Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Piety gives more and purer joys than it takes away Not to enlarge on the unreasonableness of expecting that in every case piety will so alter the natural disposition, as to make the melancholic invariably cheerful, and reduce the diversified temperaments of men to one uniform tone, we may now consider another point connected with the charge, that "piety makes its possessors gloomy," namely, That it requires them to forsake the pleasures and the gaieties of the world. By these pleasures is meant the ordinary worldly amusements which, with almost common consent, Christians have felt it their duty to relinquish. Some professors, whose belief and practice are not intended to be very strict, have, we know, mingled unscrupulously in such scenes, and partaken of such pleasures. But we are now speaking of the truly pious—of those whose religion not only forbids, but powerfully dissuades from their indulgence. In this latter case, the relinquishment is not a forced, but a voluntary act. It is not so much the coercion of stern duty, as the sweet constraint of an honest, heart-felt preference of better things. This is placing the subject in its true light; and in this way we maintain that piety gives more joys than it takes away.

It is not the intention of the writer to assert that there is no felicity whatever in the pleasures which a gay and thoughtless world have planned and are pursuing; for if there were none, why would they be sought, and why are they continued? The aim of all is to secure in some form that happiness which the soul of man naturally craves. It is with the hope of satisfying this desire of the heart, that ingenuity is tasked to furnish a sufficient variety of social and carnal gratifications whereby the mind may be excited, and its depressing thoughts and anxieties driven away. In part the plan is successful. There is a certain amount of pleasure experienced in the anticipation and enjoyment of these things, although the most eager votary, it is probable, would confess, that there was not so much real felicity as the inexperienced generally imagine. But in this case, the heart has never tasted of purer and more soul-satisfying delights. The round of social festivity and amusement is the only circle in which it has revolved: and these artificial pleasures are the only or the principal ones which it has been taught to covet and appropriate.

Now, how impossible, that one schooled only in these worldly entertainments, should be able to form a correct judgment of the pleasures of true piety, since the latter have not only never been enjoyed, but are of a nature so different from those which have been alluded to! It is as if you were to ask a native of the frigid zone, who had never been out of sight of the eternal snows which mantle those repulsive regions, for an opinion of the warmer climates in which nature is so lavish of her charms. He might expatiate on the attractions of his own home, and talk of its superiority to all other scenes; and he might recoil at the idea of a transfer to another region; but surely if his foot never trod the flowery paths of the tropics, he would be a very inadequate judge of the bright sunbeams and fragrant beauties which their inhabitants behold.

Without denying to the pleasurist some of the felicity which he claims—alas, how inadequate!—we ask him to correct his judgment as to the happiness of the pious; no longer to fling upon Piety the unjust charge that she is the cause of gloom; nor suppose that because she calls us from the region which is occupied, to one more healthful and cheering, she thereby cuts us off from the enjoyments of life.

But, suppose even that Piety removed every earthly pleasure from her disciples, and gave them only a cup of suffering; still it might with reason be maintained, that in view of her eternal rewards, her disciples would be infinite gainers. Such was, in a great degree, the case with the primitive Christians. But no gloom or despondency hung around their brows. One of them could exclaim, ’I glory in infirmity!’ In view of heavy afflictions, he could say, ’I do rejoice, yes, and will rejoice!’ The point before us is, that Piety gives more and purer joys than she takes away. We hope in the course of our remarks this will appear: and while it may be our duty to expose the unworthy compromise with the world which some professors of religion are attempting to make, we shall aim to show that there is nothing in Piety to curtail our true felicity; but, on the contrary, that she bestows a glorious equivalent for all the self-denial which she enjoins on her disciples. Too often is this feature of our religion overlooked; and hence the incorrect judgment which is sometimes formed of its influence upon the happiness of man.

Piety is viewed by the unreflecting devotee of pleasure, as a stern and forbidding monster, who wears an iron visage, and holds in his hand a rod of anger; who comes to wither every rational enjoyment, and to condemn the heart to a state of perpetual misery. How unworthy are such impressions, of that system of mercy which God has devised to heal the sorrows and to cleanse the pollution of the soul! Let but the heart once feel the power of Divine grace, and this imaginary monster is quickly transformed into a real seraph—yes, a celestial visitant robed in purity, and dignified with more than angel majesty. Her smile is the sunshine of the soul. Her voice is the music of heaven. She comes not to abridge, but to enlarge the sphere of human felicity. For the vain joys which she forbids, she gives others a thousand-fold more pure and elevating. Communion with her makes the heart sick of all inferior beauty. It has henceforth lost in a great measure its relish for the low and transient delights of the sensual and the gay. After having tasted of so pure a fountain, why, indeed, should it turn back to quaff the muddy and turbulent streams of earth? Why, after a glimpse of celestial glories, should it be interested in the artificial and unsatisfying round of this world’s amusements?

No! Piety takes nothing away that is worth retaining, nor does she withhold what is desirable and necessary. She allows every pleasure that is consistent with the good of our immortal nature; even with the cross which she imposes, she connects a felicity which her sincere and faithful followers alone can understand and appreciate. "Her ways," says Solomon, "are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." Deny this who may, they know it to be true, who have walked in her ways, and gathered along her bright path, the spiritual joys which she has furnished to the pilgrim.

"The joys that fade are not for me; I seek immortal joys above; There glory without end, shall be The bright reward of faith and love."