CHAPTER VI.

Want of self-knowledge a cause of error in religion—Self-loveExamples of its deceptive operation-Its opposition to correct views of truth-Perils of the state to which it carries the mindDifficulty of understanding this state, and of escaping from it— Errors that grow out of it-Its incompatibility with moral improvement-Two weighty inferences-Sense of guilt always slight in habitual sins-Great sins rendered sinless in our eyes by a continuance in them-Secret sins-The peculiar danger of themTheir effect on the moral perceptions-The false security and infidelity which insensibly spring from them-The folly of deciding on our character from the opinion of others-Deceptive appearances-Prayer of a Roman worshipper-Great inconsist encies in practice-Instruction drawn from the conduct of the thief and the robber-The moral decency of their example compared with that of others-Effect of sinning on the judgmentErrors in one respect leading to error in all others-Reflections.

HAVING considered the proneness of men to determine the good or evil of their actions by reference to the conduct of others, and the dangerous results which follow from it, we see, more and more, the deceitfulness of the heart, and the great importance of knowing ourselves, if we would know the causes of our unbelief and error in regard to divine truth. The progress of infidelity in every mind keeps pace with the increase of distaste to spiritual things. When we lose our delight in an object of faith, it is gone from us, and we see no more

its beauties-like as an object of vision is gone with all its colours, when we see it no longer. This is especially likely to be the result, when the truths to be credited are not only distasteful, but require the renunciation of objects and pursuits to which the heart has become strongly wedded. It is not to be expected that in this condition we shall see things as they are, if indeed we credit their existence; and, not seeing them as they are, it is impossible that our faith in them, be it more or less, should be according to truth, or have any suitable influence.

We are all liable to have our judgment swayed by interest, prejudice, or passion; but it is very difficult to make any one see this in his own case. This truth however is universally acknowledged; and this, taken in connexion with the difficulty of seeing it in our own practice, shows, clearly, not that we are exceptions to the rule,-that none will allow but ourselves—but that the powers of the intellect-the reason, the understanding-are susceptible of the greatest influence, and the grossest perversion from the qualities of the heart.

Self-love, in some of the forms of its manifestation, sways every man's opinions and actions, to a degree which he can scarcely credit. There are eminent instances of this which glare in every body's eyes; but it is not so important to contem

plate these, as the more general and less observable processes of it which may be seen in all. We do not here speak of men, who are unusually depraved, but of those simply, who lay many restraints on their evil propensities, and are in high esteem for general probity. And how various and blinding are the operations of this principle in them! He, who is, perhaps, never censured for any delinquency, guided by its specious influence, looks upon others to find his advantage over them. He compares himself with the worst, and loses sight of his own defects in the greatness of theirs, as a lesser light seems put out by a greater. Another lives on the applause and cordiality of his neighbours, finding in their friendship the evidence of virtues which he does not possess. He hears their testimony to the graces of his amiable, upright, and honourable character, and it falls like the music of paradise upon his ear, charming him into delusion, and into favour with faults which he had before condemned. Another is extolled for a deed of folly or wickedness, by the unreflecting multitude, from whom he derives his importance, and for this reason alone, he boasts of it as his deed, and thinks it a great virtue. Another, when he is convicted of injustice or vice, invents palliations, complains of persecution, and is readily persuaded, by the sympathy and forbearance of the credulous and the kind,

that his defences are reasonable. Another, when he has offended you, may confess his fault, and if you are ready to forgive and approve, he may be so well pleased with the virtue of his confession that he will think better of himself than he did before he had offended, and this, when, if he had not feared the loss of your favour, he would not have confessed or felt any sorrow for his offence. Whether the object be himself, or one affecting himself, no man under the reigning influence of this principle sees the truth, the whole truth; he has not light enough for that. He sees things to a great extent as he wishes to see them; and he never wishes to see them as crossing and opposing himself. We need not say what havoc, what base transformations and images of the truth self-love will be likely to cause, when we come to estimate the claims of Christianity, which proposes, as a chief thing, to undo the nature, to take down the pride and sufficiency of man.

The influence of an inordinate self-love, in reconciling us to our own evil ways, may be variously illustrated. That there is much dishonesty even among men who are accounted respectable, and that there is ground in our nature for apprehending it, is evident from the laws and guards that are raised against it: indeed this truth is admitted by all. It is also admitted that much dishonesty is practised

which is never exposed, and cannot be made the subject of legal investigation; but look for the authors of it, and you will not find a man of this class who thinks himself practically dishonest, or believes a report which declares him to be unworthy of confidence. Their cherished impression is that they are not justly liable to this charge, whereas, if another had acted precisely as they have done, they could have no trust in his principles. Tell a man of the opportunities of doing good which he has neglected, and if he has ever felt an emotion of kindness, or designed a virtuous action, he will refer to these for consolation, and perhaps view himself not the less virtuous for not having done what he has delayed only that he might do it more seasonably; and whoever has done more, if more fortunate, has not, he fancies, designed more or wished better.1 He, who is criminally selfish in all his ways, often says much of the selfishness of the human heart, sees not in himself what he complains of in others, reasons plausibly on the arts employed by many (himself employing the same) to appear benevolent and secure esteem, and concludes, if the methods of promoting our interests are diverse, our motives in all are single, and thus imperceptibly finds himself to be good

So true is it, as Shakspeare says, that "our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues."