PRACTICAL PIETY by Hannah More, 1811
Chapter 17
INSENSIBILITY TO ETERNAL THINGS
Insensibility to eternal things in beings who are standing on the brink of
eternity is a madness which would be considered a wonder if it were not so
common. Suppose we had the prospect of inheriting a great estate and a
splendid mansion which we knew would be ours in a few days, and in the
meantime we rented a paltry cottage in bad repair, ready to fall, and from
which we knew we must at all events soon be turned out. Would it be wisdom
or common sense to overlook totally our near and noble inheritance and to be
so fondly attached to our falling tenement that we spent a great part of our
time and thoughts in supporting its ruins by props, and concealing its decay
by decorations? To be so absorbed in the little sordid pleasures of this
frail abode so as not even to cultivate a taste for the delights of the
mansion where such treasures are laid up for us—this is an excess of folly
which must be seen to be believed.
It is a striking fact that the recognized uncertainty of life drives worldly
people to make sure of everything except their eternal concerns. It leads
them to be up-to-date in their accounts and exact in their transactions.
They are afraid of risking even a little property on so precarious a thing
as life, without insuring their inheritance. There are some who even
speculate on the uncertainty of life as a trade. It is strange that this
accurate calculation of the duration of life should not involve a serious
attention to its end! Strange, too, that in the prudent care not to risk a
fraction of property, equal care should not be taken not to risk eternal
salvation!
We are not speaking here of grossly wicked people. We are not supposing that
their wealth has been obtained by injustice or increased by oppression. We
are only describing a soul drawn aside from God by the alluring baits of the
world. The shining bangles are obtained, but the race is lost!
To worldly people of a more serious nature, business may be as formidable an
enemy of the soul as pleasure is to those of a lighter character. Business
has so sober an air that it looks like virtue, and virtuous it certainly is
when carried on in a proper spirit with due moderation in the fear of God.
To have a lawful employment and to pursue it with diligence is not only
right and honorable in itself, but is one of the best safeguards against
temptation.
We can point out the diligence that business demands, the self-denying
practices it imposes, the patience, regularity and industry indispensable to
its success. These are habits of virtue that are a daily discipline to a
moral person in business. The world, as a matter of fact, could not survive
without business. But attention paid to these realities often detracts us
from interests in the eternal world, when we can neglect to lay up a
treasure in heaven in order to lay up the treasure of earth—a supply which
we perhaps do not need and do not intend to use. In this case we are a bad
judge of the relative value of things.
Business has an honorable aspect in that it is opposed to idleness, the most
hopeless offspring of the whole progeny of sin. People in business,
comparing themselves with those who squander their living, feel a fair and
natural consciousness of their own value and of the superiority of their own
pursuits. But it is by making comparisons with others that we deceive
ourselves. Business, whether professional, commercial or political,
endangers the mind which looks down on the pursuit of pleasure as beneath a
thinking being. But if business absorbs the heart's affections, if it
swallows up time to the neglect of eternity, if it generates a worldly
spirit or encourages covetousness and engages the mind in ambitious
pursuits, it may be as dangerous as its more frivolous rival.
The grand evil of both lies in the alienation of the heart from God.
Actually, in one respect, the danger is greater to the one who is best
employed. Those who pursue pleasure, however thoughtless, can never make
themselves believe they are doing right. But those plunged in the work of
serious business cannot easily persuade themselves that they are doing
wrong.
Compensation and trade are the devices which worldly religion incessantly
keeps in play. It is a life of barter—so much indulgence for so many good
works. The implied accusation is that "we have a rigorous Master," and that
therefore it is only fair to pay ourselves for the severity of His demands,
just as an overworked servant steals a holiday. They set bounds to God's
right to command, lest it should encroach on their privilege to do as they
please.
We have mentioned elsewhere that if we invite people to embrace the
Christian faith on the grounds that they will obtain present pleasure, they
will desert it as soon as they find themselves disappointed. People are too
ready to clamor for the pleasures of devotion before they have entitled
themselves to them. We would be angry at those employees who asked to
receive their wages before they would begin to work. This is not meant to
establish the merit of works, but rather the necessity of seeking that
transforming and purifying change which marks the real Christian. It is a
matter of the heart and a genuine change in one's attitude.
But if we consider this world on true scriptural grounds as a place of
testing, and see religion as a school for happiness, the consummation of
which is only to be enjoyed in heaven, then the Christian hope will support
us and the Christian faith will strengthen us. We can serve diligently, wait
patiently, love cordially, obey faithfully and be steadfast under all
trials. We can be sustained by the cheering promise held out to those "who
endure to the end."
There are some who seem to have a graduated scale of vices. They keep clear
of the lowest degrees on this scale, but they are not diligent in avoiding
the "highest" vices on their scale. They forget that the same motive which
operates in the greater operates on the lesser as well. A life of incessant
gratification does not alarm the conscience, but it is surely unfavorable to
faith, destructive of its motivations, and opposed to its spirit, as are the
more obvious vices.
These are the habits that relax the mind and remove resolve from the heart,
thereby fostering indifference to our spiritual state and insensibility to
the things of eternity. A life of pleasure, if it leads into a life of
actual sin, disqualifies us for holiness, happiness and heaven. It not only
alienates the heart from God, but it lays it open to every temptation that
natural temperament may invite, or incidental circumstances allure. The
worst passions lie dormant in hearts that are given up to selfish
indulgences, always ready to spring into action as any occasion invites
them.
Sensual pleasure and irreligion play into each other's hands: each can cause
the other. The slackness of the inward motivation confirms the carelessness
of the conduct, while the negligent conduct protects itself under the
supposed security of unbelief. The instance of the rich man in the parable
of Lazarus strikingly illustrates this truth.
It is as essential that we inquire whether these unfeeling attitudes and
selfish habits offend society and discredit us with the world, as it is
important that we realize that they feed our corruptions and put us in a
position unfavorable to all interior improvement. Let us ask whether they
offend God and endanger the soul, whether the gratification of self is the
life which the Redeemer taught or lived. Let us ask whether sensuality is a
suitable preparation for that state where God Himself, who is Spirit, will
constitute all the happiness of spiritual beings.
But these are not the only dangers. The intellectual
vices, the spiritual offenses may destroy the soul without much injury to
one's reputation. Unlike sensuality, these do not have their seasons of
change and repose. Here the motive is in continual operation. Envy has no
interruption. Ambition never cools. Pride never sleeps. The inclination to
these at least is always awake. An intemperate person is sometimes sober,
but a proud person is never humble. Where vanity reigns, it reigns always.
These interior sins are more difficult to eradicate. They are harder to
detect, harder to come at, and, as the citadel sometimes holds out after the
outer defenses of a castle are breached, these sins of the heart are the
last conquered in the moral warfare.
Here lies the distinction between the worldly and the religious person. It
is frightening enough for the Christian that we feel any propensity to vice.
Against these inclinations we must watch, strive and pray. Although we are
thankful for the victory when we have resisted the temptation, we feel no
elation of heart while conscious of our inward dispositions. Nothing but
divine grace enables us to keep them from breaking out into a flame. We feel
the only way to obtain the pardon of sin is to stop sinning, that although
repentance itself is not a savior, there still can be no salvation where
there is no repentance. Above all, we know that the promise of remission of
sin by the death of Christ is the only solid ground of comfort. However
correct our present life may be, the weight of past offenses would hang so
heavy on our conscience that without the atoning blood of our Redeemer,
despair of pardon for the past would leave us hopeless. We would continue to
sin in the same way that a bankrupt person may continue to be extravagant
because no present frugality could redeem their former debts.
It is sometimes pleaded that the work that busy and important people have
leaves them no time for their religious duties. These apologies are never
offered for the poor man, although to him every day brings the inevitable
return of his many hours of work without intermission or moderation.
But surely the more important and responsible the position a person holds,
the more demanding is the call for faith, not only in the way of example,
but even in the way of success. If it is indeed granted that there is such a
thing as divine interventions, if it is allowed that God has a blessing to
bestow, then the ordinary man who has only himself to govern requires aid,
but how urgent is the person's necessity who has to govern millions? What an
awful idea that the weight of a nation might rest on the head of one whose
heart does not look up for higher support!
The politician, the warrior and the orator find it peculiarly hard to
renounce in themselves that wisdom and strength to which they believe the
rest of the world is looking up. The person of station or of genius, when
invited to the self-denying duties of Christianity often draws back, like
the one who went away sorrowing because he had great possessions.
To know that they must come to an end stamps vanity on all the glories of
this life. To know that they must come to an end soon stamps folly, not only
on the one who sacrifices his conscience for their acquisition, but also on
the person who, though upright in the discharge of his duties, discharges
them without any reference to God. If the conqueror or the orator would
reflect when the laurel crown is placed on his brow, how soon it will be
followed by the shroud, the delirium of ambition would be cooled and the
intoxication of prosperity removed.
There is a general kind of belief in Christianity prevalent in the world
which, by soothing the conscience, prevents self-inquiry. That the holy
Scriptures contain the will of God they do not question. That they contain
the best system of morals, they frequently assert. But they do not feel the
necessity of acquiring a correct notion of the teachings those Scriptures
contain. The depravity of man, the atonement made by Christ, the work of the
Holy Spirit—these they consider as the theoretical part of religion which
they can easily neglect. By a kind of self-flattery, they satisfy themselves
with the idea that they are acceptable to their Maker, a state they
mistakenly believe they can attain without humility, faith and the rebirth
of life.
People absorbed in a multitude of secular concerns, decent but unawakened,
listen with a kind of respectful insensibility to the overtures of spiritual
conviction. They consider the Church as venerable because of her antiquity
and important because of her connection to the state. No one is more alive
to her political, nor more dead to her spiritual importance. They are
anxious for her existence, but indifferent to her doctrines. These they
consider as a general matter in which they have no personal concern. They
consider religious observances as something attractive but unreal, a serious
custom made respectable by long and public usage. They admit that the poor
who have little to enjoy and the idle who have little to do, cannot do
better than to give over to God that time which cannot be turned to more
profitable account. Religion, they think, may properly make use of leisure
and occupy old age. Yet when it comes to themselves, they are at a loss to
determine the precise period when the leisure is sufficient or the age is
enough advanced. Goals recede as the destined season approaches. They
continue to intend moving, but they continue to stand still.
Compare their drowsy sabbaths with the animation of the days of business and
you would not think they were the same individual. The one is to be gotten
over, the others are enjoyed. They go from the dull decencies, the shadowy
forms (as they perceive them) of public worship, to the solid realities of
their worldly concerns. These they consider as their bounden, and exclusive
duties. The others indeed may not be wrong, but these, they are sure, are
right. The world is their element. Here they are substantially engaged. Here
their whole mind is alive, their understanding wide awake, all their
energies in full play. Here they have an object worthy of their widest
expansions, and here their desires and affections are absorbed.
The faint impression of the Sunday sermon fades away to be as faintly
revived on the following Sunday, again to fade in the succeeding week. To
the sermon they bring a formal ceremonious attendance. To the world they
bring all their heart, soul, mind and strength. To the one they resort in
conformity to law and custom. To induce them to resort to the other, they
need no law, no sanction, no invitation. Their will is enough. Their
passions are volunteers. The invisible things of heaven are clouded in
shadow. The world is lord of the present. Riches, honors, power fill their
mind with brilliant images. They are certain, tangible, and they assume form
and bulk. In these, therefore, they cannot be mistaken. The eagerness of
competition and the struggle for superiority fill their mind with an
emotion, their soul with an agitation and their affections with an interest
which, though very unlike happiness, they deceive themselves into thinking
that it is the road to it. This artificial pleasure, this tumultuous
feeling, does at least produce that one negative satisfaction of which
worldly people are in search—it keeps them from themselves.
Even in circumstances where there is no success, the mere occupation, the
crowd of objectives, the succession of engagements and the very tumult and
hurry have their gratifications. The bustle gives false peace by leaving no
leisure for reflection. They put their consciences to sleep by asserting
they have good intentions. They comfort themselves with the believable
pretense that they lack time and the vague resolution of giving up to God
the dregs of life, while feeling the world deserves the better part of it.
Thus dealing with their Maker, life wears away, its end drawing ever nearer,
and that delayed promise to give God the last part is not fulfilled. The
assigned hour of retreat either never arrives, or if it does arrive, sloth
and sensuality are resorted to as a fair reward for a life of labor and
anxiety. They die in the shackles of the world.
If we do not earnestly desire to be delivered from the dominion of these
worldly tendencies, it is because we do not believe in the condemnation
attached to their indulgence. We may indeed believe it as we believe any
other general proposition or inconsequential fact, but we do not believe it
as a danger which has any reference to us. We disclose this practical
unbelief in the most unequivocal way by thinking so much more about the most
frivolous concern in which we are sure we have an interest, than about this
most important of all concerns.
When we are indifferent to eternal things, we add to our peril. If shutting
our eyes to a danger would prevent it, to shut them would not only be a
happiness but a duty. But to trade eternal safety for momentary ease is a
wretched bargain. The reason why we do not value eternal things is because
we do not think of them. The mind is so full of what is present that it has
no room to admit a thought of what is to come. We are guilty of not giving
the same attention to an eternal soul which prudent souls give to a common
business transaction. We complain that life is short, and yet throw away the
best part of it, only giving over to religion that portion which is good for
nothing else. Life would be long enough if we assigned its best period to
the best purpose.
Do not say that the requirements of religion are severe. Ask rather if they
are necessary. If a thing must absolutely be done and if eternal misery will
be incurred by not doing it, it is fruitless to enquire whether it be hard
or easy. Inquire only whether it is indispensable, whether it is commanded.
The duty on which our eternal state depends is not a thing to be debated,
but done. The duty which is too imperative to be evaded is not to be argued
about, but performed. To continue quietly in sin because you do not intend
to sin is to live on an expected inheritance which will probably never be
yours.
It is folly to say that religion drives people to despair when it only
teaches them by a healthy fear to avoid destruction. The fear of God differs
from all other fear, for it is accompanied with trust, confidence and love.
"Blessed is the one who fears always," is no paradox to one who entertains
this holy fear. It sets us above the fear of ordinary troubles. It fills our
heart. We are not distraught by those inferior apprehensions which unsettle
the soul and unhinge the peace of worldly people. Our mind is occupied with
one grand concern and is therefore less liable to be shaken than little
minds which are filled with little things. Can that principle lead to
despair which proclaims the mercy of God in Jesus Christ to be greater than
all the sins in the world?
If despair prevents your returning to God, do not add to your list of
offenses that of doubting the forgiveness which He sincerely offers. You
have already wronged God in His holiness. Do not wrong Him in His mercy. You
may offend Him more by despairing of His pardon than by all the sins which
have made that pardon necessary. Repentance, if one may venture the bold
remark, almost disarms God of the power to punish. Here are His style and
title as proclaimed by Himself: "The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and
gracious, patience and abundant in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for
thousands, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin, and who will by no
means clear the guilty;" that is, those who by unrepented guilt exclude
themselves from the offered mercy.
If unfaithfulness or indifference, which is practical unfaithfulness, keeps
you back, then as reasonable beings, ask yourselves a few short questions:
For what purpose was I sent into the world? Is my soul immortal? Am I really
placed here in a state of trial, or is this span my all? Is there an eternal
state? If there is, will the use I make of this life decide my condition in
that state? I know there is death, but is there a judgment?
Do not rest until you have cleared up, not your own proofs for heaven (it
will be some time before you arrive at that stage) but whether there is any
heaven. Is not Christianity important enough for you diligently to explore?
Is not eternal life too valuable to be entirely overlooked, and eternal
destruction, if a reality, worth avoiding? If you make these interrogations
sincerely, you will make them practically. They will lead you to examine
your own personal interest in these things. Evils which are ruining us for
lack of attention lessen from the moment our attention to them begins. True
or false, the question is worth settling. Do not waver then between doubt
and certainty. If the evidence is inadmissible, reject it. But if you can
once ascertain these cardinal points, then throw away your time if you can,
and trifle with eternity if you dare!
It is one of the striking characteristics of the Almighty that "He is strong
and patient." It is a standing evidence of His patience that "He is provoked
every day." How beautifully do these characteristics complement each other.
If He were not strong, His patience would lack its distinguishing
perfection. If He were not patient, His strength would instantly crush those
who provoke Him every day.
Oh you, who have a long space given you for repentance, confess that the
forbearance of God, when seen as coupled with His strength, is His most
astonishing attribute. Think of those whom you knew who have since passed
away—companions of your early life, your associates in actual vice, or your
confederates in guilty pleasures. They are the sharers of your thoughtless
meetings, your jovial revelry, your worldly schemes, your ambitious
projects. Think how many of those companions have been cut off, perhaps
without warning, possibly without repentance. They have been presented to
their judge. Their doom, whatever it is, is now fixed. Yours is mercifully
suspended. Adore the mercy; embrace the suspension.
Only suppose if they could be permitted to come back to this world, if they
were allowed another period of trial, how they would spend their restored
life! How earnest would be their penitence, how intense their devotion, how
profound their humility, how holy their actions! Think then that you still
have in your power that for which they would give millions of worlds.
"Hell," says one writer, "is truth seen too late."In almost every mind there
sometimes float indefinite and general purposes of repentance. The operation
of these purposes is often repelled by a real, though denied, skepticism.
Because the sentence is not executed speedily, they suspect it has never
been pronounced. They, therefore, think they may safely continue to defer
their intended, but unshaped, purpose. Though they sometimes visit the
sickbeds of others and see how much disease disqualifies one from performing
all duties, yet it is to this period of incapacity that they continue to
defer this vital need to repent.
What an image of the divine condescension does it convey that "the goodness
of God leads to repentance"! It does not barely invite, but it conducts.
Every warning is more or less an invitation. Every visitation is a lighter
stroke to avert a heavier blow. This was the way in which the heathen world
understood signs and wonders, and on this interpretation of them they acted.
Any alarming warning, whether rational or superstitious, drove them to their
temples, their sacrifices. Does our clearer light always carry us farther?
Does it, in these instances, always carry us as far as natural conscience
carried them?
The final period of the worldly person at length arrives, but they will not
believe their danger. Even if they fearfully glance around to every
surrounding face, looking for an intimation of it, every face, it is too
probable, is in league to deceive them. What a noble opportunity is now
offered to the Christian physician to show a kindness far superior to any
they have ever shown, just as the concerns of the soul are superior to those
of the body! Let them not fear prudently to reveal a truth for which the
patient may bless them in eternity! Is it sometimes to be feared that in the
hope of prolonging for a little while the existence of the perishing body,
they rob the never-dying soul of its last chance of pardon? Does not the
concern for the immortal part united with their care of the afflicted body
bring the Christian physician to a nearer imitation of that divine Physician
who never healed the one without manifesting a tender concern for the other?
But the deceit is short and fruitless. The amazed spirit is about to
dislodge. Who shall speak of its terror and dismay? Then the person cries
out in the bitterness of their soul, "What ability have I, now that I am
dying, to acquire a good heart, to unlearn false beliefs, to renounce bad
practices and establish right habits, to begin to love God and hate sin?"
How is the stupendous concern of salvation to be worked out by a mind
incompetent to do it in the most favorable conditions?
The infinite importance of what a person has to do, the goading conviction
that it must be done, and the impossibility of beginning a repentance which
should have been completed—all these complicated concerns together add to
the sufferings of a body which stands in little need of these additional
burdens.
It would be well if we were now and then to call to our minds, while in
sound health, the solemn certainties of a dying bed. It would be well if we
accustomed ourselves to see things now as we shall wish we had seen them.
Surely the most sluggish insensibility can be roused by seeing for itself
the rapid approach of death, the nearness of our unalterable doom and our
instant transition to that state of unutterable blessing or unimaginable woe
to which death will in a moment consign us. Such a mental image would assist
us in dissipating all other illusions. It would help us realize what is
invisible, and to bring near what we think of as remote. It would disenchant
us from the world, tear off its painted mask, shrink its pleasures into
their proper dimensions, its concerns into their real value, and its
promises into nothingness.
Terrible as the evil is, if it must be met, do not hesitate to present it to
your imagination. Do this, not to lacerate your feelings, but to arm your
resolution, not to arouse more distress, but to strengthen your faith. If it
terrifies you at first, draw a little nearer more gradually, and familiarity
will lessen the terror. If you cannot face the image, how will you encounter
the reality?
Let us then picture for ourselves the moment when all we cling to shall
elude our grasp, when every earthly good shall be to us as if it had never
been, when our eyes open on the eternal spiritual world. Then there shall be
no relief for the fainting body, no refuge for the parting soul except that
single refuge to which perhaps we have never thought of resorting—the
everlasting mercies of God in Christ Jesus.
Reader! whoever you are who have neglected to remember that to die is the
end for which you were born, know that you have a personal interest in this
scene. Do not turn away from it in disdain, however feebly it may have been
represented. You may escape any other evil of life, but its end you cannot
escape. Do not defer then life's weightiest concern to its weakest period.
Do not begin the preparation when you should be completing the work. Do not
delay the business which demands your best faculties to the period of their
greatest weakness and near extinction. Do not leave the work which requires
an age to do, to be done in a moment, a moment which may not be granted. The
alternative is tremendous. The difference is that of being saved or lost. It
is no light thing to eternally perish.