Nay, I apprehend that sorrow itself is a testimony to that good,--is the anguish and shrinking of the severed ties that have bound us to it; that it clings closest in hearts of the widest and most various sympathies; that only souls which have loved much and enjoyed much can feel its intensity or know its discipline.In the language of another, "Sorrow is not an independent state of mind, standing unconnected with all others...It is the effect, and, under the present conditions of our being, the inevitable effect, of strong affections.Nay, it is not so much their result, as a certain attitude of those affections themselves.It not simply flows from the love of excellence, of wisdom, of sympathy, but it is that very love, when conscious that excellence, that wisdom, that sympathy have departed." They, then, who deem it necessary for man's spiritual welfare that he should constantly feel the pressure of chastisement, and be engirt with the mist of tears, do not reason well.Jeremy Taylor reasons thus, when he says in allusion to certain lamps which burned for many ages in a tomb, but which expired when brought into open day: "So long as we are in the retirements of sorrow, of want, of fear, of sickness, we are burning and shining lamps; but when God lifts us up from the gates of death and carries us abroad into the open air, to converse with prosperity and temptations, we go out in darkness; and we cannot be preserved in light and heat but by still dwelling in the regions of sorrow." "There is beauty, and, to a certain extent, truth in this figure," says a writer, in reply; "but it by no means follows that continuous suffering would be good for man; on the contrary, it would be as remote from producing the perfection of our moral nature as unmitigated prosperity.It would be apt to produce a morbid and ghastly piety; the 'bright lamps' of which Taylor speaks would still be irradiating only a tomb." (Edinburgh Review No 141 The article on Pascal) We may doubt whether there is more essential religiousness in this seeking of sorrow as a mortification,--in this monastic self-laceration and exclusion,--than in the morbid misery of the hypochondriac.Neither comprehends the whole of life, nor is adapted to its realities.Christ was "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;" but he was also full of sympathy with all good, and enjoyed the charm of friendship, and the light of existence.Around that great Life gather many amenities.
Below that face of agony beats a heart familiar with the best affections of human nature; otherwise, we may believe, the agony would not appear.The sadness of that last supper indicates the breaking up of many joyful communions and the history which closes in the shadow of the cross mingles with the festival of Cana, and lingers around the home at Bethany.
But I remark, once more, that while Christianity neither despises nor affects to desire sorrow, it clearly recognizes its great and beneficial mission.In one word, it shows its disciplinary character, and thus practically interprets the mystery of evil.It regards man as a spiritual being, thrown upon the theatre of this mortal life not merely for enjoyment, but for training,--for the development of spiritual affinities, and the attainment of spiritual ends.
It thus reveals a weaning, subduing, elevating power, in sorrow.
The origin of evil may puzzle us;--its use no Christian can deny.A sensual philosophy may shrink from it, in all its aspects, and retreat into a morbid skepticism or a timid submission.If we predicate mere happiness as "our being's end and aim," there is no explanation of evil.From this point of view, there is an ambiguity in nature,--a duality in every object, which we cannot solve.The throne of infinite light and love casts over the face of creation an inexplicable shadow.If we were made merely to be happy, why this hostility all around us? Why these sharp oppositions of pain and difficulty? Why these writhing nerves, these aching hearts, and over-laden eyes? Why the chill of disappointment, the shudder of remorse, the crush and blight of hope? Why athwart the horizon flicker so many shapes of misery and sin? Why appear these sad spectacles of painful dying chambers, and weary sick-beds?--these countless tomb-stones, too-ghastly witness to death and tears? Explain for me those abrupt inequalities,--the long train of necessities, poverty and its kindred woes, those fearful realities that lie in the abysses of every city,--that hideous, compressed mass which welters in the awful baptism of sensuality and ignorance,--the groans of inarticulate woe, the spectacle of oppression, the shameless cruelty of war, the pestilence that shakes its comet-sword over nations, and famine that peers with skeleton face through the corn-sheaves of plenty.Upon this theory of mere happiness no metaphysical subtlety can solve the fact of evil;--the coiled enigma constantly returns upon itself, inexplicable as ever.
But when we take the Christian view of life, we discover that not happiness merely, but virtue, holiness, is the great end of man; though happiness comes in as an inevitable consequence and accompaniment of this result.And in the light reflected from this view, evil assumes a powerful, and, I may say, a most beautiful office.It is just as necessary for the attainment of virtue as prosperity, or any blessing.
