Cardiphonia: or, The Utterance of the Heart

The Letters of John Newton have been long and justly esteemed. His chief excellence as a writer, seems to lie in the easy and natural style of his epistolary correspondence. His Cardiphonia he esteemed the most useful of his writings. It consists of letters which were actually written to his friends, and returned to him that they might be printed. They were confidential letters, and are, indeed, “the utterance of the heart.” They breathe a tone of seriousness, affection, and tenderness, which commends itself to the conscience, while it gains the confidence of the reader. You cannot fail to perceive that he speaks the language of firm persuasion, and of deep personal experience. There is nothing of cold theoretical speculation. You feel that you are listening to a man who is telling you what he has himself seen, and felt, and tasted, of the goodness of that God, whose word and service he commends. His heart goes along with all his instructions, for “he speaks because he believes;” it is seen in all his exhortations, for he evidently takes them home to himself; and it breaks forth in all his consolatory addresses, for he is but telling what God has done for his own soul; and, happy himself in fellowship with God, and sympathizing with others in their sorrows and their wants, he is commending to them those springs of consolation which have calmed and purified his conscience, and which continue to cheer and gladden his heart. His social affections were remarkably warm; and when hallowed by the grace of God, the result was a tenderness of feeling, an expansion of heart, and an outllow of affection, admirably calculated to exhibit the ainiableness of genuine religion, to overcome prejudice, and to win over men to vi

the truth. He spoke from the heart to the heart; and powerfully indeed have his writings interested the hearts of all classes of his readers.

The narrative which Mr. Newton published of his early years, serves to throw considerable light on many important subjects in religion; and that eventful portion of his history accounts for much of what continued to distinguish him in his after-life. His mother was a pious woman; and though she died before he was seven years of age, he derived considerable benefit from her instructions. She stored his mind with passages of Scripture, and with religious catechisms and hymns, and often commended him with many tears and prayers unto God. After her death, however, he was permitted to mingle with careless and profane children, and he soon learned their ways. The instructions of his mother, however, could not always be forgotten, and he was often disturbed with convictions. And from this let parents learn to be assiduous in instructing their children. It is no small matter to make the path of guilt unpleasant. Should no fruit appear at the time, should the young even plunge into profligacy, yet the instructions of a father or a mother will at times rise before them like departed ghosts, will imbitter the ways of transgression, and make conviction to flash upon the conscience, in spite of all their efforts against it, and may ultimately be the means of reclaiming them.

The convictions which disturbed Mr. Newton, coupled with a natural fondness for reading, led him to peruse some religious books; and, from a wish to obtain peace to his mind, he began to pray, to read the Scriptures, and to keep a diary. He then thought himself religious. But alas! this seeming goodness had no solid foundation. He soon became weary of it, he gave it up entirely, and even became worse than before. Several alarming and affecting providences produced successively a temporary effect. He took up and laid aside a religious profession three or four different times before he was sixteen years of age. His last reformation of this kind was indeed very vii

remarkable. It continued for more than two years. He then spent the greater part of the day in reading the Scriptures, and in meditation and prayer. He fasted often; he bemoaned his former evils, and he was careful, not only of his external conduct, but of every word of his tongue, and of the workings of his heart. But, after all this, he sunk into infidelity and profligacy.

How true is it, that when the heart of a sinner is penetrated with convictions of guilt, if he does not believe in the work of the Saviour, and thus obtain rest to his soul, he will either sink into despair and give himself up to melancholy, or he will engage in a course of formal and self-righteous obedience and devotion. If the former, then, finding the burden of distress intolerable, he will seek peace to his soul in stifling conviction, and in endeavouring to persuade himself that religion is all a dream. And, if the latter, then finding no enjoyment in devotion, having no regard to religion but as a means of escaping hell; being still under the power of his corrupt propensities; feeling his religion, such as it is, to be nothing but a system of restraints; in a word, being unable to get solid peace to his conscience, and being still haunted by dismal apprehensions, he will be prepared to embrace any system of error which will serve to set his mind at rest in the indulgence of iniquity. He becomes, as Mr. Newton did, gloomy, and stupid, unsociable, and useless. He indulges in fruitless, inactive, and slothful wishes; for the soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing.” Prov. xiii. 4. In times of trouble he sinks into sullen and proud resentment against the fancied authors of calamity, for he is destitute of inward support. “The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek God.” Psa. x. 4. “They cry out because of the arm of the mighty, but none saith, Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night?” Job xxxv. 9, 10. The man has just as much religion as makes him miserable; and not being happy in it, he easily gives it up. He knows not the blessedness of the man who is viii

resting his hope for eternity on the work of the Saviour, and who has found rest to his soul where the justice of heaven found it, but is going about to establish his own righteousness. When the force of conviction obliges to abandon beloved ways, they are given up with reluctance, and with some secret reserve. Though a struggle is maintained with the evil workings of the heart, there is still an aversion to true spirituality of mind. He is kept from open pollution, and may even be attentive to the secret services of piety; knowing that a Christian should be heavenly-minded, he may endeavour to work up his heart to a heavenly frame; but there being no proper root in him, he soon becomes weary of this heavy constraint; or, fancying that he has obtained the victory over sin, he has a gleam of joy, arising from the notion that now God has accepted him: but his hopes are soon darkened, for there being no abiding principle within him, his goodness is “like the morning cloud and like the early dew, which soon pass away.” He has recourse to vows and resolutions of amendment, but tljey are weakness itself before the power of temptation.

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