PRACTICAL PIETY by Hannah More
CHRISTIANITY A PRACTICAL PRINCIPLE
If God be the author of our spiritual life, the root from which we derive
the vital principle, with daily supplies to maintain this vitality, then the
best evidence we can give that we have received something of this principle,
is an unreserved dedication of ourselves to the actual promotion of his
glory.
No man ought to flatter himself that he is in the favor of God whose life is
not consecrated to the service of God. Will it not be the only unequivocal
proof of such a consecration, that he be more zealous of good works than
those who, disallowing the principle on which he performs them, do not even
pretend to be actuated by any such motive?
The finest theory never yet carried any man to heaven. A religion of notions
which occupies the mind without filling the heart, may obstruct, but cannot
advance the salvation of men. If these notions are false they are most
pernicious; if true and not operative, they aggravate guilt; if unimportant,
though not unjust, they occupy the place which belongs to nobler objects,
and sink the mind below its proper level; substituting the things which only
ought not to be left undone in the place of those which ought to be done;
and causing the grand essentials not to be done at all.
Such a religion is not that which Christ came to teach mankind. All the
doctrines of the Gospel are practical principles. The word of God was not
written, the Son of God was not incarnate, the Spirit of God was not given,
only that Christians might obtain right views and possess just notions.
Religion is something more than mere correctness of intellect, justness of
conception, and exactness of judgment. It is a life-giving principle. It
must be infused into the habit as well as govern in the understanding; it
must regulate the will as well as direct the creed. It must not only cast
the opinions into a right frame, but the heart into a new mold. It is a
transforming as well as a penetrating principle. It changes the tastes,
gives activity to the inclinations, and, together with a new heart, produces
a new life.
Christianity enjoins the same temper, the same spirit, the same
dispositions, on all its real professors. The act, the performance, must
depend on circumstances which do not depend on us. The power of doing good
is withheld from many, from whom, however, the reward will not be withheld.
If the external act constituted the whole value of Christian virtue, then
must the Author of all good be himself the Author of injustice, by putting
it out of the power of multitudes to fulfill his own commands.
In principles, in tempers, in fervent desires, in holy endeavors, consists
the very essence of Christian duty. Nor must we fondly attach ourselves to
the practice of some particular virtue, or value ourselves exclusively on
some favorite quality; nor must we wrap ourselves up in the performance of
some individual actions, as if they formed the sum of Christian duty. But we
must embrace the whole law of God in all its aspects, bearings, and
relations. We must bring no fancies, no partialities, no prejudices, no
exclusive choice or rejection into our religion, but take it as we find it,
and obey it as we receive it, as it is exhibited in the Bible, without
addition, curtailment, or adulteration.
Nor must we pronounce on a character by a single action really bad, or
apparently good: if so, Peter's denial would render him the object of our
execration, while we would have judged favorably of the prudent economy of
Judas. The catastrophe of the latter who does not know? while the other
became a glorious martyr to that Master whom, in a moment of infirmity, he
had denied.
A piety altogether spiritual, disconnected with all outward circumstances --
a religion of pure meditation and abstracted devotion, was not made for so
compound, so imperfect a creature as man. There have, indeed, been a few
sublime spirits, not "touched, but rapt," who, totally cut off from the
world, seem almost to have literally soared above this earthly region; who
almost appear to have stolen the fire of the seraphim, and to have had no
business on earth but to keep alive the celestial flame.
They would, however, have approximated more nearly to the example of their
Divine Master, the great standard and only perfect model, had they combined
a more diligent discharge of the active duties and beneficences of life with
their high devotional attainments. But while we are in little danger of
imitating, let us not too harshly censure the pious error of these
sublimated spirits. Their number is small. Their example is not catching.
Their ethereal fire is not likely, by spreading, to inflame the world. The
world will take due care not to come in contact with it, while its distant
light and warmth may cast, accidentally, a useful ray on the cold-hearted
and the worldly.
But from this small number of refined but inoperative beings we do not
intend to draw our notions of practical piety. God did not make a religion
for these few exceptions to the general state of the world, but for the
world at large; for beings active, busy, restless; whose activity he, by his
Word, diverts into its proper channels; whose busy spirit is there directed
to the common good; whose restlessness, indicating the unsatisfactoriness of
all they find on earth, he points to a higher destination.
Were total seclusion and abstraction designed to have been the general state
of the world, God would have given men other laws, other rules, other
faculties, and other employments. There is a class of visionary but pious
writers who seem to shoot as far beyond the mark as mere naturalists fall
short of it. Men of low views and gross minds may be said to be wise below
what is written, while those of too subtle refinement are wise above it. The
one grovel in the dust from the inertness of their intellectual faculties;
while the others are lost in the clouds by stretching themselves beyond
their appointed limits. The one build spiritual castles in the air instead
of erecting them on the holy ground of Scripture; the other lay their
foundation in the sand instead of resting it on the Rock of ages. Thus the
superstructure of both is equally unsound.
God is the fountain from which all the streams of goodness flow; the center
from which all the rays of blessedness diverge. All our actions are only
good as they have a reference to him; the streams must revert back to their
fountain, the rays must converge again to their center. If love of God be
the governing principle, this powerful spring will actuate all the movements
of the rational machine. The essence of religion does not so much consist in
actions as affections. Though right actions, therefore, as from an excess of
courtesy they are commonly termed, may be performed where there are no right
affections; yet are they a mere carcass, utterly destitute of the soul, and
therefore, of the substance of virtue.
But neither can right affections substantially and truly subsist without
producing right actions; for never let it be forgotten that a pious
inclination which has not life and vigor sufficient to ripen into act when
the occasion presents itself, and a right action which does not grow out of
a sound principle, will neither of them have any place in the account of
real goodness. A good inclination will be contrary to sin, but a mere
inclination will not subdue sin.
The love of God, as it is the source of every right action and feeling, so
is it the only principle which necessarily involves the love of our
fellow-creatures. As man, we do not love man. There is a love of partiality,
but not of benevolence; of sensibility, but not of philanthropy; of friends
and favorites, of parties and societies, but not of man collectively. It is
true we may, and do, without this principle, relieve his distresses, but we
do not bear with his faults. We may promote his fortune, but we do not
forgive his offences; above all, we are not anxious for his immortal
interests. We could not see him lack without pain, but we can see him sin
without emotion. We cannot hear of a beggar perishing at our door without
horror; but we can without concern witness an acquaintance dying without
repentance.
Is it not strange that we must participate something of the Divine nature
before we can really love the human? It seems, indeed, to be an
insensibility to sin, rather than lack of benevolence to mankind, that makes
us naturally pity their temporal, and be careless of their spiritual needs;
but does not this very insensibility proceed from the lack of love to God?
As it is the habitual frame and predominating disposition which are the true
measure of virtue, incidental good actions are no certain criterion of the
state of the heart; for who is there who does not occasionally do them?
Having made some progress in attaining this disposition, we must not sit
down satisfied with propensities and inclinations to virtuous actions while
we rest short of their actual exercise. If the principle be that of sound
Christianity, it will never be inert. While we shall never do good with any
great effect until we labor to be conformed in some measure to the image of
God, we shall best evince our having obtained something of that conformity
by a course of steady and active obedience to God.
Every individual should bear in mind that he is sent into this world to act
a part in it. And though one may have a more splendid, and another a more
obscure part assigned him, yet the actor of each is equally, is awfully
accountable. Though God is not a hard, he is an exact Master. His service,
though not a severe, is a reasonable service. He accurately proportions his
requisitions to his gifts. If he does not expect that one talent should be
as productive as five, yet to even a single talent a proportional
responsibility is annexed. He who has said, "Give me your heart," will not
be satisfied with less; he will not accept the praying lips, nor the mere
hand of charity as substitutes.
A real Christian will be more just, sober, and charitable than other men,
though he will not rest for salvation on his justice, sobriety, or charity.
He will perform the duties they enjoin in the spirit of Christianity, as
instances of devout obedience, as evidences of a heart devoted to God. All
virtues, it cannot be too often repeated, are sanctified or unhallowed
according to the principle which dictates them, and will be accepted or
rejected accordingly. This principle kept in due exercise becomes a habit,
and every act strengthens the inclination, adding vigor to the principle and
pleasure to the performance.
We cannot be said to be real Christians until Christianity becomes our
animating motive, our predominating principle and pursuit, as much as
worldly things are the predominating motive, principle, and pursuit of
worldly men.
New converts, it is said, are most zealous, but they are not always the most
persevering. If their tempers are warm, and they have only been touched on
the side of their passions, they start eagerly, march rapidly, and are full
of confidence in their own strength. They too often judge others with little
charity, and themselves with little humility. While they accuse those who
move steadily of standing still, they fancy their own course will never be
slackened. If their conversion is not solid, religion in losing its novelty,
loses its power. Their speed declines. No, it will be happy if their motion
become not retrograde.
Those who are truly sincere will commonly be persevering. If their speed is
less eager, it is more steady. As they know their own heart more, they
discover its deceitfulness, and learn to distrust themselves. As they become
more humble in spirit, they become more charitable in judging. As they grow
more firm in principle, they grow more exact in conduct. The rooted habits
of a religious life may indeed lose their prominence, because they are
become more indented. If they are not embossed, it is because they are
burned in.
Where there is uniformity and consistency in the whole character, there will
be little relief in an individual action. A good deed will be less striking
in an established Christian than a deed less good in one who had been
previously careless; good actions being his expected duty and his ordinary
practice. Such a Christian, indeed, when his right habits cease to be new
and striking, may fear that he is declining; but his quiet and confirmed
course is a surer evidence than the more early starts of charity, or fits of
piety, which may have drawn more attention, and obtained more applause.
Again: we should cultivate most assiduously, because the work is most
difficult, those graces which are most opposite to our natural temper; the
value of our good qualities depending much on their being produced by the
victory over some natural wrong propensity. The implantation of a virtue is
the eradication of a vice. It will cost one man more to keep down a rising
passion than to do a brilliant deed. It will try another more to keep back a
sparkling but corrupt thought which his wit had suggested, but which his
religion checks, than it would to give a large sum in charity.
A real Christian, being deeply sensible of the worthlessness of any actions
which do not spring from the genuine fountain, will aim at such an habitual
conformity to the Divine image, that to perform all acts of justice,
charity, kindness, temperance, and every kindred virtue, may become the
temper, the habitual, the abiding state of his heart, that, like natural
streams, they may flow spontaneously from the living source. Practical
Christianity, then, is the actual operation of Christian principles. It is
lying on the watch for occasions to exemplify them. It is exercising
ourselves unto godliness.
A Christian cannot tell in the morning what opportunities he may have of
doing good during the day, but if he be a real Christian he can tell that he
will try to keep his heart open, his mind prepared, his affections alive, to
do whatever may occur in the way of duty. He will, as it were, stand in the
way to receive the orders of Providence.
Doing good is his vocation. Nor does the young artisan bind himself by
firmer articles to the rigid performance of his master's work, than the
indentured Christian to the active service of that Divine Master who himself
"went about doing good." He rejects no duty which comes within the sphere of
his calling, nor does he think the work he is employed in a good one if he
might be doing a better. His having well acquitted himself of a good action
is so far from furnishing him with an excuse for avoiding the next, that it
is a new reason for his embarking in it. He looks not at the work which he
has accomplished, but on that which he has to do. His views are always
prospective. His charities are scarcely limited by his power. His will knows
no limits. His fortune may have bounds; his benevolence has none. He is, in
mind and desire, the benefactor of every miserable man. His heart is open to
all the distressed; to the household of faith it overflows. Where the heart
is large, however small the ability, a thousand ways of doing good will be
invented.
Christian charity is a great enlarger of means. Christian self-denial
negatively accomplishes the purpose of the favorite of Fortune in the fables
of the nursery -- if it cannot fill the purse by a wish, it will not empty
it by a vanity.
It provides for others by abridging from itself. Having carefully defined
what is necessary and becoming, it allows of no encroachment on its
definition. Superfluities it will lop, vanities it will cut off. The deviser
of liberal things will find means of effecting them, which to the indolent
appear incredible, to the covetous impossible. Christian beneficence takes a
large sweep. That circumference cannot be small of which God is the center.
Nor does religious charity in a Christian stand still because not kept in
motion by the main-spring of the world. Money may fail, but benevolence will
be going on. If he cannot relieve need, he may mitigate sorrow. He may warn
the inexperienced, he may instruct the ignorant, he may confirm the
doubting. The Christian will find out the cheapest way of being good, as
well as of doing good.
If he cannot give money, he may exercise a more difficult virtue; he may
forgive injuries. Forgiveness is the economy of the heart. A Christian will
find it cheaper to pardon than to resent. Forgiveness saves the expense of
anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of tempers. It also puts the soul into
a frame which makes the practice of other virtues easy.
The achievement of a hard duty is a great abolisher of difficulties. If
great occasions do not arise he will thankfully seize on small ones. If he
cannot glorify God by serving others, he knows that he has always something
to do in himself; some evil temper to correct, some wrong propensity to
reform, some crooked practice to straighten. He will never be at a loss for
employment while there is a sin or a misery in the world; he will never be
idle while there is a distress to be relieved in another, or a corruption to
be cured in his own heart.
We have employments assigned to us for every circumstance in life. When we
are alone, we have our thoughts to watch; in the family, our tempers in
company, our tongues. It will be a test of our sincerity to our own hearts,
and for such tests we should anxiously watch, if we are as assiduous in
following up our duty when only the favor of God is to be obtained by it, as
in cases where subordinate considerations are taken into the account and
bring their portion of influence. We must, therefore, conscientiously
examine in what spirit we fulfill those parts of our duty which lie more
exclusively between our Creator and our conscience. Whether we are as
solicitous about our inward disposition as about the act of which that
disposition should be the principle.
If our piety be internal and sincere, we shall lament an evil temper no less
than an evil action, conscious that though in its indulgence we may escape
human censure, yet to the eye of Omniscience, as both lie equally open, both
are equally offensive. Without making any fallible human being our
infallible guide and established standard, let us make use of the examples
of eminently pious men as incentives to our own growth in every Christian
grace.
A generous emulation of the excellences of another is not envy. It is a
sanctification of that noble excitement which stirred the soul of
Themistocles when he declared that the trophies of Miltiades prevented him
from sleeping. The Christian must not stop here. He must imitate the pagan
hero in the use to which he converted his restless admiration, which gave
him no repose until he himself became equally illustrious by services
equally distinguished with those of his rival.
But to the Christian is held out in the sacred volume, not only models of
human excellence but of Divine perfection. What an example of disinterested
goodness and unbounded kindness have we in our heavenly Father, who is
merciful over all his works, who distributes common blessings without
distinction, who bestows the necessary refreshments of life, the shining sun
and the refreshing shower, without waiting, as we are apt to do, for
personal merit, or attachment, or gratitude: who does not look out for
desert, but need, as a qualification for his favors; who does not afflict
willingly; who delights in the happiness, and desires the salvation of all
his children; who dispenses his daily munificence, and bears with our daily
offences; who, in return for our violation of his laws, supplies our
necessities; who waits patiently for our repentance, and even solicits us to
have mercy on our own souls!
What a model for our humble imitation is that Divine person who was clothed
with our humanity; who dwelt among us, that the pattern, being brought near,
might be rendered more engaging, the conformity be made more practicable;
whose whole life was one unbroken series of universal charity; who, in his
complicated bounties, never forgot that man is compounded both of soul and
body; who, after teaching the multitude, fed them; who repulsed none for
being ignorant; was impatient with none for being dull; despised none for
being outcast by the world; rejected none for being sinners; who encouraged
those whose importunity others censured; who, in healing sickness, converted
souls, who gave bread, and forgave injuries.
It will be the endeavor of the sincere Christian to illustrate his devotions
in the morning by his actions during the day. He will try to make his
conduct a practical exposition of the Divine prayer which made a part of
them. He will desire to "hallow the name of God," to promote the enlargement
and "the coming" of the "kingdom of Christ." He will endeavor to do and to
suffer his whole will; "to forgive," as he himself trusts that he is
forgiven. He will resolve to avoid that "temptation" into which he had been
praying "not to be led;" and he will labor to shun the "evil" from which he
had been begging to be "delivered."
He thus makes his prayers as practical as the other parts of his religion,
and labors to render his conduct as spiritual as his prayers. The commentary
and the text are of reciprocal application. If this gracious Savior has left
us a perfect model for our devotion in his prayer, he has left a model no
less perfect for our practice in his sermon. This divine exposition has been
sometimes misunderstood. It was not so much a supplement to a defective law,
as the restoration of the purity of a perfect law from the corrupt
interpretations of its blind expounders.
These people had ceased to consider it as forbidding the principle of sin,
and as only forbidding the act. Christ restores it to its original meaning,
spreads it out in its due extent, shows the largeness of its dimensions and
the spirit of its institution. He unfolds all its motions, tendencies and
relations. Not concerning himself as human legislators are obliged to do, to
prohibit a man the act merely which is injurious to others, but the inward
temper which is prejudicial to himself.
There cannot be a more striking instance, how emphatically every doctrine of
the Gospel has a reference to practical goodness, than is exhibited by Paul
in that magnificent picture of the resurrection, in his Epistle to the
Corinthians, which has been so happily selected for the consolation of
survivors at the last closing scene of mortality. After an inference as
triumphant as it is logical, that because "Christ has risen, we shall rise
also;" after the most philosophical illustration of the raising of the body
from the dust, by the process of grain sown in the earth, and springing up
into a new mode of existence; after describing the subjugation of all things
to the Redeemer, and his laying down the mediatorial kingdom; after
sketching with a seraph's pencil the relative glories of the celestial and
terrestrial bodies; after exhausting the grandest images of created nature,
and the dissolution of nature itself; after such a display of the
solemnities of the great day as makes this world and all its concerns shrink
into nothing; in such a moment, when, if ever, the rapt spirit might be
supposed too highly wrought for precept and admonition; the apostle, wound
up as he was, by the energies of inspiration, to the immediate view of the
glorified state, the last trumpet sounding, the change from mortal to
immortality effected in the twinkling of an eye, the sting of death drawn
out, victory snatched from the grave; then, by a turn as surprising as it is
beautiful, he draws a conclusion as unexpectedly practical as his premises
were grand and awful: "Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast,
unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord." Then at once, by
another quick transition, resorting from the duty to the reward, and winding
up the whole with an argument as powerful as his rhetoric had been sublime,
he adds, "Forasmuch as you know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord."