CHAP. XL.

MODERNISM.

We have now concluded, said Eliza, our cursory view of parties: we may henceforth converse on more familiar topics. The more minutely we explore the moral map of the world, the more we discover of what is humiliating and painful to contemplate.

But, said Bernard, I will introduce you to a new sect; to one of which perhaps you have not yet heard; I mean Modernists.

You seem much attached, said Eliza, to novel and singular terms.

This you will excuse, said Bernard; singular terms are necessary where we have singular things to describe.

But whom, said Eliza, do you mean by Modernists? I have heard of no such persons.

I mean by them, said Bernard, those who are and yet are not religious.

A strange answer, said Eliza; you seem to delight in paradox.

I will be more explicit, said Bernard: by Modernists I mean those who give some attention to religion, but who are so polite, so studious of giving no of

fence, that their religious profession is in fact a mere nothing. The Modernist is a person of accommodation. He is any thing; religious or not religious, according to place and circumstance.

Your notions of men, said Eliza, are rather curious: if you were young I should say that you were fanciful at any rate, your idea is novel to me.

Its novelty, said Bernard, is certainly no recommendation to it; the question is, Is the idea correct?

I am always unwilling to think, said Maria, that those who regard religion can regard it defectively. Misconduct in such persons must involve them in awful guilt, since they must flagrantly transgress against knowledge and conviction.

I am aware, said Osborne, that in various instances religion is taken up as a sort of fashionable thing; many characters therefore may be found that would not endure a strict examination.

Only consider facts, said Bernard; in what manner do some persons regard religion? The notion which Maria has just advanced does credit to her benevolent feelings, but the close inspection of the world will soon undeceive her. I might divide Modernists into two classes; those who are indifferent about religion, and those who make a defective profession of it; it is to the last that I now allude.

You now speak more intelligibly, said Eliza; I wish to hear your sentiments about this defective profession.

Some of these persons, said Bernard, would not be righteous over-much; some of them would not be Calvinists; some of them would not be Evangelicals; some of them would not offend the world, or incur its laughter and censure; some of them would unite much worldly conformity with their religion; some of them seem to carry a veil with them, so that they can conceal or display their religion as seems most convenient and agreeable; some of them dread to be accounted austere, melancholy, and, which would be most unfortunate, singular. I know not how far I might proceed in this manner.

This is sufficient, said Eliza; but surely no persons who are serious can continue to be such characters for any long period. Those who thoughtfully and devoutly study the Scriptures cannot trifle with religion.

In some cases, said Bernard, the Bible is thoughtfully and devoutly studied, and light increases, principles are strengthened, and this moral indecision, this moral pusillanimity, this spurious delicacy, is laid aside, and the character stands forth in its proper distinct features; but there are those who do not thus study the Bible, and these remain what I have termed Modernists. There are sacrifices which they cannot make. Without decision and fortitude no person can be a firm and magnanimous Christian.

Religion certainly, said Osborne, does not call us to be unsocial or morose; as for singularity, the idea

is vague; but if separation from folly and evil, and attachment to wisdom and goodness, cause a man to be accounted singular, his singularity is honourable, and not ridiculous. I am convinced that the consistent Christian must be separate from the world. If we gain the indiscriminate favour of the world, it affords a full proof that we are in some respects unfaithful to our cause.

I perfectly agree with you, said Bernard; and I cannot bring myself to think highly of him who shows himself to be, in fact, a piece of compliance and accommodation. Of this too I am persuaded, that if a person maintain this feeble and versatile sort of character, whatever good he may do by the better part of his exertions, he demolishes it by his temporizing arts and measures, so that he does really nothing.

Nothing really valuable you mean, said Osborne ; and I am of your opinion. In short, we had better let religion alone, unless we give ourselves up to its holy guidance and government. Of all amalgams, an amalgam of religion and of the world is the worst.

I am glad, said Henry, that you have touched on this subject; but I almost tremble at the dangers to which we are exposed.

Be rightly sensible of them, said Bernard; beware of ever being in a moral view an amphibious creature. I inculcate nothing inconsistent with reason and propriety. Religion is perfect reason, for it is the reason

of God. But if we be the true disciples of Christ, we must be the followers of Christ; we must imitate his example.

Every age, said Osborne, has its peculiar evils; it is a valuable branch of knowledge to be acquainted with them, that we may guard against them.

Such, said Bernard, is the case; but it is difficult to speak wisely on the peculiar features of the day in which we live; for the objects which we contemplate are too near, and are seen under too large an angle. If a former age in our land had hypocrisy as a feature, perhaps a slight, crude, superficial profession, is one of the features of the present times.

I have lived long, said Osborne, among Modernists of your first class; but may I never be found among those of the second.