The Chief End of Life 2
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Is it PLEASURE you propose as the end of life? No man is less likely to enjoy pleasure than he who lives for it, who makes it a business and profession. We have not only heard and read, but have seen, that a taste for pleasure in youth is the way to poverty in manhood, and misery in old age.
We would here present you with one of the most affecting scenes ever exhibited even in the martyrology of pleasure's victims. It is taken from the death-bed of that accomplished poet, and as accomplished libertine, Lord Byron; a man in whom the darkest passions of the soul, the loftiest powers of imagination, and the grossest propensities of man's animal nature, struggled for pre-eminence. One who was a spectator of the seen thus writes:
"He felt assured that his bodily constitution had been irretrievably ruined by intemperance; that he was a worn-out man; and that his muscular power was gone. Flashes before his eyes, palpitations and anxieties, hourly afflicted him. 'Do you suppose,' he said, with impatience, 'that I wish for life? I have grown heartily sick of it, and shall welcome the hour I depart from it. Why should I regret it? Can it afford me any pleasure? Have I not enjoyed it to the fullest? Few men can more pleasure-loving than I have done. I am, literally speaking, a young old man. Hardly arrived at manhood, I had attained the zenith of fame. Pleasure I have known under every form in which it can present itself to mortals. I had traveled, satisfied my curiosity, and lost every illusion. I have exhausted all the nectar in the cup of life: it is time to throw away the dregs. But the apprehension of two things now haunts my mind: I picture myself slowly expiring on a bed of torture, or terminating my days as a sad idiot! Would to heaven the day were come in which I should meet immediate, painless death—the object of my wishes.'
"It is with infinite regret," continues the writer, "I must state, that, although I seldom left Lord Byron's pillow during the latter part of his illness, I did not hear him make any, even the smallest, mention of true religion. At one moment I heard him say, 'Shall I sue for mercy?' After a long pause, he added, 'Come, come, no weakness. Let's be a man to the last.'"
Thus terminated, in a gloomy, sullen fit of infidelity and despair. All of his rank, wealth, genius had been sacrificed to skepticism—and its natural fruits, vice and misery. He had made pleasure his deity, and now see in what a miserable condition his God leaves him. What an antidote does his death furnish to the poison of his life! Is there anything here to tempt us to infidelity and wicked pleasure?
Perhaps you propose mental cultivation and the acquisition of KNOWLEDGE as the great end of life. We say nothing against learning, science, and the arts. We profess to admire them, and to have some taste for them. We have drunk at their springs, and often bitterly regret that our circumstances forbid us to partake more largely of their delicious waters. But then what will these do for us, in supplying the deeper needs of our moral nature, healing its diseases, or in satisfying its higher aspirations? Can they obtain for us the renovation of our corrupt hearts, the pardon of our numerous sins, the forfeited favor of God, assistance in our struggles after holiness, consolation in the dark and dreary hour of human woe, guidance amidst the perplexities of life, and protection from its dangers?
Or, as may be the case, should we be cut off in life's sweet prime, will they stand by our dying bed, smooth its pillows, and comfort us in the prospect of the grave? Will they qualify us to go in and dwell with God in heaven, and partake of the glories of immortality? Shall we in looking back upon life so early brought to a close, and in looking on to eternity so near at hand, feel that in studying science and neglecting true religion, we have answered the end of life?
But perhaps your ambition takes a lower aim, a narrower range, and you have set your highest mark in DOMESTIC HAPPINESS, and feel that in obtaining a comfortable home, and sharing it with the woman of your choice and of your love, you would reach the summit of your ambition, and neither look nor wish for anything beyond. This, in subordination to true religion is a wise moderation, a modest ambition. But, put in lieu of piety, it is a groveling and earthly one. How soon, if acquired, may that little earthly paradise be broken up by the intrusion of poverty or death! Besides, what is so likely to secure this object as the one we recommend? It is only over the lovely scene of a pious household that the beautiful strain of ancient poetry may still be poured, "How goodly are your tents, Jacob, and your tents, Israel! As valleys they are spread forth, as gardens by the riverside, as aloes which Yahweh has planted, as cedar trees beside the waters."
Tested then by itself and an examination of its own characteristics, and also by contrast with everything that may be put in competition with it, true religion proves itself to be what it really is, and we ourselves have found it to be—the chief end, the chiefgood, and therefore the chief business of life.
To assist each other in the pursuit of this object we, who send forth this address, are associated in brotherhood and in fellowship. The purpose of our association is not scientific—that may be sought, and should be sought, in other associations. Neither is itpolitical, on this subject we have our opinions, and as they may in some measure differ, we do not discuss that thorny topic. Nor is it commercial, we gain our knowledge of everything connected with trade by solitary reading and attending to our business, whatever it may be, in the scene of our daily occupation. Nor, we can truly aver, is it sectarian, for we are members of different communities of Christians, who, without sacrificing or compromising our conscientious convictions and usual practices, have agreed to unite for a common object, upon the basis of great principles avowed by us all, and are held to each other by the bond of brotherly kindness and charity. We had already learned, from many proofs around us, the possibility of union without compromise, and now have experienced, "how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity." It is our conviction that no sentiments ought to keep professing Christians from uniting with each other in some way, which do not keep them from union with Christ.
We say, then, to you, as Moses did to his father-in-law, "We are journeying to the place of which the Lord has said, I will give it to you. Come you with us, and we will do you good; for the Lord has spoken good concerning Israel." And we think that it would be happy for you, if you would reply in the language of Ruth to Naomi, "Where you go I will go—your people shall be my people, and your God my God."
It is not our chief aim, however, to draw you within the circle "of our hallowed association," as we deem it, for this would do you no good, nor would it promote the end of our union, or be in accordance with its laws, unless you were first drawn to God through faith in Jesus Christ. It is this latter end which is our main object. Having found out the blessed secret that genuine religion is the young man's safest guide, as well as surest bliss, we long to impart the secret to you, and to lead you to the well-spring of pure felicity. As we have already said—once we were ignorant of this, but the eyes of our understanding are now opened, and in the fullness of our adoring wonder, gratitude, and love, we feel that we cannot more worthily magnify God, for his grace to us, or more acceptably serve him—than by an endeavor to make you the sharers of our bliss.
When Sir Walter Scott was in his last illness, he said to his son-in-law, "be a pious man—read to me." "What book, sir?" With a look of surprise, almost of rebuke, the dying novelist and poet said, "There is only one book which will suit me now." What a sad proof, and what a melancholy instance of the instability and unsatisfying nature of all earthly greatness, do the closing scenes of this great man's life, and the posthumous history of his family afford! When in the zenith of his fame, kings might have envied him; and when in the decay of his fortune and his life, embarrassed in circumstances, and broken in spirits, his enemies, if he had any, might have pitied him. Go in imagination to the picturesque ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, and, as you hear, among the broken arches the rustling of the ivy, the moans of the breeze, and the plaintive notes of the robin which chant his requiem, listen to another sound which comes over that solemn spot, the awakened echoes of Solomon's impressive words, "Vanity of vanity, all is vanity!" All but one thing, true religion. There take the advice of that extraordinary man, "Be a pious man." And O could he speak to you from that world to which his lofty spirit has passed, with how much deeper an emphasis would he say, "Be a pious man." In that one short sentence is comprehended more true wisdom, more real dignity, more genuine philosophy, more pure happiness, more unfading honor—than can be learned from the hundred volumes of his bewitching pen.
Dwell upon the ADVANTAGES you possess for pursuing, acquiring, and enjoying this chief end of life. We are in the morning and therefore the freshness of existence. The dew of our youth lies upon us, which, as it sparkles in the morning sun, softens the soil of our mind, and makes our faculties at once more receptive and more active. We have all the susceptibilities and sensibilities of our nature, in their most impressible and excitable condition. Our heart, imagination, conscience, memory, are all vigorous yet tender. What an advantage for knowing, searching after truth, practicing godliness, and enjoying the peace that passes understanding. True religion, as regards its evidences, appeals by a mighty logic to the intellect; but, as regards its nature, it fills the imagination with a Divine poetry, and the heart with a holy and well-moderated enthusiasm.
Nor is this all. Our age and circumstances free us from that urgency of care and pressure of anxiety, which are the lot of the man of business at all times, especially in these, which we see experienced by those in whose service we are engaged, and which, it is evident, are among the greatest obstacles and enemies to piety. True we have our daily tasks and labors to perform, and can find little leisure, among the hurry of business, for pious reflection. But we leave our cares in the shop, and the evening is our own—relieving us, in part, of that extreme pressure and exhausting effect of labor under which we had been accustomed to suffer, and by which we were all but utterly unfitted for general mental improvement or pious exercises. But look at our employers. They are never free from care; it follows them from the shop to the parlor, and from the parlor to the chamber; it often forbids their sleep, because it makes powerless this injunction, "Far from my thoughts, vain world, begone; let my pious hours alone."
Is this the time, and are these the circumstances to which you would refer the consideration of the soul's momentous affairs? "Remember now, then, your Creator in the days of your youth." Yours is a halcyon season if you did but know it. True piety will guard you from the snares to which youth are ever and everywhere exposed: it will comfort you in sorrow, cheer you in solitude, guide you in perplexity. We speak from experience, for it has done all this for us.
And there is another thing it will do for you—it will save you from doing harm, and enable you to do good. None will be poisoned by your principles, nor seduced by your temptation, nor corrupted by your example. "My unkindness has murdered my wife, my principles have corrupted my friend, and my extravagance has beggared my boy," was the agonizing and remorseful confession of a dying infidel and libertine. What mischief you may do, what ruin you may inflict, if you are not pious—you cannot conceive and would shudder to know. But, on the other hand, true piety will necessarily make you philanthropists. You will imitate Him of whom it is so simply, but so sublimely said, "he went about doing good."
Now this will be your employment if you fear God. You will, in some way or other, seek to make bad men good, and good men better. We all should minister in some way—some as Sunday-school teachers, others as religious tract distributors, others on committees of various religious institutions. We feel it at once our duty, honor, and bliss to be thus occupied. Come and join us in these works of mercy and labors of love. Everything in this wonderful age calls to benevolent action. The voice of God and the times say, "Do something, do it." Catch the inspiration of the command, and determine to leave the world better than you found it.
We now bring this address to a close, by reminding you that there may be no time to lose for some of you in making up your mind on this momentous theme. There is nothing more certain than death; there is nothing more uncertain than life. "Youth is as mortal as the elderly." Presume not on long life. We have all followed young companions to the grave; and soon others will follow us to our graves. This year will doubtless be the last to some who shall peruse these pages. Many died the last year, not only by the sword of the destroying angel in the form of pestilence which has passed over our land, but by the ordinary shafts of death. There they lie in "the congregation of the dead." And where are they? Thousands more will this year follow other thousands that have preceded them to the grave. Let us not feel secure because the mysterious and awful epidemic which has so crowded our burial-places has been withdrawn. Cholera is not the only weapon which death employs in the work of destruction. Half as many British youth are every year swept off by death, as the whole number of persons of all ages who have been carried away by the pestilence. O, to those who are prepared, it is a sublime thing to die; they shall begin the year on earth and end it in heaven! But how indescribably awful the reverse!
It is a consolatory and encouraging thought that it not require seventy years to secure the great object of life. We have sometimes seen a young man of good prospects in life, possessing good talents improved by education, and in every respect promising to his friends and society, cut off by death just at the commencement of his career, and were ready to exclaim, "Alas, what a disappointment! He has lived in vain, and by his early removal has lost the end of life. Cut down like a flower in spring before its leaves were fully unfolded—of what advantage either to himself or others was his brief sojourn in our world?" We may spare our lamentations, so far as the subject of them himself was concerned. That young man was a partaker of God's grace; he had remembered his Creator in the days of his youth, and had thus accomplished the chief end of existence, as truly as if he had lived to threescore years and ten. He had secured "the one thing needful." He had obtained the salvation of his soul. What greater or better portion could he have obtained had he lived to the age of Methuselah? In his case, it was only so much cut off from time to be added to eternity, and only a shorter sojourn on earth for a longer dwelling in heaven.
But now turn to another spectacle, we mean that of an individual who has lived out his fourscore years, and died at last without true religion. He may have acquired wealth and left his family in affluence; he may have got for himself a name, and obtained a niche for his statue in the temple of fame; he may have gained respect for his talents while he lived, and for his memory when dead; and he may have even left a rich legacy to posterity, in works of public usefulness. But inasmuch as he neglected to glorify God by a life of religion, he lived in vain as regards the eternal world. The sublime end of existence was lost; and in the first moment of his waking up in another world, he would exclaim, "I have lost my life, for I have lost my soul!" He has committed a fatal mistake which require an eternity to understand—and an eternity to deplore! From that mistake may God in his great mercy preserve us, by bringing us with clear intelligence, deliberate resolution, inflexible purpose, and prayerful dependence—to adopt and ever to maintain the apostle's choice of an object of existence, and say, in reference to the salvation of our immortal soul—this one thing I do!
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