we must cure.

Christians, as a sect, hold to such a doctrine. But the doctrine, wherever held, seems wholly inconsistent with the nature of salvation. Spirits cannot be cleansed as a garment can be washed and purified from stains. There is no heavenly chemistry as yet discovered or revealed, that can extract the soil of depravity from the heart, and make it white and pure. Moral evil is a voluntary degradation of our being which we have contracted and which And certainly change of place of itself cannot cure us. A half-hewn statue cannot be brought to perfect symmetry by being transported from one building to another, no matter how elegant the building may be into which it is carried. A man with diseased eyes cannot see any better in a palace than in a hovel. A bad man does not become a good man simply by being carried into a beautiful garden, nor can a broken limb be cured by one night's sleep. Our sin is part of our identity; and stripping off the flesh at the grave does not change our identity or alter our character; and God cannot make us pure at death unless he works a miracle, and alters our identity. The only conceivable way for God to destroy, at the grave, the sin which is part of every soul, is to recreate a race that will not be tainted with the leprosy.

Defining salvation then to be deliverance from sin, and to consist in the possession of a Christian temper, let us look into the process of it, the history of its progress in the soul. This will involve a reference to the nature of conversion and regeneration. Vital truths are represented by these words. They do not belong to Trinitarian theology exclusively. They are Christian doctrines, and whoever appreciates the aim and office of Christianity, must accept them. We do not object to the use of these words in connection with salvation, but we object to the mystery that is thrown around them, and the unscriptural theories that are associated with them. As the word salvation generally calls up spontaneously in the minds of people, as a correlative, the idea of future punishment, so the words conversion and regeneration generally suggest the ideas of complete depravity, and the miraculous agency of the Holy Spirit, and a mysterious, instantaneous change of heart. It may be well, therefore, to say that the word regeneration was used only once by the Saviour in all his

recorded teaching, and then without any reference to private experience; that the phrase to be "born again" occurs only in his conversation with Nicodemus, and there, as any one may see at a glance, without the slightest allusion to complete depravity; while the word "converted" appears to have been used only on three occasions in his teaching, in two of which it was spoken with reference to the bad spirit of his own disciples, and in neither of which is any mention made of a miraculous agency, or agency of any kind.

It is generally said that we must be regenerated, as the condition of being saved. The corrupted heart must be washed and made anew by heavenly agencies, in order that the soul may escape the future penalties of depravity. On the contrary, we say regeneration is salvation, and it is a work which man must do for himself, using the help which God affords, just as he must become wise or healthy by obeying the laws of education and health. To be born again was a figure of speech which Christ in one instance used, a fit image to express the new world, the new kind of life, into which a man is introduced who is filled with love, and thus possesses the spirit of a Christian.

And besides the mystery which is generally associated with regeneration and conversion, the distinction between them is not always clearly kept in view. Both are spoken of as momentary processes. But a man is not regenerated completely at once. A regenerate person is one who is deeply Christian, whose character is a Christian character, whose soul has become refined by a long experience of goodness. And this plainly is not the work of a moment, or a year. The stage of regeneration to which any Christian has arrived, indicates, or is equivalent to, the extent of his salvation. But conversion is a momentary experience. It is the crisis of spiritual history. And conversion is therefore the condition of salvation. Not that a man is completely bad before conversion, and cannot do a good act. Not that a man is wholly good after conversion, and will not do, every day, many sinful things. If it were true that a soul is wholly evil before conversion, then it could never be converted, for what the heart does in becoming converted is itself a good act. If a converted man is

wholly changed, then he cannot sin, and the question will trouble us-where are our converted men ? Conversion is synonymous with deep repentance; it takes place when a change in the kind of life which a man will in future lead, is resolutely and seriously determined. It is that season in a person's private history when the soul feels what it ought to do, compared with what it is doing. It occurs when the spirit pledges itself to duty; when it feels how much better is goodness than evil; when it says to conscience, "I will obey thee in future;" when it resolves to become, in spirit and action, a follower of Christ and a servant of God. Before a bad man can become a good man, he must turn, and take a new path, and there will be a season when the change of direction is made. Before an unchristian man becomes a Christian, he must turn and begin to be a Christian. The turning, the beginning to be, is conversion, and it is the initial step of regeneration; it is the commencement of salvation.

Theologians have described this in strange language, and have tried to make men believe that it is a mystical process which is done for us, not by us. I do not deny the doctrine of Divine influences, nor of a Holy Spirit. God's spirit is ever around us. In Him we live, and move, and have our being. He is like the air to our souls. And we receive more of his life as we open our hearts to receive it, as we are willing to breathe it in. But he does not

open our hearts for us; He does not rush in and pervade us; He does not make us willing to inspire His life. The inward opening, the determination to inspire, is conversion, and it is as natural as education, or any change of mind or will.

And at this point we may see the coarseness of that view which makes conversion the offspring of excitement and fear, and a proper subject of public confession. No man is converted until he changes his course of life from an awakened love of a higher course, until the object of his desire changes, and his aspirations are directed to more worthy things. There are a thousand influences that may produce such a change. And as a general rule, the more quiet and deep the experience, the less excitement and fear enter into it, the more valuable and lasting it will prove. It is the most glorious moment in the life

of any person when, from its inmost being, the spirit says, "I will henceforth love God, for he alone is worthy of supreme devotion; I will obey right for that only can claim my service; I will endeavor to become like Christ, for such a spirit as he possessed brings the only bliss, and brings me into most intimate communion with the Father." Such an experience is true conversion. It is not born upon an anxious seat; it cannot be best produced amid the excitement and terrors of revival scenes. It is not to be vulgarly proclaimed. It comes generally after acquaintance with the poverty of sin. It is often the focal point of several lines of thought, and conditions of heart. Sometimes it is a sudden experience, and follows a fresh unexpected realization of God's existence, and the true interests of the soul. Temperament often determines the method of a true conversion. Some hearts are gently led along from youth in the path of goodness, and become Christian by education; others are suddenly aroused, deeply convulsed, and throw off evil habits with one decisive strain. One class of minds are gradually spiritualized by good influences, by Christian society, by good books, by the almost unconscious ministry of Sabbath worship, so that they cannot date the season when good principles became predominant within. Some are first reached on the side of gratitude, others on the side of fear. Intercourse with nature refines, softens and purifies some, leading them to a conscious unity of life with God. Meditation, a sudden sickness, a funeral service, a death-bed scene, may touch the hearts of another class, and enthrone there a higher principle of action. God has countless channels of communication and address with the souls of men. It matters little on which side we receive Him, so that we only invite the love of goodness into our souls. By whatever influences produced, conversion is the turning point in the soul's history, and the beginning of salvation.

If any person asks the question then, "What shall I do to be saved?" we answer with serious emphasis, look within your own heart, and see what is needed to be done there. It is wholly an inward work. Do not make it a question of destiny. Do not ask-What shall I do to escape punishment hereafter; what shall I do to make my peace with God, and become a sharer of Christ's atone

ment? The important point is, how much love reigns in your heart? how much of Christ's spirit do you possess, how much more do you need? This makes the question a much more serious matter for every man than the common theory. It shows us all how partially even the best of us are saved, and it exhibits the superiority of liberal Christianity over Trinitarianism as a searcher of the conscience.

The work of salvation is not an easy one because Christ has come. It is something more than to make a public profession, and to relate an experience. The very nature of Christ's service has made our salvation a hard, laborious task. On what a height has he placed the ideal of virtue? What a strict and stringent law has he imposed upon the conscience? What a dark shadow does the light of his own purity throw from our common sins? What a great interest does the spirit of his morality impart to every moment of existence? Before that revelation of the possibilities in man, that splendid spectacle of the divinity of virtue, conveyed to us through the life, the sufferings, the calm, deep piety, the meek grandeur, the serene patience, the irradiated cross of Jesus, we learn, it is true, the power of the soul, but we may also learn what we have yet to attain. Salvation means deliverance from sin; nay, in its highest sense it is likeness to the Redeemer. Who will think lightly of the work which such a definition imposes on the soul? It must be confessed that, in a vital sense, the coming of Christ, instead of making our salvation easy, has made it a progressive work, a business never to be completed. It is a work for eternity, perhaps, to bring our spirits to the symmetry of that moral beauty which the cross has revealed to man.

What toil is necessary, what patient discipline, what dispiriting failures intervene, what new energies must be summoned in order that we may conquer one besetting sin, one evil habit, a single corrupting vice? And then, to think of bringing the level of our life to the plane on which Jesus stood, to think of reaching the purity without stain, the love without resentment, the trust that rose like incense from the heart!

I would use no imagery of sensual fear to fortify the argument for a good life, and frighten men into goodness.