say,
faith makes us feel their reality, and to act under their influence, as if
we saw them to be true; but does not confidence accomplish this? A
man fully confident, actuated by a plenary persuasion, does seem to
have a sense of present reality and existence. So that nothing appears to
come nearer to the apostle's meaning, than the word confidence. So
understood, what then does he say, "Faith is the confident expectation of
the things which are hoped for." The trite and essential nature of faith
therefore, in all its applications and uses, whether general, as in this
chapter, or special, in reference to Christ and the justification of the
soul, is "confidence."
In the next clause he says, "Faith is the evidence
of things not seen." This word occurs but in one other place in the New
Testament, and that is 2 Timothy 3:16, where it is rendered "reproof," but
without any necessity, as the word is profitable for conviction.
The verb which answers to the noun is commonly translated, to convince,
as in John 8:9; Acts 18:28; 1 Cor. 14:24; and other places. Conviction
therefore seems to be the idea the apostle intended to convey here. Now it
must strike every reader that in strict propriety faith cannot of itself be
the proof of the things believed. A man's faith in any testimony, however
strong his belief may be, cannot be the evidence that the testimony is true.
The word "evidence," then, must be here used to mean that conviction which
is produced by evidence—the cause being put for the effect. Inverting the
order of the two expressions, and placing them in their logical sequence,
and paraphrasing the language, the apostle says, "Faith is the conviction
of the truth of those promises of unseen blessings which God has made, and a
confident expectation of them, on the ground of this conviction of their
truth." What then does this amount to—but that faith is a real
confidence in God? It is confidence in God—confidence that something
reported to us in his Word is true—confidence in his veracity that he
will perform what he has said—confidence in his power that he can
perform it. This necessarily involves the idea of expectation, since
it is absolutely impossible to confide in his truthfulness and ability to
perform something he has said, without expecting it. Now if this be true
faith, whether general or saving, it must ultimately relate to God himself
personally. It has two objects—one proximate, which is the Word; the other
remote, which is God himself—or to speak perhaps more correctly, God is the
object of our confidence, and the Word is the medium of it.
From hence it appears evident also that faith must
include in it something more than a mere intellectual assent. It is not a
report in which we have no interest that we believe; but it is a testimony
to us of good things, which must suppose, in the very act of believing them,
some exercise of both the will and the heart. If a fellow-creature on whom I
an dependent make me a promise, or denounces against me a threatening—and
God's testimony comes to us in this shape—I voluntarily and fully place my
confidence in him for the fulfillment of his word, that is, if I believe him
able and truthful to do as he has said—and that confidence in him
personally, is my faith in him, and not merely my intellectual
persuasion that he has spoken or written the promise. The proximate object
of faith I know, as I have already said, is the Scripture, which is God's
testimony; but its ultimate object is God himself, who bears the
testimony—so that, while by my understanding I believe in the truth of the
testimony as God's, I at the same time with my will and heart confide in God
himself for the fulfillment of the testimony.
It is not merely the truth of the testimony that I
believe, or in other words that the thing is spoken by God—but the truth
in the testimony, or belief in that very thing which is there
promised. A man writes me a letter promising me many good things; I know his
handwriting—and I believe it to be his signature—so far, I believe with my
understanding in the truth of the letter; but at the same time I know his
wealth and veracity, and that he will perform all he has said—here is my
confidence or faith in him, and that confidence implies an exercise of my
will and heart.
To exclude the will from faith is to deprive it of all
moral character whatever—mere intellectual apprehension can have no moral
quality, even though the object of it be a religious one. Let faith be once
reduced to a mere intellectual notion, a simple perception of evidence, a
passive surrender of the understanding to the power of proof, and we at once
destroy the responsibility of man for his belief; for who is answerable for
that in which neither the will nor the heart has any share? And if there be
no moral excellence in faith—and there can be none, if it is a purely
intellectual exercise—so neither can there be any exercise of the will, and
of course no criminality in unbelief, this being the opposite of faith. We
return again then to our view of faith—that it is in all cases a
practical confidence in God.
It needs scarcely be remarked, that faith is confined to
no one dispensation of grace; it was called for in this general view of it
as truly under the Jewish as under the Christian dispensation, and indeed
the triumphs of it displayed in the eleventh chapter of the Hebrews, are all
collected from the patriarchal ages and the times of the Levitical economy.
Moreover Abraham is the father of the faithful, and so called, not because
he was the first—but the most eminent believer. Yet it can scarcely fail to
strike an attentive reader of the Old Testament, how little is said about
faith in that portion of Holy Scripture. Not that the thing itself is not
there—but it is expressed by another term—the trust of the Old
Testament is the faith of the New. Faith is confidence, and so is trust.
This furnishes another proof, that faith is not a merely intellectual act.
Faith has relation to all the revealed will of
God, as the different parts of it come successively under our attention.
These are very various, some are in the form of promise—others of
invitation—others of precept—and others again, of threatening. The law is as
much a part of God's revealed will as the gospel, and must as truly be
believed. Hell is as certainly threatened to the impenitent sinner, as
heaven is promised to the penitent believer—and therefore he who trembles
and obeys, is as truly living in the exercise of faith, as he who hopes and
rejoices. In some of the instances of faith mentioned in the eleventh
chapter of the Hebrews, we see its operation in reference to a threatening,
as in the case of Noah and Rahab. It is true that even in these cases there
was a promise to be hoped for, as well as a threatening to be dreaded. But
both were believed. If this part of the object of faith is not comprehended
among the confident expectations of things hoped for, it is among the full
persuasion of things not seen. Every effort after holiness, every labor
after mortification of sin, every resistance of temptation, carried on under
the persuasion that God has commanded these things—is founded on the belief
of God's testimony, and therefore implies an act of belief.
Such a state of mind cannot be referred to any lower
source than a divine and heavenly one—faith is, in every case, the work of
the Holy Spirit. Though this is clear from many parts of the Word of God, as
well as deducible from the general principle that all spiritual good is from
God, it is sometimes sustained by two passages of Scripture, which have no
reference to it. The first is what the apostle says in the second chapter of
the Ephesians and the eighth verse, "For by grace are you saved through
faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God." By the
gift, we are not to understand faith—but salvation; as is evident from the
next words, "Not of works, lest any man should boast." The subject of this
ninth verse is evidently the same as that of the eighth, and refers to the
gift spoken of, whether it be salvation or faith—that gift is not of
yourselves. Now if the gift means faith, the apostle is made to say, faith
is not of works—a truism which he could be hardly expected to employ.
Moreover, every scholar knows that grammar forbids us to interpret the
apostle's meaning to be, that our act of believing, is the gift of God,
since the pronoun "that," and the noun faith, are in different
genders, the former being neuter, and the latter feminine.
The other passage misquoted, to prove the divine origin
of faith, is this, "Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our
faith." Heb. 12:2. The word "our," is in italics, to show it is not
in the original; and the word "author," signifies leader; and viewed
in connection with the context, it means that Jesus was our example. He in
his own life began and ended the life of holy obedience to the will of God.
He, "for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross and despised the
shame." He who introduced the Christian religion, is the great pattern in
his own conduct of the religion which he taught. His life, as to his
humanity, was a life of faith and holy obedience. He came not to do his own
will—but the will of him who sent him. In doing and suffering, he acted as
the Father's servant. Rich and glorious were the promises which were made
him of ample rewards. These he fully and constantly believed. No unbelief
ever turned him aside from the path of obedience or endurance. For
the joy that was set before him, he endured even the ignominious cross, and
thus became in his own example the leader and perfecter of that faith, which
we, his followers, are required to imitate. Who can help exclaiming—
"Such was your truth, and such your zeal,
Such deference to your Father's will,
Such love and meekness, so divine,
I would transcribe and make them mine.
"O be my pattern—make me bear
More of your gracious image here—
Then God, the Judge, shall own my name
Among the followers of the Lamb."
Still there are not lacking proofs abundant and
convincing, that faith is the work of the Spirit in the soul of man. There
can be no true belief, without regeneration. The connection of these two is
set forth by the apostle, when he says, "Yet to all who received him, to
those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of
God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a
husband's will, but born of God." John 1:12, 13. Hence the need of our
constant prayer to God, in the language of the disciples, "Lord, increase
our faith;" and of the petition of the father, who applied for the recovery
of his child, "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief."
It will be seen from what has been stated, that the
objects of faith are, all the various matters which are contained in the
whole Word of God—what God has revealed, and all that God has
revealed—the smaller as well as the greater things of the Bible—since, if
God has given his testimony, his truth is equally involved in one as well as
in the other. Still, this state of mind is more conversant, of course, with
those which are more important both to God and to us. His being, attributes,
and works—his Providence—his law—the person and work of his Son—the
personality, offices, and work of the Holy Spirit—the promise of life to the
penitent believer, and the threatening of death to the impenitent sinner—the
day of judgment, and the resurrection of the dead. These are the matters,
about which the true belief of the Christian mind is more habitually and
powerfully exercised, according to the circumstances in which we are placed,
and the special truth which is at the time before the mind.
Two great principles must now be mentioned, and which
are, first—that as faith is confidence in God for something he has said,
where there is no testimony there can be no faith—where God has said
nothing, nothing can be believed. Faith cannot take a step—but on the ground
of revelation. In many cases there may be reasonable ground for hope—but in
the absence of testimony there can be no persuasion. The conversion of
particular people in whom we feel a deep interest—the recovery of friends
dangerously ill—the success of particular efforts for the spread of
religion—the prosperity of our laudable and promising undertakings—cannot be
matter of faith in the full meaning of the term, because we have no
testimony of God, concerning them in particular. People are sometimes said
to have strong faith because they are very confident in these matters; while
others who have not the same confidence are reproached as very weak in
faith. In this case the wrong words are employed, for all that can be truly
said of these two classes of people is, that the one is more hopeful than
the other; and the other more timid and fearful.
Nor will it do to say that the mind is so strongly
impressed with the certainty of the thing desired, that it may be received
itself as a testimony of God. Impressions of this kind are dangerous things
to trust—if real, they would be revelations, and would still require
something else to accredit them. Multitudes have had, as they supposed,
these impressions, and also the faith which rests upon them, who have lived
to see that the whole was delusion—and that they had substituted 'their
wishes' for the testimony of God. The life of a Christian is a life
regulated by God's Word, understood and believed—and not a life guided by
inward impressions.
Another great principle is—that as faith is a practical
belief of God's testimony, where there is no practice there is no faith.
There is just as much faith as there is practice—and no more. All the truths
of Scripture are in their own nature practical truths; that is,
truths leading the mind which receives them, into a state of activity. They
are not mere scientific principles which have accomplished their end, when
upon the ground of their own evidence, they have been admitted as mere
knowledge into the intellect. They are all of themselves, and according to
their own nature, adapted as well as intended to move the will and the
affections, and to lead to appropriate actions. And they are of a kind to
move the mind and heart very powerfully. If the testimony comes in the form
of an invitation, it will infallibly, if believed, lead us to accept
it—if of a promise, to rejoice in it—if of a precept, to obey
it—and if of a threatening, to tremble at it. And consequently if these
effects do not follow—there is no belief. This shows the delusion which,
many careless people are living under, who when called upon to believe in
Christ, reply that they already do believe, while it is evident they are
lacking in repentance, peace, and holiness. It is obviously their mistake,
for if they really believed the testimony of God concerning his law, sin,
pardon, heaven, and hell—they would certainly repent, be happy, and holy.
Similar to this is the error of many inquirers after
salvation, who when called upon to relieve their minds of the burden of
guilt, and rejoice by faith, reply, that they do believe—but cannot
rejoice—this again, in the nature of things, is impossible; unless indeed
there be a physical and morbid defect in their constitution, for the real
belief of glad tidings concerning ourselves must produce gladness. It is of
immense importance to attend to this connection between real belief—and
the effects which follow. No truth can be truly assented to which
does not produce its own nature, or appropriate effects, in the mind that
cordially receives it. Let there be only the true and firm belief, and these
effects must by a moral necessity follow. Is it conceivable that a man can
truly believe that the house is on fire, and not even get up and flee,
unless he has lost the use of his limbs by a stroke of paralysis—or can any
man really believe that a pardon is granted him when under sentence of
death, and yet not rejoice?
This shows where the great defect lies, and where the
soul must begin in all religious matters. The apostle says, "Add to
your faith, virtue," and all the other graces. As faith is weak, everything
else will be weak; and as faith is strong, everything else will be strong.
Faith is to our whole religion what the mainspring is to the
watch—regulating all its movements, and keeping all in good order and
action. This will lead us to see not only how our personal religion is to be
improved, sustained, and kept in vigorous action, which is by strengthening
our faith; but equally how our faith itself is to be strengthened. This is a
state of mind which admits of various degrees, from the most feeble,
hesitating, and fluctuating expectation—up to the most full, entire, and
confident persuasion.
Hence the Scriptures speak of weak faith,
strong faith, and the full assurance of faith. We can therefore
easily perceive how this grace of faith is to be strengthened; and that is,
not by any direct and abstract determinations of the will; not only by labor
with ourselves, apart from the contemplation of appropriate objects; nor
merely by prayer, though this of course is to be sincerely and fervently
offered; but by attentively and devoutly considering the grounds of belief.
How do we strengthen our confidence in a fellow-creature? Not merely by
saying with ever such force of determination, "I will trust him." Our
doubts and fears will never yield to such a resolution—but will be far too
strong for our implicit trust, if at the same time we do not take into
consideration his actual trustworthiness. He has promised perhaps to become
our friend, and to help us out of financial difficulties which press heavily
upon us. In this case, two things are requisite to enable us to confide in
him—his veracity and his ability. And to strengthen our confidence, we say
to ourselves, "I know he is able to help me, for he is a man of great
wealth—and at the same time he is a man of unimpeachable veracity. He is a
most veritable man." In this way, we grow in faith. We read over and over
his letter, and at each perusal feel our confidence strengthened.
This is natural, and it is intelligible; and it is
precisely thus our confidence in God is to be strengthened. We are to read
over, and over, and over again, his blessed Word, his "exceeding great and
precious promises," and with the wondrous words before us, we are to
meditate upon the attributes of God—his love—his power—his veracity—his
unchangeableness—and as we read, we are to say, "Yes, here is his Word—I
cannot mistake; it is no vision of the imagination; no illusion of the
senses; no mere deduction of my reason; no offspring of my wishes; it is
written in terms too plain to be misunderstood, and he cannot be unfaithful.
The mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed—but he cannot alter the
thing that has gone out of his lips."
'His every word of grace is strong,
As that which built the skies;
The voice that rolls the stars along,
Speaks all the promises.'
This is plain, palpable, obvious. Our doubts are many;
our fears are strong; our faith is feeble, just because we are not more
conversant with our Bibles, and with our God. It is astonishing how a single
text will sometimes invigorate and strengthen the confidence of the mind
that contemplates it.
By this time you will perceive what a noble principle is
that of which we are now treating. Faith is eminently rational—far
above reason—but harmonious with it. Yes, it is itself the highest reason,
its loftiest exercise. It is sustained by all the evidence that accredits
the object on which it is fixed, and this is to a greater amount than was
ever accumulated on any other subject. The believer can appeal not only to
the stream of current traditions flowing along in the channel of authentic
ecclesiastical history, from the very time of Christ and his apostles; he
can not only speak of the uninterrupted belief of the church through
eighteen centuries; he can not only call up the testimonies of fathers,
martyrs, and reformers, to corroborate his own opinion; he can not only tell
of nations, both learned and crude, which have received the same truths
which support, and cheer, and sanctify, and save him; but he can go down
deeper still for the foundations on which his faith rests, and can survey
with admiration and delight the basis of evidence on which they, as well as
himself, have rested their confidence. Instead of repudiating his reason by
believing, he feels that he should be repudiating it if he did not believe.
To him the man who rejects Christianity, notwithstanding the evidence by
which it is sustained, is the most astounding instance of irrationality in
the world; while he who believes the gospel, is the most striking instance
of the purest reason.
Nor can we hesitate to pronounce faith a noble
principle. Noble it must be if it is rational, and rational it is in the
highest degree. It has been the delight of infidels and philosophers to
represent the principle of religious belief as a low and degrading
superstition, as the slavery of the human intellect, and as a chain upon
man's eagle understanding, which prevents his adventurous flight into the
regions of speculation. Mistaken men! How ignorant are they both of its
nature and their own! How thoroughly deluded by their own pride and vain
conceits! In addition to what has been said about the rationality of
faith—and which is not only sufficient to protect it from scorn and
contempt—but to lift it to the highest honor, even as an exercise of the
understanding—consider the truths with which it is conversant, and the
objects on which it fixes its piercing, unblenching, and steady eye.
Philosophy is conversant only with the lower truths—faith with the higher;
philosophy has to do with matter and the rational mind—faith with the
immortal soul; philosophy is sense, ministering to reason—faith is reason
ministering to religion; philosophy searches the works of creation—faith has
to do with the Creator himself; philosophy has no necessary connection with
moral influence—faith is the root of all virtue; philosophy yields no motive
to submission, and opens no source of consolation amid the ills of
life—faith supplies the balm of consolation and opens the springs of comfort
for every sufferer; philosophy is of the earth, earthly—faith relates to the
Divine and heavenly; philosophy is wholly engaged about things seen and
temporal—faith, soaring on angel-wing above the low and narrow horizon of
time and sense, observes the vast future, and looks at things unseen and
eternal.
Is faith then a subject for philosophy to sneer at? Talk
of her eagle-wing and eye—compared with faith, philosophy is but as the
gnat whirling round the dim candle in a little dark room, to the
eagle, soaring in mid-heaven, to the sun in his zenith. Faith enters the
region which to mere reason is incapable, and explores subjects which never
approach the horizon of unaided intellect. The existence, nature, and
attributes—of one supreme, eternal, Self-existence—who is the cause of all
things, himself uncaused—the creation of the material universe—the history
of our species, at once their original and their fallen condition—the origin
and entrance of moral evil to our globe—the law and nature of moral
excellence, together with the nature and evil of sin—the doctrine of an
all-comprehending, wise, and minute Providence—the immortality of the
soul—the scheme of mediation by Jesus Christ for man's salvation—the way of
pardon—the resurrection of the body, and eternal life—the eternal glories of
heaven, and the endless torments of the bottomless pit—these, these, are the
matters and the objects of faith; these, the Alpine regions of thought, amid
which it dwells, and which faith daily contemplates.
Faith is in habitual communion with the first truth, and
the chief good. It leaves the region of sense, and goes where sense cannot
follow it, and where even reason cannot go alone, and can only follow with
timorous, hesitating step. How does faith ennoble all who possess it,
raising them into fellowship, not only with prophets and apostles, martyrs
and reformers—but with God the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ!
Surely, surely, this is not a state of mind deserving the sneer of
philosophic pride, or of literary contempt; when it raises the Christian
peasant, or the converted savage, or the heaven-taught child—to an elevation
which leaves the man of mere reason all but infinitely beneath him.
And then how peaceful and tranquil a state of mind
is that of faith. Well might the apostle speak of "peace and joy in
believing." Why, believing in any case, when the objects of it are gladsome,
and the evidence of their reality is conclusive, is a pleasant state of
mind. What then must the joy of faith be, where the matter believed is so
momentous to us, as well as so magnificent in itself; and where the evidence
is so decisive. It is said that "wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness and
all her paths are peace." Now it is in these paths which the believer always
walks, amid the beautiful scenery that opens, and the lovely flowers that
grow on every hand. To have a volume always in our hand, which is full of
the most glorious doctrines, the most gracious invitations, the most
precious promises, the most salutary counsels, the wisest maxims, and the
most faithful warnings, and all addressed to us—never to open the Book but
to meet some kind seasonable word addressing us; never to take a step but to
see some flower of mercy growing in our path, or to hear some note of love
sounding in our ears—never to look at one object but it puts on a smile,
even upon grief, as if the beams of a reconciled God, our Father in heaven,
had fallen upon it, and were reflected from it—and all this is the blessed
privilege of faith—is not this peace, tranquility, happiness?
"Tis a broad land of wealth unknown,
Where springs of life arise;
Seeds of immortal bliss are sown,
And hidden glory lies."
And here it is the believer dwells, to enrich himself
with this wealth; to drink of these springs; to gather the fruit which grows
from these seeds; and to bring out and appropriate this concealed glory.
1. How important is it rightly to understand this great
first principle of the Divine life in the soul of man, which is set forth as
the subject of this treatise. First principles, in all matters, must be well
understood, or all that follows will be defective or erroneous. It is
especially so in religion, which many do not see. Instead of an intelligent
believing, giving rise to a right doing; there is a blind wrong doing from
beginning to end—a mere mechanical, or at best, imitative doing of
something, they scarcely know what, or why. True religion is a conformity of
conduct to the written Word of God, and it is of necessity that we must
first understand the meaning, and then believe the truth, of that Word. This
is true religion—a character formed, a line of conduct pursued, in
full confidence of the truth of this document, as the rule of our actions.
When the attention is a little roused to a consideration
of this momentous concern, many have their thoughts almost entirely engaged
with the question, "What must I DO?" But is there not another and a previous
question to be asked, "What must I BELIEVE?" True religion is equally
unsound whether it is all creed or no creed. It begins in right believing
and goes on to right doing—and right believing must, through the whole of
the Christian life, be the guide of right doing. Faith is the root, out of
which grows the whole tree of our godliness—its trunk, its branches, its
leaves, and its fruit. It is faith which, striking its fibers into the Word
of God as its proper soil, draws up the moisture which nourishes it, and
which has first come down from heaven. It is only as we understand this,
that we can begin or continue in a course of true, practical, and
experimental religion.
2. If this be true, religion has, of course, much that is
objective in its nature; by which I mean, that there is much outside of
man's own mind with which it is conversant, and upon which it lives. If it
be a process of faith, this must of necessity be the case, inasmuch as the
objects of faith are something without ourselves. We must not be wholly, or
primarily taken up with subjective religion—that is with our own hearts. The
mind is dark as to the subjects of religious truth, and we see nothing, and
can see nothing in a true point of view, until we see it in the light of
Divine truth. Hence the expression, "The entrance of your word gives light
unto the simple." Hence also the frequent prayers of the apostle in his
letters to the churches, that the spirit of wisdom and revelation might be
given to them; and his exhortation to "let the word of Christ dwell in them
in all wisdom;" and "as new-born babes, to desire the sincere milk of the
word, that they might grow thereby."
There is a great mistake in many who are almost wholly
taken up with subjective religion, to the neglect of that which is
objective. Instead of reading and studying God's Word to gain right ideas,
and to receive the truth in the exercise of an intelligent belief, as
sources of right feeling, rules of conduct, and principles of action—they
are ever busy with their own thoughts, emotions, and affections, trying to
work up their feelings to terror, joy, or grief—always wandering in a region
of imagination, either exalted to rapture, or depressed to despondency—and
without ceasing, microscopically examining the states of their own feeling,
while all this while they have very little to do with the Divine Word. Their
whole religion is rather imagination than faith; a kind of dreamy state of
sickly or sentimental devotion. All which is as rational as a man's lighting
his house with a dim candle while he keeps the shutters closed and excludes
the light of the sun, and contenting himself with looking at the furniture
of his own room, instead of looking through the windows to see the glorious
landscape which spreads out before and around his habitation.
There is another mistake which a higher class of
religious professors are in our day fast falling into, I mean the exercise
and cultivation of the spiritual life, apart from the Word of God. We hear
and read a great deal of man's inner life; of the necessity and duty of his
going down into the depths of his own consciousness; of his walking by the
light of his own intuitions; of his educing from his own nature principles
of action; and calling forth susceptibilities to and sympathies with the
true, the good, and the fair, which are hidden there, and only need to be
quickened into action by self-reflection. If by all this, be meant nothing
more than that self-communion, self-examination, and self-exhortation, by
the Word of God, which in that Word is every where enjoined—it is all very
good, and cannot be too earnestly enjoined. But if as is but too evident, it
signifies a species of self-cultivation, apart from the Word and the
exercises of an objective faith—an inward life, carried on, if not begun, by
reason, without revelation—a spiritualism which has no necessary connection
with the Scriptures, and can be maintained without them—we say it is a kind
of religion of which the Bible knows nothing—and is an approach to the
pietism of a bygone age, which made way for Rationalism in Germany, and will
make way for it here too, if it extensively prevails. Let the notion once be
prevalent that piety towards God is something apart from, or in addition to,
an intelligent belief in the written Word—a subjective matter which may be
carried on by a man's retiring into himself, and communing with his own
consciousness, and finding there all he needs, if not for his pardon, yet
for his spiritual life—and we are then prepared to merge all religious
truth, all doctrinal theology, in the vortex of an unscriptural,
unsanctified, and unsubstantial spiritualism—in other words, the inspired,
infallible, and exclusive rule of religious faith, feeling, and action—is
substituted by a mysticism, which has no rule, no support, and no object—but
itself.
These two, the objective and the subjective, must ever go
together in true religion. The objective, or the grand truths of revelation
apprehended and believed, are of little use unless they produce the
subjective—that is, repentance, faith, love, and holiness—while on the other
hand the subjective cannot be of a right kind unless it be produced by the
objective. In other words, that is not right faith which does not lead to
practice; and that is not a right practice which does not spring from faith.
There must be the Bible outside of us—contemplated and believed; and the
Bible inside of us, in all its principles of holy feeling, volition, and
action. As external objects viewed by the organ of vision, paint their own
images on the retina of the eye, so the truths of revelation, when looked at
by the eye of faith, delineate them on the retina of the soul. And as in the
former case, there could be no knowledge without looking at the objects, so
neither can there be in the latter.