THE DISTURBANCE OF CONVICTION.
A MAN who rarely thinks of his religious state may often have a sort of peace and satisfaction which is unknown to those more thoughtful. The coarser outlines of common morality are familiar to him. They stand like mountain-peaks around him, and he easily keeps within them. Name over the points of the decalogue, and he can say with the man in the Gospel, "All these have I kept." He would not steal, or kill, or defraud. Beyond these he has never seen. He has never even become aware that there is anything beyond. Let him go a little higher and look out, and the whole world of finer obligation begins to unveil itself—the world of pure motive and generous intention, of godliness and spiritual life. He begins to see how broad the divine law is, and how it takes note of the spirit that is in a man as well as the conduct that flows from him. He becomes vaguely conscious of a higher standard of living than he ever before dreamed of. He has heretofore seen the coarser outlines of the divine law, he now begins to see something of its finer spirit. But he is more uncomfortable and dissatisfied with himself than ever before. He never seemed to himself so unworthy as now when he is seeking the better way. He surely has not become any worse by this effort to be better. But as he rises higher he sees farther; as the light shines more he sees more. He perceives what the law means, and begins to realize his task. His dissatisfaction is from the awakening of a new life. There have been aroused a new hunger and a new thirst, which the old life no longer satisfies. The old life no longer fills the enlarged capacity. He is hungry and finds no bread; he is thirsty, and knows not where to find the fountain. There is "An aching void
The world can never fill." It is coming out into the light which costs the struggle. Shall we say: It were better to remain in darkness than to be pained by the light? It were better to remain in a degraded lot than to be made restless by the sight of a better? No, light is better than darkness. A renovated spiritual life is worth all the fears and pains its attainment occasions. Bunyan's pilgrim grew more weary and uneasy the farther he went from the City of Destruction. His condition did not grow worse, but he saw it more plainly. The light of Sinai did not increase his sinfulness, but only revealed it. The effort to escape made him feel the chains of his bondage. While he yielded to them he did not feel them, but they were just as heavy and just as firm. It was worth the struggle to be free; it was worth the sense of restlessness endured to find the peace which awaited him. It is something to want a good thing. It is something for a man to feel his lack. Not to want may mean that a man lacks the capacity of wanting. A man's sense of completeness may be a sign of deficiency, while a sense of incompleteness may indicate progress. A sense of sin is a sign of hope. A hunger after righteousness shows deepening life. A restlessness of spirit has in it the promise of peace.—The Advance.