Unbelief in Christian preaching denotes a heart resistant to God's truth, often characterized by spiritual blindness and reliance on human reason over divine revelation (Hebrews 3:12). Illustrations frequently use images of blindness, pride, and rejection to contrast faith's call with the dangers of skepticism and hardened hearts, emphasizing the urgency of responding to God's offer of salvation before judgment (Hebrews 11:6).
Unbelievers who criticize Christians resemble dogs licking Lazarus' sores, focusing on faults not grace.
A certain unbeliever, a blacksmith, was in the habit when anyone came into his shop of telling some wrong a Christian brother, deacon or minister had done, and saying, "That is one of these fine Christians we hear so much about!" An old gentleman, an eminent Christian, one day went into the shop. The unbeliever soon began talking about what some Christians had done. The old deacon stood a few minutes and listened, and then quietly asked the unbeliever if he had read the story in the Bible about the rich man and Lazarus. "Yes, many a time; and what of it?" "Well, you remember about the dogs; how they came and licked the sores of Lazarus? Now," said the deacon, "do you know, you just remind me of those dogs-content to merely lick the Christian's sores."
Christians must live differently from the world to truly reflect their faith.
Between the atheist who would not dream of financially supporting the church and the Christian who will not financially support the Lord's church?
Between the skeptic who does not believe the Bible and the negligent Christian who never reads it?
Between those who do not believe in Bible classes and those who choose never to attend a class?
Between the atheist who does nothing to build up the Lord's church and the Christian who finds fault with others but does nothing himself?
Between a man of the world and a person in the church who lives like a man in the world?
Between a man of the world who lives for self, and a person in the church building who lives for self, not God?
These are tough questions for Christians who live in a tough world. The fact is that Christians make no difference until they are different.
Again, what's the difference?
Fear of potential problems can prevent people from taking necessary spiritual steps.
A Georgia farmer, ragged and barefooted, was standing on the steps of his tumbledown shack. A stranger stopped for a drink of water. "How is your cotton coming along?" he asked. "Ain't got none," replied the farmer. "Did you plant any?" asked the stranger. "Nope," was the reply, "afraid of bollweevils."
"Well," continued the stranger, "how is your corn?" "Didn't plant none," came the answer, "'fraid there weren't gonna to be no rain."
The visitor persevered: "Well, how are your potatoes?" "Ain't got none. Scairt of potato bugs."
"Really, what did you plant?" pressed the stranger. "Nothin'," was the calm reply, "I jest played safe."
Worldly success without God leads to eternal poverty and regret at judgment.
"Father, are you going away?" asked a little girl of her dying rich father. "Yes, dear, and I am afraid you won't see me again." Then the little one asked, "Have you got a nice house and lots of friends there?" The successful man of the world lay silent for a while and then said, "What a fool I have been! I have built a great business here, but I shall be a pauper there." The Unacceptable Excuse
During a revival a young man said that he did not wish to become a Christian. When asked for his reason, he replied, "Several years ago I was in a man's kitchen. Finding me there, he swore at me and kicked me out. He was a professing Christian, and from that time on I decided never to have anything to do with religion. And I never have to this day." The young man was asked to write down his reason in full and sign it. Then it was handed back to him with the words, "Take this, and when you are asked for your excuse on the day of judgment, hand this up." No Comfort
Voltaire, that strange combination of freethinker, deist, and rabid denouncer of Christianity, gives scant comfort to atheists and agnostics in some of his pronouncements. "The world embarrasses me," he said, "and I cannot think that this watch exists and has no watchmaker." And in the same vein he confesses, "To whatever side you turn, you are forced to acknowledge your own ignorance and the boundless power of the Creator."
Some hear God's call but don't respond, wrongly thinking it doesn't apply to them.
A mother attended a service in a large and crowded auditorium with her little daughter, Mary. In some manner the two became separated. The mother sent a note to the platform which was read aloud: "If there is a little girl named Mary Moore in the audience, who is lost, will she please raise her hand so her mother can find her." No little girl raised her hand so the mother had the police searching the city for the child. Still not finding her, the mother came back and stood at the door of the auditorium as the people filed out. Among the last of them was Mary. Her mother snatched her up, crying, "Where were you, Mary?" "On the front row," replied the little one. "Didn't you hear the man read the notice, 'If there is a little girl named Mary Moore in the audience, who is lost, will she please raise her hand so her mother can find her?'" "Yes," said Mary, "I heard it." "Then why didn't you raise your hand?" "Why, Mother, it couldn't have meant me," said Mary, "for I wasn't lost. I knew where I was."
Intelligence and knowledge of many cannot replace knowing and trusting God.
One day Mark Twain took his little daughter on his knee and told her all about the rulers and other prominent men whom he had met in his travels. She listened attentively. When he had finished, she said, "Daddy, you know everybody but God, don't you?" Mark Twain was certainly an intelligent person. Yet he rejected God. A Pig in a Parlor
A Christian military officer, who visited the bedside of a dying soldier under his command, said to him, "I am going to ask you a strange question. Suppose you could carry your sins with you to heaven-would that satisfy you?" "The poor dying lad replied, "Why, sir, what kind of heaven would that be to me? I would be just like a pig in a parlor!" He was awakened to a sense of his lost state. The officer concluded, "The soldier was panting after a heaven of holiness, and was convinced if he died in his sin he would be quite out of his element in such a place of purity."
Seeking signs for belief aligns one with Jesus' wicked generation, not true faith.
If a person is a seeker after signs from heaven in order that he or others may believe, do you realize that he falls into the same category as those who tempted Jesus and is classified by the Lord Jesus as belonging to a wicked generation? The word of God should be the basis of our proclamation that Jesus Christ has done enough for Him to be declared the Son of God.
Rejecting God's cleansing power leads to eternal separation despite earthly pleasures.
Robert Laidlaw, in his little gem of a tract, The Reason Why, asks: "Would it be kindness to transfer a poor ragged beggar into the glare of a beautiful ballroom? Would he not be more conscious of his rags and dirt? Would he not do his best to escape again to the darkness of the street? He would be infinitely happier there. Would it be kindness and mercy on God's part to bring a man with his sins into the holy light of Heaven if that man had rejected God's offer of the only cleansing power there is? If you and I would not wish our friends to see inside our minds now and read all the thoughts that have ever been there (and our friends' standards are perhaps not any higher than our own), what would it be like to stand before God, whose absolute holiness would reveal our sin in all its awfulness?" The Bible says you cannot sow thistles and reap figs. You cannot live for the lusts of the flesh here and expect to enjoy the things of the Spirit hereafter. "For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting" (Galatians 6:8). A Child Shall Lead
A skeptical physician declared he could see no reason why he should have to come to the cross of Christ to be saved. A friend gave him a famous book on apologetics with a powerful defense of the reasonableness of the gospel. It satisfied the doctor's reason, but it did not move his will. A short time later he was called to the bedside of a little girl who was dying. She whispered that she had something to say to him, that she hardly had the courage to, as it was about his peace with God. But she added, "Tomorrow morning, when I am stronger, I will tell you." But in the morning she was dead. This led to the physician's conversion and a subsequent life of dedicated Christian service. God used a child rather than an apologist of the faith to lead a learned man to Christ. Very interestingly the word moron in Modern Greek has come to mean "child, baby."
Thus we could paraphrase 1 Corinthians 1:27 as "But God has chosen the mora-the foolish things or those who are like little children-and the weak ones of the world, to confound the wise and mighty ones."
Pride in human reason can prevent acceptance of Christ's free gift of salvation.
A Christian once served on a parliamentary commission with Professor Thomas H. Huxley. One Sunday they stayed together in a little country inn. "I suppose you are going to church this morning," said Huxley. "I am. I always go to church on the Lord's Day," replied the Christian. Huxley said, "Suppose you sit down and talk with me about religion-simple, experimental religion." Sensing something of heart hunger in the great scientist, the associate replied, "If you mean it, I will." Then he spoke out of a rich, experimental knowledge of the saving and satisfying power of Christ. Huxley listened intently. Grasping the hand of the Christian, he said with deep feeling, "If I could believe what you have said about the cross of Christ and His pardoning love, I would be willing to give my right hand." He really didn't have to make that sacrifice. All he had to give up was the belief that the eye, the ear, the mind, could know all that there is to know and experience. Had he only been willing to swallow the pride of reason and to accept God's free gift, he too could have experienced the power of God unto salvation.
Human wisdom forms barriers that block God's wisdom from reaching a person.
The crust is bread itself; the ice is the very water of the river; and the hard ground is the very soil of the earth. It is the very substance of the thing that it imprisons. Each forms a barrier which resists outside influences. That's exactly what happens to man. His wisdom and self-assurance are the barriers that keeps God's wisdom from reaching him. A child is fit for the Kingdom of God because, as yet, he has not formed a crust-like barrier.
Sinners foolishly rush into destruction despite clear warnings, showing the hardness of sin.
"You cannot drive a dull ass into the fire that is kindled before his eyes." The ungodly are far more brutish, for they choose the way of destruction, and rush with eagerness into the flames of hell. "Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird," and yet men see the net, and hasten into it. Sinners take more pains to go to hell than the saints to go to heaven. They are more bold to destroy themselves than saints are in their salvation. What greater proof can we have of the madness of their hearts, and what plainer evidence that salvation is not by the will of man, but by grace alone? Lord, save me and mine from that obstinate love of sin which makes men more brutish than the ox and the ass.
Genius can produce deep insights yet still reject God and live selfishly.
The most ethereal creations of fantastic fancy were shaped by a mind that could read the life of Christ, and then blaspheme the Adorable. The truest utterances, and some of the deepest ever spoken, revealing the unrest and the agony that lie hid in the heart of man, came from one whose life was, from first to last, selfish. The highest astronomer of this age, before whose clear eye creation lay revealed in all its perfect order, was one whose spirit refused to recognize the Cause of causes. The mighty heart of genius had failed to reach the things which God imparts to a humble spirit.
— F. W. Robertson
Philosophers confess despair and confusion when facing life’s ultimate questions without God.
"I seem," says Hume, "affrighted and confounded with the solitude in which I am placed by my philosophy. When I look abroad, on every side I see dispute, contradiction, and distraction. When I turn my eye inward, I find nothing but doubt and ignorance. Where are I? or what am I? From what cause do I derive my existence? To what condition shall I return? I am confounded with questions I begin to fancy myself in a very deplorable condition, environed with darkness on every side." Voltaire says, "The world abounds with wonders, also with victims. In man is more wretchedness than in all other animals put together. Man loves life, yet he knows he must die; spends his existence in diffusing the miseries he has suffered, cutting the throats of his fellow-creatures for pay, cheating and being cheated. The bulk of mankind are nothing more than a crowd of wretches, equally criminal, equally unfortunate. I wish I had never been born."
Modern scepticism often arises from selfishness and fear rather than intellectual doubt.
I put you on your guard against the scepticism of our time. And do you think that I am about to enlarge upon the scepticism of Rousseau, of Diderot, of Voltaire, of Bolingbroke, of Hobbes, and of Hume?—that was swept away with their ashes, and is buried. The great scepticisms of our time are market-scepticism, political scepticism, and religious scepticism. Men who feel that it would be wicked to sacrifice great pecuniary interests for the sake of principle; men who think it would be a tempting of Providence to refuse profitable business-speculations, to leave profitable situations, or to refuse dividends of evil; men whose consciences will not permit them, as the members of a corporation, to expose its wickedness; men who stand in the market, and feel that they have a right to do any thing that wins,—these men are infidels. You need not tell me that they believe in the Bible: they believe in an empty Bible,—a Bible of the letter, and not a Bible of the spirit, which says to a man, "Sacrifice your right hand before you do your integrity."
— Beecher
Belief often precedes examination, leading to scepticism when faith is not deeply rooted.
Those who would draw conclusions unfavorable to Christianity from the circumstances that many believers have turned sceptics, but few sceptics believers, have forgotten the answer of Arcesilaus, to one that asked him why many went from other sects to the Epicureans, but none from the Epicureans to the other sects. "Because," said he, "of men, some are made eunuchs; but of eunuchs never any were made men." In matters of religion, it too often happens that belief goes before examination; and we take our creed from our nurse, but not our conviction. If the intellectual food should afterwards rise upon the stomach, it is because, in this unnatural order of things, the act of swallowing has preceded the ceremony of tasting. C. Colton.
The ungodly are like a sleepwalker unaware of their peril until judgment awakens them too late.
Some time since, in Paris, a poor sonnambulist was observed pacing backwards and forwards on the top of a house six stories high, at nightfall. An anxious crowd was assembled to watch her movements. She was evidently dreaming of some coming festival, and was humming to herself a lively air. Again and again she approached the verge of the eminence on which she was standing; and again and again she roceded, always smiling, and always unconscious. At length, her eye caught sight of a candle in an opposite house. She awoke. There was a cry, a heavy fall, and all was over. Thus will it be at last with the ungodly. The light of the other world, as it streams in upon them, will awaken them from sleep; but as they awake, it will only be to discover the precipice on which they have so long been standing, and down the steps of which they must now plunge. Morse.
Unbelief blocks the heart from receiving the life-giving water of God.
An empty vessel capable of holding water, if tightly corked none can enter it, though water is poured upon it in great abundance; nay, it may be thrown into the sea, and still remain empty. So it is with our hearts. Unbelief closes them so that the water of life cannot fill them, however abundantly it may be poured upon and around us.
Unbelief causes rejection of truth even when evidence proves it real.
A vessel named "The Thetis" was cruising in the Mediterranean in search of a shoal or bank, or something of that kind, said to exist beneath the treacherous waters. The captain, after he had adopted all the means he thought necessary, having failed abandoned the enterprise, declaring that the reported danger was all a dream. An officer on board formed a different judgment, went out by himself on an expedition afterward into the very same latitude and longitude, and there discovered a reef of rocks, which he reported at the Admiralty; and it was inserted in the charts, the discoverer being rewarded with a high appointment. The intelligence came to the captain's ears: he would not be lieve in the discovery. He was a shrewd clever, practical man, but unscientific, incredulous, and obstinate. "The whole thing is falsehood," he exclaimed, adding, "If ever have the keel of 'The Thetis' under me in those waters again, if I don't carry her clean owe where the chart marks a rock, call me a liar and no seaman." Two years after, he was conveying in the same vessel the British ambassador to Naples. One windy night, he an
The master were examining the chart on deck by the light of the lantern, when the latter pointed out the sunken rock on the map.
"What!" exclaimed the old seaman, "is this invention to meet me in the teeth again? No:
I swore I would sail over that spot the first chance I had; and I'll do it." He went down into the cabin, merrily related the story to the company, and said, "Within five minutes, we shall have passed the spot." There was a cause. Then, taking out his watch, he said,
"Oh! the time is past. We have gone over the wonderful reef." But presently a grating touch was felt on the ship's keel, then a sudden shock, a tremendous crash: the ship had foundered. Through great exertions, most of the crew were saved: but the captain would not survive his own mad temerity; and the last seven of him was his white figure, bareheaded, and in his shirt, from the dark hull of "The
Thetis," as the foam burst round her bows and beam. He perished, a victim of unbelief. So perish multitudes. Rev. John Stoughton.
Even a firm Universalist secretly doubts the certainty of universal salvation.
An obstinate Universalist in New England, returning home with his ox-team, was overheard soliloquizing, "Of course the doctrine of universal salvation is true. Do you suppose I've been talking and arguing and thinking and reading for thirty years on what wasn't true? I'd be a pretty fool, wouldn't I? Now, for all these ministers and churches and revivals" (and here he inserted an oath, which was without any meaning if his doctrine was true) "I don't care the crack of a whip. They can't frighten me into religion as they did old Whistler. He'll be back cheering me on by the time I take to wheels again. No! I tell you they can't move me: I'm as firm as a rock. I know what I believe as well as if I were a parson. My doctrine is true: I know it is; and yet, and yet,"—and, turning round, he laid his stick gently across the backs of his dumb listeners, and added in a sepulchral tone, —"and yet I'd give that yoke of oxen to be sure of it." Watchman and Reflector.
A famous man dies unprepared, having provided for everything but death.
It is said of the celebrated Cesar Borgia, that in his last moments he exclaimed, "I have provided, in the course of my life, for every thing except death; and now, alas! I am to die, although entirely unprepared."
Infidels often hide the mental pain they experience from their disbelief.
One of the most sensible men I ever knew, says one, but whose life as well as creed had been rather eccentric, returned me the following answer, not many months before his death, when I asked him "whether his former irregularities were not both accompanied at the time, and succeeded afterward by some sense of mental pain." "Yes," said he, "but I have scarce ever owned it until now. We" (meaning we infidels and men of fashionable morals) "do not tell you all that passes in our hearts!"
A learned atheist admitted unhappiness and sought comfort in outward church conformity.
The example of a perfect Atheist, says Dr. Spence, is very rare, and has seldom been the object of my own experience: one, however, I knew, a jurist and statesman, well learned and of good parts; so well read was he in the Scriptures and divinity in general, that he might have passed for no ordinary theologian. He had, though a speculative unbeliever, maintained several theses with great success; on the other hand, he could, in his opinion, account for every appearance in nature, from a theory of matter and motion. Still, says the relator, with all his belief and unbelief, he frankly confessed to me "that he was unhappy." And being then in a state of celibacy, further acknowledged that, "should he ever change his situation, he was determined never to suffer the secrets of his heart to transpire to his wife and children, that in all externals he would strictly conform to the church," adding as one of his philosophical and political reasons, "that it was better to be comforted upon a false ground, than to live without any consolation."
Tom Paine regretted his skeptical writings and affirmed belief in Scripture's truth.
A writer in the Western Observer, Bishop McIlvaine, we presume, says:
I have recently been in conversation with a gentleman who personally knew Tom Paine, from whom I have learned some particulars, which it may be useful to repeat. This gentleman states, that when a young man he was driving his father's wagon from Sing Sing to a place in Westchester county, N. Y., when Paine, travelling the same way, requested to be taken in. The young man consenting, they rode about twenty miles together. The fame and talk about "Paine's Age of Reason," had made a skeptical impression on the mind of the youth, and finding himself in the presence of its author, he gladly availed himself of the opportunity to learn more of that sort of reason. In the course of the conversation, Paine positively asserted that he believed the Scriptures to be the word of God, and most seriously charged his auditor not to read his book, or if he did, not to suffer it to have any influence on his mind. He said it did not contain the truth; that he deeply regretted its publication, and would have given any thing had he never written it. Such was the serious earnestness of Paine in these remarks, and so conclusively did he reason against the principles of his "Age of Reason," that he entirely removed all skeptical impressions from the mind of the young man, (the present informant,) so that the latter has ever since retained a grateful recollection of the conversation, and now says, that such was Paine's earnestness to prevent his being injured by his writings, and to eradicate all such evil impressions as they had already made, that he can never lose the remembrance of it.
In a storm, an atheist feared death while a Christian remained calm and assured.
The Rev. Dr. Witherspoon, formerly president of Princeton College, N. J., was once on board a packet ship, where, among other passengers, was a professed atheist. This unhappy man was very fond of troubling every one with his peculiar belief, and of broaching the subject as often as he could get any one to listen to him. He did not believe in a God and a future state, not he! By and by there came on a terrible storm, and the prospect was that all would be drowned. There was much consternation on board, but not one was so greatly frightened as the professed atheist. In this extremity, he sought out the clergyman, and found him in the cabin, calm and collected, in the midst of danger.
ger, and thus addressed him: "Oh, doctor Witherspoon! Doctor Witherspoon! we're all going; we have but a short time to stay. Oh, how the vessel rocks! we're all going; don't you think we are, doctor?" The doctor turned to him with a solemn look, and replied in broad Scotch, "Nac doubt, nac doubt, man, we're a' gauging; but you and I dinna gang the same way."
Thomas Paine's anger at gospel truth shows hardened unbelief and lost peace at death.
The following facts, says a correspondent of the "New York Observer," in 183-, were lately told me by an elder in one of the Presbyterian churches of this city, who visited Paine a few days before his death.
Approaching his bed, my informant saw a loathsome and pitiable object. His face and particularly his nose was greatly swollen and changed by liquor to a dark color. The visitor said to him, "Mr. Paine, he that believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned." "What's that you say?" said the dying man. The visitor repeated the gospel declaration. Paine immediately seized a large black stick, that was lying at his side, nearly the thickness of a man's wrist, and raising it over the head of the visitor, said, with great anger and vehement, "Away with your popish nonsense." The very name of Jesus Christ convulsed him with anger. The woman attending him informed the visitor, that he was occasionally visited by persons of like principles and habits with himself, and that his orders were to keep out of his room all who professed any respect for religion. She said that he was a wretched man. That when alone he kept groaning day and night, as if in great distress of mind. She once told him that his groans disturbed her that she could not rest, when he replied, "I have no rest myself, nor shall you have."
Paine admits his skepticism was assumed and plans to recant his infidel writings.
The Rev. Jedriciah Randall, a most upright and excellent minister of the gospel, formerly of Norwich, Chenango co., N. Y., paid a visit to Thomas Paine on his death-bed, Though Paine was much of the time under the influence of spirituous liquors, and the mere mention of religion would seem to rouse all his vindictive passions against the one who addressed him, yet it must be said in his praise, that in this case he seemed to be sober, and listened in a calm and respectful manner to what the minister of Christ had to say. The reply of Mr. Paine was dispassionate, and contained an honest confession, such as a troubled conscience, it seemed, would no longer allow his proud heart to withhold. His words were to this effect:
"Mr. Randall, I never confidently disbelieved in the Christian religion; my unbelief and skepticism were rather assumed than real. And one object of my writing the Age of Reason, was to cripple the power of the corrupt and tyrannical priesthood of the Romish church in France. Should I ever recover from this illness it is my intention to publish another book, disavowing the infidel doctrines contained in the Age of Reason, and expressing my convictions of the truth of the Christian system."
# 223. Miscellaneous.
A blasphemer's final years spent in madness and remorse illustrate sin's tragic consequences.
In the Paris papers of August 1, 1817, we find among the obituaries the following announcement:—"Died, within these few days, in the hospital of pauper lunatics of Saltpetriere, where she had lived unpitied and unknown for many years, the famous Theroigne de Mericourt,
(the Goddess of Reason,) the most remarkable of the heroines of the Revolution." This female (nearly in a state of nudity) was seated on a throne by
Fouche and Carnot, in the Champ de
Mars, and hailed alternately as the
Goddess of Reason and Liberty. There was something remarkable in the history of the latter days of this poor creature, and her life is not without its moral. She who was taught publicly to blaspheme her Creator, and dishonor her sex, was, for the last twenty years of her miserable life, subject to the greatest of human calamities—the deprivation of her reason. She repented severely of her horrible crimes, and her few lucid intervals were filled up
223. 224
INFLUENCE AFTER DEATH.
by the most heart-rending lamentations. She died at the age of fifty-seven.
A rabbi urged belief in Jesus as Messiah due to prolonged Jewish captivity and unbelief.
A learned rabbi of the Jews, at Aleppo, being dangerously ill, called his friends together, and desired them seriously to consider the various former captivities endured by their nation, as a punishment for the hardness of their hearts, and their present captivity, which was continued sixteen hundred years, "the occasion of which," said he, "is doubtless our unbelief. We have long looked for the Messiah, and the Christians have believed in one Jesus, of our nation, who was of the seed of Abraham and David, and born in Bethlehem, and, for aught we know, may be the true Messiah; and we may have suffered this long captivity because we have rejected him. Therefore my advice is, as my last words, that if the Messiah, which we expect, do not come at or about the year 1650, reckoning from the birth of their Christ, then you may know and believe that this Jesus is the Christ, and you shall have no other."
A child wrongly concludes no punishment follows death, illustrating false security in sin.
Some time since, a gentleman was at the house of the widow W—, in T—, and in the evening engaged in vindicating the doctrine of Universalism with zeal. The next morning, a child seven or eight years of age, who overheard the conversation the preceding evening, said to her mother, we may now steal, lie, and do other wicked things; for there is no punishment for us when we die.
A Universalist's failed suicide attempts reveal the false security of universal salvation.
The editor of the Western Recorder, published at Utica, N. Y., says:—We recollect to have been present at the examination of a candidate, who during his relation, stated in substance the following details: Educated very young in the orthodox creed, he afterwards lived among the Universalists, fully imbued their sentiments, and gave himself up to various indulgences, with a view of enjoying a heaven both here and hereafter. In process of time he became tired of his earthly heaven, and thought it advisable to die and try the other. An enormous
49.
dose of laudanum taken for this purpose, proved ineffectual; and a little time afterwards, he removed into our section of the country. Once more he thought it advisable to exchange the present heaven for a better one. Not doubting of the issue or fearing death, he settled up his accounts, procured two new pistols, and fitted them with cool deliberation, till he found they would not miss fire. Having next loaded them, and laid them aside for future use, he sent for Mr. — and Mr. —, two Universalist preachers, to stand by him, and bear witness to the world, that he died in the full faith of that creed, and with entire self-possession. The preachers, however, advised him to desist. He gave his reasons for dying, and going where he should for ever be free from trouble. But they finally told him, that there was, after all, too much reason to fear that there might be a hell. "Why then do you not preach so and tell us of it?" said he. "It will not do," they replied, "it will make the people crazy."
Amid the conversation he stepped into the hall; and, as he believes, with entire self-possession, aimed the two pistols at his head, and snapped them; when, to his great astonishment, they both missed fire, and were afterwards taken from him. The strange results of such efforts led him to salutary reflection. He saw in it the hand of Providence—
thought upon his past conduct—began to fear there might be a hell, and that at least there ought to be a place of eternal punishment for one so vile as he had been. He sought forgiveness through the blood of Jesus; determined to yield unconditionally to his disposal, and to serve him whatever might be the result.
A Universalist commits suicide, showing inconsistency in believing all go immediately to heaven.
A young man by the name of John
S—, (whom the editor of this work knew,) a confirmed Universalist, resided in the town of R—, N. Y. For several years he had been subject to a painful disease. One Sabbath while alone, and engaged in shaving him—
he turned his razor's edge to his neck and cut his throat. His friends, hearing, likely, some disturbance, came in, and found him bleeding to death. They rushed up to him endeavoring to stanch the blood, and with agony and horror besought the dying man to tell them why he had committed so horrible an act as self-murder. He was just able to tell them, that he had suffered a great deal from his long illness, that he could not expect to recover, that he was tired of living; and that being a firm believer in the doctrine of Universal Salvation, he had no doubt that all would be well with him, and he had taken this step to rid himself of his miseries and go home to heaven! This was the substance of his explanation. It was found impossible to save his life, and in a few moments he expired. If all men are to be immediately happy at death, why did not John S. act consistently? Probably if those who profess to believe the same doctrine, were as confident of its truth as he was, very many of them would "go and do likewise"—cutting their way to heaven through their own throats, or swinging thither in a halter like Judas Iscariot.
A Universalist child claims swearing won't prevent going to heaven, showing false assurance.
Some time since, (says the N. Y. Evangelist of 1832,) in the town of ——, in New-York, a number of little boys, from eight to ten years old, were engaged in play together; and during their sport, two boys of a professed Universalist used much profane language, for which they were reproved and reminded of the awful consequences, by a boy whose parents are pious.
One of them promised that he never would swear again, but the other replied, "*I shall go to heaven if I swear as soon as those that don't swear.*"
Universalism and infidelity support each other by denying future punishment and retribution.
Universalism and modern infidelity are twin sisters. They mutually support each other. We ventured the remark, says the Editor of the New-York Evangelist, a short time since, before a large company of infidels, that they had a strong affinity for the Universalists—that they were quite contented with any kind of preaching that denied a future retribution,—and that the fact that the Bible taught this doctrine, was their chief reason for casting it away. We were acquainted with the fact, that the infidels in our neighborhood often frequented and patronized the preaching of Universalist ministers. One of the chief speakers at Tammany Hall being present at the close of our discourse, in personal conversation, remarked, that what we had said of Universalism was all true. He added, "They often find fault with us for being infidels. But why, I tell them, find fault with us? You have no hell to put us in?"
Universalists known to the author lived immoral lives, including suicide and drunkenness.
Says the editor of the Southern Religious Telegraph, "We have known Universalists from our childhood, but we have never known one who appeared to embrace the creed from an honest conviction that it was the truth as taught by Jesus Christ. One, within the circle of our acquaintance, who was in other respects a man of good moral character, and a respected citizen, and who appeared to be more honest in his religious opinions than his brethren, committed suicide! Another of his fraternity, who was so religious as to pray with his family, and was equally distinguished as a profane swearer and a lover of strong drink, died in a drunken fit, in the street! His death corresponded with his life.
Universalists claim all will be happy after death, yet are unhappy in this life.
In a town in the interior of America, the board of selectmen who governed its local affairs was composed of four universalists, (or men who contended for the final happiness of all mankind, whether believers or not,) and a pious physician. They acted through the year in great harmony as to the business of the town, but at their last meeting it was determined to attack the doctor. After they had finished their transactions, one of them said, "Doctor, we have been very happy in being associated with you the year past, and that the business of the town has been conducted in harmony, and to the satisfaction of our constituents. We have found you to be a man of good sense, extensive information, unbending integrity, and of the purest benevolence. It is astonishing to us, that a man of your amiable character should believe the doctrine of future punishment." The doctor replied, "Gentlemen, I should regret very much the forfeiture of the good opinion which your partiality has led you to entertain of me. Will you have the goodness to answer candidly a few questions? Do you believe in a future state?" They replied, "We do." "You believe that death will introduce all men to a state of perfect happiness?" "Of this we have no doubt." "Are you now happy?" "We are not; we are far from it." "How do men act when they are unhappy, and know that happiness is within their reach?" "They endeavor to attain that happiness." "Do you believe that I understand the nature and operation of medicine?" "We have no doubt, doctor, of your skill in your profession; but what has that to do with the subject?" "In this box," said the doctor, taking a tin box in his hand, "are pills, which, if you swallow each of you one, will, without pain, carry you, within one hour, out of this world of trouble; and, if your doctrine be true, place you in a world of perfect felicity. Will you accept one of them?" "No, sir." "Will you?" "No, sir." When they had all refused, the doctor said, "You must excuse me, gentlemen, from embracing your doctrine, until I have better evidence that you believe it yourselves." This closed the debate.
Deists see Universalists and Unitarians as forerunners undermining true Christianity.
A writer in the Western Intelligencer says: In conversation with one of the most open and virulent Deists I ever saw, after venting his spite against Jesus of Nazareth and his ministers, or "the supposed Jesus," as he would have it, and condemning the Bible, he said, "Within fifty years, the religion of Jesus will be banished from the world; and I am determined to do all I can to destroy it." I remarked to him he had undertaken a work of too great magnitude for one man, or any body of men, to accomplish; and that I believed a Universalist or a Socinian, or in other words Unitarian, would make many Deists to his one. To which he replied, "Sir, we consider Universalists and Socinians in the same light in regard to our doctrine, that your people do John the Baptist with regard to yours—THEY ARE MERELY FORDRUNNERS!"
