Heathen Faith in God

For my own part I find it difficult, not to yield a degree of respect to the humble and sincere faith even of a heathen; limited, as it probably is in almost all cases, to God, considered as the God of nature only. I recollect to have read in the Life of David Brainerd an interesting account of a poor Indian, with whom he had become acquainted in the American wilderness, who seems to have had such a faith.

The account, which this man gave of himself to Brainerd, who was then a missionary among the Indians residing near the Forks of the Delaware, was to this effect, and nearly in these words. He had formerly been like the rest of his heathen brethren; that is to say, he had been in the same unbelief and the same sins, until about four or five years before. At that time becoming very much distressed at what he had witnessed in himself and in others, he sought a retired and solitary place in the woods, and lived there entirely alone for a number of months. Having confidence neither in himself nor in his fellow-men, he could look no where in his sorrows but to that great Spirit, of whom he had a rude and imperfect conception as the God of nature, as a God shining in the stars and speaking in the winds. At length, he said, God comforted his heart, and showed him what he should do; and since that time he had known God, and had tried to serve him; and he now loved all men, of whatever nation or people they might be, as he had never done before. He built a small house, which Brainerd speaks of having visited; and having adorned it with various images cut upon the several parts, he consecrated it to religious uses, and was in the habit of performing his devotional and religious acts in it. Brainerd says, that he was treated by this person with uncommon courtesy; and that he seemed to be entirely hearty and sincere in his manifestations of kindness. He speaks of him as being a devout and zealous reformer; and adds, that he was told by the Indians, that he opposed their drinking strong liquor with all his power; and that, if at any time he could not dissuade them from it by all he could say, he would leave them and go crying into the woods. He represents him as being apparently sincere, honest, and conscientious in his own way, and according to his own religious notions. He further remarks, that he was looked upon and derided among most of the Indians as a precise zealot, who made a needless noise about religious matters; “but I must say,” he adds, “that there was something in his temper and disposition, which looked more like true religion than any thing I ever observed among other heathens.”

The faith of this poor Indian existed under the most unfavorable circumstances, but it gave him power; power over himself; power against threatening vices among his own people; power, in solitary places, with no companions but the wild woods and waters, to hold communion, after the imperfect manner of heathenism, with the Great Spirit, who is the Father both of the Christian and the Gentile. Of the origin of the faith of this Indian reformer, of its relation to the Atonement, of its ultimate effects upon his own character and happiness, we do not now undertake to speak. These are subjects, which require much discretion and piety rightly to solve them; and perhaps they are most wisely and safely left with him, who, as the common Father of all men, has the final destiny of all men in his hands. But we cannot help saying with great confidence, that it can be no discredit to a person, however advanced he may be in civilization and human culture, to regard such faith, whatever may be the amount of its supposed or its acknowledged imperfections, with a degree of sympathy and respect.

Among nations, both ancient and modern, that with more or less of civilization have not been visited and blessed with the lights of Christianity, we discover other instances illustrative of the same general views. Persons have been found of high intellectual endowments and attainments, to whom human literature and honors could furnish no true solace of soul; especially in seasons of disappointment and adversity. They have felt, and felt deeply too, that nothing human could be a substitute for the divine; that faith in humanity, whatever value might attach to it, could never supply the place of faith in the Supreme Power. And those among them, who have had the courage and wisdom to look to that higher Power with what light they had, feeble though it might be, have never failed to find increased light and increased strength of purpose. I think it would be difficult to read the life and death of Socrates, illustrated as they are by the sublime commentary of his religious sentiments, without a strong conviction, that God does not desert those, who have faith in him, even according to the dim light of nature. Numa, the religious legislator and the priest of the people over whom he presided as King, was a wiser, a juster, and better man for his faith. Camillus, the distinguished leader and commander of the Romans, the preserver of the city and the state which Numa had endeavored to establish in religious sentiments, “diligentissimus religionum cultor,” as he is described by the historians of his country, was a man of juster views and greater foresight, a man of greater energy and endurance, for his religious belief, for his confidence in the presiding Power of the universe, perplexed and imperfect as it undoubtedly was.

We repeat, therefore, it is no discredit and no error, to say, that we ought to respect the faith even of a heathen, especially when it has God for its object. Perhaps we may go further and say, that such faith, whenever and wherever found, has something in it, something in its own intrinsic nature, which may be said, not merely to deserve, but to command respect.

But if faith attaches value and honor to the character even of a heathen, to the Socrates of Athens, and to him, who, in his rude American hut, had the faith and the warning voice of Socrates without his knowledge and his moral and philosophical eloquence, then what limits shall we, or can we set to its value and to its renovating Power, when it rests upon the basis of God’s word added to the basis of nature! If God gives great strength to those few and scattered ones, even among the heathen, who are enabled to believe strongly in himself, how much greater resources, and how much greater strength must those have, who have faith in God, not only as the God of nature and of providence, but as the God of the Bible; who reveals himself not dimly as in the light of heathenism, but clearly in the light of revealed truth; not merely in the terrible attribute of his justice, but in justice mingled with and chastened by mercy; with his wonderful announcement of the way of salvation through the Atonement, and with all his gracious Promises applicable to every situation.

 — The Life of Faith (1852) Part 1, Chapter 13.

Inward Queitude

We proceed... to lay down and explain a principle, which is more or less distinctly recognized by writers on Christian experience; and which, by the common consent of those who have examined it, is very intimately connected with the progress and perfection of the interior Christian life. The principle is that of inward QUIETUDE OR STILLNESS, in other words, a true and practical ceasing from self.

This principle involves, in the first place, a cessation from all inordinate and selfish outward activity.  It  does not, it will be remembered, exclude an outward activity of the right kind. To entertain any idea of this kind, would be a great error. But it disapproves and condemns that spirit of worldly movement and progress, that calculating and self-interested activity, that running to and fro without seriously looking to God and without a quiet confidence in Him, which has been in all ages of the world the dishonor and the bane of true Christianity. How much of what may be called secular scheming and planning there is in the church at the present time! How much of action, prosecuted on principles, which certainly cannot be acceptable to a truly holy heart! While it exhibits much of true piety and much of the right kind of action, is it not evident, that the church exhibits a great deal also, both in its plans of personal and of public activity, of that restless, unsanctified, and grasping eagerness, which characterizes, and may be expected to characterize those who live and act, as if there were no God in the world! The principle of quietude or stillness decidedly condemns this injurious and evil course.

— edited from The Interior or Hidden Life (2nd edition, 1844) Part 3, Chapter 10.

Divine Guidence and Poetry

Without stopping to say what poetry is, or on what principles it operates, every one knows that its influence has been very great. But it is to be regretted, that, like history, it has been employed, for the most part, in immortalizing deeds of cruelty, and in giving luster to crime. Or, if it should be said in modification of this statement, that it has given a larger share of its attention to love than history has, it ought to be added that the love which it celebrates has not always been that refined and pure love, which receives the sanction of Christianity.

The Restoration of Human Society

In proportion as the influences of  Christianity are more generally and fully felt, there will be a gradual restoration of human society in all its aspects; — so that, while we cannot always foresee what precise form it will take, we may say, in general terms, that it will be made to harmonize perfectly with the principles of the Gospel.

Civil society, or society as it exists between man and man united together in the state, is very imperfect. It is true that the great law of progress, which insures the ultimate triumph of good over evil, has reached and beneficially affected the combined man of the state, as well as the man of the family, and the man individual. Men in various ages of the world, Solon, Lycurgus, Burns, among the legislators of antiquity, and other wise and benevolent men of later times, have endeavored to improve civil society; and their efforts have not been without success. But, after all  that  has been done, it is still attended with great imperfection.

The imperfection of human society is the necessary result of the imperfection of those human laws which give it shape and sustain it. Human laws are imperfect for the simple reason, (at least it is not necessary to mention other reasons,) that the human mind, which is the maker of human law, is not omniscient. Law is, or ought to be, the expression of perfect right. Consequently, there is and can be but one perfect lawgiver, namely, God himself. Man, by the very fact of his creation and dependence, is properly the  subject of law, and not the author of law. It is one of the remarks of Hooker, the distinguished author of the work entitled "Ecclesiastical Polity," that the "seat of law is in the bosom of God." Consequently, if views and remarks of this kind are justly entitled to consideration, human law will be perfected, and human society, so far as it is sustained by law, will be perfected, just in proportion as the God of the universe descends and takes possession, and becomes the God of the human mind. When that is the case, law will be the expression of right; and it will not be more just and right in itself, than it will be just and right in its individual application.

— edited from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 7, Chapter 7.

Spiritual Solitiude is More Than Seclusion

To be alone with God, which implies being in solitude from the world, is indescribably pleasing to the devout mind. And in order to realize an idea, which carries with it so much attraction, it is not surprising, that many pious persons have, in all ages of the world, secluded themselves from society. In plucking the roses of the world, they have been pierced with the thorn; and in the depth of their sorrow they have sought to avoid that, which, under the appearance of good, conceals so much evil. Their designs have been right, but their methods have not always been successful.

Interior or spiritual solitude is not to be confounded with physical or personal solitude.  It is something more, and something higher, than mere seclusion of the body in some hidden or remote place.

In the accounts of those, who, in the early periods of Christianity, retired into solitary places, with the object of perfecting their inward state in desolate caverns, in forests, and in the seclusions of monasteries, we find frequent mention of unexpected and heavy temptations. Often did the world, in the shape of evil desires and vain imaginations, follow them to their lonely retreats. It is related of St. Jerome, whose devout writings still edify the church, that, in the ardor of his young piety, he thought he could successfully escape the temptations of luxurious cities, and perfect his inward experience, by dwelling alone in the solitary deserts of Syria. In the midst of those vast plains, scorched by the burning sun, he sat down alone, emaciated, disfigured, with no companion but wild beasts. Strong were his resolutions; great were his sufferings; many were the penitential tears which he shed; — but, in the midst of this desolation and of these flowing tears, he informs us that his busy imagination placed before him the luxuries of Rome and the attractions of her thoughtless voluptuaries, and renewed the mental tortures which he hoped he had escaped. [See Pantheon Litteraire. Œuvres de St. Jerome.]

To be secluded, therefore, in body is not enough. To be alone in caves and in forests is not necessarily to be alone with God.

— edited from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 6, Chapter 10.