Chapter XIX · (continued 2)

22. I have met with some unpleasantnesses since my return to Christ; but I am not sure that they are worth naming; and for the present they shall remain unnamed. I have met with many things of a very pleasant character. Thousands that followed me into doubt have come back with me to Christianity. Thousands that were sinking, were saved by my conversion. I believe I may say thousands of unbelievers that were not led into doubt by me, have been redeemed from their wretchedness through my example and labors. Some young ministers have been kept from rash and ruinous steps by the story of my experience. Many believers have been strengthened in their faith and encouraged in their Christian labors under my sermons and lectures. Many have been benefited by my publications. My family has been greatly comforted and blessed. The power of the infidel class has been diminished. I have myself enjoyed a kind and a degree of happiness that I never enjoyed while the slave of doubt and unbelief. And it is a great consolation to think that I was brought to God while in my health and strength, and that I have now been permitted to spend from eleven to twelve years in the work of Christ. Another great comfort is, that my circumstances are such as to enable me to give some proof of my devotion to the cause of Christ; of my infinite preference of the religion of Christ, both to the miserable philosophy of unbelief, and to the wretched fictions of ignorant or anti-Christian divines.

23. I read quite a multitude of books on my way back to Christ, and if I had time, I would give some account of the influence which some of them made on my mind. But I have not. It may seem strange, but I had sunk below the level of ancient Paganism, and the books which I read on my first awaking to a consciousness that I was wrong, were Pagan works. I read much in Plato and Aristotle, Cicero and Seneca, for a time, and then in Plutarch, M. A. Antonine, and Epictetus. The works of Epictetus, with the comments of Simplicius, proved exceedingly profitable. I then read the writings of Theodore Parker, Dr. Channing, and some of the works of Dr. Priestley, and got good from all. They all helped to inspire me with a horror of Atheism, and to strengthen my faith in God, and in His boundless and eternal love. I next read a number of my own works, beginning with those that were somewhat skeptical, and reading backwards, to those which were Christian. I then read freely my old companions and favorites, including Hooker, Baxter, and Howe; Jeremy Taylor, William Law, and Bishop Butler. I read Shakespeare freely, and Pope, and then Thomson, and Goldsmith, and Young, and Cowper, and Tennyson, and several others of our poets. Then came the works of Carlyle, Burke, Penn, and Wesley; of Robert Hall, and Dr. Cooke, and Mr. Newton; and the writings of Paley and Grotius. I also read Guizot's History of Civilization, and those portions of Dr. Henry's History of England that referred to the Church and Christianity. Still later I read Augustine's Confessions, Montalembert's Monks of the West, and everything I could find to illustrate the history of Christianity.

I was delighted, transported, with many of Wesley's hymns. I found in them an amount of truth, and beauty, and richness of good feeling, I had never found in them before. I read many of the hymns of Watts with great pleasure, as well as several collections of hymns and poetry by Roundell Palmer and others. I also read the writings of Chalmers, Whewell, and Lord Brougham on natural theology, and the works of several other authors on that subject.

At a later period I read something in Neander, Lange, and others on the life of Christ. Still later I read Young's Christ of History, with Renan and Ecce Homo. Renan tried me very much. He seemed to write in the scoffing spirit of Voltaire, and I laid the book aside before I got to the end. Ecce Homo delighted me exceedingly. I read it a dozen times. I studied it, and it did me a great deal of good. It both strengthened my faith in Christ, and increased my love to Him. Still later I read Ecce Deus with pleasure and profit.

The book however that did me most good was the Bible. I came to it continually, as to an overflowing fountain, and drank of its waters with ever-increasing delight.

24. I began to preach before I was fit; but I never might have been fit, if I had not begun. I became fit by working while unfit. And my imperfect labors proved a blessing to many.

25. There was much prejudice against me at first; but not more than I had reason to expect; and it gradually gave place to confidence and kind feeling. Some said I ought to remain silent a few years; but as I did not know what a few years or even a few days might bring forth, I thought it best to speak at once. I had spoken freely enough on the wrong side, and I saw no reason why I should not speak as freely and at once on the right side. Nor do I regret the course I took. It was the best. Some that thought otherwise at first, think as I do now. For instance, when Mr. Everett first heard that some of his friends had invited me to preach for them, he was very angry, and said I ought never to speak or show my face again in public as long as I lived. In less than four years he came to hear me, was much affected, shook me by the hand, thanked me, invited me to his house, showed me his library, and his museum of Methodist antiquities and curiosities, offered me a home in his house, and was as kind to me as a father.

I never quarrelled with people for regarding me with distrust or fear, though I often checked my over-zealous friends, who were disposed to quarrel with all who did not regard me with the same amount of love and confidence as themselves.

I have never defended myself against slanderers, either by word or writing, except when justice to my friends has seemed to require it.

I have never complained of any disadvantages under which I have labored. It is right that a man who has erred as I have, should have something unpleasant in his lot to remind him of his error, and render him more careful and prayerful for the time to come: and there is to me a pleasure in doing penance for my faults.

26. I have never thrown the whole blame of my errors on others, nor have I ever seen reason to take the whole to myself. God alone is able to distribute praise and blame, rewards and punishments, according to men's deserts, and to Him I leave the task. At first I was disposed to be very severe towards myself: but two years' experience in the religious body that I first joined, of a kind of treatment resembling that of my early days, satisfied me that I ought to judge myself a little more leniently. I would not however be unduly severe towards others. I cannot tell, when a man does me wrong, how far he may be under the influence of unavoidable error, and how far he may be under the influence of a wicked will. I may be able to measure the injustice of the act, but not the wickedness of the actor. God alone can do that. A man's treatment of me may satisfy me that I ought not to place myself in his power; but cannot justify me in saying of him that he deserves the damnation of hell. The rule with regard to men's deserts is, "Judge not, that ye be not judged."

27. But when I have made the most liberal allowance for myself, and even while I feel satisfied that in my investigations my object was the discovery of truth, and that my errors were wholly unintentional, I must still feel ashamed and mortified at the thought that I was so weak as to be capable of such grievous errors. Even when I take into account the imperfection of my education, and the disadvantages of my situation, and all the temptations by which I was assailed, I am still ashamed and humbled, and feel that my place is in the dust. But if, while prostrate, God says to me, "Arise!" shall I resist the call? If in the exercise of His love He restores to me the joys of His salvation, and bids me speak and labor in His cause, shall I not thankfully obey the heavenly voice? Shall I carry my humility to the extreme of disobedience? Shall I not rather arise, and, with a cheerful and joyous heart, do my Saviour what service I can? I will not presume to usurp the prerogative of God, even to judge and punish myself. I will leave myself to Him, the merciful and all-knowing, and He shall do with me what He sees best. I will not reject His mercy. I will not resist His will. Let Him do what seemeth to Him good, whether it be in the way of tenderness or of severity. It has pleased Him, thus far, to mingle much compassion with His chastisements, and His goodness calls for gratitude and joy.

28. And as I act towards God, I will act towards His people. If they frown on me, I will take it patiently; but if they welcome me with demonstrations of affection, I will rejoice. If they close their pulpits against me, I will say, "Your will be done." If they open them to me, I will enter, and, to the best of my ability, declare the counsel of God. A portion of God's people,—a large and most worthy portion—have received me graciously; and my duty is, and my endeavor, I trust, will be, to reciprocate their love and confidence. I say with the poet:—

29. It seems strange that I should have been permitted to wander into doubt and unbelief, and live so long under its darkness and horrors. There is a mystery about it that I cannot understand. But what I know not now, I may know hereafter. The mystery of Job's trial was explained when his afflictions were at an end. The mystery of my strange trial is still wrapt up in darkness. True, my strange experience has not been an unmixed calamity. It has brought me advantages which I could not otherwise have enjoyed. I know things which I never could have known, if I had always remained within the enclosures of the Church, and under the influence of Christianity. And my heart is more subdued to the will of God. I am more at one with Him than I ever was before. I love Him more. I love Jesus more. I love His religion more. I have a clearer view and a fuller knowledge of its infinite worth. I have, of course, a fuller knowledge of the horrors of infidelity. And my faith in God and Christianity rests on a firmer foundation than it did in my early days. Many things which I once only believed, I now know. Many things for which I had formerly only the testimony of others, I now know to be true by my own experience. There are quite a multitude of things on which I have greater certainty, and on which I can, in consequence, speak with more authority than in my early days. There are, too, cases of doubt which I can meet, which formerly I could not have met. I can make more allowances too, than formerly, for those who are troubled with doubt, or ensnared by error. And my preaching, in some cases, is more powerful. And I am more free from bigotry and intolerance. While I see more to love and admire in the Church generally, I love all hard-working churches without partiality. I think less of the points on which they differ, and more of the points on which they agree. They appear to me more as one church. There are many points on which I might once have engaged in controversy, which now appear of little or no moment. While I have more zeal for God, I have more charity for men.

There are many things in Wesley's hymns, and many things in other hymns, which formerly I did not understand or appreciate, or understood and appreciated but very imperfectly, which now I understand more perfectly, and prize more highly. And so with many things in the Bible.

30. And I have, at times, and have had for years, strange glimpses of the magnificence and wondrousness of the universe; startling views of the awful grandeur and movements of its huge orbs, and of the terrible working of its great forces, and an overpowering sight and sense of the presence and power of the living God in all, which I never had in my earlier days. And I have often had, and still have, at times, strange feelings of the fact and mystery of existence: of my own existence, and of the existence of other beings, and of God.

31. And I have, at times, strange feelings with regard to the infinite value of life and consciousness, and of my intellectual and moral powers. And I have pleasant and wonderful thoughts and feelings with regard to the lower animals, as the creatures of God, my Father; and as manifestations of His goodness, and wisdom, and power; and as sharers with me of an infinite Father's love. And I love them as I never loved them in my earlier days. I feel happier in their company. I listen with more pleasure to the songs of birds, and gaze with more delight on every living thing. The earth and its inhabitants are new to me. The plants and flowers are new. The universe is new. I am new to myself. All things are new. It seems, at times, as if the new, enlarged, and higher life of which I have become conscious through my strange experience, were worth the fearful price which I have paid for it.

32. But then again I think of the time I spent in sin and folly,—of the mischief I did in those dark days,—of the grief I caused to so many good and godly souls,—of the sorrows I entailed on those most dear to me, and of the terrible disadvantages under which I labor, and under which I must always labor, in consequence of my unaccountable errors, and I am confounded and dismayed. But then, on the other hand, I am reminded that I did not sin wilfully,—that I did not err purposely or wantonly,—that what I did amiss I did in ignorance,—that I verily believed myself in the way of duty when I went astray,—that I was influenced by a desire to know the truth,—that I believed myself, at the outset, bound as a Christian, and as a creature of God, to use my faculties to the utmost in searching the Scriptures, and exploring Nature, in pursuit of truth,—that when I advocated infidel views, I advocated them believing them to be true, and believing that truth must be most conducive to the virtue and happiness of mankind. True, appearances were against me; but I felt myself bound, even when an unbeliever, to "walk by faith,"—by faith in principles which I supposed myself to have found to be true. My life, even in my worst condition, was a life of self-sacrifice for what I regarded as eternal truth. When I gave up my belief in a Fatherly God, and my faith in a blessed immortality, I believed myself to be making a sacrifice at the shrine of truth. I thought I heard her voice from the infinite universe demanding the surrender, and conscience compelled me to comply with the demand. I felt the dreadful nature of the sacrifice, but what could I do?

I remember the words I uttered, and I remember the mingled emotions which filled and agitated my soul, on that occasion. I was distressed at the terrible necessity of giving up the cherished idols of my soul, yet I was filled for a moment with a strange delight at the thought that I was doing my duty in compliance with the stern demands of eternal law, and the dread realities of universal being. And I hoped against hope that the result would all be right.

I weep when I read the strange words which I uttered on that dark and terrible occasion. I said to myself, "The last remains of my religious faith are gone. The doctrines of a personal God, and of a future life, I am compelled to regard as the offspring, not of the understanding, but of the imagination and affections." It is no easy matter to wean one's-self from flattering and long cherished illusions. It is no easy matter to believe that doctrines which have been almost universally received, and which have been so long and so generally regarded as essential to the virtue and happiness of mankind—doctrines, too, which have mingled their mighty influences with so much of the beautiful and sublime in human history, and which still, to so many, form all the poetry and romance, almost all the interest and grandeur and blessedness of human life, have no foundation in truth. To persons who believe in a Fatherly God, and in human immortality, pure naturalism is terribly uninviting. It was always so to me. I well remember the mingled horror and pity with which, when a Christian, I regarded the man who had no personal God, and no hope of a future life. I remember too how I wrote or spoke of such. I mourned over them as the most hapless and miserable of all living beings. Yet I myself have come at length, by slow degrees, after a thousand struggles, and with infinite reluctance, to the dread conclusion, that a personal God and an immortal life are fictions of the human mind. Yet existence has not quite lost its charms, nor life its enjoyments. There is something infinitely grand, and unspeakably exciting and elevating in the consciousness of having made a sacrifice of the most popular and bewitching of all illusions, out of respect to truth. It was an enviable state of mind which prompted, the grand and thrilling exclamation, "Let justice be done, though the heavens should fall." And that state of mind is no less enviable which can sustain a man in the sacrifice of God and immortality at the shrine of truth. Such a sacrifice, accompanied, as it must be in the present state of society, with a thousand other sacrifices of reputation, friendships, popular pleasures, and social favor, is an exercise of the highest virtue, a demonstration of the greatest magnanimity, and is accompanied or followed with an intensity of satisfaction which none but the martyr-spirit of truth can conceive. It is often said by Christians, that the reason why persons doubt the existence of God and a future life is, that they have good cause to dread them; or, as Grotius expresses it, that they live in such a way that it would be to their interest that there should be no God or future life. This was not the case with me. My unbelief came upon me while I was diligently striving in all things to do God's will. My virtue outlived my faith.

"Born of Methodist parents, and reared under Christian influences, and a Christian myself, and even a Christian minister for many years, I was brought slowly and reluctantly, in spite of a world of prejudices, and in spite of interests and associations and tastes all but almighty in their influence, to the conclusion, that pure, unmixed Naturalism alone accorded with what was known of the present state and the past history of the universe. I say I was brought to these conclusions in spite of a world of opposing influences. While a Christian, all that the world could promise or bestow seemed to be within my reach. Friends, popularity, wealth, power, fame; and visions of infinite usefulness to others, and of unbounded happiness to myself in the future, were all promised me as the reward of continued devotion to the cause of God and Christianity. As the reward of heresy and unbelief, I had to encounter suspicion, desertion, hatred, reproach, persecution, want, grief of friends and kindred, anxious days and sleepless nights, and almost every extreme of mental anguish. Still, inquiry forced me into heresy further and further every year, and brought me at length to the extreme of doubt and unbelief."

It was, then, in no light mood that I gave up my faith in God, and Christ, and immortality. The change in my views was no headlong, hasty freak. It was the result of long and serious thought—of misguided, but honest, conscientious study. And hence I have sometimes thought, and am still inclined to think, that God had a hand in the matter—that He led me, or permitted me to wander, along that strange and sorrowful road, and to pass through those dreary and dolorous scenes, and drink so deeply of so dreadful a cup of sorrow, for some good end. "He maketh the wrath of man to praise Him," and perhaps he may turn our errors also to good account. I am not disposed to believe that my life has been a failure. It may, for anything I know, prove to have been a great success. "Men are educated largely by their mistakes," says one. It hardly seems likely that God would suffer a well-intentioned, though weak and erring child, to ruin either himself or others for ever. God is good, and the future will justify His ways, and all His saints shall praise Him.

My business meanwhile is, to do what I can to promote the interests of truth, and the welfare of mankind. I must, so far as possible, redeem lost time. I have a thousand causes for gratitude, and none for complaint. I am very happy in general; as happy as I desire to be, and as happy, I expect, as it is good for me to be. I sometimes feel as if I were too happy. And I certainly never ask God to make me more happy. I ask Him to make me wiser, and better, and more useful, but not more happy. At times my cup of joy runs over. It is strange it should be so, yet so it is. But joy and sorrow are often found in company. Paul says of himself, "Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing." The author of Ecce Deus says, "The good man's life is one unbroken repentance. Throughout his life he suffers on account of his sins. What, then of joy?" he asks: and he answers, "It is contemporaneous with sorrow. They are inseparable. The joy that is born of sorrow is the only joy that is enduring." It may seem strange, but it is true, the last year of my life has been the happiest I ever experienced.