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The Present Age:

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The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 16, 1864

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 23, No. 12.

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The Present Age:

By Bonar

ITS BOASTED PROGRESS DELUSIVE.

(Concluded.)
Along with his boast of progress, the age boasts of its liberality. Let us look at this, and see how far it can make its boasting good. True liberality is a blessed thing; for it is but another name for the love that "beareth all things," that "thinketh no evil," that "rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth." With this, however, the liberality of the age has nothing in common. Its essence is indifference to sin and error. Its object is to smooth down the distinctions between good and evil; between holiness and sin; between the church and the world; between Protestantism and Popery; between the belief of God's Word and Infidelity, or Atheism. All its saying and doings in government, in the legislature, in society, in corporations or private intercourse, are based upon the axiom that there is no real difference between these things, or, at least, that if there be, it is not discoverable by man; so that man is not only not responsible for acting upon it, but it would be intolerance and presumption in him to do so. Kings are, therefore, to rule as if there were no such distinction, forgetting by whom they reign. Judges are to know no such distinctions, forgetting that they are to judge "in the fear of the Lord."
Society is to be constructed without reference to any such distinction, as if the Bible were not the basis of all society. But is not this calling good evil, and evil good,—putting darkness for light, and light for darkness,—putting bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter?
We see this liberality in the kind things spoken of Infidelity,—in the praises of Popery; in the sneers against Protestantism, as being by its very name a system of illiberality. Education from which God is shut out, and in which the Bible has no place, is contended for, even by men who call themselves religious; and this is named liberality. To attend mass in a Popish cathedral; to listen to the blasphemies of Socinianism for the sake of the eloquence of the preacher; to hold fellowship with the avowed infidel for the sake of science; to sit at the table of the licentious, on the score of his artistic fame,—these are common things amongst us, and all are honored by the name of liberality; because our fathers condemned these things; because "they abhorred that which was evil, and cleaved to that which was good;" they are branded as intolerant and narrow-minded; and because our own age has thus filled up the gulf between the good and the evil, it is honored with the name of enlightened.
Thus to blot out the difference between truth and error has been the feat of the age. For this it praises itself, pitying the littleness and contractedness of other days and other minds. In so doing, it forgets that no man is narrow-minded who expands to the full circle of truth, and that the first step beyond that is contractedness of spirit. Latitudinarianism is not true liberality; indifference to error is not true liberality, unless it can be shown that the Bible, the Book of truth, is equally latitudinarian, and equally indifferent to error. It is an appalling fact, that men, with the Bible in their hands, should deny the distinction between truth and error; and then as if ashamed of what they had done, call it by the venerated name of liberality. But it is a more appalling fact, that men should give, as the reason for this indifference, that truth is not discoverable, thereby throwing the blame upon God for having given a Bible so vague, so ambiguous, so unmeaning, that no one reading it can certainly gather what is truth or what is error.
This liberality, however, turns out to be a one-sided principle. Its toleration of error is unqualified and unconditional, almost as if the fact of its being error entitled it to toleration, and even encouragement. Its toleration of truth is grudging, meagre, restricted. Nay, it only consents to tolerate truth on condition that its supporters will not contend for it too decidedly, but will bring it considerably down to the level of error. Thus, though assuming a Protestant name, its deference to popery is unlimited; while its hatred of all that is decided and essential-in Protestantism is deep and unconcealed. It finds many excuses for the Popish claim of infallibility, but none for the Protestant assertion of the full and thorough inspiration of the word of God. It palliates the Popish system of monastic vows, but detests and denounces the Scriptural doctrine of separation from the world. It praises and associates with a Papist that believes in the lying legends of saints, and in the virtue of dead men's bones, or in the immaculacy of the Virgin Mary; but it rejects, as silly and insipid, the acquaintanceship of the man who reads his Bible, and loves his Saviour, and walks humbly with his God. Its sympathies are all practically on the side of those very errors it professes to reject, and its hostilities are directed against those very truths which in words it owns.
The age also boasts of its religion as a part of its progress. With many, religion is mere philosophic speculation upon truth connected with man's soul. With others, it consists in admiration for the Bible, as a book of literary excellences. With others, it is the adoption of a creed, or connection with a church. With others, it consists in bustle and outward zeal. In all, it lacks life,—that deep, intense, glowing life, which so marked it in earlier times. Its root is not in the conscience, but in some outer region of the soul, which does not bring us into close and living contact with Jehovah himself. It is a thing of the imagination, or of the intellect, or even of the affections, but not of the conscience. There can be no religion which has not its seat there. The hindrance to living religion is the want of a "purged conscience," and till the conscience has been purged from dead works, there can be no real religion,—no true service of God. How little is there of conscience in the religion of the day! Hence that lack of simplicity, of freshness, of serenity, which we should expect. Hence its hollowness and shallowness.
The religion of the day is an easy-minded religion; a religion without conflict and wrestling, without self-denial and sacrifice; a religion which knows nothing of the pangs of the new birth as its commencement, and nothing of the desperate struggle with the Devil, day by day, making us long for resurrection-deliverance, for the binding of the Adversary, and for the Lord's arrival. It is a second-rate religion,—a religion in which there is no largeness, no grandeur, no potency, no noble-mindedness, no elevation, no self-devotedness, no all-constraining love. It is a hollow religion, with a fair exterior, but an aching heart,—a heart unsatisfied, a soul not at rest, a conscience not at peace with God; a religion marked, it may be, by activity and excitement, but betraying all the while the consciousness of a wound hidden and unhealed within, and hence unable to animate to lofty doings, or supply the strength needed for such doings. It is a feeble religion, lacking the sinews and bones of hardier times,—very different from the indomitable, much-enduring, storm-braving religion, not merely of apostolic days, but even of the Reformation. It is an uncertain religion; that is to say, it is not rooted in certainty; it is not the outflowing of a soul assured of pardon, and rejoicing in the filial relationship between itself and God. Hence, there is no liberty of service, for the question of personal acceptance is still an unsettled thing; there is a working for pardon, but not from pardon. Hence all is bondage, heaviness, irksomeness. There is a speaking for God, but it is with a faltering tongue; there is a laboring for God, but it is with fettered hands; there is a moving in the way of his commandments, but it is with a heavy drag upon our limbs. Hence the inefficient, uninfluential character of our religion. It does not tell on others; for it has not yet fully told upon ourselves.
These are some of the features of the age. Such is its progress. Such are its prospects of self-regeneration, or world regeneration. Alas! how little in all this do we see of God! How little can we detect, in these movements of the Spirit of God! There is a movement, doubtless; nay, not one movement, but many. But how much of this is the work of the Holy Spirit,—of Him who alone can reform an age or regenerate a world? How much from above, and how much from beneath? How much onward and upward, and how much backward and downward? Is not the age one which is especially grieving, nay, quenching the Spirit? And in many of these things which are counted progress, are we not grieving him most signally and awfully? Instead of setting our face steadfastly to go after Christ, are we not following after Antichrist, in his manifold delusions, in which, by mixing up truth and falsehood, he is seeking to deceive the very elect? Instead of putting ourselves under the teaching of the Spirit, are we not taking the false guidance of the evil one, now clothed in the fair disguise of radiant knowledge, and going before us as an angel of light, to mislead and ruin?
Not as though some strange thing were happening to us. We look for no times of righteousness in these last days. We have been warned to expect evil, and not good,—progressive evil, not progressive good,—until the Lord come.
The age of progress is not the present; it is the age to come. In the present there is the development of evil,—in the future, the development of good. Man is now putting forth his power to the utmost in efforts after progress. Poor progress at the best, yet much boasted of! It is but man's progress; it is but finite development. Man is now put to the proof. He is allowed to do his best, and he is given time to do it in. God will not hinder the attempt, nor hurry him in making it. Full time, ample scope, large opportunity, will be granted. Man ruined a world; it is to be proved whether he can rebuild it. He ruined it in a day; he is given six thousand years to attempt its reconstruction. His downward progress was swift enough; it is to be tried whether his upward progress will be as rapid, or whether there can be such a thing as upward progress at all, when he is left alone. God has been putting him to the proof. He says to him, "Try to govern the world;" man tries it, but fails. He says to him, "Try to regenerate a world;" he tries it, and fails. He says to him, "Fertilize the earth;" he tries it, and fails. He says to him, "Try to advance,—make progress,—increase in knowledge;" man tries it, and fails. It will not do. Man's day has been a long one; but it has been a day during which, in all possible circumstances, and with all advantages, he has been proved helpless, ignorant, evil; unfit to rule, and unfit to be left without a ruler; unfit to teach, and unwilling to learn; unfit to be entrusted with the care or management of aught within the world's wide circle,—from the atom of crumbling dust beneath his feet, up to his own imperishable interests.
When God has made this proof to the universe of man's utter incapacity; when he has demonstrated man's unworthiness of trust, and inability for any progress, save a downward one; he sets him aside as "a despised and broken vessel," in order to bring in the "greater man,"—aye, the greater than man, even his own eternal Son. The great experiment of 6000 years is now drawing to a close. The vast but awful demonstration is now nearly complete. The case is most manifestly going against man. King, prince, noble, peasant, beggar; statesman, diplomatist, master, parent, child, servant; poet, philosopher, artist, mechanic,—all have had their long age of trial, and all have failed. The verdict will soon be given, and the sentence pronounced.
At this crisis we now stand. At the close of a long series of experiments, made to see what man could do, we find the world as wicked and lawless (to say no more) as at the first. Peace has not spread her reign among the nations, nor misrule departed. Righteousness does not sit on the throne of the nations, nor does holiness beautify the homes of the children of men.
Man's merchandise is not consecrated to God, nor his wealth laid at the feet of Jesus. The heart remains still deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. Oppression, murder, cruelty, selfishness, lust, sedition, strife and hatred, are still uneradicated, unsubdued, unmitigated. Man has found no cure for these maladies. They rage on, but he is powerless. The curse still pervades the earth and poisons the air. Man cannot disinfect it. The thorn and thistle still shoot up their prickly memorials of the primal sin. Man cannot uproot them. Disease still haunts the body, and man says, "Depart," in vain. The "rooted sorrow" still keeps place in memory, scorching health's freshness, and tearing down life remorselessly,—man vainly endeavoring to pluck it out. Death still smites down its daily myriads, and man tries in vain to bribe or disarm it. The grave still receives the loved, and preys upon the beautiful,—man pleading in vain that it should give back the joy of his heart and the desire of his eyes!
Such are the fruits of the first Adam's doings, and such the powerlessness of his children to remove so much as one of the ten thousand evils. It has been proved that man can ruin, but not restore, a world. His attempts at restoration have been sad and mischievous failings. His attempts at progress have been abortive; so that progress in evil, progress in alienation from God, is the feature of greatest prominence in his history.
But this progress in evil has a limit. God has set bounds to it which it cannot overpass. He will not allow this earth of his to be totally a hell. He will make the sin of man to praise him, and he will restrain the remainder thereof. A certain amount and a certain duration he will allow, but no more. Neither of these is indefinite; and we seem to be nearing their boundary.
It is well. For then shall the good displace the evil, and the blessing the curse. The second Adam is at hand, and with him, the kingdom and the glory. He brings the cure. He knits the broken world. He rebukes disease and sorrow. He binds death. He rifles the grave. He delivers creation. He sets up a righteous, peaceful throne. He draws aside the curtain that hid heaven from earth, making them as one,—the inner and the outer chamber of the one tabernacle of Jehovah,—and setting up the true Jacob's ladder, on which the angels shall be seen ascending and descending, still ministering in holy service to him and to his saints in the day of the kingdom, as heretofore they have done in the day of tribulation and shame.
That is the age of progress! What progress, when God shall set his hand to it! In the light of that ever-widening knowledge, in the blaze of that ever-brightening glory, how poor, how vile, shall seem the progress of the dishonored past! Not merely like age's recollection of childhood's trivialities and wasted time, but like morning's remembrance to the drunkard of last night's revelry and lust; like the King of Babylon's remembrance of his seven years' sojourn with the beasts of the field!—Bonar.