have been to reflect on what might happen at the end of the journey;—to escape "the wrath to come" by flying for refuge to a crucified Redeemer. But I must now conclude this letter. I am, &c. A DEVOTEE. 75 LETTER V. MY DEAR FRIEND, ONE of my companions during the sceptical state of my mind, was retarded in his progress to the priesthood by want of money. "Haud facile emergunt quorum virtutibus obstat Canatus." Often did he utter these words of Juvenal with a melancholy emphasis, which showed that he spoke from the heart. "Alas!" he would say, "the effort to rise is no less difficult in the modern Church than it was in the ancient city of Rome. Chill penury,' the fatal 'res augusta domi,' represses our energies, and effectually bars the road to eminence. The gods sold every thing for labour, but the Priests will not dispense their favours without money." My friend had been very superstitious. He blessed himself before and after meals; and even drew the sacred sign over the sheets when retiring to rest, lest any Satanic influence should chance to linger within their folds. He wore many rings and charms, and was, of course, re garded as a very holy person. He occupied himself incessantly in painting what he called "the sacred heart of Jesus," which was the picture of a heart radiating with love, and streaming with expiatory blood. This he frequently kissed with the utmost fervour. He was, moreover, a leader of the choir, and sang the matins and vespers parently with great devotion. But, notwithstanding all his "charms," he fell into very gross sin, and the Priests "gave him up ;" and, as is usual in such cases, he was ultimately hurried down the stream of depravity into a "horrible pit." "Ne croyez jamais rien de bon de cieux qui outrent la vertu"-"Believe nothing good of those who are righteous overmuch." Such is the advice of the celebrated BossUET, and it is not without force. But this disposition to push matters to extremes, belongs to what Shakespeare calls the "similar of virtue." A likeness, it is true, is preserved; but, as Dr. Campbell well remarks, what is beautiful in the original is hideous in the copy. With this person I had frequent disputes on metaphysical theology. Often by the wild wood side, we sat apart -“In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high Of providence, foreknowledge, will and fate; PREDESTINATION. 12 77 Fixed fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute; And found no end in wandering mazes lost." I remember I was, for argument sake, Augustinian, and strenuously defended predestination. My friend appealed, by agreement, to a learned divine, in a neighbouring town, for a decision of the controversy. His reply was, that these 66 matters were too high for us, and that such discussions should be abandoned for something more practical and profitable. He was not, however, a believer in "foreknowledge absolute." "God," said he, "cannot see the future actions of men otherwise than as they really are in themselves. But future actions are contingent and possible; therefore, God sees them only as contingent or possible." That argument, I was wont to remark, takes for granted a very important step in the process-namely, that the actions of men are contingent in reference to the Divine arrangements. And, moreover, that conditional foreknowledge is little better than absolute ignorance. For, from the unknown volitions of men, new events will be incessantly darting up, like bubbles, on the stream of life. The OMNISCIENT must, therefore, be daily acquiring fresh stores of knowledge, and must, also, frequently alter his purposes and proceedings to meet the unexpected emergencies that Does not this view of from time to time arise. the subject represent the Deity as anxiously watching the "wheel of fortune," that he may shape his course according to the new appearances that are perpetually exhibited by the operations of chance? And is it not, therefore, inconsistent with all correct notions of GOD? The great body of the Irish Priests, I conceive, take the Arminian side of this controversy; but there are not a few who hold the sentiments of St. Augustine.* These speculative questions, however, were interesting to me rather as a student of nature than of theology; for I had come to regard Christianity itself only as one among the phenomena which the great panorama of superstition had been from age to age exhibiting to the world. I had discarded the mysteries of religion for those of nature, and adored the Divinity of philosophy instead of the God of revelation. But prudence demanded that opinions so obviously heterodox should be cautiously concealed; for though there were some of my acquaintance who went nearly as far as myself, they yet found it convenient to suppress their sentiments, and conform to the reigning system. Among these was a gentleman of great talent The Rhemish annotators were decidedly predestinarian. |