Practical Religion — Happiness Part 1
HAPPINESS
"_Happy is that people whose God is the Lord.
_"--Psalm cxliv.
15. An infidel was once addressing a crowd of people in the open air.
He was trying to persuade them that there was no God and no devil no heaven, and no hell, no resurrection, no judgment, and no life to come.
He advised them to throw away their Bibles, and not to mind what parsons said.
He recommended them to think as he did, and to be like him.
He talked boldly.
The crowd listened eagerly.
It was "the blind leading the blind."
Both were falling into the ditch.
(Matt.
xv.
14. ) In the middle of his address a poor old woman suddenly pushed her way through the crowd, to the place where he was standing.
She stood before him.
She looked him full in the face.
"Sir," she said, in a loud voice, "Are you happy?"
The infidel looked scornfully at her, and gave her no answer.
"Sir," she said again, "I ask you to answer my question.
Are you happy?
You want us to throw away our Bibles.
You tell us not to believe what parsons say about religion.
You advise us to think as you do, and be like you.
Now before we take your advice we have a right to know what good we shall get by it.
Do your fine new notions give you much comfort?
Do you yourself really feel happy?"
The infidel stopped, and attempted to answer the old woman's question.
He stammered, and shuffled, and fidgetted, and endeavoured to explain his meaning.
He tried hard to turn the subject.
He said, he "had not come there to preach about happiness."
But it was of no use.
The old woman stuck to her point.
She insisted on her question being answered, and the crowd took her part.
She pressed him hard with her inquiry, and would take no excuse.
And at last the infidel was obliged to leave the ground, and sneak off in confusion.
He could not reply to the question.
His conscience would not let him: he dared not say that he was happy.
The old woman showed great wisdom in asking the question that she did.
The argument she used may seem very simple, but in reality it is one of the most powerful that can be employed.
It is a weapon that has more effect on some minds than the most elaborate reasoning of Butler, or Paley, or Chalmers.
Whenever a man begins to take up new views of religion, and pretends to despise old Bible Christianity, thrust home at his conscience the old woman's question.
Ask him whether his new views make him feel comfortable within.
Ask him whether he can say, with honesty and sincerity, that he is happy.
The grand test of a man's faith and religion is, "Does it make him happy?"
Let me now affectionately invite every reader to consider the subject of this paper.
Let me warn you to remember that the salvation of your soul, and nothing less, is closely bound up with the subject.
The heart cannot be right in the sight of God which knows nothing of happiness.
That man or woman cannot be in a safe state of soul who feels nothing of peace within.
There are three things which I purpose to do, in order to clear up the subject of happiness.
I ask special attention to each one of them.
And I pray the Spirit of God to apply all to the souls of all who read this paper.
I.
Let me point out some things which are absolutely essential to all happiness.
II.
Let me expose some common mistakes about the way to be happy.
III.
Let me show the way to be truly happy.
I.
First of all I have _to point out some things which are absolutely essential to all true happiness_.
Happiness is what all mankind want to obtain: the desire of it is deeply planted in the human heart.
All men naturally dislike pain, sorrow, and discomfort.
All men naturally like ease, comfort, and gladness.
All men naturally hunger and thirst after happiness.
Just as the sick man longs for health, and the prisoner of war for liberty,--just as the parched traveller in hot countries longs to see the cooling fountain, or the ice-bound polar voyager the sun rising above the horizon,--just in the same way does poor mortal man long to be happy.
But, alas, how few consider what they really mean when they talk of happiness!
How vague and indistinct and undefined the ideas of most men are upon the subject!
They think some are happy who in reality are miserable: they think some are gloomy and sad who in reality are truly happy.
They dream of a happiness which in reality would never satisfy their nature's wants.
Let me try this day to throw a little light on the subject.
True happiness _is not perfect freedom from sorrow and discomfort_.
Let that never be forgotten.
If it were so there would be no such thing as happiness in the world.
Such happiness is for angels who have never fallen, and not for man.
The happiness I am inquiring about is such as a poor, dying, sinful creature may hope to attain.
Our whole nature is defiled by sin.
Evil abounds in the world.
Sickness, and death, and change are daily doing their sad work on every side.
In such a state of things the highest happiness man can attain to on earth must necessarily be a mixed thing.
If we expect to find any literally perfect happiness on this side of the grave, we expect what we shall not find.
True happiness _does not consist in laughter and smiles_.
The face is very often a poor index of the inward man.
There are thousands who laugh loud and are merry as a grasshopper in company, but are wretched and miserable in private, and almost afraid to be alone.
There are hundreds who are grave and serious in their demeanour, whose hearts are full of solid peace.
A poet of our own has truly told us that smiles are worth but little:-- "A man may smile and smile and be a villain."
And the eternal Word of God teaches us that "even in laughter the heart is sorrowful."
(Prov.
xiv.
13. ) Tell me not merely of smiling and laughing faces: I want to hear of something more than that when I ask whether a man is happy.
A truly happy man no doubt will often show his happiness in his countenance; but a man may have a very merry face and yet not be happy at all.
Of all deceptive things on earth nothing is so deceptive as mere gaiety and merriment.
It is a hollow empty show, utterly devoid of substance and reality.
Listen to the brilliant talker in society, and mark the applause which he receives from an admiring company: follow him to his own private room, and you will very likely find him plunged in melancholy despondency.
Colonel Gardiner confessed that even when he was thought most happy he often wished he was a dog.
--Look at the smiling beauty in the ball-room, and you might suppose she knew not what it was to be unhappy; see her next day at her own home, and you may probably find her out of temper with herself and everybody else besides.
--Oh, no: worldly merriment is not real happiness!
There is a certain pleasure about it, I do not deny.
There is an animal excitement about it, I make no question.
There is a temporary elevation of spirits about it, I freely concede.
But call it not by the sacred name of happiness.
The most beautiful cut flowers stuck into the ground do not make a garden.
When glass is called diamond, and tinsel is called gold, then, and not till then, your people who can laugh and smile will deserve to be called happy men.
[7] 7: Cervantes, author of Don Quixote, at a time when all Spain was laughing at his humorous work, was overwhelmed with a deep cloud of melancholy.
Moliere, the first of French comic writers, carried into his domestic circle a sadness which the greatest worldly prosperity could never dispel.
Samuel Foote, the noted wit of the last century, died of a broken heart.
Theodore Hooke, the facetious novel writer, who could set everybody laughing, says of himself in his diary, "I am suffering under a constant depression of spirits, which no one who sees me in society dreams of."
A wobegone stranger consulted a physician about his health.
The physician advised him to keep up his spirits by going to hear the great comic actor of the day.
"You should go and hear Matthews.
He would make you well."
"Alas, sir," was the reply, "I am Matthews himself!"
--_Pictorial Pages.
_ To be truly happy _the highest wants of a man's nature must be met and satisfied_.
The requirements of his curiously wrought constitution must all be filled up.
There must be nothing about him that cries, "Give, give," but cries in vain and gets no answer.
The horse and the ox are happy as long as they are warmed and filled.
And why?
It is because they are satisfied.
The little infant looks happy when it is clothed, and fed, and well, and in its mother's arms.
And why?
Because it is satisfied.
And just so it is with man.
His highest wants must be met and satisfied before he can be truly happy.
All must be filled up.
There must be no void, no empty places, no unsupplied cravings.
Till then he is never truly happy.
And what are _man's principal wants_?
Has he a body only?
No: he has something more!
He has a soul.
--Has he sensual faculties only?
Can he do nothing but hear, and see, and smell, and taste, and feel?
No: he has a thinking mind and a conscience!
--Has he no consciousness of any world but that in which he lives and moves?
He has.
There is a still small voice within him which often makes itself heard: "This life is not all!
There is a world unseen: there is a life beyond the grave."
Yes!
it is true.
We are fearfully and wonderfully made.
All men know it: all men feel it, if they would only speak the truth.
It is utter nonsense to pretend that food and raiment and earthly good things alone can make men happy.
There are soul-wants.
There are conscience-wants.
There can be no true happiness until these wants are satisfied.
To be truly happy _a man must have sources of gladness which are not dependent on anything in this world_.
There is nothing upon earth which is not stamped with the mark of instability and uncertainty.
All the good things that money can buy are but for a moment: they either leave us or we are obliged to leave them.
All the sweetest relationships in life are liable to come to an end: death may come any day and cut them off.
The man whose happiness depends entirely on things here below is like him who builds his house on sand, or leans his weight on a reed.
Tell me not of your happiness if it daily hangs on the uncertainties of earth.
Your home may be rich in comforts; your wife and children may be all you could desire; your means may be amply sufficient to meet all your wants.
But oh, remember, if you have nothing more than this to look to, that you stand on the brink of a precipice!
Your rivers of pleasure may any day be dried up.
Your joy may be deep and earnest, but it is fearfully short-lived.
It has no root.
It is not true happiness.
To be really happy _a man must be able to look on every side without uncomfortable feelings_.
He must be able to look back to the past without guilty fears; he must be able to look around him without discontent; he must be able to look forward without anxious dread.
He must be able to sit down and think calmly about things past, present, and to come, and feel prepared.
The man who has a weak side in his condition,--a side that he does not like looking at or considering,--that man is not really happy.
Talk not to me of your happiness, if you are unable to look steadily either before or behind you.
Your present position may be easy and pleasant.
You may find many sources of joy and gladness in your profession, your dwelling-place, your family, and your friends.
Your health may be good, your spirits may be cheerful.
But stop and think quietly over your past life.
Can you reflect calmly on all the omissions and commissions of by-gone years?
How will they bear God's inspection?
How will you answer for them at the last day?
--And then look forward, and think on the years yet to come.
Think of the certain end towards which you are hastening; think of death; think of judgment; think of the hour when you will meet God face to face.
Are you ready for it?
Are you prepared?
Can you look forward to these things without alarm?
--Oh, be very sure if you cannot look comfortably at any season but the present, your boasted happiness is a poor unreal thing!
It is but a whitened sepulchre,--fair and beautiful without, but bones and corruption within.
It is a mere thing of a day, like Jonah's gourd.
It is not real happiness.
I ask my readers to fix in their minds the account of things essential to happiness, which I have attempted to give.
Dismiss from your thoughts the many mistaken notions which pass current on this subject, like counterfeit coin.
To be truly happy, the wants of your soul and conscience must be satisfied; to be truly happy, your joy must be founded on something more than this world can give you; to be truly happy, you must be able to look on every side,--above, below, behind, before,--and feel that all is right.
This is real, sterling, genuine happiness: this is the happiness I have in view when I urge on your notice the subject of this paper.
II.
In the next place, _let me expose some common mistakes about the way to be happy_.
There are several roads which are thought by many to lead to happiness.
In each of these roads thousands and tens of thousands of men and women are continually travelling.
Each fancies that if he could only attain all he wants he would be happy.
Each fancies, if he does not succeed, that the fault is not in his road, but in his own want of luck and good fortune.
And all alike seem ignorant that they are hunting shadows.
They have started in a wrong direction: they are seeking that which can never be found in the place where they seek it.
I will mention by name some of the principal delusions about happiness.
I do it in love, and charity, and compassion to men's souls.
I believe it to be a public duty to warn people against cheats, quacks, and impostors.
Oh, how much trouble and sorrow it might save my readers, if they would only believe what I am going to say!
It is an utter mistake to suppose that _rank and greatness alone_ can give happiness.
The kings and rulers of this world are not necessarily happy men.
They have troubles and crosses, which none know but themselves; they see a thousand evils, which they are unable to remedy;
they are slaves working in golden chains, and have less real liberty than any in the world; they have burdens and responsibilities laid upon them, which are a daily weight on their hearts.
The Roman Emperor Antonine often said, that "the imperial power was an ocean of miseries."
Queen Elizabeth, when she heard a milk-maid singing, wished that she had been born to a lot like her's. Never did our great Poet write a truer word than when he said, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."
It is an utter mistake to suppose that _riches alone_ can give happiness.
They can enable a man to command and possess everything but inward peace.
They cannot buy a cheerful spirit and a light heart.
There is care in the getting of them, and care in the keeping of them, care in the using of them, and care in the disposing of them, care in the gathering, and care in the scattering of them.
He was a wise man who said that "money" was only another name for "trouble," and that the same English letters which spelt "acres" would also spell "cares."
It is an utter mistake to suppose that _learning and science alone_ can give happiness.
They may occupy a man's time and attention, but they cannot really make him happy.
They that increase knowledge often "increase sorrow:" the more they learn, the more they discover their own ignorance.
(Eccles.
i.
18. ) It is not in the power of things on earth or under the earth to "minister to a mind diseased."
The heart wants something as well as the head: the conscience needs food as well as the intellect.
All the secular knowledge in the world will not give a man joy and gladness, when he thinks on sickness, and death, and the grave.
They that have climbed the highest, have often found themselves solitary, dissatisfied, and empty of peace.
The learned Selden, at the close of his life, confessed that all his learning did not give him such comfort as four verses of St. Paul.
(Titus ii.
11--14. ) It is an utter mistake to suppose that _idleness alone_ can give happiness.
The labourer who gets up at five in the morning, and goes out to work all day in a cold clay ditch, often thinks, as he walks past the rich man's door, "What a fine thing it must be to have no work to do."
Poor fellow!
he little knows what he thinks.
The most miserable creature on earth is the man who has nothing to do.
Work for the hands or work for the head is absolutely essential to human happiness.
Without it the mind feeds upon itself, and the whole inward man becomes diseased.
The machinery within _will_ work, and without something to work upon, will often wear itself to pieces.
There was no idleness in Eden.
Adam and Eve had to "dress the garden and keep it."
There will be no idleness in heaven: God's "servants shall serve Him."
Oh, be very sure the idlest man is the man most truly unhappy!
(Gen. ii.
15; Rev. xxii.
3. ) It is an utter mistake to suppose that _pleasure-seeking and amusement alone_ can give happiness.
Of all roads that men can take in order to be happy, this is the one that is most completely wrong.
Of all weary, flat, dull, and unprofitable ways of spending life, this exceeds all.
To think of a dying creature, with an immortal soul, expecting happiness in feasting and revelling,--in dancing and singing,--in dressing and visiting,--in ball-going and card-playing,--in races and fairs,--in hunting and shooting,--in crowds, in laughter, in noise, in music, in wine!
Surely it is a sight that is enough to make the devil laugh and the angels weep.
Even a child will not play with its toys all day long.
It must have food.
But when grown up men and women think to find happiness in a constant round of amusement they sink far below a child.
I place before every reader of this paper these common mistakes about the way to be happy.
I ask you to mark them well.
I warn you plainly against these pretended short cuts to happiness, however crowded they may be.
I tell you that if you fancy any one of them can lead you to true peace you are entirely deceived.
Your conscience will never feel satisfied; your immortal soul will never feel easy: your whole inward man will feel uncomfortable and out of health.
Take any one of these roads, or take all of them, and if you have nothing besides to look to, you will never find happiness.
You may travel on and on and on, and the wished for object will seem as far away at the end of each stage of life as when you started.
You are like one pouring water into a sieve, or putting money into a bag with holes.
You might as well try to make an elephant happy by feeding him with a grain of sand a day, as try to satisfy that heart of your's with rank, riches, learning, idleness, or pleasure.
Do you doubt the truth of all I am saying?
I dare say you do.
Then let us turn to the great Book of human experience, and read over a few lines out of its solemn pages.
You shall have the testimony of a few competent witnesses on the great subject I am urging on your attention.
A King shall be our first witness: I mean Solomon, King of Israel.
We know that he had power, and wisdom, and wealth, far exceeding that of any ruler of his time.
We know from his own confession, that he tried the great experiment how far the good things of this world can make man happy.
We know, from the record of his own hand, the result of this curious experiment.
He writes it by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, for the benefit of the whole world, in the book of Ecclesiastes.
Never, surely, was the experiment tried under such favourable circumstances: never was any one so likely to succeed as the Jewish King.
Yet what is Solomon's testimony?
You have it in his melancholy words: "All is vanity and vexation of spirit."
(Eccles.
i.
14. ) A famous French lady shall be our next witness: I mean Madam De Pompadour.
She was the friend and favourite of Louis the Fifteenth.
She had unbounded influence at the Court of France.
She wanted nothing that money could procure.
Yet what does she say herself?
"What a situation is that of the great!
They only live in the future, and are only happy in hope.
There is no peace in ambition.
I am always gloomy, and often so unreasonably.
The kindness of the King, the regard of courtiers, the attachment of my domestics, and the fidelity of a large number of friends,--motives like these, which ought to make me happy, affect me no longer.
I have no longer inclinations for all which once pleased me.
I
have caused my house at Paris to be magnificently furnished: well; it pleased for two days!
My residence at Bellevue is charming; and I alone cannot endure it.
Benevolent people relate to me all the news and adventures of Paris: they think I listen, but when they have done I ask them what they said.
In a word, I do not live: I am dead before my time.
I have no interest in the world.
Everything conspires to embitter my life.
My life is a continual death."
To such testimony I need not add a single word.
(_Sinclair's Anecdotes and Aphorisms_ p. 33) A famous German writer shall be our next witness: I mean Goethe.
It is well known that he was almost idolized by many during his life.
His works were read and admired by thousands.
His name was known and honoured, wherever German was read, all over the world.
And yet the praise of man, of which he reaped such an abundant harvest, was utterly unable to make Goethe happy.
"He confessed, when about eighty years old, that he could not remember being in a really happy state of mind even for a few weeks together; and that when he wished to feel happy, he had to veil his self-consciousness."
(_See Sinclair's Anecdotes and Aphorisms, p. 280. _) An English peer and poet shall be our next witness: I mean Lord Byron.
If ever there was one who ought to have been happy according to the standard of the world, Lord Byron was the man.
He began life with all the advantages of English rank and position.
He had splendid abilities and powers of mind, which the world soon discovered and was ready to honour.
He had a sufficiency of means to gratify every lawful wish, and never knew anything of real poverty.
Humanly speaking, there seemed nothing to prevent him enjoying life and being happy.
Yet it is a notorious fact that Byron was a miserable man.
Misery stands out in his poems: misery creeps out in his letters.
Weariness, satiety, disgust, and discontent appear in all his ways.
He is an awful warning that rank, and title, and literary fame, alone, are not sufficient to make a man happy.
A man of science shall be our next witness: I mean Sir Humphrey Davy.
He was a man eminently successful in the line of life which he chose, and deservedly so.
A distinguished philosopher,--the inventor of the famous safety-lamp which bears his name, and has preserved so many poor miners from death by fire-damp,--a Baronet of the United Kingdom and President of the Royal Society;--his whole life seemed a continual career of prosperity.
If learning alone were the road to happiness, this man at least ought to have been happy.
