nature; when
then we are called to what is supernatural, though those extraordinary
aids from Heaven are given us, with which obedience becomes possible, yet
even with them it is of transcendent difficulty. We are drawn down to
earth every moment with the ease and certainty of a natural gravitation,
and it is only by sudden impulses and, as it were, forcible plunges that
we attempt to mount upwards. Religion indeed enlightens, terrifies,
subdues; it gives faith, it inflicts remorse, it inspires resolutions, it
draws tears, it inflames devotion, but only for the occasion. I repeat, it
imparts an inward power which ought to effect more than this; I am not
forgetting either the real sufficiency of its aids, nor the responsibility
of those in whom they fail. I am not discussing theological questions at
all, I am looking at phenomena as they lie before me, and I say that, in
matter of fact, the sinful spirit repents, and protests it will never sin
again, and for a while is protected by disgust and abhorrence from the
malice of its foe. But that foe knows too well that such seasons of
repentance are wont to have their end: he patiently waits, till nature
faints with the effort of resistance, and lies passive and hopeless under
the next access of temptation. What we need then is some expedient or
instrument, which at least will obstruct and stave off the approach of our
spiritual enemy, and which is sufficiently congenial and level with our
nature to maintain as firm a hold upon us as the inducements of sensual
gratification. It will be our wisdom to employ nature against itself. Thus
sorrow, sickness, and care are providential antagonists to our inward
disorders; they come upon us as years pass on, and generally produce their
natural effects on us, in proportion as we are subjected to their
influence. These, however, are God's instruments, not ours; we need a
similar remedy, which we can make our own, the object of some legitimate
faculty, or the aim of some natural affection, which is capable of resting
on the mind, and taking up its familiar lodging with it, and engrossing
it, and which thus becomes a match for the besetting power of sensuality,
and a sort of homoeopathic medicine for the disease. Here then I think is
the important aid which intellectual cultivation furnishes to us in
rescuing the victims of passion and self-will. It does not supply
religious motives; it is not the cause or proper antecedent of any thing
sup