Reason, faith, and duty. Sermons preached chiefly in the college chapel

Front matter

Sermons

PREACHED CHIEFLY IN THE COLLEGE CHAPEL

BY

Introduction

HOULD there be found any one to ask, " Who was James

Walker ? " there are many to answer, " He was the man who first made me believe that religion is a real thing : in my college days, the strength of his logic, and the majesty of his earnestness, took my mind and heart captive."

Others, whose memories go back further, will reply, " More than all men else, he was 4 a son of consolation ' when my house was left unto me desolate." And they will add, " He built up a strong parish from slender beginnings ; his church in Charlestown stood like a lighthouse to warn the young, from far and near, of their perils ; wherever he preached, he was listened to as if men saw in his every look and word the unmistakable credentials of a i great ambassador. ' In the homes of the people he was simple as a child, yet profound as a philosopher ; at one moment overflowing with pungent humor, his countenance the next moment eloquent with pathetic seriousness. ' '

He was a man unrivalled in sententious conversation, one who, in later life, drew toward him the mingled homage and respect of the learned men around him in other chairs of the College which he honored successively as Professor and President ; the man on whose counsel the student pre-eminently relied, when his mind was vexed with those problems which concern themselves with the conduct of life, or the choice of a profession. And he lived to grow old ; he went gently to his rest with the benedictions of pupils following him from their widely scattered homes, with the gratitude of the vi

INTRODUCTION.

broken households who yet survived to revere the Pastor who ha$ served them more than thirty years before.

Never devoid of catholicity of spirit, the vehemence of the youthful theologian became more and more mellowed by a wide course of reading, and through the experience of life, until at last we saw in him an impersonation of the apostolic " meekness of wisdom," the like of which, in this world, we can scarce believe that our eyes shall rest upon again.

Is it too much to hope, that without the magic of that voice which filled all the chambers of the soul which it pierced, without that jxleading look which compelled the prodigal to " come to himself," without the kingly silence in which the preacher seemed to stand enthroned, without the retinue of thirsting eyes which we saw fastened upon him, — these words of his, saved from the ashes to which he had almost doomed them, may fan the embers of our better natures into a flame of heartier consecration?

* James Walker was born in Burlington (near Woburn) , Mass., Aug. 16, 1794. He was fitted for Harvard College (which he entered in 1810) under Mr. Caleb Butler, Preceptor of the Groton Academy.

He delivered the second English oration at his graduation, in 1814. Among the classmates gathered before him, when he appeared as their class-orator that year, were the late Rev. Dr. Greenwood, and the historian, Prescott. Upon leaving college, he spent a year at Exeter, N". H. , as an assistant teacher in connection with the memorable Dr. Benjamin Abbot, Principal of " Phillips Exeter Academy."

The two subsequent years he passed in the pursuit of his Theological studies at Cambridge, graduating in the class which first left the Divinity School, in 1817.

* In the preparation of this biographical notice, we have been very much aided by a discriminating and beautiful sketch of President Walker, prepared by Professor Joseph Lovering, his life-long friend, for the "American Academy of Arts and Sciences."

INTRODUCTION.

vii

After declining an invitation to settle in Lexington, Mass., he was ordained as the Pastor of the Harvard Church, in Charlestown, Mass., Feb. 11, 1818. During the twenty-one years of this ministry (which was a ministry to the social and educational interests of the town, as well as to his own parish), he was challenged again and again to come forth as a leader, upon conspicuous occasions. In 1832, he addressed " the citizens of Charlestown upon the one hundredth anniversary of Washington's birth-day." His ringing voice, bidding men " be of good cheer," carried courage to many a faint-hearted church and its youthful minister, upon the day of ordination . The pages of the " Christian Examiner " bear witness to his zeal in " every good word and work." Besides many contributions at other periods to its pages, he was its sole editor between the years 1831 and 1839. But a change of employment was at hand.

He retired from his auspicious ministry in Charlestown, July 11, 1839, that he might become " Alford Professor of Xatural Theology, Moral Philosophy, and Civil Polity ' ' in Harvard College. The public foresaw his illustrious career at Cambridge (for his name had been suggested in some quarters as a candidate for President as early as the date of the lamented President Kirkland's resignation in 1828). But we cannot wonder that his devoted parish clung to him to the very last, and interposed every possible solicitation to compel him to decline this invitation to the Alford Professorship. Xor were they wholly alone in their regrets. In the many homes in which Dr. Walker was enthusiastically welcomed, when he made an exchange of pulpits," there must have been those among old and young, whose hearts sadly testified that this summons, "Friend, go up higher," betokened their being left, far more than before, beyond the range of his voice or the clasp of his hand. After leaving the impress of his character upon many successive classes who were brought into more familiar relations with him than often happens at college, at the expiration of fourteen years viii

INTRODUCTION.

(in 1853) he was transferred from the Professor's chair to the office of President; which latter post he filled with signal ability during the ensuing seven years, until, in 1860, his impaired health counselled his resignation. But this event did not remove him from all concern in the interests of the College which he had loved so intensely all his life ; the College towards which he had long since taught the eyes of Charlestown boys to look wistfully. To its councils he had been called thirty-five years previous as Overseer ; of its Corporation he had been a member for nineteen years, before he became its President. And now, after a brief respite, we find him once more, for ten years, a member of the Board of Overseers.

He survived his retirement from the Presidency more than fourteen years. He had so meekly borne the honors with which men had crowned him, that these later years of comparative retirement were not rendered insipid from lack of excitement, but were, as he alleged, among his happiest; save only that a portion of them were overshadowed by the death of the wife, who for nearly forty years had been the companion of his studies, and the eager dispenser of his hospitality. Mrs. Catherine Walker (daughter of Dr. George Bartlett of Charlestown, Mass.,) died June 13, 1868, aged 70.

On his eightieth birth-day, Aug. 16, 1874, through the happy instigation of his life-long friend, Rev. Dr. Samuel Osgood, of New York, a beautiful cup and salver were presented to him by friends who had known and loved him in Charlestown, Cambridge, and elsewhere. A few weeks previous, he had the rare felicity of welcoming at his dinner table, upon Commencement Day, seven of his surviving classmates.

Dr. Walker edited " Reid's Essay on the Intellectual Powers, abridged, with notes from Sir William Hamilton," and Dugald Stewart's " Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man."

In 1810, and for three consecutive years, he delivered courses of lectures, before the Lowell Institute, upon Natu-

INTRODUCTION.

ix ral Religion, which excited a very deep and wide-spread interest.

In 1863, a memoir of Hon. Daniel Appleton White, of Salem, Mass., was printed, which Dr. Walker had prepared at the request of the Massachusetts Historical Society; and in 1867, he prepared a memoir, for the same society, of President Quincy.

The fervor of his patriotism was attested alike at the beginning and at the close of our gigantic civil war. In 1861, he published a kindling discourse, delivered in King's Chapel, Boston, upon " The Spirit proper to the Times." The oration which he delivered, in 1863, before the Alumni of Harvard College, remains in its massive simplicity an inspiring memorial of his patriotic counsels.

A former series of sermons was published by him after his retirement from the College Presidency.*

He died Dec. 23, 1874. His remains rest in Forest Hills Cemetery, West Roxbury.

w. o. w.

Keene, N". H.,

October, 1876.

The compiler takes great pleasure in acknowledging the assistance of Rev. Henry W. Foote, of Boston, in the preparation of this volume for the press.

* Dr. "Walker testified his attachment to Harvard University in the gift, by his will (with liberal increase), of the timely and generous benefaction which his friends had sent him upon his resigning the office of President. This bequest amounted to fifteen thousand dollars. In addition, he gave the College, in the same instrument, his entire library. He bequeathed one thousand dollars each to the American Unitarian Association, and to the "Society for the Relief of Aged and Indigent Clergymen."

Contents

I. Page Religion not a Science, but a Want .... 1

n.

Man's Competency to know God 18

I. Religion Not A Science, But A Want

" As the hartpanteth after the icater-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, 0 God! My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?" — Psalm xvii. 1, 2.

/r~pHE beautiful and plaintive psalm from which my text is taken appears to be the composition of a Hebrew captive and exile, moaning over his hard fate in being doomed to live in a strange land and among an idolatrous people. Continually derided by those around him for still trusting in Jehovah, by whom he had been to all appearance forsaken ; shocked and disgusted by the impure and cruel rites he was witnessing from day to day, — his heart yearned to be back among his countrymen, and take part once more in the only worship which was worship to him, which met and satisfied an irrepressible longing of his spiritual nature. 44 As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God ! My soul thirsteth for

1 A

God, for the living God : when shall I come and appear before God ? "

I am aware of no words in Scripture, nor indeed in any other book, which so strongly express the soul's need of religion. They will therefore introduce very properly what I am going to say on that subject. I cannot help thinking that many perplexities in matters of faith would be cleared up, and many so-called religious controversies be set at rest, if men would accustom themselves to look upon religion not as a science, but as a want.

First of all, let me explain as clearly as I can what is meant when religion is spoken of as being not a science, but a want.

You know how it is with man's relations to society ; — society is not a science, but a want. Of course, we can make society a matter of science ; that is to say, we can speculate about the origin of society, and about what constitutes a true society, and come to the same or to different conclusions, or to no conclusion, on the subject. But these speculations do not make society any more, or any less, a want of our nature. The want is founded in needs and cravings which pertain to our nature itself, and exist antecedently to all speculation, and independently of it.

So it is with religion. Some, perhaps, will object that there is no analogy between the two laws here

BUT A WANT.

supposed ; or, at any rate, that the analogy fails in an essential point. They may say our want of society can be traced back to an instinct implanted in our nature, — the instinct of sympathy ; just as our want of knowledge can be traced back to another instinct implanted in our nature, — the instinct of curiosity : but there is no such special instinct to which we can trace back our want of religion, — the soul's thirst for the living God. To this, however, I would reply : when we refer to special instincts in man we must not make them to be separate entities, the aggregate of which constitutes human nature. Human nature is a single entity ; and these instincts, as that term is here used, are but the spontaneous and controlling tendencies which this nature manifests in the process of its development : and one of these spontaneous and controlling tendencies is to religion, — to religion of some sort or other.

Again, you know how it is with morality ; — morality is not a science, but a want. Of course, we can make morality a matter of science ; that is to say, we can speculate about its foundation and motive and end, and the result will be a system of ethics. But men do not become moral beings by the study of ethics, any more than they become rational beings by the study of logic. Men are moral beings because they have a moral nature;

BE LI G ION NOT A SCIENCE, that is, a conscience, an innate, inextinguishable sense of right, which makes morality to be a want.

In the same sense, and for the same reason, religion is not a science, but a want. I do not mean that there is no such thing as a science of religion ; but this I say, — the scheme of religion is not religion, any more than the science of friendship is friendship. We speculate about God and immortality, about faith and prayer, and the terms of the Divine acceptance, and come to various conclusions ; and these various conclusions constitute our various theologies and creeds, — that is, our science of religion. But mankind were religious long before they had any thing to do with these religions and creeds. Men are religious beings because they have a religious nature; just as they are social beings because they have a social nature, and moral beings because they have a moral nature.

Religion, therefore, taking the term in its most general acceptation, is a human want ; not so called because a want always felt, but because a foundation is laid in every soul for its being felt at times. It would be just as easy to find a people without a disposition to society, or a sense of moral distinctions, as to find one without any recognition whatever of Divinity, — -without reverence, faith, worship, religious aspiration under some form or other, and in some degree or other.

BUT A WANT.

Here, then, is a view of religion quite distinct from the question of the truth or falsity of any particular and definite form of it ; quite distinct, also, from a consideration of its moral claims and uses ; and yet of great practical moment.

In the first place it helps to clear up what would otherwise be a perplexing fact in history. I mean the existence and prevalence of rude, grotesque, and sometimes savage and cruel modes of faith and worship. A religion which is to supply a natural want will take more or less of its character from the character of the want itself as actually developed and felt at the time. It certainly must have been so with the various forms of paganism ; for these were nothing but the growth of a particular state of society and the human mind, and must therefore be expected to betray the limitations, the defects, the vices of their source. And even where the religion originates in an express revelation, we must presume that the whole will be accommodated to the actual capacities and wants of the people and the age. Accordingly we have a succession of revelations, — the patriarchal, the Mosaic, and the Christian. It has been objected to the first two, that they are confessedly imperfect when compared with the last, and therefore cannot have come from a perfect being. But those who take this ground forget that the perfection of a religion consists in its perfect adaptation to its purpose ; in other words, that the best religion for any people is not that which is best in itself, but that which will best satisfy their moral and religious wants, — in short, the best which they can bear. u I have yet many things to say unto you," our Lord is here speaking to the twelve, " but ye cannot bear them now."

Certainly, therefore, we have the best authority for holding that revelation itself is, and must be, accommodated more or less to the condition of those to whom it is addressed, — to their capacities and their wants. And this applies especially to a public religion ; that is, to a religion intended for a whole people, and not merely for the enlightened few.

You will sometimes hear it said that religion is wholly an affair between the individual and his Maker ; which is true in one sense, but not in another. Everybody knows that there must be a public as well as a private or personal religion ; in other words, there must be a public religion in order that there may be a private or personal religion, — for the latter is nothing but the former individualized, with slight variations. The public religion must also take a positive form ; that is to say, it must express itself by means of institutions of faith and worship, which are generally received ; and to be generally received, they must be such as the age, the community, the sect are generally in a condition to understand and appreciate. To a certain extent, therefore, it is with the institutions of religion — by which I mean its outward forms and professions — just as it is with the institutions of government. It is to no purpose to say that the truest institutions of government are the best : they are the best if the people are prepared for them, and can bear them ; if not, they are the worst. In reading ecclesiastical history, many are offended and disgusted at the superstitions which prevailed in the Church of the Middle Ages. But why this disposition to find fault with what was manifestly a wise ordering of things ? A simple and more rational ministration of Christianity would not have taken hold of the imagination and the feelings of the people of that period ; that is to say, it would not have satisfied the religious wants of the then existing condition of society ; in one word, it would not have answered its purpose.

But is not this to reduce all rites and creeds to a level ? — to make one religion as good and as true as another ? I answer, No ! The best and truest religion, in itself considered, is that which is best for the best people ; but it does not follow that it would be best for all people. The stumbling block of the so-called radical reformers consists in ignoring the obvious fact, that minds must be educated up to a condition or capacity to receive the highest truths. The truth, these men will tell you, can never do any harm ; which nobody denies, if by truth is meant truth understood ; but truth misunderstood, as it will be if men are not prepared for it, is one of the subtlest and often one of the most mischievous of errors. It is still our interest and our duty to seek out and to disseminate the truest exposition of Christianity, — the truest in itself considered ; but this can be clone in no other way than by preparing ourselves and others to understand and appreciate it. Meanwhile, differences will and must exist. Not different gospels, as some are fond of saying : there is but one Gospel, as there is but one Nature ; nothing hinders, however, the one Gospel any more than the one Nature from being variously interpreted. Nay, paradoxical as it may seem, these different interpretations, when adapted to the corresponding differences in men's minds, will so balance and complement each other as actually to promote the only unity and identity we can desire. I mean unity and identity of effect ; that is, the satisfaction of the common religious want.

This, then, is the first lesson to be gathered from the doctrine that religion is not a science, but a want. Under a scientific point of view, it is plain

BUT A WANT.

there can be but one absolutely true faith ; it argues however neither -wisdom nor piety, but a pitiable self-conceit, in any individual or in any sect to think to have found it. Happily it is not necessary to do so. It suffices, if the humble follower of our Lord has found enough of this truth to make him an earnest, trusting, and devout ma: . Elevate him if you can into the region of higher and more spiritual wants ; but, taken as he is, that religion is practically the truth for him, which will best answer the ends of religion in his case. Of course, on this principle we must expect diversity, — "diversities of gifts," "differences of administrations," "diversities of operations," — nevertheless, as the Apostle says, " it is the same God which worketh all in all." Observe, too, that the practical evils sometimes incident to this diversity do not come from the law of the diversity as here laid down. They come from not understanding, or from attempts to contravene, that law; in other words, they come either from urging reforms prematurely, — that is, before people are prepared for them, — or else from a struggle to retain and perpetuate institutions which the world has outgrown. Let us hope there is a tendency to agreement and unity in what is absolutely true. And that this tendency may become effective, let all the ways of progress be thrown open : let the thought of man 1*

BELIGION SOT A SCIENCE, be as free as the air. What will satisfy him to-day will not probably satisfy hini to-morrow ; still it is true to-day as well as to-morrow that that religion is the best for him, which, for the time being, will best satisfy his religious wants, — the cry of his soul "for God, for the living God."

Two other lessons are also to be gathered from the doctrine of this discourse, which are more directly practical : the first, respecting what we are to do for others ; the second, respecting what we are to do for ourselves.

It is common for persons of cultivated and refined minds to express surprise and impatience at the superstitious notions and practices which still prevail. These superstitions, however, do but authenticate what has just been said in proof of man's religious nature. Such is the need, the craving, of the human mind for religion of some sort or other, that, rather than have none, it will accept it under the most grotesque and revolting forms. And, this being the case, it follows that the only effectual preventive or cure of superstition is to be found in the inculcation and prevalence of a purer worship. It is to no purpose to deride prevalent superstitions ; it is to no purpose to rail against them ; nay, it is to no purpose to refute them. The bulk of mankind will never be persuaded that their religion, however inade-

BUT A WANT.

quate and corrupt, is not better than none. Some communication with the mysterious Infinite, some intercourse with the invisible world, they will and must have. If you are dissatisfied with the popular faith, inculcate a better, exhibit the fruits of a better, educate the people up to a capacity for a better ; but do not hope to correct the evil of which you complain in any other way ; do not think to put down superstition by setting up formalism, or scepticism, or infidelity.

We should also bear in mind that what is wanted is not a philosophy, but a religion. We may have all the argument on our side, and all the learning, and a full proportion of the integrity and honor ; yet it will profit us nothing, if we are suspected of being deficient in faith and piety, if we have not an unction from the Holy One. The bulk of the community are not looking round for the truest or the most consistent form of worship, but for that which will best satisfy their religious wants. Hence that sect will be almost sure to be in the ascendant, which gives the most striking and unequivocal signs of seriousness and zeal ; which loves the most, and prays the most, and does the most good. Enlightened views of Christianity derive an immense advantage on the intellectual side from the fact that they fall in with the great movements of the age, and with the highest and best thought on other subjects; but this advantage will be more than lost, if the profession of these views fails to be connected with that serious and devout habit of mind which is absolutely indispensable to render any religion popular. Let it, therefore, be universally understood, that the man or the woman who leads the public to associate with any set of religious opinions uncommon sanctity, does more to propagate those opinions than the most triumphant display of logic, or criticism, or eloquence.

Thus much we owe to others and to society. Knowing that there is a want in human nature which will lead either to religion or to superstition, we see at once that the only effectual prevention or cure of superstition is to be found in the prevalence of a pure and rational faith. This faith, therefore, the enlightened and educated classes are under a double motive and obligation to promote by word and deed, by profession and life : first, because it is the only legitimate means of satisfying men's religious wants ; and, secondly, because it is the only effectual means of saving the whole community from debasing and ruinous superstitions.

And this is not all. In the last place, therefore, and under the light of the same general principle, let us consider what we are to do for ourselves.

BUT A WANT.

I have said that religion, of some sort or other, is a universal and inextinguishable want ; and this is true. But all men do not feel this want equally, and no one feels it equally at all times ; and, what is more, many who feel their need of religion when they have occasion to use it, do not feel their need of it when they have opportunity to acquire it. There is nothing wonderful here ; for it is just so with the most obvious and universal of our bodily wants, — the want of food. We all feel this want when hungry ; but it is not every one who feels it or recognizes it at other times, so as to be put upon providing the necessary food beforehand. In the same way we all feel our need of religion when we have occasion to resort to it for support or solace, but not always when we have opportunity to acquire it ; or we feel it but in a slight degree, — not sufficiently to induce earnest action. This is our great difficulty, the most serious obstacle to personal religion, as will readily appear on giving a moment's thought to the real springs of human action.

A man is not impelled to the pursuit of any good by his knowledge or opinion of its nature or relative value, but by his feeling of the want of it, and the uneasiness which this feeling creates. The spring of all human activity is in the uneasiness that accompanies desire. As it has been justly said, you may convince a man ever so much that plenty has its advantages over poverty ; you may make him see and own that the handsome conveniences of life are better than pinching and squalid penury, — nevertheless, so long as he is content with the latter and finds no uneasiness in it, he will not move a ringer to better his condition. In the same way a man may easily be brought to see and own, in a general view of things, that virtue is a more desirable object than wealth ; still, if from any cause his want of wealth is the most keenly felt, he will bend all his energies to the attainment of that, and let the other go, at least for the present. And so with religion. Men may estimate it in their theories above all earthly possessions, and be perfectly sincere in those estimates ; nevertheless, in point of fact, so long as they can content themselves without it as a habit of mind, or think they can dispense with it for the present, or imagine they already have enough of it, they will be sure to postpone its earnest and serious cultivation to any the most frivolous object which happens from any cause to be uppermost in their feeling of want. No matter how much they need religion, it is only in proportion as they actually feel this need that they will be put upon acquiring it. It is not enough that religion really is the best of things, and that every