Perpetual undying faith in principles is of the utmost importance. I sometimes think it is the very Alpha and Omega of life. Belief in principles is the only intelligible interpretation I have ever been able to attach to the word faith. A man with faith in principles, even if they be not first-rate, is sure to succeed. The man who has no faith in them is sure to fail. Nothing finer after all can be said of faith than that which is said in the epistle to the Hebrews, and no finer example can be given of it than that of Noah there given. Noah was warned of God that destruction would visit the impious race by which he was surrounded. He quietly set to work to build his ark. There is no record that it was built by miracle, and he must have been a long time about it. Glorious days of unclouded sunshine with no hint of rain, weeks perhaps of drought, must have passed over his head as he sat and wrought at this wondrous structure. Imagine the scoffs of the irreverent Canaanites, the jeers of the mob which passed by or peeped over fences; imagine the suggestions of lunacy! Worse and worse, imagine what was said and done when, seven days before the rain, though not a drop had fallen, the pious man with all his family, and with that wonderful troop of animals, entered the ark, and the Lord shut him in. But God had spoken to him he had heard a divine word, and in that word he believed, despite the absence of a single fleck of vapour in the sky. What a time, though, it must have been for him during those seven days! Would it come true? Would he have to walk out again down those planks with the clean beasts and unclean beasts after him, amidst the inextinguishable laughter of all his pagan, God-denying neighbours? But in a week he heard the first growl of the tempest. He was justified, God was justified; and for evermore Noah stands as a divine type of what we call faith. This is really it. What we have once heard, really heard in our best moments, by that let us abide. There are multitudes of moments in which intelligent conviction in the truth of principles disappears, and we are able to do nothing more than fall back on mere dogged determinate resolution to go on; not to give up what we have once found to be true. This power of dogged determinate resolution, which acts independently of enthusiasm, is a precious possession. A principle cannot forever appear to us in its pristine splendour. Not only are we tempted to forsake it by other and counter attractions, but it gets wearisome to us because it is a principle. It becomes a fetter, we think. Then it is that faith comes into operation. We hold fast, and by and bye a third state follows the second, and we emerge into confidence again. One would like to have a record of all that passed through the soul of Ulysses when he was rowed past the Sirens. In what intellectually subtle forms did not the desire to stay clothe itself to that intellectually subtle soul? But he had bound himself beforehand, and he reached Ithaca and Penelope at last. I remember once having determined after much deliberation that I ought to undertake a certain task which would occupy me for years. It was one which I could at any moment relinquish. After six months I began to flag, and my greatest hindrance was, not the confessed desire for rest, but all kinds of the most fascinating principles or pseudo principles which flattered what was best and not what was worst in me. I was narrowing my intellect, preventing the proper enjoyment of life, neglecting the sunshine, etc. etc. But I thought to myself, “Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field,” and that his temptation specially was that “your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods.” I was enabled to persevere, oftentimes through no other motive than that aforesaid divine doggedness, and presently I was rewarded.
As an instance of the necessity of reconciling principles, the experience of advancing years may be taken. A man must forever keep himself open to the reception of new light. As he gets older, he will find that the tendency grows to admit nothing into his mind which does not corroborate something he has already believed, and that the new truth acquired is very limited. If he wishes to keep himself young he must use his utmost efforts to maintain his susceptibility. He must not converse solely with himself and turn over and over again the thoughts of the past. He must not in reading a book dwell upon those passages only which are a reflection of his own mind. This is true, but it is also true that he must put certain principles beyond debate. Life is too short to admit of the perpetual discussion and re-discussion of what is fundamental and has been settled after bestowing on it all the care of which we are capable. If, by reason of patient and long-continued experiment, we have found out, for example, that a certain regimen is good for us, we should be foolish, at the bidding of even a scientific man, to begin experimenting again. We must simply say that this matter is once for all at rest, whether rightly or wrongly, and that our days here are but threescore years and ten. Neither can we afford to make quite certain between opposing principles.
