On the Propriety of Introducing Religion in General Conversation.
MAY we be allowed to introduce here an opinion warmly maintained in the world, and which indeed strikes at the root of all rules for the management of religious debate recommended in the preceding chapter? It is, that the subject of religion ought on no occasion to be introduced in mixed company; that the diversity of sentiment upon it is so great, and so nearly connected with the tenderest feelings of our minds, as to be liable to lead to heat and contentions. Finally, that it is too grave and solemn a topic to be mixed in the miscellaneous circle of social discourse, much less in the festive effusions of convivial cheerfulness. Now, in answer to these allegations we must at least insist, that should religion, on other grounds, be found entitled to social discussion, the last observation, if true, would prove convivial cheerfulness incompatible with the spirit and practice of religion, rather than religion inadmissible into cheerful parties. And it is certainly a retort difficult of evasion, that where to introduce religion herself is to endanger her honor, there she rather suffers in reputation by the presence of her friend. The man endeared by conviction to his religion will never bear to be long, much less to be stately separated from the object of his affections: and he whose zeal once determined him "to know nothing" among his associates, "but Jesus Christ, and him crucified," never could have dreamed of a latitude of interpretation which would admit a Christian into scenes where everything but Jesus Christ and him crucified, might be recognized with credit. These principles appear so plain and incontrovertible, that the question seems rather to call for a different statement; viz., why religion should not be deemed admissible into every social meeting and friendly circle in which a Christian himself would choose to be found? That it is too weighty and important a subject for discussion, is an argument, which, standing alone, assumes the gross absurdity that either men never talk of that which most nearly interests them, or that when they do, they talk improperly. They will not, it is true, introduce a private concern, however important, in which no one is interested but themselves. But in the subject of religion, who is not interested? Or where will topics be found more universal in their application to all times, persons, places and circumstances, as well as more important, than those which relate to the eternal welfare of mankind? Nor will it be avowed with greater color of reason, that topics so important suffer in point of gravity, or in the respect of mankind, by frequent discussion. We never observed men grow indifferent to their health, their affairs, their friends, their country, in proportion as these were made the subjects of their familiar discourse. On the contrary, oblivion has been noticed as the offspring of silence. The man who never mentions his friend is, we think, in general most likely to forget him. And far from denying the name of one, greater than any earthly friend "taken in vain," when mentioned discreetly in conversation, we generally find him most remembered and respected in secret, by those whose memories are occasionally refreshed by a reference to his word and authority in public. "Familiarity," indeed we have been told, "produces contempt;" a truism, on which we are convinced many persons, honestly, though blindly, rest their habitual, and even systematic reserve on religious subjects. But "familiarity" in our mind has reference rather to the manner, than to the act, of introducing religion. To us it is synonymous with a certain trite and trivial repetition of serious remarks, evidently "to no profit," which we sometimes hear from persons familiarized, rather by education than feeling, to the language of piety. More particularly we refer it to a still more criminal habit, which, to their disgrace, some professors of religion share with the profane, of raising a laugh by the introduction of a religious observation, or even a scriptural quotation. "To court a grin where we should woo a soul," is surely an abuse of religion, as well in the parlor as the pulpit. Nor has the senate itself been always exempt from this impropriety. Dr. Johnson has long since pronounced a jest drawn from the Bible, the vulgarest because the easiest of all jests. And far from perverting religious topics to such a purpose himself, a feeling Christian would not often be found, where such would be the probable consequence of offering a pious sentiment in company. That allusions involving religious questions are often productive of dispute and altercation, is a fact, which though greatly exaggerated, must yet in a degree be admitted. This circumstance may in some measure account for the singular reception which a religious remark is often observed to meet with in the world. It is curious to notice the surprise and alarm which, on such occasions, will frequently pervade the party present. The remark is received as a stranger-guest, of which no one knows the quality or intentions: and, like a species of intellectual foundling, it is cast upon the company without a friend to foster its infancy, or to own any acquaintance with the parent. A fear of consequences prevails. It is obvious that the feeling is, "We know not into147what it may grow; it is therefore safer to stifle it in the birth." This, if not the avowed, is the implied sentiment. But is not this delicacy, this mauvaise honte, so peculiar perhaps to our countrymen on religious subjects, the very cause which operates so unfavorably upon that effect which it labors to obviate? Is not the very unfrequency of moral or religious observations, a sufficient account to be given both of the perplexity and the irritation said to be consequent upon their introduction? And were not religion (we mean such religious topics as may legitimately arise in mixed society) banished so much as it is from conversation, might not its occasional occurrence become by degrees as natural, perhaps as interesting, certainly as instructive, and after all as safe, as "a close committee on the weather," or any other of the authorized topics which are about as productive of amusement as of instruction? People act as if religion were to be regarded at a distance, as if even a respectful ignorance were to be preferred to a more familiar approach. This reserve, however, does not give an air of respect, so much as of mystery, to religion. An able writer (Bishop Sherlock) has observed, "that was esteemed the most sacred part of pagan devotion which was the most impure, and the only thing that was commendable in it is, that it was kept a great mystery." He approves of nothing in this religion but the modesty of withdrawing itself from the eyes of the world. But Christianity requires not to be shrouded in any such mysterious recesses. She does not, like the Eastern monarchs, owe her dignity to her concealment. She is, on the contrary, most honored where most known, and most revered where most clearly visible. It will be obvious that hints rather than arguments belong to our present undertaking. In this view we may perhaps be excused if we offer a few general observations upon the different occasions on which a well-regulated mind would be solicitous to introduce religion into social discourse. The person possessed of such a mind, would be mainly anxious, in a society of Christians, that something should appear indicative of their profession. He would accordingly feel a strong desire to effect it when he plainly perceived his company engaged in no other topic, either innocently entertaining, or rationally instructive. This desire, however, would by no means cloud his brow, give an air of impatience to his countenance, or render him inattentive to the general tone and temper of the circle. On the contrary, he would endeavor to feel additional interest in his neighbor’s suggestions, in proportion as he hoped in turn to attract notice to his own. He would show long forbearance to the utmost extent of conscientious toleration. In the prosecution of his favorite design, he would never attempt a forced or unreasonable allusion to serious subjects; a caution requiring the nicest judgment and discrimination, most particularly where he felt the sentiments or the zeal of his company to be not congenial with his own. His would be the spirit of the prudent mariner, who does not approach even his native shore without carefully watching the winds, and sounding the channel; knowing well that a temporary delay, even on an unfriendly element, is preferable to a hasty landing his company, on shore indeed, but upon the point of a rock. Happily for our present purpose, the days we live in afford circumstances both of foreign and domestic occurrence, of every possible variety of color and connection, so as to leave scarcely any mind unfurnished with a store of progressive remarks by which the most instructive truths may be approached through the most obvious topics. And a prudent mind will study to make its approaches to such an ultimate object, progressive: it will know also where to stop, rather indeed out of regard to others than to itself. And in the manly avowal of its sentiments, avoiding as well what is canting in utterance as technical in language, it will make them at once appear not the ebullition of an ill-educated imagination, but the result of a long-exercised understanding. Nothing will be more likely to attract attention or secure respect to your remarks than the good taste in which they are delivered. On common topics we reckon him the most elegant speaker whose pronunciation and accent are so free from all peculiarities that it cannot be determined to what place he owes his birth. A polished critic of Rome accuses one of the finest of her historians of provinciality. This is a fault obvious to less enlightened critics, since the Attic herb-woman could detect the provincial dialect of a great philosopher. Why must religion have her Patinity? Why must a Christian adopt the quaintness of a party or a scholar the idiom of the illiterate? Why should a valuable truth be combined with a vulgar or fanatical expression? If either would offend when separate, how inevitably must they disgust when the one is mistakenly intended to set off the other. Surely this is not encasing our "apples of gold in pictures of silver." We must not close this part of our subject without alluding to another, and still more delicate introduction of religion, in the way of reproof. Here is, indeed a point in religious conduct to which we feel it a boldness to make any reference at all. Bold, indeed, is that casuist who would lay down general rules on a subject where the consciences of men seem to differ so widely from each other: and feeble too often will be his justest rules where the feelings of timidity or delicacy rush in with a force which sweeps down many a land-mark erected for its own guidance, even by conscience itself. Certainly, much allowance, perhaps respect, is due in cases of very doubtful decision, to those feelings which, after the utmost self-regulation of mind, are found to be irresistible. And certainly the habits and modes of address attached to refined society, are such as to place personal observations on a very different footing to that on which they stand by nature. A frown, even a cold and disapproving look, may be a reception which the profane expression or loose action of a neighbor of rank and opulence may have never before encountered from his flatterers or convivial companions. A vehement censure in his case might inflame his resentment without amending his fault. Whether the attempt be to correct a vice or rectify an error, one object should ever be steadily kept in view, to conciliate rather than to contend, to inform but not to insult, to evince that we assume not the character of a dictator, but the office of a Christian friend; that we have the best interests of the offender, and the honor of religion at heart, and that to reprove is so far from a gratification that it is a trial to ourselves; the effect of conscience, not the effect of choice. The feelings therefore of the person to be admonished should be most scrupulously consulted. The admonition, if necessarily strong, explicit, and personal, should yet be friendly, temperate, and well bred. An offence, even though publicly committed, is generally best reproved in private, perhaps in writing. Age, superiority of station, previous acquaintance, above all, that sacred profession to which the honor of religion is happily made a personal concern, are circumstances which especially call for, and sanction the attempt recommended. And he must surely be unworthy his Christian vocation, who would not conscientiously use any influence or authority which he might chance to possess, in discountenancing or rectifying the delinquency he condemns. We are indeed, as elsewhere, after the closest reflection and longest discussion, often forced into the general conclusion that "a good heart is the best casuist." And doubtless, where true Christian benevolence towards man meets in the same mind with an honest zeal for the glory of God, a way will be found, let us rather say will be opened, for the right exercise of this, as of every virtuous disposition. Let us ever remember what we have so often insisted on, that self-denial is the ground-work, the indispensable requisite for every Christian virtue; that, without the habitual exercise of this principle we shall never be followers of him "who pleased not himself." And when we are called by conscience to the largest use of it in practice, we must arm ourselves with the highest considerations for the trial: we must consider him, who (through his faithful reproofs) "endured the contradiction of sinners against himself." And when even from Moses we hear the truly evangelical precept, "thou shalt in any wise rebuke thy brother, and not suffer sin upon him;" we must duly weigh how strongly its performance is enforced upon ourselves, by the conduct of one greater than Moses, who expressly "suffered for us, leaving us an example that we should follow his footsteps."—Practical Piety.