A PLAN OF LIFE.

A SERMON FOR THE NEW YEAR.

BY REV. GEORGE E. ELLIS, D. D.

1 CORINTHIANS vi. 3:-"The things that pertain to this life."

THERE may be some here present, who, with their other thoughts and feelings on entering upon a New Year, may have raised or recalled in their minds some questions as to their Plan of Life. The Plan of Life, the principle or method or aim of existence, let this be our present theme. It is, of course, a theme altogether too extensive for a satisfactory treatment in a sermon, and it is one of those vast and comprehensive subjects on which hints and gleams of wise counsel may more reasonably content us than upon some simpler subjects. It is very difficult to apply an exhaustive wisdom to such a theme, or to find in the exercise of a single mind upon it a train of thought to which the moral sense of any large number of persons will respond. In our common literature there are two prevailing ways, in the one or the other of which this theme is treated; and while all moralists and essayists have dealt with it, many have sounded it too deeply, or have but skimmed over it superficially, whether in prose or poetry.

One prevailing style and tone of writing on the plan of living has produced many dull and dreary volumes, in which theology has swallowed up humanity, and ghostly counsels and rigid severities have been proposed against every natural feeling within us.. How sombre and repulsive, to the young especially, are some of those grim treatises which are filled with prohibitions of everything that seems to them most genial, and which require terms utterly arbitrary and unreal to them! There can be no doubt but that the substance and essence of even the most rigid catechism of life are in the main true. But when a code for conduct and

character and business is drawn out into specific rules, for daily toil, and a measured demeanor, and a piety performed by rote, there is something so stiff in the method as to repel most readers, even among the well disposed.

The other prevailing characteristic of many sermons and essays on the plan of life is a sort of rhetorical, sentimental, high-wrought, or exaggerated way of describing human experience, with its various incidents. Life is thus delineated in heroic poetry: and commonplace matters, instead of being treated with that homely simplicity which best befits them, are swollen out with fanciful and foggy rhetoric. We are told about the "mission of life," "the nobility of toil," "the glory of not succeeding," and "the chivalry of self-devotion." We feel, on reading such swollen exaggerations of commonplace cares and experiences, as if we were walking on stilts, and had got elevated above the earth, in a way that made a sure footing in it only the more precarious. When we are seeking to form or amend our plan of living, we do not wish for rhetorical rhapsodies, nor for sombre shades cast from the vanities of mortality, but for some simple, cheerful, practical views, which we may understand, approve, and then put in practice.

And how large a portion of those here present may be supposed to be interested in this theme, or open to instruction from it? That depends very much upon the way in which the theme is entered upon, and the manner in which it engages their attention. It may be well, therefore, to define at once what is meant by a plan or method of living. The theme of course will vary in its general features, according to the audience before which it is treated. For any assembly composed of one class of persons, the young, or the middle-aged, belonging to a profession, a trade, or any common calling, a plan of life might be defined or described in many particulars which must be overlooked in a more general view of it. It seems more difficult to state such a plan as is applicable or available to any large number

of persons, independently of age, circumstances, means, or occupation. Yet there must be a common wisdom, which, like air and bread and water, is needed by us all. Amid the varying elements of human experience and capacity there is a substantial similarity in the virtues which we are all to practise, in the vices which we have all to shun, and in the follies, temptations, duties, rewards, and successes of life.

There is, however, one very embarrassing difficulty which now besets the treatment of all moral themes concerning human life. This is the difficulty of saying what is, and what is not, natural, or in accordance with nature. We say that a great many desires and habits and pursuits are natural to man, which we should find it very hard to vindicate by referring them to any healthful, instinctive action of his original nature. What is natural, and what is unnatural to man? Who can tell us? How can we decide? Where is the tribunal for debating the question? One witness tells us that it is natural for young persons to be giddy, to dread labor or sedateness, to love dissipation, gayety, extravagance, indolence. Another witness says that it is natural for men to love money, to crave the more the more they have of it. And so we may hear various passions or motives or aims in life described as natural to us. What is meant by this? It would not be difficult, I think, to show that many things which are said to be natural to man are in fact extremely artificial, and therefore unnatural to him. The difficulty of estimating or deciding what is natural to man is very much increased by the fact, that the very persons whom we pronounce upon are living amid all the artificial circumstances of a strange and complicated society. We may say that it is natural for savages to bore their noses, and slit their ears, and tattoo or paint their bodies. But we should not consider it natural for us to do so. Now it may be that civilization, the usages of our crowded, struggling, and artificial society, take us as far beyond what is natural to us in one

direction, as savages stray from nature in another direction. We certainly may say that many of the absorbing interests and ends which enter into the plan of life for thousands among us are artificial, not simply and instinctively natural.

Having in view these difficulties in attempting to define a true plan of life for people in general, we can look only for some general counsels. There are great differences to be allowed for in the tastes and capacities of individuals, in their various talents and circumstances, in the necessities of obtaining a livelihood, or in the possession of an independence. For all our present purposes we may define a Plan of Life to mean a method of living according to some wellconsidered principles, which our honest judgment approves, which will turn our lives to a good account, will guard us from folly, remorse, and shame, and make it on the whole desirable for us at least that we have lived. Anything that will secure those conditions will be a plan of life. If there be those who do not care to secure those conditions, they, of course, cannot be expected to wish to have any plan of life. If they are willing to drift without steering, it will be very difficult to persuade them that there is such a thing as navigation. Their bark of life is their own, and the only person that can steer the vessel is the one that is on board of it, and has his all with him.

To have a plan of life is to infuse as much as possible of a conscious and intelligent choice into the circumstances of our existence, to know what we wish to be or to do, and to know how to accomplish the wish. There is a plain, reasonable necessity in having such a plan. Every navigator has a chart; every constructor has a model; every architect makes a draught of his work. How can a human being, with all his enginery of passion and all his weaknesses, expect to go comfortably and wisely through existence, amid all its risks and rivalries, without having considered with himself by what method or principle he shall live? Look at the matter for one moment. You steer a ship, you

guide an engine, you prescribe contracts, you enact laws, and how can you expect that you can stumble by instinct, blindly, unconsciously, upon the method by which it will be well for you to spend your days? You would not be safe in any machine that was so left, and you cannot hope to make anything but a miserable jest or wreck out of your own existence, unless you form a plan for it.

Indeed, the wisest and most practical counsel which can be given on this subject is simply in the words, "Form a Plan for your existence, have some Principle, Aim, or Method in it." Before all definitions of that Plan, or any rules by which it is to be formed, stands the simple counsel, -Form some plan. The very purpose is the best part of the work. Admit to yourself the necessity of some plan, and you may be almost certain that you will form a good one. I have but little respect for what are called human instincts, but I have a great deal of respect and confidence in human thoughts, that is, when they are cool, clear, and deliberate. I do not believe many persons could deliberately form bad plans for living, actually foolish and wicked methods of existence. We do indeed speak of persons who calculate unwisely, scheme foolishly, or choose recklessly. But are we certain that they calculate or choose at all? May it not rather be that they are led or driven by impulse, by a giddy heart, by an ignorant rashness, or a hardy obstinacy? For there is indeed something in cool deliberation, in careful, considerate thoughtfulness, in the pause of the mind and the exercise of a reasoning intelligence casting its scrutiny on the way before us, which partakes of true wisdom, and gives promise of good fruit. I have that respect for the working of a sincere mind upon life, which leads me to believe that any one who will take a fit time, and a fair mood, and an honest purpose, and sit down with himself to ask, "What shall be my principle in life?" will come upon the track of something that is good.

Now it is hardly to be expected that any persons, except