ON THE RELIGION OF LIFE.

ECCLESIASTES iii. 11: "He hath made everything beautiful in its time.”

In my last discourse on human life, I spoke of religion as the great, appropriate, and pervading sentiment of life. The religion of life-by which I mean a different thing-the religion, the sanctity, the real, spiritual consecration naturally and properly belonging to all the appointed occupations, cultivated arts, lawful amusements, and social bonds of life; this is the subject of my present discourse.

By most religious systems, this life-the life, that is, which the world is leading and has been leading through ages-is laid under a dark and fearful ban. "No religion" is the summary phrase which is written upon almost its entire history. Though it is held by these very systems, that the world was made for religion-made, that is to say, for the culture of religion in the hearts of its inhabitants-yet it is contended that this purpose has been almost entirely frustrated.

First, the heathen nations, by this theory, are cut off from all connexion with real religion. Next, upon the mass of Christian nations, as being unregenerate and utterly depraved, the same sentence is passed. I am not disposed, on this subject, to exact the full measure of inference from any mere theory. Men's actual views are often in advance of their creeds. But is it not very evident-as a third consideration— that the prevailing views of the world's life very well agree with the prevailing creeds? Is it not the common feeling that mankind in the mass-in the proportion of thousands to one-have failed to attain to anything of true religion; to any, the least of that which fulfils the real and great design of the Creator? Is it not commonly felt that the mass of men's pursuits, of their occupations, of their pleasures, is completely severed from this great purpose? In labour, in merchandise, in the practice of law and of medicine, in literature, in sculpture, painting, poetry, music, is it not the constant doctrine or implication of the pulpit, that there is no religion, no spiritual virtue, nothing accordant with the Gospel of Christ? Men, amidst their pursuits, may attain to a divine life; but are not the pursuits themselves regarded as having nothing, strictly speaking, to do with such a life-as having in them no elements of spiritual good-as having in them no tendency to advance religion and goodness in the world?

This certainly, upon the face of it, is a very extraordinary assumption. The pursuits in question are-some of them necessary; others useful; and all, natural; that is to say, they are developments, and inevitable and predestined developments, of the nature which God has given us. And yet it is maintained and believed, that they have no tendency to

promote his great design in making the world; that they have nothing in them allied to his purpose; that, at the most, they are only compatible with it, and that the actual office which they discharge in the world, is to lead men away from it. The whole, heaven-ordained activity, occupation, care, ingenuity of human life, is at war with its great purpose. And if one would seek the welfare of his soul, he is advised to leave all the farmer, his plough-the merchant, his ships-the lawyer, his briefs-and the painter, his easel; and to go to a revivalmeeting or a confessional, or to retire to his closet. I need not say that I am not here objecting to meditation-to distinct, thoughtful, and solemu meditation-as one of the means of piety and virtue; but I do protest against this ban and exclusion, which are thus virtually laid upon the beneficent and religious instrumentalities of a wise and gracious Providence.

On the contrary, I maintain that everything is beautiful in its timein its place-in its appointed office; that everything which man is put to do, naturally helps to work out his salvation; in other words, that if he obey the genuine principles of his calling, he will be a good man; and that it is only through disobedience to the heaven-appointed tasks, either by wandering into idle dissipation, or by violating their beneficent and lofty spirit, that he becomes a bad man. Yes, if man would yield himself to the great training of Providence in the appointed action of life, we should not need churches nor ordinances; though they might still be proper for the expression of religious homage and gratitude.

Let us then look at this action of life, and attempt to see what is involved in it, and whether it is all alien, as is commonly supposed, to the spirit of sacred truth and virtue.

I. And the first sphere of visible activity which presents itself, is labour-the business of life, as opposed to what is commonly called study. I have before spoken of the moral ministration of labour; but let us, in connexion with this subject, advert to it again.

My subject in this discourse is the religion of life; and I now say that there is a religion of toil. It is not all drudgery-a mere stretching of the limbs and straining of the sinews to tasks. It has a meaning. It has an intent. A living heart pours life-blood into the toiling arm. Warm affections mingle with weary tasks. I say not how pure those affections are, or how much of imperfection may mix with them, but I say that they are of a class, held by all men to be venerable and dear; that they partake of a kind of natural sanctity. They are, in other words, the home affections. The labour that spreads itself over tilled acres, all points for its centre, to the country farm-house. The labour that plies its task in busy cities, has the same central point, and thither it brings daily supplies. And when I see the weary hand bearing that nightly offering; when I see the toiling days-man, carrying to his home the means of support and comfort; that offering is sacred to my thought, as a sacrifice at a golden shrine. Alas! many faults there are, amidst the toils of life-many hasty and harsh words are spoken; but why do those toils go on at all?-why are they not given up entirely-weary and hard and exasperating as they often are? Because in that home is sickness, or age, or protected though helping woman, to be provided for. Because that there, is helpless infancy or gentle childhood, that must not want.

Such are the labours of life; and though it is true that mere selfishness, mere solitary need, would prompt to irregular and occasional exertion, or would push some ambitious persons, of covetous desires, to continued and persevering effort, yet I am persuaded, that the selfish impulses would never create that scene of labour which we behold around us.

Let us next look at the studious professions.

And I must confess that I have often been struck with surprise that a physician could be an undevout man. His study the human frame is the most wonderful display of divine wisdom in the world, the most astonishing proof of contrivance, of providence. Fearfully and wonderfully is it made; and if he who contemplates it, is not a reverent and heaven-adoring man, he is false to the very study that he calls his own. He reads a page, folded from the eyes of most men—a page of wondrous hieroglyphics-that handwriting of nerves, and sinews, and arteries; darkly he reads it, with a feeling enforced upon him that there is a wisdom above and beyond him; and if he is not a religiously inquiring and humble man, it seems to me that he knows not what he reads. Then again, it is his office to visit scenes, where he is most especially taught the frailty of life, the impotence of man, and the need of a divine helper; where the strong man is bowed down by an invisible blow, to debility, to delirium, to utter helplessness; where the dying stretch out their hands to heaven for aid, and to immortality for a reliance; where affliction, smitten to the dust and stript of all earthly supports, plainly declares that no sufficient resource is left for it, but Almighty Goodness. I do not say, that there is anything in the physician's calling which necessarily makes him a religious and good man; but I do say, that if he obeys the true spirit of his calling, he must be led to the formation of such a character, as the inevitable result.

Turn next to the vocation of the lawyer-and what is it? It is to contribute his aid to the establishment and vindication of justice in the world. But what is justice? It is rectitude, righteousness. It is the right between man and man; and as an absolute quality, it is the high attribute of God. The lawyer may fall below this aim and view of his vocation, but that is not the fault of his vocation. His vocation is most moral, most religious; it connects him, most emphatically, with God; he is the minister of Almighty justice. In the strictest construction of things, the clergyman is not more truly God's minister than he is. I know that the prevailing view is a different one. I know that the world looks upon this profession as altogether irreligious or altogether unreligious at the best. To say that the lawyer, however legitimately employed, is most religiously employed, sounds in most ears like mockery, I suppose. But let us look at his function, and let us put it in the most doubtful light. He goes up to the court of justice to plead the cause of his client. All the day long he is engaged with examining witnesses, sifting evidence, and wrangling, if you please, for points of evidence, and construction, and law. He may commit mistakes, no doubt. He may err, in temper or in judgment. But suppose that his leading aim, his wish, is to obtain justice. And it is a very supposable thing, even though he be on the wrong side. He goes into the case, and he goes up to the court, not knowing what the right is-what the evidence is,

strenuously handles and sifts the evidence, to help on towards the right conclusion. Or if you say it is to help his view of the case, still his function ministers to the same thing. For the conclusion is not committed to him; it lies with the judge and the jury; his office is ministerial; and he is to put forward every fair point on his side, as his opponent will on the other side, because these are the very means-nay, the indispensable means, for coming to a righteous decision. And I say, that if he does this fairly and honestly, with a feeling of true selfrespect, honour, and conscience-with a feeling that God's justice reigns in that high tribunal,-then he is acting a religious part; he is leading, that day, a religious life. If righteousness, if justice is any part of religion, he is doing so. No matter whether, during all that day, he has once appealed in form, or in terms, to his conscience or not; no matter whether he has once spoken of religion and of God, or not; if there has been the inward appeal, the inward purpose-the_conscious intent and desire that justice, sacred justice, should triumph, he has that day led a good and religious life: and certainly, he has been making a most essential contribution to that religion of life and of society-the cause of equity between man and man-of truth and righteousness in the world.

There are certain other pursuits, of an intellectual character, which require to be noticed in this connexion-those, I mean, of literature and the arts. And the question here, let it be borne in mind, is not whether these pursuits are always conducted upon the highest principles ; but whether they are, in their proper nature, and in their justest and highest character, religious and good; whether, between these functions and religion there is any natural affinity; whether or not, in their legitimate tendency, they are helping to work out the world's salvation from vice, and sin, and spiritual misery. And certainly, to him who is looking with any anxiety to the great moral end of providence, this is a very serious question. For in these forms-of literature and artthe highest genius of the world is usually revealed. The cost of time and money to which they put the world, is not a small consideration. The laboured works of art, and the means lavished to obtain them; the writing, printing, selling, and reading of books; all this presents one of the grandest features of our modern civilization. But the cost of mental labour is more than this; it is of the very life-blood of the world. This great power of communication with men, is not only working, and putting in requisition much of the labour and time of the world, but it is often working painfully, and is wasting the noblest strength in its strenuous toils. In silent and solitary places genius is often found consuming away in the fires which it has kindled. And now the question is-on what altars are these priceless offerings laid?

Let it be considered, then, in answer to this question, how few statues, paintings, or books, have any bad design. Point me to one in an hundred-to one in a thousand, or ten thousand-that recommends vice. What, then, do they inculcate? Surely it is virtue, sanctity, the grandeur of the spiritual part of man. What do we see in these works? It is in sculpture, the fearful beauty of the God of light, or the severe majesty of the Hebrew lawgiver, or the solemn dignity of the Christ. It is in painting, some form of moral loveliness, some saint in the rapture of devotion-or a Christian, constant, serene, forgiving.

victorious in the agonies of martyrdom. It is in writing-in fiction, in poetry, in the drama-some actor or sufferer, nobly sustaining himself amidst temptations, difficulties, conflicts, and sorrows-holding on his bright career through clouds and storms, to the goal of virtue and of heaven! Of course, I do not say that there are no moral defects in these representations; but most certain it is, nevertheless, that the highest literature and art of every age, embody its highest spiritual ideal of excellence. And even when we descend from their higher manifestations, and find them simply amusing, there is nothing in this that is hostile to religion. Men must have recreation; and literature and art furnish that which is most pure, innocent, and refining. They are already drawing away multitudes from coarser indulgences, and from places of low and vile resort. And the theatre, were it purged from certain offensive appendages, might be one of the most admirable ministrations conceivable, to the recreation and entertainment of the people. Nay, a great actor-as well as a great dramatist-in the legitimate walk of his art, may be a most effective and tremendous preacher of virtue to the people.

But, to go again to the main point, I must strenuously maintain, that books to be of religious tendency-to be ministers to the general piety and virtue-need not be books of sermons, nor books of pious exercises, nor books of prayers. These all have their great and good office to discharge: but whatever inculcates pure sentiment-whatever touches the heart with the beauty of virtue, and the blessedness of piety, is in accordance with religion; and this is the Gospel of literature and art. Yes, and it is preached from many a wall, it is preached from many a book—ay, from many a poem, and fiction, and review, and newspaper; and it would be a painful error, and a miserable narrowness, not to recognise these wide-spread agencies of heaven's providing -not to see and welcome these many-handed coadjutors to the great and good cause. Christianity has, in fact, poured a measure of its own spirit into these forms; and not to recognise it there, is to deny its own specific character and claim. There are religious books, indeed, which may be compared to the solid gold of Christianity; but many of its fairest gems have their setting in literature and art; and if it is a pitiable blindness not to see its beautiful spirit, even when it is surrounded by ignorance and poverty, what must it be not to recognise it when it is set in the richest framework that human genius, imagination, and art, can devise for it?

There is one of the arts of expression which I have not mentioned— which sometimes seems to me a finer breathing out of the soul than any other, and which certainly breathes a more immediate and inspiring tone into the heart of the world than any other-I mean music. Eloquent writing is great; eloquent speaking is greater; but an impromptu burst of song, or strain of music, like one of old Beethoven's voluntaries, I am inclined to say, is something greater. And now, when this wonderful power spreads around its spell, almost like inspiration; when, celebrating heroism, magnanimity, pity, or pure love, it touches the heart with rapture, and fills the eye with tears, is it to be accounted among things profane or irreligious? Must it be heard in church to be made a holy thing? Must the words of its soul-thrilling utterance be the technical words of religion-grace, godliness, righteousness-in order to mean