Conversations on Religion, with Lord Byron
James Kennedy to W. de la C., Esq., 14 April 1825
“Ithaca, 14th
April, 1825.
“We received your letter
three weeks ago, but the melancholy intelligence of the death of Mrs. K.’s twin brother which reached us,
has prevented me from writing —even now Mrs. K. will
not be able to write. Our afflictions within the last year have been great;
they have burst on us as it were suddenly and unexpectedly—a few months
before, her only sister died. We trust and pray that these trials may be
sanctified, and tend to draw us more and more towards spiritual things, and
detach us from all hope and dependence on a vain, perishing, and transitory
world . . . . Two reasons have chiefly swayed me in wishing to avoid England at
the present moment; first, lest, from the want of medical officers, I may be
shipped off to the East Indies, in the bustle of sending reinforcements: and
secondly, a desire to finish my work here, and have it ready to be put to the
press the moment I arrive in England. You will wonder why I have been so long
about it; but if you consider that, besides an account of Conversations with
Byron and others, which it will not be
difficult to give, I intend to ![]()
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present a view of the
external, but chiefly of the internal, evidences of Christianity, such as they
appear to a well-educated layman, you will see the propriety, nay, the
necessity, of much study and reflection. I shall give my opinion on every
subject of Christian doctrine that is of importance, and the evidence on which
it rests; and as I shall have to speak of, and point out the pernicious effects
of the difference of opinion among professed Christians, it is necessary that I
should go on sure and certain grounds, and this more particularly, as
Christians will read the book in order to see what good has been done, or what
it will effect, and Deists will read it from curiosity. I must endeavour,
therefore, to present such a work as will be pleasing to the first, and useful,
if possible, to the second class. I have now finished a very extensive course
of reading; I have to put it into order, and digest the great mass of materials
which I have collected, and to polish it up in the best style and manner of
which I am capable. I have not yet determined what title it shall bear; this,
however, is of very inferior moment. The object is to prepare a useful work,
and if this be accomplished, an appropriate title can soon be devised.
“What a field for curious contemplation does the world
present of a few wise men, and multitudes of fools,—of passing vanities,
and idle shews,—and of the folly that still attaches to the best of us,
in expecting so much from it after so much experience of its vanity!
“This little island is really a charming and beautiful
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solitude, especially that part in which we reside;
but, after a few months, at furthest, we shall in all probability relinquish it
for the land of our fathers, where many whom we left flourishing and happy have
gone down to the dust, while their souls are enjoying felicity above . . . . It
is useless, however, to look back upon the past, or to dwell upon the present.
The future is all. Our present light afflictions are but as nothing compared
with the weight of future glory if we confide in God. Nay, painful as our
trials may be, we are compelled to admit that they are necessary. Would an
uninterrupted flow of health and happiness tend to our good?—on the
contrary we feel that it is owing to the infinite wisdom of God that the hopes
and expectations of Christians are disappointed here; that they are tried,
afflicted, purified, and chastised from the tenderest love and mercy. We
profess to be dead to the things of this life, and alive in Christ. If we
really are so, the changes of life cannot much affect us, except so far as that
we should profit by them—renounce all worldly passions, and endeavour to
become more vigorous in our spiritual life. Without these trials, the things of
this world would please us too much, we should wish to continue always in it;
and our belief of heavenly realities would be faint and weak, and our heart
would belie our profession of faith—which, indeed, it very often
virtually does.
