Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name; who forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy diseases, who redeemeth thy life from destruction, who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and with tender mercies!" I am more and more convinced that nothing deserves to be called life that is not devoted to the service of God; and that piety is the only true wisdom. But, alas! how difficult it is to get these lessons deeply impressed on the heart, and wrought into the whole habit of the mind! I have not yet been at Arnsby, but shall go there in a day or two, and propose to spend about ten days there; and shall probably visit Cambridge in little more than a fortnight. My spirits are rather low; but my mind is composed, and in some measure resigned to the leading and conduct of Divine Providence. The narrow bounds of my experience have furnisheu me with such a conviction of the vanity of this world, and the illusion of its prospects, that I indulge no eager hopes. If God enables me to do some little good, and preserves me from great calamities, it will be enough, and infinitely more than I deserve; for I have been, in the most emphatic sense of the word, "an unprofitable servant." Foulmire, Sept. 4, 1805. My dear Friend, Let me beg you will not impute my long silence to a diminution of esteem or affection. It arose simply from my being conscious of my utter inability to make any such reply to your letter as should be in the least degree satisfactory. The subject on which you have touched in your last is so unspeakably intricate, that the more I have reflected upon it, the more I have seemed to feel myself lost and perplexed. Of all the problems proposed to the human understanding, the inquiry respecting the certainty of the objects of human knowledge seems the most difficult of solution. If the ideal theory of Locke be true, and there be no resemblance between the impressions made on the senses and the inherent qualities of external objects, we cannot be said to have any absolute knowledge of things without us. In things of an abstract nature, such as the relations of quantity, the consciousness of a distinct agreement and disagreement of our ideas lays a sufficient basis of science, though the objects themselves to which the science is referred be supposed to have no existence. It matters not whether there be a circle in the world, in regard to the certainty with which we accede to the propositions which explain its properties. It is entirely an affair of the mind-an arrangement of its internal conceptions. When we transfer our ideas to religion, they appear to attain as much certainty at least as satisfies us in the common affairs of life. We must at once abandon all reasoring, or admit the proofs of design in the works of nature; and design necessarily implies a designing agent. Thus the being of a God appears to rest on the firmest basis, though it may be impossible to determine, from the light of reason, what that being is. When we advance to revelation, the evidence of testimony is as clearly applicable to the supernatural facts of Scripture as to any other species of facts whatsoever; and we seem capable of knowing as much of God in his works and ways as of any other subject. I concur with you entirely, that the phenomena of religion are perfectly on a level in this respect with any other phenomena; and cannot but think that there is a very exact analogy subsisting between grace and force, together with other principles, whose existence we are obliged to admit, though we know nothing of them but in their effects. We can never penetrate beyond effects; we can never contemplate causes in themselves, at least in our present dark and benighted condition: so that the skeptical tendency of metaphysical science ought to come in aid of our religious belief, by showing that religion labours under no other difficulties than those which envelop all the fundamental principles of knowledge. The profoundest metaphysician will, in my opinion (cæteris paribus), be always the humblest Christian. Superficial minds will be apt to start at the obscurities of religion, and to conceive that every thing is plain which relates to the objects of science and the affairs of common life. But the profound thinker will perceive the fallacy of this; and when he observes the utter impossibility of tracing the real relations of impressions and phenomena to the objects out of ourselves, together with the necessity of believing a First Cause, he will be ready to conclude that the Deity is, in a manner, the only reality, and the truths relating to him the most certain, as well as the most important. Common minds mistake the deep impression of the phenomena of worldly affairs for clearness of evidence with respect to the objects themselves; than which nothing can be more distinct. You perceive I can do nothing more, on this subject, than echo back your own sentiments, which are such as I have long maintained I wish it were in my power to throw some additional light on these intricate points, but I am utterly unable to do it. How far you can introduce any speculations of this sort into your philosophical works, with advantage, you are most competent to determine. It may, probably, have the good effect of admonishing sciolists that the pursuits of science, when conducted with a proper spirit, are not inimical to religious belief. My health is, through unspeakable mercy, perfectly restored, excepting a good deal of the pain in my back. It will give me much pleasure to see you at Foulmire. Please to remember me affectionately to Mrs. Gregory. I am, my dear friend, with ardent wishes for your temporal and eternal welfare, Your affectionate Friend and Brother, ROBERT HALL. XV. TO WILLIAM HOLLICK, ESQ. ON HIS RECOVERY FROM A SECOND ATTACK. My dear Friend, Feb. 1, 1806. Accept my sincere thanks for your kind letter. Every assurance of respect from old friends, and especially from one whose friendship has been so long tried, and evinced on so many occasions, must afford much satisfaction to a person in any situation. Though Providence has produced a separation, which will probably be of long continuance (and, in one sense, final), nothing, I am certain, can efface from my mind those impressions of gratitude and esteem with which I shall ever look back on my connexions at Cambridge and its vicinity. With the deepest submission, I wish to bow to the mandate of that awful, yet, I trust, paternal Power, which, when it pleases, confounds all human hopes, and lays us prostrate in the dust. It is for Him to dispose of his creatures as he pleases; and, if they be willing and obedient, to work out their happiness, though by methods the most painful and afflictive. His plans are infinitely extended, and his measures determined by views of that ultimate issue, that final result, which transcends our comprehension. It is with the sincerest gratitude I would acknowledge the goodness of God in restoring me. I am, as far as I can judge, as [remote] from any thing wild and irregular in the state of my mind as I ever was in my life; though I think, owing probably to the former increased excitation, I feel some abatement of vigour. My mind seems inert. During my affliction, I have not been entirely forsaken of God, nor left destitute of that calm trust in his providence which was requisite to support me: yet I have not been favoured with that intimate communion, and that delightful sense of his love, which I have enjoyed on former occasions. I have seldom been without a degree of composure, though I have had little consolation or joy. Such, with little variation, has been my mental state, very nearly from the time of my coming to the Fishponds; for I had not been here more than a fortnight before I found myself perfectly recovered, though my pulse continued too high. It has long subsided, and exhibits, the doctor assures me, every indication of confirmed health. With respect to my future prospects and plans, they are necessarily in a state of great uncertainty. I am fully convinced of the propriety of relinquishing my pastoral charge at Cambridge, which I shall do, in an official letter to the church, as soon as I leave Dr. Cox, which, I believe, will be at the expiration of the quarter from my coming. My return to Cambridgeshire was, I am convinced, extremely ill judged; nor had I the smallest intention of doing it, until I was acquainted with the generous interposition of my friends, to which it appeared to me that my declining to live among them would appear a most ungrateful return. I most earnestly request that they will do me the justice to believe, the intention I have named, of declining the pastoral charge, does not proceed from any such motive, but from the exigences of my situation, and a sense of duty. I propose to lay aside preaching for at least a twelvemonth. Please to remember me affectionately and respectfully to your cousin, and all inquiring friends, as if named. I am, my dear Sir, Your affectionate and obliged Friend, P.S.-Please to present my best respects to Mrs. Hollick and your daughter. XVI. TO THE REV. JAMES PHILLIPS. Fishponds, Feb. 15, 1806. Since I have been here, another stroke has befallen me under which my heart is bleeding. This is the death of my dear and only brother, two years older than myself, who died about ten days since, without a moment's warning. He was reaching something from the chimneypiece, and instantly dropped down, and expired. He had been for some years truly religious, so that I entertain pleasing views respecting his eternal state, which is my only consolation. I feel poignant regret at not having treated him with more tenderness. I longed to have an opportunity of convincing him of the ardour of my affection; which makes me feel most painfully, that in losing him I have lost the human being of all others the most dear to my heart. I hear a voice, in this most affecting providence, speaking to me aloud, "Be thou also ready." I follow the dear deceased in his mysterious journey, and seem to stand on the very boundary that divides two worlds from each other, [while the] emptiness and vanity of every thing besides [God] is deeply impressed on my heart, my hopes, of an earthly kind, are extinguished. I feel my emptiness; but, O, I long to be filled. To be convinced of the vanity of the creature is, I know, the first step to happiness: but what can this avail, unless it be succeeded by a satisfying sense of the fulness and all-sufficiency of God! Through mercy, my health is perfectly restored. VOL. III. P XVII. TO THE CHURCH OF CHRIST OF THE BAPTIST PERSUA SION IN CAMBRIDGE. ON RESIGNING THE PASTORAL CHARGE. My dear Brethren, Leicester, March 4, 1806. A succession of afflictive dispensations has brought me to the resolution of resigning the pastoral office, which I have for a considerable number of years exercised among you. I cannot reflect on the numberless and decisive proofs you have afforded me of your attachment during that period without the warmest gratitude; nor think of a final separation without regret. No people ever received the ministerial services of their pastor with more candour; or evinced, on every occasion, a greater solicitude to contribute to his happiness. It is not necessary to dwell at large on the circumstances which have determined me to relinquish the situation I have so long held. They are partly local, in the strictest sense of the word, and in part arise from my recent illness, which suggests the propriety of suspending the ministerial functions for the present. The dissolution of that union which has subsisted with such uninterrupted harmony is the work of Providence, whose operations are often mysterious, but always infinitely wise and gracious. Permit me, my dear brethren, at parting with you, to express the deep and unalterable sense I shall ever feel of the candour, kindness, and generosity I have uniformly experienced at your hands. You will ever have a distinguished place in my affections and my prayers. It is my earnest prayer, that the truth it has been my humble endeavour to inculcate among you may take deeper and deeper root in your hearts and lives; that you may obey from the heart that form of doctrine into which you have been delivered. May our separation not be final and eternal; but may we be so preserved and sanctified, by the influence of divine grace, that, when the transitory days of our mortal pilgrimage are concluded, we may be permitted to spend a blissful eternity together! Let me make it my earnest request, that you will be careful to choose a minister whose heart is truly devoted to God, and who is determined, like the great apostle, "to know nothing among you, save Jesus Christ and him crucified." That your faith may increase exceedingly, and your love one towards another abound more and more, till you arrive "at the fulness of the stature of perfect men in Christ," and are "presented before him unblameable in holiness," is the habitual and earnest prayer of Your late unworthy Pastor, |