naturally furnished by the writings of the New Testament. The apocryphal books of the Old Testament, and the writings of Josephus and Philo, afford but little information respecting the Messianic notions of the Jews, and contain absolutely nothing respecting a suffering and atoning Messiah.* The writings of the New Testament have precedence over the other Jewish writings, partly on account of their greater credibility, partly on account of their age.

There are two passages in the New Testament which bear directly upon this point. In Luke 2: 35, the aged Simeon, a just and devout man, waiting for the redemption of Israel, says to Mary, Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also, (καὶ σοῦ δὲ αὐτῆς τήν ψυχὴν διελεύσεται ρομφαία,)—an expression, the strength of which cannot be fully accounted for except by a reference to the most severe and bitter sufferings. Comp. Ps. 42: 11. 73: 21. De Wette knows no other way of setting aside this passage, than by supposing, notwithstanding the strong, especially internal evidence by which the genuineness of this passage has been advocated even within the few past years, that still the two first chapters of Luke were written at a later period. So much, however, must be here conceded, that from this passage it can only be proved that the doctrine of a suffering Messiah was held by the Jews, not of an atoning Messiah; since Simeon here touches only upon the human causes, and not the divine ends, of the sufferings of the Redeemer.

But the second passage, John 1: 29, leads us farther. It authorizes the belief, first, that the doctrine not only of the suffering and death of the Messiah, but also of the vicarious nature of his sufferings, was known to the enlightened Israelites at the time of Christ; and secondly, that these Jews derived this doctrine from the writings of the Old Testament. In this passage, John, on seeing Christ, calls out, "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." (ἴδε ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ θεοῦ ὁ ἄιρων τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου).

* Comp. De Wette, 1. c. p. 34, 35, and the works there cited.

[To be Continued.]

ART. V. REVIEW OF ABERCROMBIE ON THE MORAL

FEELINGS.

BY REV. HARMAN HOOKER, Brooklyn.

The Philosophy of the Moral Feelings. By John Abercrombie, M.D. F.R.S.E., author of "Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers," &c. New-York, J. & J. Harper, 1834.

WE have read this work with so much satisfaction, that were it in our power to excite attention to it by any testimony of our approbation, we would not shun so easy, and yet, as we should deem it, so important a service to the cause of human virtue and happiness. Without intending to enter into its philosophical merits, we are of opinion, that it has a rare adaptation to popular utility, and discloses much acquaintance with the elements of our nature, and a careful observation of the causes which operate for good or evil on our moral constitution. It will dispose the intelligent reader to reflection upon himself, teach him to value little, as proofs of his own excellence, those impulses to good which do not lead on to corresponding action, or to the establishment of some accordant principle; and it will aid him also to discover the causes of many changes that have taken place in his susceptibilities, and of which he may have been conscious before, without understanding their origin. Thus he will learn, that there is a training of the heart, as well as of the mind, and that the emotions of the one, as much as the thoughts of the other, if not arranged and guided to some legitimate result, do but disturb their fountains, and spend themselves without improvement.

Above all, the reader of this work will find, that he is carried, by each successive step, nearer the central source of light and morals, that the beams of a divine excellence are mingled, without being obscured, in the speculations of mind, and that the streams along which he is conducted flow through channels enriched by a celestial ore, whence they derive the sanitive properties which he needs. He will see that the writer enforces morality, by no motives that are suspicious or equivocal, and makes no attempts to expel one vice by encouraging another. He does not enlist vanity or ambition in the service of virtue, or appeal to the innate goodness of the human heart to satisfy it with what it is, but to its disorder

and corruption, that it may be incited to rise above itself, and to become pure by attaching and assimilating itself to what is pure. He does not find the basis of morals in the enactments of legislators, in the tendency of actions, or in any qualities of our nature which may be exercised without its improvement; but in the law of God, written upon the heart, and binding us to his will. His morality is not made. up of heartless observances; it is not a beautiful covering, but an exposure of the "inner man." It is a mine that is laid open, but whose purest and richest treasures are still below our view.

It is not our object to give an analysis of the work now under consideration, but rather, in accordance with its practical intention, to invite our readers to some thoughts respecting our moral nature, and the ceaseless influence which our exercises and pursuits are exerting upon our moral character. The study of our nature will reveal the high destination of man, and indicate the means necessary for its attainment. And this is a kind of knowledge of the first importance,―needful to the formation of a character of permanent excellence, and for our safe conduct through an enemy's country, to that superiour state, to attain which all our efforts here should be enlisted.

Man, considered apart from eternity, is a being of as little interest to the Christian moralist, as he is unimportant in regard to the ends which he fulfils in the brief period of his duration here. But viewed as a probationer, with the prize of immortal life in prospect, the study of his nature, of the tendency of his actions, and of every object and power that can act upon him, assumes an importance that is altogether inestimable. His intelligence, his reason, his liberty of action, his conscience, his readiness to impute blame to others, and to assume credit to himself when he does well, his pride, his remorse, his gratitude and compassion, his various susceptibilities, are all elements or indications of accountability, and proofs of a "high calling." They are qualities, too, which evince both a capacity for great improvement and enjoyment, and a liability to great disorder and misery. Indeed, the history of our race in all ages shows, that there are two extremes to which men may conduct themselves,—either a moral condition that scarcely admits of improvement or recovery, or one of comparative elevation and promise.

It may be well to give some consideration to these sepaVOL. I.

32

rately, and with a view to a knowledge of ourselves, and their probable effect upon our spiritual fitness for eternity.

In our nature are to be seen the relics and the tokens of an excellence no longer ours. There are the feelings inclining us to justice, veracity, and compassion,--the imagination and the desire of superiour good; but these and other attributes may be impaired, distorted, or impeded in their operation. When the desire of justice is resisted, what is wrong comes to appear right; when the feeling of compassion is resisted, selfishness is strengthened, and so of all our leadings to virtue. And when any one of them loses its appropriate place and sway, the rest receive a shock, and their harmony of action is gone. This result follows also when any passion becomes master. Pride, when it becomes the despot of the breast, exiles all right feelings, bars every door to their return, and they can take possession only by conquest. Vanity, avarice, the desire of applause and of dominion over others, do the same. They steel the heart to every good influence, and obstruct it in every good motion. On this ground the question seems to be asked, “How can ye believe which receive honour one of another, and seek not that honour that cometh from God only?" The difficulty in the case is, that the ruling passion, whatever it is, exacts all tribute to itself, and pays none, even to the claims of God. It so completely absorbs the mind, that sufficient attention is not likely to be given to the objects of faith; and so perverts the mind, that these objects fail to exert upon it their proper effect.

There is a more common process by which violence is done to the moral principle, and the whole economy of our nature deranged. We allude to the effect of resisting convictions of duty. This resistance is carried on with more or less violence in most minds; while its effect, though disastrous, is little heeded, because the causes of it are easily concealed. This is perhaps a fit description. An individual is rising into manhood, in the confidence of virtue, and with sensibilities that recoil at rudeness or severity, and resent the very thought of duplicity or dishonour. His desires as yet have been seldom crossed, and he has seen little of the corruption of men. Their looks are always benevolent; he lives in the beams of a kindness that is unexhausted; he is in raptures with his species. But he is soon deceived in his friends, and disappointed in his hopes; his pride is wounded;

his patience is disturbed. He perceives that those who are less scrupulous around him succeed in their plans, and have the confidence and friendship of others. He is tried, and his worst feelings are excited. His virtue, consisting more in sensibilities than in principles of action, begins to relax; his admiration of human goodness abates, and he concludes that he does well, to be as good as others, and wisely not to condemn what all approve. Still as confident as ever in his ability to continue in the ways of virtue, he allows himself by little and little to venture in ways of evil. So far is he from any apprehension of becoming a great sinner, that he cannot rest without indulging the expectation of becoming a better man. Meanwhile the gentle impulses to evil, which he had at first felt, become more and more importunate; he yields to their power, and by gradual indulgence they gain the place and vigour of dominant passions. He is now for a time less sensible of his danger than he had been, and occasionally seeks gratifications, and engages in practices, which he had once contemplated with aversion and even horrour. In contrasting his moral condition with what it was, he perceives that he is enchained by habits that will issue in his destruction, and determines to reform; but his desires, and the reasons for their indulgence, recur, and his resolutions fail. He resolves and re-resolves without effect; til, at length, losing confidence in himself and in his purposes of amendment, he acknowledges his chains; his hope of reformation departs, as the abused spirit quits a decayed and infected body, and he yields himself to the destroyer-a reckless, shameless slave of sin. Those ennobling sensibilities which seemed to look after a fellowship with angels, are in alliance with the dust. That mind which glowed with celestial ardours, burns with glaring and consuming fires. The bonds of friendship are broken, and he is gone "adrift from his species." Thus "when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin, and sin when it is finished, bringeth forth death."

The monitions of conscience cannot be resisted with inpunity. The commission of one sin will naturally lead to the commission of another. Less and less resistance will be made; till the thoughtless victim is confirmed in habits of impenitence and vice, startling enough to a less experienced and less corrupted observer. The heart of a novice in sin and impiety may be tender, his neck may be sensible and yielding; but in the practice of sinning both will be soon chang