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  THE

  WORKS

  OF

  RICHARD HURD, D.D.

  LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.

  VOL. VI.

  Printed by J. Nichols and Son,
  Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.




  THE

  WORKS

  OF

  RICHARD HURD, D.D.

  LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.

  IN EIGHT VOLUMES.

  VOL. VI.

  [Illustration]

  LONDON:

  PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.

  1811.




  THEOLOGICAL WORKS.

  VOL. II.




  SERMONS

  PREACHED AT

  LINCOLN’S-INN,

  BETWEEN THE YEARS 1765 AND 1776:

  WITH

  A LARGER DISCOURSE,

  ON

  CHRIST’S DRIVING THE MERCHANTS
  OUT OF THE TEMPLE;

  IN WHICH THE NATURE AND END OF THAT FAMOUS

  TRANSACTION IS EXPLAINED.

  SATIS ME VIXISSE ARBITRABOR, ET OFFICIUM
  HOMINIS IMPLESSE, SI LABOR MEUS ALIQUOS
  HOMINES, AB ERRORIBUS LIBERATOS, AD ITER
  CŒLESTE DIREXERIT.
                                LACTANTIUS.




  TO THE

  MASTERS OF THE BENCH

  OF THE HONOURABLE SOCIETY OF

  LINCOLN’S INN,

  THE FOLLOWING SERMONS,

  IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THEIR MANY AND

  GREAT FAVOURS,

  ARE BY THE AUTHOR

  MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.




CONTENTS

OF

THE SIXTH VOLUME.


  SERMON I. Preached Feb. 3, 1771.

  MAT. xiii. 51, 52.

  _Jesus saith unto them, Have ye understood
  all these things? They say unto him, Yea,
  Lord. Then said he unto them, Therefore
  every scribe which is instructed unto the
  kingdom of heaven, is like unto a man that
  is an householder, which bringeth forth out
  of his treasure things new and old._                              1


  SERMON II. Preached Nov. 8, 1767.

  1 COR. x. 15.

  _I speak as to wise men: judge ye what I
  say._                                                            23


  SERMON III. Preached May 17, 1767.

  ROM. ii. 14, 15.

  _When the Gentiles, which have not the Law_,
  DO _by Nature the things contained in the
  Law, these, having not the Law, are a Law
  unto themselves: which shew the work of
  the Law written in their hearts, their_ CONSCIENCE
  _also bearing witness, and their
  thoughts in the mean while_ ACCUSING _or else_
  EXCUSING _one another_.                                          37


  SERMON IV. Preached May 24, 1767.

  GAL. iii. 19.

  _Wherefore then serveth the Law?_                                52


  SERMON V. Preached May 1, 1768.

  HEB. ii. 3.

  _How shall we escape, if we neglect so great
  Salvation?_                                                      67


  SERMON VI. Preached Nov. 16, 1766.

  JOHN xiv. 8.

  _Philip saith to him, Lord, shew us the Father,
  and it sufficeth us._                                            83


  SERMON VII. Preached in the year 1771.

  JAMES iv. 1.

  _From whence come wars and fightings among
  you? Come they not hence, even of your
  lusts that war in your members?_                                101


  SERMON VIII. Preached April 29, 1770.

  1 TIM. i. 5.

  _The end of the Commandment is Charity, out of
  a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and
  of faith unfeigned._                                            116


  SERMON IX. Preached Nov. 9, 1766.

  ROM. xii. 10.

  —_In honour preferring one another._                           130


  SERMON X. Preached May 6, 1770.

  JOHN xiii. 8.

  —_Jesus answered him, if I wash thee not,
  thou host no part with me._                                     143


  SERMON XI. Preached June 20, 1773.

  MARK ix. 49.

  _For every one shall be salted with fire, and
  every sacrifice shall be salted with salt._                     160


  SERMON XII. Preached Feb. 9, 1766.

  GAL. vi. 3.

  _If a man think himself to be something, when
  he is nothing, he deceiveth himself._                           174


  SERMON XIII. Preached May 16, 1773.

  2 COR. x. 12.

  _We dare not make ourselves of the number, or
  compare ourselves, with some that commend
  themselves: But they, measuring themselves
  by themselves, and comparing themselves
  among themselves, are not wise._                                187


  SERMON XIV. Preached April 27, 1766.

  St. MARK iv. 24.

  _Take heed what ye hear._

  Or, as the equivalent phrase is in

  St. LUKE, viii. 18.

  _Take heed_ HOW _ye hear_.                                      201


  SERMON XV. Preached Nov. 24, 1765.

  ROM. xvi. 19.

  _I would have you wise unto that which is good,
  and simple concerning evil._                                    215


  SERMON XVI. Preached Dec. 1, 1765.

  ROM. xvi. 19.

  _I would have you wise unto that which is good,
  and simple concerning evil._                                    230


  SERMON XVII. Preached Nov. 22, 1772.

  JOHN v. 44.

  _How can ye believe, which receive honour one
  of another, and seek not the honour that
  cometh of God only?_                                            245


  SERMON XVIII. Preached April 23, 1769.

  JOHN ix. 41.

  _Jesus saith to them, If ye were blind, ye should
  have no sin; but now ye say, we see; therefore
  your sin remaineth._                                            260


  SERMON XIX. Preached May 12, 1771.

  1 COR. viii. 1.

  _Knowledge puffeth up; but Charity edifieth._                   276


  SERMON XX. Preached Nov. 19, 1769.

  ACTS OF THE APOSTLES xxvi. 9.

  _I verily thought with myself, that I ought to
  do many things contrary to the name of
  Jesus of Nazareth._                                             290


  SERMON XXI. Preached May 10, 1767.

  St. LUKE vi. 26.

  _Woe unto you, when all men speak well of you._                 304


  SERMON XXII. Preached Feb. 6, 1774.

  St. JOHN viii. 11.

  _Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn thee;
  Go, and sin no more._                                           319


  SERMON XXIII. Preached March 1, 1772.

  St. MATTHEW xi. 29.

  _Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in
  heart: and ye shall find rest unto your
  souls._                                                         333


  SERMON XXIV. Preached April 30, 1769.

  LUKE xvi. 14.

  _And the Pharisees also, who were covetous,
  heard all those things: and they derided
  him._                                                           350


  SERMON XXV. Preached June 25, 1775.

  ECCLESIASTES v. 10.

  _He that loveth silver, shall not be satisfied
  with silver._                                                   366


  SERMON XXVI. Preached Feb. 21, 1773.

  1 COR. vi. 20.

  _Therefore glorify God in your body, and in
  your spirit, which are God’s._                                  378


  SERMON XXVII. Preached March 13, 1774.

  JOB xiii. 26.

  _Thou writest bitter things against me, and
  makest me to possess the iniquities of my
  youth._                                                         393


  SERMON XXVIII. Preached May 28, 1769.

  ECCLESIASTES vii. 21, 22.

  _Take no heed unto all words that are spoken,
  lest thou hear thy servant curse thee. For
  oftentimes, also, thine own heart knoweth,
  that thou thyself, likewise, hast cursed
  others._                                                        407




SERMON I.

PREACHED FEBRUARY 3, 1771.

ST. MATTH. xiii. 51, 52.

_Jesus saith unto them, Have ye understood all these things? They say
unto him, Yea, Lord. Then said he unto them, Therefore every scribe
which is instructed unto the kingdom of heaven, is like unto a man that
is an householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new
and old._


If there be any difficulty in these words, it will be removed by
considering the _manners_ of that time, in which Jesus lived, and the
_ideas_ of those persons, to whom he addressed himself.

The Israelites were a plain, frugal people; abundantly supplied
with all things needful to the convenient support of life, but
very sparingly with such as come under the notion of ornaments or
superfluities. They drew their means of subsistence chiefly from
pasturage, agriculture, and other rural occupations. Gold and Silver
was scarce among the ancient Jews; and the less necessary to them, as
they had little traffic among themselves, and still less with their
pagan neighbours; the wisdom of their Law having purposely restrained,
and, upon the matter, prohibited, all the gainful ways of commerce.

Now, to a people, thus circumstanced, unfurnished, in a good degree,
with arts and manufactures, and but slenderly provided with the _means
of exchange_ for the commodities they produce; management, thrift,
and what we call _good husbandry_, must have been a capital virtue.
_Householders_ were especially concerned to hoard up, and keep by them,
in readiness, all such things as might be requisite either to cloath or
feed their respective families. And therefore, as they were continually
making fresh additions to their stock, so they carefully preserved
what things they had, provided they were of a nature to be preserved,
although time and use had impaired the grace, or diminished the
value, of them. Thus, they had things _new and old_ laid up in their
store-house, or _treasury_ (for these provisions were indeed their
_treasure_), which, as the text says, they could _bring forth_, on any
emergency that called for them.

And to this Jewish _Householder_, thus furnished and prepared for all
occasions, our Lord compares _the scribe, instructed unto the kingdom
of heaven_, in other words, the minister, or preacher of the Gospel.
Every such _scribe_ was to be suitably provided with what might be
serviceable to those committed to his charge: And the Text delivers
it, as _a general inference_ from the example of Christ himself (who,
from a variety of topics, some _new_, some _old_, had been instructing
his disciples in this chapter), that WE, the teachers of his religion,
should likewise have in store a variety of knowledge for the supply
of his church, and that we should not be backward or sparing, as we
see occasion, in the use of it. THEREFORE, says he, that is, _for
this end_[1] that your respective charges may be well and perfectly
instructed by you, as you have been by me, _every scribe, which is
instructed unto the kingdom of heaven, is like unto a man that is an
householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and
old_.

It is true, if this instruction of our Lord and Master had concerned
_only_ the preachers of the word, I might have found a fitter place and
occasion for a discourse upon it. But the case is much otherwise; and
it concerns _all_ the faithful to understand what the duty of those is,
who are intrusted to dispense the word of life, lest they take offence
at the ministry, without cause, and so deprive themselves of the fruit
which they might otherwise reap from it.

Let me therefore lay before you some plain considerations on the
aphorism in the text; and submit it to yourselves how far they may
deserve the notice of all Christians.

It would be ridiculous, no doubt, to torture a meer figure of speech;
and to pursue a metaphor through all the minute applications, which an
ordinary imagination might find or invent for it. But I shall not be
suspected of trifling in this sort, when I only conclude, from the
comparison of a _Christian Scribe_ to the _Jewish Householder_;

I. That all the treasures of knowledge, which the MINISTER OF THE
GOSPEL may have laid up in his mind, are destined, _not to the purposes
of vanity, but to the use of his charge_; for such must have been the
intention of a reasonable _Householder_, in the stock of provisions he
had so carefully collected:

II. That such use must be estimated from the apparent _wants of those,
to whom this knowledge is dispensed_; for so the frugal _householder_
expends his provisions on those who evidently stand in need of them: And

III. Lastly, That among these wants, some, at certain conjunctures,
may be _more general_, or _more pressing_, than ordinary; and then his
first care must be to relieve these, though other real, and perhaps
considerable wants, be, for the present, neglected by him: just, again,
as the discreet _householder_ is anxious to provide against an uncommon
distress that befalls his whole family, or the greater part of it, or
that threatens the immediate destruction of those whom it befalls,
though he suspend his care, for a season, of particular, or less
momentous distresses.

In these THREE respects, then, I propose to illustrate and enforce the
comparison of the Text, without any apprehension of being thought to do
violence to it.

I. The knowledge of a _well-instructed Scribe_ must be directed to the
edification of his charge, and not at all to the gratification of his
own vanity.

This conclusion results immediately from the _subject_ of the
comparison. For the _Christian Scribe_ is not compared to a _prince_,
who is allowed, and even expected, to consult his own state and
magnificence; or, to one of those popular _magistrates_ in ancient
times, whose office it was to exhibit splendid shews, and furnish
expensive entertainments, to their fellow-citizens: but to a plain
Jewish _householder_, who had nothing to regard beyond the necessary,
or, at most, decent accommodation of his family.

And the comparison is _aptly_ made, as we shall see if we consider,
either the _end_ of a preacher’s office, or the _decorum_ of his
character.

His OFFICE obliges him to intend the most essential interests of
mankind, the reformation of their lives, and the salvation of their
souls. And when the object of his care is so important, what wonder if
all inferior considerations fall before it?

Besides, the Christian preacher has a _commission_ to discharge, a
divine _message_ to deliver. And in such a case, men look not for
ingenuity, but fidelity. An ancient, or a modern sophist may make
what excursions he thinks fit into the wide fields of science; and
may entertain us with his learning, or his wit, as he finds himself
able. He _may_, I say, do this; for he has only to recommend himself
to our esteem, and to acquire a little popular reputation. But WE
have a _dispensation_ committed to us, _a form of sound words_, from
which we must not depart, _a doctrine_, which we are to deliver with
_uncorruptness_, _gravity_, _sincerity_[2]. We please not men, but God;
or if men, _to their good_, only, _to edification_[3].

The DECORUM of our character requires, too, that we be superior to all
the arts of vanity and ostentation. Even in secular professions, it is
expected that this rule of propriety be observed. A _Physician_ would
be ridiculous, that was more curious in penning a prescription, than in
weighing the matter of it: and the _Advocate_ would be little esteemed,
that should be more solicitous to display himself, than to serve his
client. How much more then may it be expected from _a preacher of
righteousness_, that HE should forget his own personal importance amid
the high concerns of his profession!

And such was indeed the conduct of our best guides, in the ministry.
The ancient Fathers were, many of them, richly furnished with all the
endowments, that might be required to set themselves off to the utmost
advantage. Yet we find them, in their homilies and discourses to the
people, inattentive to every thing but their main end; delivering
themselves, with an energy indeed, but a plainness and even negligence
of expression[4], that tempts frivolous readers, sometimes, to make
a doubt of their real, and, from other monuments of their skill and
pains, unquestioned abilities.

And, in this contempt of secular fame, they did but copy the example
of St. Paul himself, the great Apostle of the Gentiles; who, though
distinguished by the sublimest parts, though profound in his knowledge
of the Law, and not unacquainted with Gentile learning, affected no
display either of his natural or acquired talents, but, as he tells
us himself (and his writings attest the truth of his declaration),
_determined to know nothing_, among the faithful, _save Jesus Christ,
and him crucified_[5].

Not that what abilities we have, are always to lie concealed. There are
occasions, no doubt, when they may properly, that is, usefully, be
exerted. But the minister of the Gospel does not go in quest of such
occasions: he only adapts himself to them, when they come in his way;
and then pursues them no farther than the end, he has in view, the
edification of others, not his own credit, demands from him.

By this rule, the preachers of the word are to conduct themselves.
By the same rule, it will, therefore, be but just to estimate their
charitable labours; and, when we see nothing to admire in them, to
conclude, That this plainness of character may not be always owing
to incapacity, but sometimes, at least, to discretion and the higher
regards of duty.

And this candour, as liable as it is to misinterpretation, will not be
thought excessive, if you reflect, that, as, in general, they are bound
to consult the good of their charge, and to deliver nothing to their
auditors, but what they foresee, or presume at least, will be _useful_
to them: So

II. In the next place, The _degree_ of that utility must be regarded by
the prudent dispenser of God’s word, and can only be estimated by the
apparent _wants_ of those, to whom his instructions are addressed.

It is an especial part of the _householder’s_ prudence to take care,
that his treasure be laid out on those, who have most need of it.
He has enough to do, perhaps, to satisfy the more pressing demands
of his domestics; and the rules of a good œconomy require that he
regard those, before their humourous inclinations, or even their more
tolerable necessities. To speak in Jewish ideas, He, that wants a
_coat_, to defend himself from the injuries of the weather, must be
supplied with that necessary garment, though he go without a _cloak_;
or, when a piece of _bread_ is called for, it must be administered
to the hungry, though others be made to wait for their delicacies of
_milk_ and _honey_; or, a lamb from the fold may be served up at an
ordinary feast, while the _fatted calf_ is reserved for some more
solemn occasion.

Just thus it is in the dispensation of the word. We apply ourselves,
first and principally, to relieve the more importunate demands of our
hearers; and, not being able, at the same time, to provide for all, we
prefer the case of those who are starving for the want of necessary
instruction, to that of others who are in a condition to subsist on
what hath already been imparted to them.

Hence it is, that we are most frequent in pressing the fundamental
truths of the Gospel: as well knowing, that very many have yet to
learn, or at least to digest, the first principles of their religion;
and that few, in comparison, are either prepared, or enough disposed,
_to go on to perfection_.

There are those, perhaps, who expect us to clear up some nice point
of casuistry, or to lay open to them the grounds and reasons of some
obnoxious article in the Christian Creed: in a word, they would take
it kindly of us, if, dropping the common topics, which have been long
and much worn in the service of religion, we provided some fresh ones,
for their entertainment; and instead of the stale fragments, which are
always at hand, and lie open to all the family, we served up to them
something of better taste from the inner rooms of our store-house,
where our choicest viands are laid up. All this is extremely well:
and in due season, so far as is fitting, the charitable dispenser
of God’s word will not be wanting to their expectations; for he has
gathered nothing, however rare or exquisite, in the course of his
_household_ industry, of which he does not wish them to partake. But,
for the present, he finds this indulgence to be out of place: he sees,
that the plainest duties of life, and the most unquestioned articles
of the faith, are, first of all, to be inculcated: he perceives, that
numbers want to be put in mind of old practical truths; and perhaps he
understands, that even those, who are the most forward to call out for
novelties in speculation, do not make this demand with the best grace.
He could amuse them, it may be, with a curious theological Lecture:
but what if their sense of divine things be dead? what if they want to
have their minds stimulated by the admonitions, and their consciences
alarmed with the terrors, of the Gospel?

The question is not put at hazard. For so, the Roman Governor was
impatient _to hear St. Paul concerning the faith in Christ_; when yet
the Apostle chose to _reason_ with him _of righteousness, temperance,
and judgement to come_: plain moral topics, such as had often been
discussed before him in the schools of philosophy, but were now resumed
to good purpose; for in the end, we are told, _Felix trembled_.

Even, in the case of those, who may be decent in their lives, who are
enough instructed in what is called morality, nay, and would take it
ill to be thought wanting in a competent share of religious knowledge,
a discourse on _the elements of the faith_ may not be, altogether,
unseasonable. For there are, of these, who exclude _Religion_, from
their scheme of morality; or _Christianity_, from their scheme
of religion; or who, professing Christianity, scarce know what
_Redemption_ means: who are yet to learn with what awful, yet filial
piety, they are to look up to God _the Father_; who reflect not, what
transcendant honour is due from them to God _the Son_; and who have
scarce, perhaps, heared, or have little regarded, whether there _be any
Holy Ghost_.

If any such attend our assemblies, think not much that we are ready
to impart to them the plainest, the commonest, because the most
_necessary_, instruction: and, though we would consult the wants of
all, you are not to be surprized, or disgusted, if we run to the
relief of those first, who want our assistance most; and, like the
good _householder_, bestow our _old things_ on the needy and indigent,
before we expend our _new_ on the curious and delicate; who might, we
will say, be better accommodated with them, but are not, in the mean
time, destitute of what is needful to their spiritual life. But

III. This care is more especially required of the Christian Scribe,
when his charge is exposed, in certain conjunctures, to new and
extraordinary wants, which, if not relieved in the instant, may grow to
be ruinous, and absolutely fatal: then, above all, he is to consider,
not what instruction is most acceptable to his hearers, but what their
critical situation demands.

For, here again, the example of the watchful and beneficent
_householder_, is our direction. The season may be uncommonly severe
and inclement: or, a dangerous, perhaps a contagious disease, afflicts
his family; and then the warmest, although the coarsest, clothing must
be sought out for the _naked_; and not the most palatable, but the most
wholesome food, must be administered to the _sick_.

Disasters, like these, sometimes befall the household of Christ. A
cold atheistic spirit prevails, and chills the vital principles of
all virtue, as well as religion: or a pestilent heresy spreads its
venom through the church, and turns the medicine of life itself, the
salutary instruction of God’s word, unless prepared and applied by
skilful hands, into a deadly poison. Then it is that the well-appointed
Scribe emulates the generous care and pains of the good _householder_;
and whatever he has in store, of ancient or modern collection, whether
of philosophy or criticism, whether of eloquent persuasion or sound
logic, all must be brought forth, to warm the piety, or to purify the
faith, of his hearers.

We, of this nation, have not been so happy as to want examples of such
distresses.

1. The fanatical sects, that sprung up in abundance amid the confusions
of the last century, had so corrupted the word of God by their impure
glosses on the Gospel-doctrine of Grace, that the age became immoral on
principle, and, under the name of _Saints_, engendered a hateful brood
of profligate _Antinomians_; that is, a sort of Christians, if they may
be so called, _who turned the grace of God into licentiousness_, and,
to magnify his goodness, very conscientiously transgressed his Laws. In
a word, they taught, that the _elect_ were above ordinances, and might
be saved without, nay in defiance of, the moral Law.

This horrid divinity struck so directly at the root of all true
religion, that it could not but alarm the zeal of good men.
Accordingly, about the time of the Restoration, and for some years
after it, a number of eminent Divines (and ONE especially, well known,
and deservedly honoured, in this place[6]) bent all their nerves to
expose and confound so pernicious a heresy: and with so invincible a
force of plain and perspicuous reasoning, as brought most men to their
senses, and effectually silenced, or disgraced, the rest. They opened
the grounds and obligations of morality so plainly, and set the Gospel
scheme of salvation _through faith, working by charity_, in so full and
striking a light, that injured _Virtue_ recovered her ancient honours,
and yet was taught to acknowledge a just dependance on saving _Faith_.

Such was the triumph of enlightened reason and well-interpreted
Scripture over _Antinomianism_: while yet many perverse, and more
mistaken, hearers of those days, were ready to revile their teachers,
for dwelling so much and so long on these _old_ topics, and would have
gladly received other, and more _novel_ instructions, at their hands.

2. But now the licence of that age, which followed the Restoration, was
gone over, on the sudden, into other extravagances, equally ruinous to
the souls of men.

It had been made too clear to be denied, that moral righteousness is of
indispensable obligation, so long as there is a God to serve, or common
sense is allowed to have any hand in explaining his laws. To get rid
then of so inconvenient a restraint, as genuine morality; many daring
spirits of that time, rushed into _Atheism_; while the more timid,
took refuge in _Popery_. For, to disown a moral Governour, or to admit
that any observances of superstition can release men from the duty of
obeying him, equally serves the purpose of those, who resolve to be as
wicked as they dare, or as little virtuous as they can.

These new evils, each of which, in its turn, the court itself had
countenanced, or introduced, called for fresh remedies; and it was
not long before they were administered, with effect. The same eminent
persons, who had vindicated moral virtue, now supported the cause of
_piety_, and of _protestantism_, with equal success. They overturned
all the prophaneness, and all the philosophy of _Atheism_, from its
foundations: and, with resistless argument, baffled the presumption,
and beat down the sophistry, of the church of Rome. Yet these matchless
servants of truth were charged by some, with indiscretion in bringing
to light all the horrors of atheistic impiety, though in order to
expose them; and with preposterous zeal, in directing all their efforts
against Popery, though it wore, at that time, so malignant an aspect on
all our dearest interests.

They were not, however, diverted by these clamours from pursuing their
honest purposes: and we owe it to them, in a great measure, that these
two systems of iniquity, I mean, Atheism, and Popery, are no longer in
repute among us.

3. Still, the state of the times may be altered, without being much
improved. For, though few will avow direct Atheism, and not many, I
hope, are proselyted to Popery, yet the number of those is not small,
who are but Protestants, in name; and scarce Deists, in reality. Many
profess, or secretly entertain, a disbelief of all revealed Religion;
and many more take unwarrantable liberties with the Christian faith,
though they pretend to respect it. At the same time, as extremes beget
each other, there are those who seem relapsing into the old exploded
fanaticism of the last age; from a false zeal, it may be, to counteract
the ill impression of those other licentious principles.

Thus is the unbalanced mind of man always shifting from one excess into
another; and rarely knows to sustain itself in that just _mean_, which
pure religion and right reason demand. Wonder not therefore, that our
cares are still suited to the exigencies of our hearers; and that we
labour to supply them with that provision of sacred truth, which they
most want; that we strive to excite in them awful ideas of God’s moral
government; are _instant in season and out of season_ to assert the
utility, the importance, the necessity of divine revelation; and are
anxious to maintain the prerogatives of Christian faith, yet without
depreciating the moral Law, or infringing the rights of natural reason:
that we admonish you to think soberly, to inquire modestly, and to
believe what the word of God expressly teaches, though ye do not,
and can not, many times, comprehend the height and depth of divine
wisdom: that we remember, in short, what is required of Stewards, who
are appointed to dispense the treasures of Christian knowledge, and to
superintend the _household_ of God.

I have now gone through the several topics, which our Lord’s parable of
the _Householder_ seemed naturally to suggest to me: not so much with
a view to make our own apology (for if we do not our duty, we deserve,
and if we do, we want, none) as to set before you a just idea of our
office and ministry, that so ye may judge rightly and equitably of
us, for your own sakes. For it is not indifferent to the _household_,
what opinion is entertained of the _Householder_. Many will not suffer
him to _relieve_ their wants, or perhaps acknowledge they _have_ any
_wants_ to be relieved, if they do not conceive with some respect of
his discretion, at least, and good-will.

And though, in the discharge of our duty to all, we may seem to neglect
many, and may even dissatisfy, nay offend some; yet, on reflexion, you
will see that we are not wanting to our trust—if we always endeavour
to dispense _salutary_ doctrines—if, especially, we dispense _such_
as the apparent and urgent necessities of men call for—and, above
all, if we be ready to dispense _all_ our treasures, _new_ and _old_,
when the more alarming distresses of the Christian church require, on
occasion, our best attention and liberality.

To conclude: We respect your good opinion; nay, perhaps, are too
solicitous to obtain it. But we would, or we should, in the first
place, please him, who hath called us to _serve_, and expects us to be
_faithful, in all his house_[7]. For we presume to be something more
than Orators, or Philosophers, plausible and artificial discoursers,
who have nothing in view but their own credit, and are eloquent or
ingenious, that is, _vain_, by profession. We have a character to
sustain of greater dignity, but less ostentation. _For_ WE _preach not
ourselves, but Christ Jesus our Lord; and ourselves, your servants for
Jesus sake[8]._




SERMON II.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 8, 1767.

1 COR. x. 15.

_I speak as to wise men: judge ye what I say._


Though St. Paul said this to the Corinthians, on a particular occasion,
in reference to a single argument he was then prosecuting, and possibly
not without an intended sarcasm on those whom he here qualifies with
the name of _Wise men_, yet the words themselves express the Apostle’s
_own constant practice_; and what is more, they express the _general
spirit and genius_ of that Religion, which he was commissioned to
teach.

For the Christian Religion, divine as it is in its origin, sublime in
its precepts, and profound in its mysteries, yet condescends to apply
itself to the rational faculties of mankind; and, secure in its own
native truth and evidence, challenges the wise and learned to _judge_
of its pretentions.

So that we may regard the declaration of the text, as a standing
precept to the Ministers of the word, _to speak as to wise men_; and
to the hearers of it, to use their best faculties, _in judging of what
they say_.

These then shall be the _two parts_ of my discourse upon it. _Each_
will suggest some important reflexions to the persons respectively
concerned; to US, who preach the word, and to YOU, who hear it.

I. The Religion of Jesus was designed for the instruction of all
sorts and degrees of men. Nay, it is even alledged as one mark of its
divinity by Jesus himself, that not only the rich and wise, but the
_poor_ and simple, _have the Gospel preached unto them_[9]. And from
the different reception of it, at first, by these two sets of men, we
may perhaps see which of them deserved it most. But be this as it will,
the Christian Religion was destined for the use of all mankind. Its
saving truths are to be made known to all: yet with some difference in
the _mode_ of teaching them, according to the capacities of those to
whom they are addressed.

TO PLAIN AND ILLITERATE MEN, who have no prejudices to counteract the
virtue of God’s word, and no pride of reason or science to question
its authority, the true and proper way is, no doubt, to represent the
great truths of the Gospel, simply and clearly, accompanied with its
more general and obvious proofs, and enforced upon them with all the
earnestness of exhortation. These _proofs_, and this _exhortation_,
carry such light and force in them, as may be reasonably expected to
have an effect upon all men: yet to the WISE, who are prompted by their
curiosity, to habits of inquiry, to _ask a reason of the hope that is
in us_[10], and who are qualified by their parts and studies to _judge_
of such reason, we are instructed to address a more elaborate _answer_,
or apology.

The question then will be, ON WHAT PRINCIPLES SUCH APOLOGY MUST BE
FORMED? A question the more important, because the apologies of all
times have been too generally constructed on false and pernicious
principles; on _such_ as cannot support, but rather tend to weaken and
disgrace, the very cause they would defend.

Such were the apologies, many times, of the _ancient Christians_, who
would incorporate with the divine religion of Jesus the vain doctrines
of the Gentile philosophy: and such have been too often the more
_modern apologies_, which debase the word of God, and corrupt it, with
the dreams of our presumptuous metaphysics.

Our Religion has suffered much in both these ways: not, that reason or
philosophy of any kind, truly so called, can dis-serve the cause of
a _divine_ Religion; but that we reason and philosophize _falsely_,
or _perversely_; that is, we apply falshood to truth; or, we misapply
truth itself, in subjecting the incomprehensible mysteries of our faith
to the scrutiny and minute discussion of our best reason.

From these miscarriages, we are admonished what to _avoid_: the example
of the Apostle Paul, who _spake as to wise men_, may instruct us in the
right way of _prosecuting_ the defence of the Gospel.

From _him_, then, we learn to frame our answers and apologies to
inquisitive men, on the great established truths of natural and
revealed Religion; to assert the expediency of divine Revelation, from
the acknowledged weakness and corruption of human nature, and from
the moral attributes of the Deity; to illustrate the œconomy of God’s
dispensations to mankind by arguments taken from that œconomy itself:
to reason with _reverence_[11] on the nature of those dispensations, to
shew what their general scope and purpose is, how perfect an agreement
there is between them, and how divinely they are made to depend on each
other.

In doing this, we shall find room for the exercise of our best and
most approved reason: we shall look far ourselves, (and be able to let
others) into the harmony of the divine councils, as they are set before
us in the inspired volumes: and, though we may not penetrate all the
depths and obscurities of those councils, yet, as in contemplating
the WORKS of God, which we know but in part, we can demonstrate his
_eternal power and Godhead_, so, in studying his WORD, we shall see
enough of his unsearchable wisdom and goodness, _to put to silence the
ignorance of foolish_, and to satisfy the inquiries of _wise_, men.

I say, _to satisfy the inquiries of wise men_: for _wise men_ do not
expect to have all difficulties in a divine system cleared up, and
every minute question, which may be raised about it, answered (for
_this_, God himself, the author and finisher of it, can only perform,
and much _less_ than this is abundantly sufficient for our purpose);
but all they desire is to see the several parts of it so far cleared
up, and made consistent with each other, and, upon the whole, to
discover such evident marks of a superior wisdom, power, and goodness
in the frame and texture of it, as may convince them that it is truly
divine, and worthy of the Supreme Mind to whom we ascribe it.

When we speak _thus_ as to _wise men_, we do all that _wise men_
can require of us: if others be still unsatisfied, the fault is in
themselves; they are _curious_, but not wise.

I lay the greater stress on this mode of defending the Christian
Religion from _itself_, that is, by arguments taken from its own nature
and essence, because it shortens the dispute with inquirers, and
secures the honour of that Religion, we undertake to defend.

First, _It shortens the dispute with Inquirers_, by cutting off the
consideration of all those objections which men raise out of their own
imaginations. The defender of Christianity is not concerned to obviate
every idle fancy, that floats in the head of a visionary objector. Men
have not the making of their Religion, but must take it for such as
the Scriptures represent it to be. And if we defend it on the footing
of such representation, we do all that can be reasonably required of
us. It is nothing to the purpose what men may imagine to themselves
concerning the marks and characters of a divine Revelation: it is
enough, that there are _such marks and characters_ in the Religion
of Jesus (whether more or fewer, whether the same or other, than we
might previously have expected, is of no moment) as shew it, in all
reasonable construction, to be _divine_. And thus our labour with
Inquirers is much abridged, while all foreign and impertinent questions
are rejected and laid aside.

Next, this _mode_ of defence _secures the honour of that religion, we
undertake to support_. For, if we fail in our endeavours to unfold some
parts of the _Christian system_, we are but in the condition of those,
who would experimentally investigate and clear up some difficulties
in _the system of nature_. Want of care, or diligence, or sagacity,
may subject both the Divine and the Philosopher to some mistakes:
but either system is the same still, and lies open to the pains and
attention of more successful inquirers. Nobody concludes that the
system of nature is not divine, because this or that Philosopher has
been led by hasty experiments to misconceive of it. And nobody _should_
conclude otherwise of the Christian system, though the Divine should
err as much in his scriptural comments and explications. Whereas,
when we attempt to vindicate Christianity on principles not clearly
contained in the word of God, we act like those who form physical
theories on principles which have no foundation in _fact_. The
consequence is, That not only the labour of _each_ is lost, but the
system itself, which each would recommend, being hastily taken for what
it is unskilfully represented to be, is vilified and disgraced. For
thus the _Christian system_ has in fact been reviled by such as have
seen, or _would_ only see it, through the false medium of Popish or
Calvinistical ideas: and thus the _system of nature itself_ hath, it is
said, been blasphemed by ONE[12], who judged of it from the intricacies
of a certain astronomical hypothesis. The remedy for this evil, is, to
solve scriptural difficulties by scriptural principles, and to account
for natural appearances by experimental observations: and then, though
the application of each may be mistaken, the system remains inviolate,
and the honour both of God’s WORD and WORKS is secured.

And let thus much suffice, at present, for the duty _of him, who
speaketh as to wise men_. Much more indeed is required to the
_integrity_, and still more to the _success_, of his defence. But
he that _speaketh, as the oracles of God_, that is, who defends a
divine Religion on its own divine principles, does that which is most
essential to his office; and eminently discharges the part of a _wise
speaker_, since he plans his _defence_ in the best manner.

II. It now remains to consider the other part of the text, which
challenges _the wise men_, to whom the Apostle _spake_, to JUDGE of
what he said to them.

From the time, this _challenge_ was given by the learned Apostle, there
never have been wanting _wise men_, disposed and forward to accept
it. And thus far, all was well: for they had a right to exercise this
office of _judging for themselves_, if they were, indeed, capable of
it. But have they considered, to what that _capacity_ amounts? and that
much more is required to make a good JUDGE, than a good SPEAKER?

Let us briefly _examine_ then the pretentions of those, who have at
all times been so ready to sit in judgement on the Advocates for
Religion, by the known qualities of a capable Judge: which, I think,
are _Knowledge_, _Patience_, _Impartiality_, _Integrity_, under which
last name I include _Courage_.

1. The first requisite in a Judge, is a competent _knowledge_ in the
subject of which he judges, without which his other qualities, how
respectable soever, are rendered useless. Nor is this knowledge, in
the present case, inconsiderable. For, to say nothing of _sacred
and prophane Antiquity_, to say nothing of the _Sciences_, and above
all, the science of _Ethics_, in its largest extent, the _Judge_ of
religious controversy must be well versed, because the _Advocate_ is
required to be _supremely_ so, in the great _principles and doctrines_
of natural and revealed Religion. To decide on _the merits of
Christianity_, without this knowledge, would be as absurd, as to decide
on _the merits of the English jurisprudence_, without an acquaintance
with the _common law_, and the _Statute-book_.

2. The next quality, required in a Judge, is _Patience_; or a
deliberate unwearied attention to the arguments and representations of
the Advocate, pleading before him. This attention is more especially
expected, when the subject in debate is important, when it is, besides,
intricate, and when the Advocate is able.

But these circumstances all concur, in the case before us. If the
question concerning the truth and authority of Revelation be a cause
of any moment at all, it is confessedly of the greatest: Again, if the
scheme of Revelation _be_, as it pretends to be, _divine_, it must
require the best application of our best faculties to comprehend
it; and, lastly, as the ablest men of all times, of every profession
and denomination, have appeared in its defence, such advocates may
demand to be heared with all possible attention. For the Judge of
such a cause, then, to confide in his own first thoughts, to listen
negligently and impatiently, and to precipitate his determination, must
be altogether unworthy the character he assumes.

3. It is expected of a Judge that he be strictly _impartial_; that he
come to the trial of a cause without any previous bias on his mind, or
any passionate and prevailing prejudices, in regard either to persons
or things, which may indispose him to see the truth, or to respect it.
And this turn of mind, so conducive to a right determination in all
cases, is the more necessary here, where so many secret prejudices are
apt, without great care, to steal in and corrupt the judgement.

4. The last quality, which men require in a Judge, is an inflexible
_Integrity_: such as may infuse the virtue and the courage to give
his judgement according to his impartial sense of things, without any
regard to the consequences, in which it may involve him. This constancy
of mind may be put to no easy trial in the present case; when the
Judge’s determination may perhaps interest his whole future conduct;
and when the censure, the scorn, and the displeasure of numbers, and
possibly of those whom he has hitherto most considered and esteemed,
may be incurred by such determination.

THESE are the great essential qualities which we look for in a JUDGE,
and which cannot be dispensed with in a Judge of _Religion_. How far
all, or any of these qualities are to be found in those, who take
to themselves this office, I have neither time, nor inclination,
to consider. For my purpose is not to disparage those who have
exercised the right of judging for themselves in the great affair of
Religion, nor to discourage any man from doing himself this justice:
but simply to represent the difficulties, that lie in our way, and
the qualifications we must possess, if we would _judge a righteous
judgement_.

I leave it to yourselves, therefore, to apply these observations,
as ye think fit. Ye will conclude, however, that to _judge_ of the
pretentions of your religion is no such easy task, as that any man,
without _parts_, without _knowledge_, without _industry_, and without
_virtue_, may presume to undertake it.

The sum of all I have said is, then, this. The Apostle, when he became
an Advocate for the Gospel, condescended _to speak_, and it must
therefore be more especially the duty of its uninspired advocates to
_speak as to wise men_; that is, to employ in its defence the powers
of reason and wisdom, of which they are capable. But it will be
remembered, too, that much, nay _more_, is required of the JUDGES of
it; and that they must approve themselves, not only _wise_, but, in
every _moral_ sense, excellent men, before they are qualified to pass a
final judgement on what such Advocates have to _say_ on so momentous a
cause, as that of the CHRISTIAN RELIGION.




SERMON III.

PREACHED MAY 17, 1767.

ROM. ii. 14, 15.

    _When the Gentiles, which have not the Law_, DO _by Nature the
    things contained in the Law, these, having not the Law, are a Law
    unto themselves: which shew the work of the Law written in their
    hearts, their_ CONSCIENCE _also bearing witness, and their thoughts
    in the mean while_ ACCUSING _or else_ EXCUSING _one another_.


The scope of this chapter being to assert, that the Gentile, as well
as Jew, had a right to be admitted into the Christian church, and
that he was equally entitled to share in the blessings of it, the
Apostle grounds his argument upon this Principle, “That, in the final
judgement, there would be no respect of persons with God; but that
Gentiles, as well as Jews, would be recompensed in that day, if not in
the same degree, yet by the same rule of proportion, that is, according
to their works.”

Whence it would follow, that, if this equal measure was to be dealt to
_both_, in the _future judgement_, it could not seem strange if _both_
were to be admitted to the _present benefits and privileges_ of the
Gospel.

But to keep off a conclusion so uneasy to his inveterate prejudices,
the Jew would object to this reasoning, “That the Apostle’s assumption
must be false; for that as God had given the Heathens no Law, they were
not accountable to him: that, as there could be no room for Punishment,
where no Law forbade, so there could be no claim to Reward, where no
Law enjoined: and consequently, that the Heathen world, being left
without Law, had no concern in a future recompence, at all.”

This suggestion the Apostle obviates, by shewing the inconsequence of
it. His answer is to this effect. You, says he, conclude, that the
Heathens are not accountable, because they have no Law. But it no way
follows, because they had no Law extraordinarily revealed to them from
Heaven, that therefore the Heathens had no Law, or Rule of life, at
all. For these, _having no_ such _Law_, were a _Law unto themselves_;
that is, their natural reason and understanding was their Law.

And, for the real existence of such natural Law, he appeals to the
virtuous ACTIONS of some Heathens, _who_ DO _by nature the things
contained in the Law_; who, besides, as it follows in the next verse,
_shew the work of the Law written in their hearts, their consciences
also bearing witness, and their thoughts in the mean while accusing
or else excusing one another_. In which last words are contained two
additional arguments in proof of the same point; the _first_, taken
from their own CONSCIOUSNESS of such a Law; and the _second, from their
reasonings between one another_, ACCUSING _or else_ EXCUSING: for this
is the strict sense and literal construction of those words in the
original, which we improperly translate—_their thoughts in the mean
while accusing or else excusing one another_[13].

So that in the verses of the Text we have a PROPOSITION asserted; and
THREE distinct arguments brought in proof of it. The proposition is,
_that the Heathen are a Law unto themselves_, or, as it is otherwise
expressed, _have a Law written in their hearts_. The arguments in proof
of it are, 1. The virtuous lives of some heathen, _doing by nature
the work of the Law_: 2. The force of _conscience_, testifying their
knowledge of such Law: and, 3. lastly, their _private and judicial
reasonings_ among themselves, referring to the confessed authority of
it.

In conformity to this method of the Apostle, my business will be to
open and explain the several arguments in the order, in which they lie;
and to confirm, by that means, the truth of his general Proposition,
_That there is a natural Law, or Rule of moral action, written in the
hearts of men_.

I. The argument from the virtues of the heathen world, in proof of
a Law of nature, _written in the hearts of men_, will seem strange
to some, who may object, “That, if the appeal be to _action_, it may
with greater reason be inferred, there was not any such law; since
the crimes and vices of the heathen world, as terribly set forth by
St. Paul himself in the preceding chapter, were far more notorious,
than its Virtues. So that if there be any force in St. Paul’s appeal
to the virtuous lives of some heathen, as evincing a Law, _written in
their hearts_, because their practice was governed by it; the like
appeal to the vicious lives of many more heathen, should seem with
still more force to prove the non-existence of such Law, in as much as
it did _not_ govern their practice.” But the answer is obvious. For
a law may be in part, or even totally, violated by persons under a
full conviction of its existence and obligation: whereas it is hard to
imagine, that any number of men, of different times, in distant places,
and under different circumstances of age, temper, and education, should
exhibit in their lives the same tenour of action, without the guidance
of some fixed and common Rule.

This then being observed, let us turn our eyes upon the heathen
world; on that part, more especially, which is best known to us
from the authentic monuments of Greek and Roman story. For _bad_ as
that world was, it cannot be denied to have furnished many instances
of extraordinary virtue. We find there _justice_, _temperance_,
_fortitude_, and all those virtues, which their own Moralists called
_Offices_, and which the sacred page has dignified with the name of
_Graces_, exhibited in their fairest forms, and emulating, as it were,
even Christian perfection[14].

But it will be said of _both_ these people, what was long since
objected by one of them to the other, that their actions were not so
illustrious, as is pretended; that we take the accounts of them from
their own interested relaters, to whose vanity or genius we are rather
to impute the fine portraits, they have given us, of pagan virtue, than
to real fact and the undisguised truth of things[15].

Be this allowed. Still there will be ground enough to enforce the
Apostle’s conclusion. For whence, if not from the source to which he
points, could be derived those numerous corresponding instances, though
of faint, unfinished Virtue? how, but by _nature, did the heathen_,
in any degree, _the things of the Law_? and whence, the traces of
that conduct in the pagan world, which the Law itself prescribed as
_virtuous_?

Or, were the evidence from _facts_ ever so suspicious, whence those
admired portraits and pictures themselves? or, by what accountable
means has it come to pass, that their historians and panegyrists have
been able to feign so successfully? In truth, had the pagan world
afforded no _one_ instance of a virtuous people, I had almost said,
no _one_ instance of a virtuous character, yet would the projected
form of such a people, by one hand[16], and the delineation of such a
character, by another[17], have been a certain evidence of some Rule
of life and manners, _written in the heart_, if not transcribed into
practice; influencing the judgement to approve, if not the will to obey
it. But this consideration, perhaps, comes more naturally under the
second head of the Apostle’s reasoning, which is drawn,

II. _From the force of conscience in the heathen world._

To perceive the force of this argument, it must be remembered, That,
by conscience, is only meant _a man’s judgement concerning the quality
of his own actions_; which judgement, however come at, whether by
use, or institution, by reason, or instinct, equally supposes some
_Law_, or Rule of conduct, by which the nature of each action is
tried, and by which its worth is estimated. Now it is of no moment in
the present case, from which soever of these sources that judgement
is _immediately_ drawn, since it cannot but be, that some fixed
principle, common to human nature, and of equal extent with it, must
have originally given birth to such judgement. For if _use_, or
_institution_, be considered as the probable source of it, the question
will recur, whence that Use, or what the original of that Institution?
A question, which cannot be resolved, unless we conceive some _natural
law_, as working at the root, and branching out, as it were, into
_Use_, or _Institution_.

Nor is it sufficient to say, _That the manners of different people
are, and have been, widely different; and that conscience, or
self-judgement, according as different notions or practices prevail,
condemns, or approves the very same action_. Without doubt, it does;
but the consequence is not, as some sceptical writers have imagined,
that there is no common principle of nature, distinguishing between
right and wrong, or that moral action is of absolute indifference;
but that men are, and have been, careless and corrupt; that they have
either not used the light of nature, or have some way abused it. For
it holds of _Sentiment_, as of _Action_, that, though the agreement
of numbers in all times and places be a good argument _for_ the
existence of some common rule of right, as effecting such agreement
(because otherwise no tolerable account can be given of it); yet
the disagreement even of greater numbers is no proof _against_ the
existence of such Rule, as we can, without that supposition, give a
satisfactory account _of_ that disagreement. I call it _a satisfactory
account_; for it comes from St. Paul himself, who has taken care to
obviate this plausible objection. If it be said then, _That the Heathen
approved bad, and condemned good actions_, we own they sometimes did,
but answer with the Apostle, That, in such cases, _they became vain
in their imaginations_, and that _their foolish heart was darkened_;
that, as they _did not search to retain God in their knowledge_, did
not exert their faculties to acquire or preserve a right sense of God’s
nature and will, _he gave them up to an unsearching mind_, suffered
them to darken and put out the light of their understandings, and so to
_do_ [and to _approve_] _things that were not convenient_[18].

This being the true account of the diversity of human judgement, such
diversity only proves that the light of nature has been misused, not,
that it was never given. Whereas, on the other hand, if the Heathen
world can shew us, in general, a conformity of judgement in moral
matters, under their state of nature, with that of the world, under the
light of Revelation, what follows, but that they, _having not the Law,
shew the work of the Law written in their hearts_?

But now that there was, in fact, such a conformity, we conclude from
_the accounts of these times, the sense of writers, and the confessions
of persons themselves_: the only means, by which a point of this nature
can be established. The pagan historians and moralists are full of such
lessons, as we now profit by: and even their poets, on the stage itself
(where _common_ nature is drawn for the sake of _common_ instruction)
represent their characters, for the most part, as _good_ or _bad_,
according to the ideas we should now entertain of them. In writers
of all sorts, we find abundant evidence of this truth. Numberless
persons are upon record, who confess, in their own cases, and attest,
this uniform power of conscience. They applaud themselves for, what
_we_ should call, _a well-spent life_, and they condemn themselves
for, what _we_ call, _a bad one_. To touch on a topic so known as
this, is, in effect, to exhaust it. I shall then but just point to
the great _Roman patriot_[19] exulting in the memory of his _Virtues_:
and to the _Roman governour_[20], so famous in sacred writ, whom the
preaching of Paul, in concurrence with his own heart, made tremble for
his _Vices_.

III. But if men did not feel the power of conscience operating
within themselves, and declaring _a Law written in their hearts_,
yet their daily conduct towards each other, in the civil concerns of
life, would evidently proclaim it. For observe how studious men are
to repel an injurious imputation, fastened on a friend; and still
more, how they labour to assert their own innocence. What pains do
we see taken, to overthrow a _false_ evidence, and what colours of
art do we see employed to palliate or disguise a _true_ one! No man
needs be told that this is the constant practice of Christians: and
_did not the Heathens the same_? Here then is a fresh proof of the
point in question; an argument of familiar evidence arising from the
transactions of common life. For, in the altercations with each other,
in reference to _right_ and _wrong_, there is manifestly supposed some
prior Law of universal reason, to which the appeal on both sides is
directed, and by which the decision is finally to be made. And this, as
the Apostle’s argument suggests, whichever of the contending parties be
in the _wrong_: For the charging another with _wrong_ conduct, equally
implies a Rule, determining my judgement of moral action; as the
defending myself or others from such a charge, evinces my sense of it.
Thus, whether I _accuse_, or _answer for myself_, either way, I shew _a
law written in my heart_; whence I estimate the _right_ or _wrong_ of
the supposed question. Thus much might be inferred from the ordinary
topics of _conversation_: but the case is still clearer, when they come
to be debated _in courts of Justice_. More especially, therefore, the
struggles and contentions of the _Bar_ (for the terms, employed in the
text, being _forensic_, direct us chiefly to that interpretation), a
series of civil and judiciary pleadings, such as have been preserved to
us, from heathen times, in the writings of a Demosthenes, or Cicero,
are a standing, unanswerable argument for the existence of a _Rule
of Right_, or _Law of natural reason_. For how should these debates
be carried on without a Rule, to which the advocates of either party
refer? or how should these judicial differences be composed, without
a common Law, to arbitrate between them? And what though the Law,
referred to, be a _written institute_: it was first _written in the
heart_, before legislators transcribed it on brass, or paper.

You see then, the sum of the Apostle’s reasoning stands thus. The
Heathens, who had no revealed Law, DID _by nature, the things of the
Law_: their JUDGEMENT, too, of their own actions, conformed to the
judgement of _the Law_: and, lastly, their DEBATES with one another,
whether public or private, concerning _right_ and _wrong_, evidenced
their sense of some Law, which _Nature_ had prescribed to them.

And in this fine chain of argument, we may observe the peculiar art, by
which it is conducted, and the advantage, resulting from such conduct
to the main conclusion. For if the argument from WORKS should seem
of less weight (as it possibly might, after the Apostle’s own charge
upon the heathen world, and in that age of heathen corruption) yet the
evidence arising from CONSCIENCE, which was an appeal to every man’s
own breast, could hardly be resisted: or, if conscience could be laid
asleep (as it might be by vice and ill habits) it was impossible they
could deny the DEBATES among themselves, or not see the inference that
must needs be drawn from them.

It may, further, seem to have been with some propriety that the sacred
reasoner employed these topics of argument, in an address to ROMANS:
who could not but feel the weight of them the more, as well knowing the
ancient VIRTUE of their country; as knowing too, that the Roman people
had been famous for their nice sense of right and wrong, or, in other
words, a moral CONSCIENCE; and that, as having been a free people, they
had been always accustomed to DEBATES about moral action, public and
private.

Such is the force, and such the elegant disposition and address, of the
Apostle’s reasoning. The conclusion follows irresistibly, _That there
is a Law written in our hearts, or that, besides a Revealed Law, there
is a law of natural reason_.

That this conclusion is not injurious to _revealed Law_, but indeed
most friendly and propitious to it; that, in particular, it no way
derogates from the honour of the _Christian Law_, nor can serve in any
degree to lessen the value, or supersede the use and necessity of it; I
shall attempt to shew in another discourse.




SERMON IV.

PREACHED MAY 24, 1767.

GAL. iii. 19.

_Wherefore then serveth the Law?_


When the Apostle Paul had proved, in his Epistle to the Romans[21],
that if the _uncircumcision kept the righteousness of the Law, his
uncircumcision would be accounted for circumcision_; that is, if the
Gentile observed the _moral law_, which was his proper rule of life, he
would be accepted of God, as well as the Jew, who observed the _Mosaic
Law_; this generous reasoning gave offence, and he was presently asked,
WHAT ADVANTAGE THEN HATH THE JEW[22]?

In like manner, when the same Apostle had been contending, in his
Epistle to the Galatians, that _the inheritance was not of the Law,
but of Promise_[23]; that is, that all men, the Gentiles as well as
the Jews, were entitled to the blessings of the Christian covenant, in
virtue of God’s _promise_ to Abraham—_that in his seed all the nations
of the earth shall be blessed_—and not the Jews exclusively, in virtue
of the _Mosaic Law_, given to them only; the same spirit discovers
itself, as before, and he is again interrogated by his captious
disciples, WHEREFORE THEN SERVETH THE LAW? if the Gentiles may be
justified _through faith in Christ_, and so inherit the promise made to
Abraham, as well as the Jews, to what purpose was the Jewish Law then
given?

And to these questions, how unreasonable soever, the learned Apostle
has himself condescended to give an answer.

Now, the same perverseness, which gave birth to these Jewish
prejudices, seems to have operated in some Christians; who, on being
told, and even by St. Paul himself, of _a Law of Nature_, by which the
Heathen were required to govern their lives, and by the observance of
which, without their knowledge of any revealed Law, they would be
finally accepted, have been forward in their turn, to ask, WHEREFORE
THEN SERVETH THE LAW? Or, if there be a _natural Law_, according to
which the very Heathen will be judged, and may be rewarded, what are
the boasted privileges of _Revealed Law_, and, in particular, the
revealed Law _of the Gospel_?

Now to this question (having, in my last discourse, asserted the
proposition, which gives occasion to it) I shall reply, in the best
manner I can, by shewing,

I. That the supposition of a _natural moral Law_ is even necessary to
the support of REVELATION: And

II. That this supposition no way derogates from the honour of the
GOSPEL.

I. _That a natural moral Law is required to support the authority of
Revelation_, I conclude, not merely, _because_ this supposition is
actually made in sacred Scripture, _because_ the sacred writers argue
expressly from it, and every-where refer to it, but principally and
chiefly, _because_, without admitting this prior Law of nature, we
cannot judge of any pretended Revelation, whether it be divine or no.
For, if there be no such moral Law, previously given, which our hearts
and consciences approve, and to which our common nature assents, we
can never see the fitness of any means, as conducive to _a moral end_;
we can entertain no just and clear notions of _moral action_, properly
so called; and consequently, we can have no ideas of what are called
_the moral attributes_ of God. Now, in this state of ignorance and
uncertainty, how shall any man go about to prove to us the divinity of
any Revelation, or through what medium can its truth or authenticity
be established? We have no Rule, no principles, by which to judge of
the Law, pretending to come from God: we cannot tell, whether it be
worthy of him, or not: we do not so much as know, what _worth_ or
_goodness_ is, either in ourselves, or in the Deity. Thus all _internal
arguments_ for the excellence of any Religion are at once cut off:
and yet till, from such considerations, we find that a Religion _may_
come from God, we cannot reasonably conclude, on any evidence, that it
_does_ come from him. The Religion of Mahomet may, for any thing we can
tell, if there be no moral Law for us to judge by, be as worthy of God,
as that of Jesus. Nor will any _external arguments_, even the most
unquestioned miracles, of themselves, be sufficient to confirm its
pretensions. For how shall we know, that these miracles are from God,
unless we understand what his attributes are, and whether the occasion,
for which they are wrought, be such as is consistent with them?

So that those zealous persons, who think they do honour to the revealed
will of God, by denying him to have given prior natural Law, do,
indeed, defeat their own purpose, and put it out of their power to
judge of any Revelation whatsoever. There is, then, a Law of Reason,
_written in the heart_, by which _every_ Religion, claiming to be
divine, must be tried; or we have no ground to stand upon in our
endeavours to support the credit and divinity of _any_ Religion.

What is, then, so necessary to the support of _Revelation_, in general,
cannot, we may be sure,

II. _Any way derogate from the honour of the Christian Revelation_, in
particular.

But, to put this matter out of all doubt, I shall distinctly shew, that
the supposition of a _natural moral Law_ neither discredits the USE;
nor tends, in the least, to supersede the NECESSITY, of the Gospel.

And, 1. IT DOES NOT DISCREDIT ITS USE.

For, what, if all men be endowed with those faculties, which, if
properly employed, may instruct us in the knowledge of God and
ourselves, and of the duties we, respectively, owe to him and to each
other? Is it nothing that this knowledge is rendered more easy and
familiar to us by the lights of the Gospel? Is it nothing, that those
laws, which men of thought and reflexion may deduce for themselves from
principles of natural reason, are openly declared to all: that they are
confirmed, illustrated, and enforced by express revelation? Is it of no
moment, that the plainest and busiest men are as fully instructed in
their duty, as men of science and leisure, the simplest as well as the
wisest, the mechanic and the sage, the rustic and philosopher? Is it
of no use, that men are kept steady in their knowledge and observance
of the law of nature, by this pole-star of revelation? that they are
secured from error and mistake, from the effects of their own haste, or
negligence, or infirmity, from the illusions of custom or ill example,
from the false lights of fanaticism or superstition, and from the
perverseness of their own reasonings? Look into the history of mankind,
and see what horrid idolatries have overspread the world, in spite of
what _Nature_ teaches concerning God; and what portentous immoralities
have prevailed in the wisest nations, in defiance, nay, _what is
worse_, under the countenance and sanction, of what was deemed _natural
Reason_.

Add to all this, that the moral duties, we thus easily and certainly
know, and without any danger of mistake or corruption, by means of
the evangelical Law, are enjoined by the highest authority; are set
off by the brightest examples; are recommended to us by new arguments
and considerations; are pressed upon us by the most engaging motives,
higher and more important than nature could suggest to us; and, lastly,
are sublimed and perfected by the most consummate reason.

Still we are not got to the end of our account. Consider, further,
our natural weakness, strengthened and assisted by the influences of
divine Grace; the doubts and misgivings of Nature, in the momentous
points of repentance and forgiveness of sin, cleared; the true end
and destination of moral agents, discovered; a future judgement,
ascertained; and the hopes of endless unspeakable glory, which nature
could at most but desire, and had no reason (unless that desire be,
itself, a reason) to expect, unveiled and fully confirmed to us.

This, and still more, is but a faint sketch of the advantages, which,
even in point of morals, we derive from revealed Law. Go now, then, and
say, that the light of nature, set up in your own hearts, obscures the
glory, or _discredits the use_, of the everlasting Gospel!

2. But it is a low, degrading, and unjust idea of the _Gospel_, to
regard it only, as a new code of morals, though more complete in
itself, more solemnly enacted, and more efficaciously enforced, than
the prior one of _nature_. Were the _use_ of each the same, the
honour of the Christian revelation would not be impaired, because its
NECESSITY IS NOT SUPERSEDED.

For Christianity, rightly understood, is something, vastly above what
Reason could discover or procure for us. It confirms, incidentally,
the law of nature, and appeals to it; it harmonizes, throughout, with
that and every other prior revelation of God’s will as it could not
but do, if it were indeed derived from the same eternal source of light
and truth. But, for all that, it is no more a simple _re-publication_
of the natural, than of any other divine Law. It is a new and distinct
revelation, that perfects and completes all the rest. It is the
consummation of one great providential scheme, planned before the ages,
and fully executed in due time, for the redemption of mankind from sin
and death, through the mercies of God in Christ Jesus.

Now, in this view, which is that which Christianity exhibits of its own
purpose, the scheme of the Gospel is not only of the most transcendant
_use_, as it confirms, elucidates, and enforces the moral Law, but of
the most ABSOLUTE NECESSITY: I say, _of the most absolute necessity_;
in reference to the divine wisdom, and to the condition of mankind,
both which, without doubt, if we could penetrate so far, required
this peculiar interposition of Heaven, on principles of the highest
reason, as well as goodness. But the _necessity_ is apparent even to
us, on the grounds of this very Revelation. For its declared purpose
was to rescue all men from the power of _Death_, and to bestow upon
them immortal _life_ in happiness. But, now, the same Gospel, that
tells us this, tells us, withal, that, _as in Adam all men died, so
in_ CHRIST, only, _shall all men be made alive_; and that, _without
the blood_ of CHRIST, _there could be no remission_ of the forfeiture
incurred by the transgression of Adam. You see, then, that, to argue
upon Gospel-principles (and the fair inquirer can argue upon no other)
the Christian dispensation was _necessary_ to fulfill the purposes of
God to man, and to effect that which the divine councils had decreed in
relation to him.

The consequence is, that though we admit a Law of nature, and even
suppose that Law to have been a sufficient guide in _morals_, yet the
honour of Christianity is fully secured, as it’s _necessity is not
superseded_ by the law of nature, which had not _the promise of eternal
life_, and could not have it; such promise being reserved to manifest
and illustrate the grace of God, through the Gospel.

Reason may be astonished at this representation of things, but finds
nothing to oppose to it. It looks up, in silent adoration, to that
supreme incomprehensible Power, which wills that which is best, and
orders all things with the most perfect reason.

Nor let it be any objection, that the Law of Nature points to some
just recompence of moral agents, independently of the Christian Law.
Without doubt, it does; and, if the Gospel had never been vouchsafed to
man, the judge of all the world would have done that which was fit and
right. But can reason, can our own hearts, assure us, that the best of
us could stand the scrutiny of strict justice, or be entitled to any
recompense of _reward_? Or, if our presumption answer this question
in our favour, have we the least pretence to that unspeakable reward,
solely made known and promised in the Gospel, _of everlasting life_?
Or, if mere Heathens, who are to be judged by their own Law, may be
admitted to an eternal inheritance of life and glory, are we sure that
this mercy (for mercy it is, and cannot be of right) is not vouchsafed
to them, through Christ, though they may have been ignorant of Him? or
rather, are we not certain that it must be so, since _eternal life_, on
whomsoever bestowed, _is the gift of God through Christ_[24]?

What effect the Gospel-scheme of Redemption through Christ may have
on those who lived of old under the Law of nature or any other
Law, or who since the coming of Christ have continued in the same
circumstances; it becomes us with great caution to enquire, because the
Scriptures have not explicitly and fully instructed us in that matter.
But, from certain expressions, occasionally dropped by the sacred
writers, such as—_that Christ died for all[25]; that God was in Christ
reconciling the world to himself[26]—that Christ is the propitiation
for our sins, and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole
world_[27]; from these, and other passages of the like nature, we are
authorised to conclude, that the benefits of Christ’s death do extend,
in _some sense_, to all men: that, though each will be judged by the
Law he lived under, the issue of that judgement will respect the death
of Christ: that their living again to receive the recompence of the
deeds done in the body, however Nature might suggest this event, is, in
fact, brought about through _the redemption that is in Christ_[28]: and
that whatever recompence they receive beyond what in strict justice is
due unto them, is to be placed entirely and singly to his account. Such
inferences, as these, are apparently reasonable, and just: nor do they
prejudice, in any degree, the hope and faith of a Christian: others may
have an interest in the blood of the cross; but our privilege is to
_know_ that we have it. The advantages flowing from this knowledge, are
infinite. And therefore good reason there is to hold, with the Apostle,
that, although _the living God be the Saviour of all men_, yet is he
_specially so of those that believe_[29].

On the whole, then, if men will be putting such a question to us, as
that of the text, _Wherefore then serveth the Law?_ to what end was the
_Christian Law_ given, if there be a prior Law of Nature, to which men
are responsible, and by which they will be judged? We are now prepared
to give them a satisfactory answer.

We say then, _first_, that the _Christian Law_, to whatever ends _it
serveth_, presupposes the existence of a _prior natural Law_, by which
its pretensions must be tried, and, of course, therefore, its honour is
supported.

But, _secondly_, and more directly, we answer, that the supposition
of such natural Law no way diminishes _the honour of the Christian
Law_; for that it serves to many the most important MORAL USES, over
and above those to which the Law of nature serves; and that, further,
it is of the most absolute NECESSITY to the accomplishment of its own
great purpose, _the redemption of the world_, which the Law of nature
could not effect, and which the divine wisdom ordained should only be
effected through Christ Jesus. _Lastly_, we reply, that the benefits of
the Gospel institution may, must, in some measure, extend to all the
sons of Adam, as well as to those who are more especially enlightened
by the Christian faith: that all mankind have an interest in the
Gospel, though we Christians are first and principally indebted to it.

To conclude, whatever Law, whether we term it of _nature_, or
_revelation_, has been given to us, we should receive with all
thankfulness and reverence. But, more especially, should we adore the
riches of God’s grace in the revealed Law of the Gospel, and in the
singular unspeakable mercies conveyed by it. Far from envying the
Heathen world the advantages they receive from the Law of Reason,
under which they live; let us bless God for his impartial over-flowing
goodness to all men; let us even rejoice for the benefits treasured
up for them in a merciful dispensation of which, at present, they
unhappily know nothing; and let us only acknowledge, with especial
gratitude, the higher blessings vouchsafed to us, who are called to
_serve God in the Gospel of his Son_[30].




SERMON V.

PREACHED MAY 1, 1768.

HEB. ii. 3.

_How shall we escape, if we neglect so great Salvation?_


The Religion of Nature, is the Law of God, speaking by the voice of
Reason: the Religion of the Gospel, is the Law of God, speaking by
the Revelation of Jesus. Each of these Laws is deservedly called, _a
great Salvation_: the _former_, as the basis of all true Religion; the
_latter_, as the consummation of all God’s religious dispensations to
mankind.

Concerning the different purpose and genius of these Laws, I shall not
now speak; at least, no farther, than is necessary to enforce the
Apostle’s pathetic question, _How shall we escape, if we neglect so
great Salvation_; if we neglect to observe these Laws, respectively
given to promote man’s truest happiness?

The world abounds in commentaries on the Law of Nature, and on the
Law of Christianity. But the misfortune is, that most men regard the
study of these Laws, rather as an exercise of the mind, in the way of
curious speculation, than as an interesting pursuit, which concerns
their moral and religious practice. Which is just the same folly as
would be charged on those, who should spend their lives in studying
the municipal Laws of their country, with a total unconcern about the
observance of them in their own persons.

Indeed the penal sanctions, which attend the violation of those Laws,
would presently reclaim the student from this folly, and remind him
of the _end_, to which his skill and knowledge in them should be
principally directed. And if, in the study of general morals, or of
revealed religion, he neglect to refer his speculation to practice, it
is only because their penalties are less instant, or less constraining;
and not that either the Law of Nature, or the Law of the Gospel, is
without its proper and suitable sanctions.

I. These sanctions, as to the _Law of Nature_, as little as they are
sometimes considered, are easily pointed out. For who, that grossly
offends against that Law, but is punished with self-contempt; with an
anxious dread of that power, which inscribed the law on his heart,
and will, some way or other, secure the honour of it; with a sensible
diminution of his health, or fortune, or reputation; sometimes,
with the decline of his parts and faculties; with many uneasy and
embarrassing, however unforeseen, situations, into which his vices lead
him; with inevitable distresses, experienced in his own person, perhaps
entailed on his posterity; in a word, sooner or later, with a disgust
of _this_ life, and a trembling apprehension of what may befall him in
a _future_?

By these penalties, is the LAW OF NATURE enforced: and they are such,
as must soon convince a thinking man, indeed every man, that his true
interest lies in the observance of that Law. At the same time, it must
be owned, that this Law is strict and severe: It punishes with rigour,
and rewards sparingly. Disobedience is certain, often intense, misery;
while the most punctual compliance with it secures but a moderate
enjoyment of this life, and so much happiness in another (if indeed
_any_ happiness can be hoped for) as in strict justice may be required.

Yet _this_ is the Law, which many, it seems, had rather live and dye
under, than accept the benefit of a far BETTER. For,

II. It pleased God, in compassion to his creature, man, not to leave
him under this Law; but, by _a special Revelation_ of his will, to
confer those blessings upon him, which he had no ground in reason to
expect, and no means in nature to obtain. Hence, _the free gift of
immortality_, on the condition of obeying a certain precept, given
to Adam. The _gift_ was immense, and the _condition_ easy: but, the
_latter_ not being observed, the _former_ was as justly forfeited, as
it had been graciously bestowed.

Still, through the exhaustless mercy of the supreme moral Governour,
a way was found out, by which unhappy man might be restored to his
lost inheritance. He returned again, for the present, under the
former yoke of Nature, or, at best, was committed to the tuition of
a rigid _School-master_ (for such St. Paul styles the ritual Law of
Moses); with some _hopes_, indeed, of a better state, to which he was
one day to be advanced; but those, darkly intimated, and imperfectly
conceived. The divine purpose, however, was to lead him, by this
wholesome discipline, to Christ, to the religion of his Son; who, in
due time, vindicated the honour of God’s government, by _fulfilling all
righteousness_; expiated the foul offence of man’s disobedience by his
death upon the cross; and reconveyed the inestimable gift of immortal
life in happiness, on the new terms of FAITH IN THE DIVINE SAVIOUR,
by whose ministry this great work was atchieved. Thus, Jesus became
a ransom for the sins of mankind; appearing indeed in our nature at
that season which was pre-ordained, but _being slain_ (in the divine
councils, and therefore the benefit of his death operating) _from the
foundations of the world_.

This is a brief account of that great redemption in Christ Jesus, by
which we are again restored to those hopes, which had been forfeited by
Adam’s transgression. In consequence of this dispensation, the reward
of obedience is _eternal Life_: not of debt, but of grace, through
faith in the Redeemer. But this is not all. To facilitate and secure
that _obedience_ (to which so immense a benefit is now annexed) a
perfect example of it is set before us in the person of Christ himself;
and the holy Spirit is given to the faithful, to purify their hearts
and lives, _and to fill them with all joy and peace in believing_[31].
On the other hand, the penalty of _disobedience_ (what could it be
less?) is a perpetual exclusion from bliss and glory, with such a
degree of positive suffering, annexed, as the respective demerits
of incorrigible sinners, or the sanctity and wisdom of the divine
government, may demand.

Add to all this, that the same scriptures, which open to us the terms
of this dispensation, declare, likewise, that no other terms will ever
be offered; that we are _complete in Christ_[32]; that all the divine
councils, in regard to man, are closed and shut up in _him_; and that
no further sacrifice remains for sin, but that every man, henceforth,
must stand or fall by the terms of the everlasting Gospel.—_How then
shall we escape, if we neglect so great Salvation?_

III. Still, as I said, there are those, who had rather trust to the Law
of Nature, than the Law of Grace; who had rather take their chance of
being saved by the rule of their own Reason, than owe their Salvation
to the methods prescribed to them by the rule of the Gospel.

Their pretences for this perverse choice, are various: but the true
reason, I suppose, is, that the dispensation of the Gospel, though it
be unspeakably more benign, more gracious, more encouraging to the good
and virtuous, is, at the same time, more awful, more terrifying, to
resolved impenitent sinners, than the dispensation of Nature: and they
are content to give up their hopes of that immortal prize, which the
revelation of Jesus holds out to them, rather than encounter the hazard
of that severe sentence, which attends the forfeiture of it.

Be it so then: ye had rather forego the hopes of heaven, than have your
minds disquieted with the fear of hell.

But, _first_, do ye not see, that there is something base and abject in
this disposition? For what generous man will not aspire to an immense
reward, which Heaven, in extreme kindness, may be almost said to force
upon him, because there may be danger in coming short of it? “Yes,
but the danger is immense, too.” Rather say, the loss is immense: the
danger of incurring this loss, is not so. For what, indeed, is the
danger, when Heaven is your guide, and a crown of glory your hope;
when ye have God’s word to assure you of the prize, ye contend for;
when ye have the holy Spirit of God to assist you in the pursuit;
when ye have the Son of God, your all-merciful Saviour himself, to be
your Judge, and the dispenser of that prize to you; when, with all
these encouragements on the one hand, ye are, besides, quickened by a
salutary fear of justice, on the other; and when all that is required
of yourselves is, a reasonable faith, a willing mind, and a sincere,
though, in many respects, imperfect obedience? Is the danger to be much
esteemed, when the helps are so great, when the labour is so small, and
the success almost certain? But,

_Secondly_, Consider, also, whether ye do not even prevaricate with
yourselves, when ye say, ye had rather take up with a less reward,
than run the hazard of so great a punishment. Ye certainly resolve not
to contend for any reward at all, not even for the reward of Nature.
If ye did, ye might with more ease, as well as certainty, obtain that
of the Gospel. For whether is easier, think ye, to obtain a gift from
infinite mercy, or to extort a debt from infinite justice?

But, _Lastly_, the matter is not left to your choice. When God, in his
wisdom, had projected a scheme for the salvation of mankind before the
ages; when he had prosecuted that scheme by many successive revelations
of himself, by many notices and preparatory indications of his good
pleasure; when he had separated a chosen family from the rest of the
world, to serve as a repository of his councils, and to minister to
himself in the execution of them; when he had sent forth his angels to
assist in this great work, and had inspired many prophets and holy men
to signify, beforehand, the glories of a new kingdom which he meant
to establish on earth, and to prepare men for the reception of it;
when, after all these preludes of his wisdom and goodness, he came, in
due time, to astonish the world with the completion of this adorable
scheme, by sending forth his only begotten Son, the express image of
his person, to take upon him our nature, to suffer and to die for us;
and, by raising up Apostles and Evangelists, under the guidance of
his holy Spirit, to record these amazing transactions; and, by the
attestation of stupendous miracles, to spread the knowledge of them
over the face of the earth: when this, I say, and more, had been done
by the Almighty to usher in his last best dispensation into the world,
think not, that all this mighty apparatus was to be thrown away on
our caprice or obstinacy; and that, after all, we may be at liberty
to reject his whole design, or take as much, or as little of it, as
our wayward fancies shall suggest to us. No: assuredly the councils of
Heaven will stand firm, whatever attempts we may make, in our wisdom,
or weakness, to subvert them. As well may we think to overturn the
everlasting mountains, or push the earth itself from its centre, as to
defeat or set aside one tittle of that _eternal purpose, which God hath
purposed in Christ Jesus_[33]. To whomsoever the sound of the Gospel is
come, whether he will hear, or not hear, by that Gospel he must stand
or fall: he is, thenceforth, _under the bond of the Covenant_: through
faith in Jesus, he inherits the _promises_; or, if he withhold his
faith, it is not at his option to have no concern in the _threats_ of
the Gospel.

I know what is commonly said to representations of this sort—“That
_Faith_ depends not on the _will_, but on the _understanding_: that,
when the evidence for the truth of any proposition is full and
clear, it constrains my assent; when it is otherwise, I reject the
proposition, as false, or, at best, suspend my belief of it; and,
in either case, as without merit, so without blame: that no Law is
obligatory to me, any farther than I see cause to admit the authority
of it; and that no pretence of its divine original can subject me to
the sanctions of it, unless, on my best inquiry, I allow that claim to
be well founded: that, consequently, the Law of Christianity cannot
concern him, who is not convinced of its truth; that, where this
conviction is not, disbelief must be a matter purely indifferent: and
that _He_ only is responsible to that Law, who understands it to be his
duty to be controuled and governed by it.”

This reasoning is plausible; and has many advocates, because it
flatters the pride and independency of the human mind.—But, when a Law
is promulged with that evidence, which the _divine Legislator_ (for
of _such_ I am now speaking) sees to be sufficient for the conviction
of a reasonable man, it is concluding too fast, to suppose, that I
am innocent in rejecting it; or that I am not bound by it, though I
do reject it. Error, or unbelief, is only indifferent, when it is
perfectly involuntary or invincible; but there is clearly no room for
this plea in the present case, when, by the supposition, there is no
want of fit evidence.

Even in the case of _human_ Laws, my rejection of them may be
blameable, though I neither admit the _authority_ nor the _equity_ of
the laws themselves. For there _may_ be evidence enough of _both_, if
I will but attend to it. Now put the case of a _divine_ Legislator;
and what was _supposeable_, becomes _certain_. For the attributes of
the Deity will permit no doubt, but that, when he gives a Law to man,
he will afford such proofs of it, as may, in reason, satisfy those, to
whom it is addressed. So that their rejection of it can only proceed
from some neglect or wilfulness, on their own part, and not from the
want of a sufficient attestation, on the part of the Legislator.

Ye see then, there is no absurdity in supposing the Law of Christianity
to oblige those, who do not receive it: for if that Law be of God (and
we argue now upon that hypothesis) the evidence for it must be such
as is suited to our faculties; and being addressed, as the tenor of
it shews, to all mankind, it binds of course all those to whom that
evidence has been submitted.

And this indeed is the very language of that Law itself. For the Jews
disbelieved the Gospel, when it was preached to them by our blessed
Lord. But what says the Legislator to these unbelievers? Does he leave
them to the Law of Nature, whose authority they did not dispute, or
to the Law of Moses, which God himself, they knew, had given them? No
such thing: he tells them, that very Law, which they rejected, should
_judge_ them. “He, that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath
one that judgeth him: the WORD, that I have spoken, the same shall
judge him in the last day[34].” And he assigns the reason of this
determination—“For I have not spoken of myself; but the Father, which
sent me, he gave me a commandment, what I should say, and what I should
speak:” that is, the Law, I give you, is of _divine authority_; and
therefore not to be rejected without blame on any pretence by you, to
whom the knowledge of it, and the proper evidence on which it rests,
has been committed.

These reflexions, I know, have small weight with those, who treat the
evidences of the Gospel with that scorn, which is familiar to some
men. But such persons should, at least, see that their scorn be well
founded. If not—but I will only say, they may subject themselves, for
aught they know, to the penalties of the Gospel; I mean, to the future
judgement of _that man, whom_, in this life, _they would not have to
reign over them_[35].

But this remonstrance is properly addressed to those _that are
without_, to the contemners of the Christian Law. To YOU, who are
within the pale of Christ’s Church, and acknowledge his authority; who
profess yourselves to be his servants; who admit no other Law, but
in subjection to his, and have no expectation of life and glory from
any other; to YOU, I say, the question of the text is above measure
interesting, _How shall we escape, if we neglect so great Salvation?_

Compassion, and prudence, and charity may restrain you from censuring
with severity the enemies of the faith; may dispose you to overlook, or
to soften at least, the alarming denunciations of the Gospel, in which
they are concerned. But for YOURSELVES, who have given your names to
Christ, and have hope in him only; who know the wonders of mercy that
have been wrought for you, and were finally completed on that cross,
which is your trust and consolation, your pride and glory, it is almost
needless to say what _your_ interest, and what _your_ obligation is, to
observe, respect, and reverence the dispensation of the Gospel. _Ye_
are self-condemned, if ye slight this Law: ye are ungrateful, up to all
the possibilities of guilt, if ye make light of it: ye are undone for
ever, if _ye neglect so great Salvation_.

What allowances it may please God to make for the prejudices, the
passions, the slights, the blasphemies of unthinking and careless
men, who have never embraced the faith of Jesus, it may not, perhaps,
concern you to inquire. But ye know, that ye are responsible to that
Law, which ye profess, and to that master, whom ye serve; that to you,
indifference is infidelity; and disobedience, treason; that wilful
unrepented sin in a Christian is without hope, as without excuse, shuts
him out from all the rewards, and exposes him, even with his own full
consent to all the punishments of the Gospel.

In a word, as their _joy is great in believing_, who obey the Gospel
of Christ; so the guilt and the terror is proportionably great, to
disobedient believers. For, dreadful as _unbelief_ may prove in the
issue to such as, through their own fault, have not come to the
knowledge of Christ, _Belief_, without obedience, is more dreadful
still. I have an apostle’s warrant for this assertion. _For it had been
better for us not to have known the way of righteousness, than, after
we have known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered unto
us[36]._




SERMON VI.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 16, 1766.

St. JOHN, xiv. 8.

_Philip saith to him, Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us._


Our Lord, being now about _to depart out of the world_[37], prepares
his disciples for this unwelcome event by many consolations and
instructions. He acquaints them, more particularly than he had
hitherto done, with his own _personal dignity_. He tells them, that,
_as they believed in God, they were also to believe in him_[38]; and
that, although he should shortly leave them, it was only to remove
from Earth to Heaven, to his _Father’s house_, where he should more
than ever be mindful of their concerns, _and whither I go_, says
he, _to prepare a place for you_[39]. And, to impress this _belief_
(so necessary for their future support under his _own_, and _their_
approaching sufferings) the more strongly upon them, He declares, in
the most authoritative manner, _that he_, only, _was the Way, the
Truth, and the Life; and that no man could come to the Father, but by
him_[40]. Nay, to shew them how great his interest was, and how close
his union, with the Father, he even adds, _If ye had known me, ye
should have known my Father also; and from henceforth_, continues he,
_ye know him, and have seen him_[41].

This last declaration seemed so strange to his disciples, who had no
notion of _seeing the Father_ in our Lord’s suffering state, or indeed
through any other medium, than that of those triumphant honours, which
their carnal expectations had destined to him, that one of them,
the Apostle _Philip, saith to him, Lord, shew us the Father, and
it sufficeth us_. As if he had said, “We know thee be a person of
great holiness, and have seen many wonderful things done by thee; so
that we cannot doubt but that thou art a prophet sent from God, for
some great end and purpose of his providence. But if thy pretensions
go so far as to require us _to believe in Thee, as in the Father_;
if we are to conceive of Thee, as the only _Life_ of the world; of
so great authority with God, as to procure _mansions_ in heaven for
thy disciples; nay, of so great dignity in thine own person, as to
challenge the closest _union_ and communication with the eternal
Father; if, indeed, we are to believe such great things of thee, it
is but reasonable, as thou sayest; that, _in knowing and seeing thee,
we also know and see the Father_; that we have the clearest and most
unquestioned proofs of thy divinity. _Shew us_, then, _the Father_;
make us see the glorious symbols of his presence; present us with
_such_ irresistible demonstrations of his power and greatness, as were
vouchsafed to our Fathers, at the giving of the Law; _such_, as strike
conviction on the senses, and overrule all doubt and distrust in so
high a matter; _shew us_, I say, _the Father_, in this sense, _and it
sufficeth_ to our persuasion and firm belief in thee.”

We see, in this conduct of the Apostle Philip, a natural picture of
those inquirers into the truth of our religion; who, because they
have not the highest possible evidence given them of it, (at least,
not that evidence, which they account the _highest_) are tempted, if
not absolutely to reject the faith, yet to entertain it with a great
mixture of doubt and suspicion. “If Christianity, say they, were what
it pretends to be, the arguments for it would be so decisive, that
nothing could be opposed to them; if it were, indeed, of God, the
proofs of its claim had been such and so many, that no scepticism could
have taken place, no infidelity, at least, could have kept its ground,
against the force of them.”

When this wild fancy comes to take possession of men’s minds, the whole
tenour of God’s dispensations is quarrelled with, and disputed: every
circumstance in our Lord’s history looks suspicious: and every _fact_,
applied to the confirmation of our holy faith, rises into a presumption
against it.

_The word of Prophecy_ has not been so clear and manifest, as it might
have been: _therefore_, the proofs taken from it are of no validity.
The miracles of Christ were not so public or so illustrious as might
be conceived: _therefore_, they are no evidence of his divine mission.
The scene of his birth and actions might have been more conspicuous:
_therefore_, the light of the world could not proceed from that
quarter. The Gospel itself was not delivered in that _manner_, nor by
those _instruments_, which they esteem most fit; its _success_ in the
world has not been so great, nor its _effects_ on the lives of men, so
salutary, as might have been expected: _therefore_, it could not be of
divine original.

But there is no end of enumerating the instances of this folly. Let
me observe, in one word, that the greater part of the objections,
which weak or libertine men have opposed to the authority of revealed
Religion, are of the same sort with the demand in the text. The authors
of them first _imagine_ to themselves, what evidence would be the most
convincing; and then refuse their _assent_ to any other. Their constant
language is that of the Apostle Philip—_shew us the Father, and it
sufficeth us_.

Now, to see how little force there is in this sort of argumentation,
let it be considered, that such high demands of evidence for the
truth of the Christian revelation, are IMPERTINENT, at the best; that
they are, most _probably_, on the part of the revealer, IMPROPER to be
complied with; that they _must_ be, on the part of man, PRESUMPTUOUS,
and unwarrantable.

I. All demands of this sort are clearly _impertinent_, and beside the
purpose of a fair inquirer into the authority of a divine Religion.
For the question is, whether such religion be not accompanied with
that _evidence_, which is sufficient to determine the assent of a
reasonable man; not, whether it be the highest in its kind, or in
its _degree_, which might be imagined. There is an infinite variety,
and, as we may say, gradation in the scale of moral evidence, from
the highest forms of _demonstration_ down to the lowest inducements
of _probability_. The impatient mind of man, which loves to rest in
assurance, may demand the former of these in every case: but the just
and sober inquirer, whatever he may wish for, will submit to the
_latter_. He takes the argument, as presented to him; he weighs the
moment of it; and if, on the whole, it preponderates, though but by
some scruples of probability, against the inductions on the other side,
he is determined by this evidence, with as good reason, though not with
as much assurance, as by demonstration itself. His business, he knows,
is to examine whether the conclusion be justly drawn, not whether it
be irresistibly forced upon him. It is enough, if the proof be such as
_merits_ his assent, though it should not _compel_ it.

Apply, now, this universal rule of just reasoning to the case of
the _Gospel_. Consider it on the footing of that evidence, which
it pretends to offer. If this evidence be weak and inconclusive in
itself, let it be rejected. But, if it be sufficient to the purpose for
which it is given, why look out for any _higher_? The pretensions of
Christianity are, indeed, very great. It claims to be received by us,
as the _work and word of God_. The proofs of its being such should,
no doubt, be adapted to the nature of these pretensions. If, in fact,
they be so adapted, all further attestations of its truth, all stronger
demonstrations of its divinity (supposing there might be stronger) are,
at least, _unnecessary_: our demands of them are without ground, and
without reason: that is, they are clearly _not to the purpose_ of this
inquiry. But

II. The _impertinence_ of these demands, is not all. There is good
reason to believe, that they are, in themselves, absolutely unfit and
IMPROPER to be complied with.

In saying this, I do not only mean that the _evidence_, such men call
for, is so far mistaken as to be really of an inferior sort, and less
convincing to a well-informed mind, than that which they reject. This,
no doubt, is very frequently the case. It has been shewn in many
instances, and even to the conviction of the objector himself, that
such circumstances as have been thought most suspicious, such proofs as
have appeared the weakest, have upon inquiry turned out, of all others,
the strongest and most satisfactory. For example, they who object to
the _mean instruments_, by which the Christian Religion was propagated,
are confuted by the Apostle Paul himself; who has shewn _that very
circumstance_ to be the clearest proof of its divinity; this method of
publishing the Gospel having been purposely chosen, _that our faith
should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God_[42].
And the same answer will equally serve to many other pretences of the
like nature.

But, as I said, my intention is not, at present, to expose the common
mistake of preferring a _weaker_ evidence to a _stronger_. Let it be
allowed, that the evidence required is, in fact, the _stronger_. Still
there is reason to think that _such_ evidence was not _proper_ to be
given. And I argue, _from the nature of the thing_; and _from the
genius of the Gospel_.

1. In _the nature of the thing_ it seems not reasonable that a divine
revelation should be obtruded upon men by the highest possible
evidence. This would be to _constrain_ their assent, not to _obtain_
it: and the very essence of religion consists in its being a _willing_,
as well as _reasonable_ service.

Or, take the matter thus. On supposition that it should please God to
address himself to man, it is to be presumed he would treat him _as_
man; that is, in a way, which is suitable to _the whole of his nature_.
But _man_ is not only an _intelligent_ being, that is, capable of
discerning the force of evidence, and of being determined by it: he
is, also, a _moral_ being, that is, capable of making a right or wrong
use of his liberty. Now put the case of an overpowering, irresistible
evidence, and his _understanding_ is convinced, indeed; but the _will_,
that other and better half of his composition, the spring of liberty
and of virtue, this, with all the energies depending upon it, is
untouched, and has no share in the operation. On the other hand, let
the evidence submitted to him be such only as may satisfy his reason,
if attentively, if modestly, if virtuously employed, and you see the
whole man in play: his _intellectual_ powers are considered, and his
_moral_ faculties, the faculties of a _wise and understanding heart_,
applied to and exerted.

It seems, then, that, if a Revelation were given to man, it would most
probably, and according to the best views we can form of the divine
conduct, be given in this way; that is, in such a way, as should make
it, at once, the proper object of his _faith_, and the test, I had
almost said the reward, of his _merit_.

And such, we may observe, is the sense of mankind in other instances of
God’s government. Who complains, that the ordinary blessings of Heaven,
the conveniences and accommodations of life, are not ready furnished
and prepared to his hands? Who does not think it sufficient, to our
use and to God’s glory, that we have the powers requisite to prepare
them? Why then expect this greatest of God’s blessings, a _divine
Revelation_, to be made cheap in being forced upon us, whether we will
or no, by an _evidence_, which silences reason, rather than employs
it; and precludes the exercise of the noblest faculties, with which our
nature is invested?

2. Thus, _the reason of the thing_ affords a presumption (I mean, if
men will reason at all on such matters), that these high demands in
religion are unfit to be complied with. But we shall argue more safely,
in the next place, from _the_ GENIUS AND DECLARATIONS OF THE GOSPEL.

From the tenour of the Gospel-revelation we learn, that, though a
_reasonable evidence_ be afforded of its truth, yet the author and
publishers of it were by no means solicitous to force it on the minds
of men by an _unnecessary and irresistible evidence_.

We see this in the conduct of our Lord himself, who refused to gratify
the curiosity both of friends and foes by needless _explanations_[43],
or supernumerary _miracles_[44]. We see it, further, in his general
method of speaking by _Parables_[45]; which are so contrived as to
instruct the attentive and willing hearer, but not the prejudiced or
indifferent. Nay, when some of his parables were so obscure as that
they might seem to require an explanation, he did not always vouchsafe
to give it before the people, but reserved the exposition of them for
_his disciples, in private_[46]. _To them_, only, _it was given to know
the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven_: others, were left to their own
interpretation of his _Parables_[47].

This proceeding of Christ plainly shews that he was not anxious to
_instruct_ or _convince_ in that _way_, which might appear the most
_direct_ and _cogent_. It seems, on the contrary, to have been his
choice to afford the strongest proofs of his mission and the clearest
views of his doctrine to _those_, not whose incredulity needed his
assistance most, but _who_, by their good dispositions and moral
qualities, deserved it[48]. He thought not fit _to cast pearls before
swine_[49]; and, as contrary as it may be to our forward expectations,
it was a rule with him, that _he that hath, to him it should be
given_[50].

That this was the genius of the Gospel, we further learn from the
stress, which is laid on _Faith_. It is everywhere demanded as a
previous qualification in the aspirants to this religion; it is
everywhere spoken of as the highest moral virtue: a representation,
strange and impossible to be accounted for, if men were to be borne
down by the weight of _evidence_ only.

But, to put the matter out of all doubt, we have it declared to us in
express words, that those converts are the most acceptable to Christ,
who receive his religion, on a reasonable, indeed, but inferiour
evidence. When the Apostle Thomas expressed his belief, on the evidence
of _sense, Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me,
thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have
believed_[51].

Now, whatever occasion prophane men may take from this account of
Gospel-evidence to calumniate the divine Author of our Faith, as
though he relied more on the _credulity_, than the _conviction_ of his
followers; whatever perverse use, I say, some men may be disposed to
make of this circumstance; one thing, I suppose, is clear, “That the
genius of the Gospel does, in fact, discountenance their _high demands_
of evidence.” So that, taking the Christian religion for _what it is_
(and for _such_ only, the rules of good reasoning oblige us to take
it) it is very certain that no man is authorized to expect other or
stronger proofs of its divinity than have been given. On the contrary,
such proofs, as men account stronger, could only serve to weaken its
evidence, and overthrow its pretensions.

III. Lastly, Though no _distinct reason_ could have been opposed to
these high expectations in religion, yet common sense would have seen,
“That they are, _in general_, PRESUMPTUOUS AND UNWARRANTABLE.”

For what man, that thinks at all, but must acknowledge that sacred
truth, _that God’s ways are not as our ways_[52]; and that it is the
height of mortal folly to prescribe to the Almighty? _What man is he
that can know the council of God? Or, who can think what the will of
the Lord is?—Hardly do we guess aright at things that are upon the
earth, and with labour do we find the things that are before us: but
the things that are in heaven who hath searched out[53]?_

Such passages as these have, I know, been sometimes brought to insult
and disgrace REASON, when employed the most soberly, and in her proper
office. But I quote them for no such purpose. I mean not to infer from
these testimonies, that we are not competent judges of the evidence
which is laid before us (for why, then, was it offered?); but, that
reason cannot tell us, _what_ evidence it was fit for Heaven to give
of its own councils and revelations. We may conjecture, _modestly_
conjecture, without blame. Nay the wisest and best men, and even angels
themselves, have a reasonable _desire to look into_ these things: and
their _speculations_, if duly governed, are, no doubt, commendable
and useful. But we are not, upon this pretence, to dogmatize on such
matters. Much less, may we take upon us to reject a _well-attested_
Revelation, a Revelation, that bears many characteristic marks, many
illustrious signatures and impresses of divinity, because this or that
circumstance, attending it, does not accord to our narrow views and
shallow surmises. In short, men would do well to remember that it is
no less a maxim of _reason_ than of Scripture, _that the things of God,
knoweth no man but the Spirit of God_[54]: a _maxim_, we should never
lose sight of, a moment, in our religious inquiries.

But this, though an _important_ consideration, is a common one, and
I pursue it no farther. Let it suffice to have shewn, “That when, in
matters of religion, men indulge themselves in _fancying_ what evidence
would have been most convincing to them, and then erect such fancies
into _expectations_, they are, at best, employed very _idly_:”

“That the worthiest apprehensions, we can frame of the divine
wisdom, and both the genius and letter of the Christian religion,
discountenance these expectations, as _improper and unreasonable_ to be
complied with:”

And, “that, from the slightest acquaintance with ourselves, we must
needs confess them to be _presumptuous_.”

The USE to be made of the whole is, _that men think soberly, as they
ought to think_[55]; and that, if ever their restless curiosity, or
some worse principle, impells them to make the demand in the text,
_shew us the Father_, they repress the rising folly by this just
reflexion, that they have no right, in their sense of the word, _to see
the Father_.

Not but his infinite goodness hath vouchsafed to unveil himself so
far, as is abundantly sufficient to our conviction. But then we must
be content to _see him_ in that light, in which he has been graciously
pleased to _shew_ himself, not in that _unapproachable light_[56] in
which our madness requires to have him _shewn_ to us.

The evidences of Christianity are not dispensed with a penurious hand:
but they lie dispersed in a very wide compass. They result from an
infinite number of considerations, each of which has its weight, and
all together _such_ moment, as _may be_, but is not easily resisted.
To collect and estimate these, much labour and patience is to be
endured; great parts of learning and genius are required; above all, an
upright and pure mind is demanded. If, conscious of our little worth
or ability, we find ourselves not equal to this task, let us adore
in silence, and with that humility which becomes us. To call out for
light, when we have enough to serve our purpose, is indeed _foolish_:
but to make this noisy demand, when we have previously blinded our
eyes, or have resolved to keep them shut, is something _more_ than
folly.

After all, there is one way, in which the meanest of us may be indulged
in the high privilege of SEEING _the Father_, at least, in the _express
image_ of his Son. It is, by keeping the commandments. _He that hath my
commandments, and keepeth them_, says our Lord himself, _I will love
him, and will_ MANIFEST _myself to him_[57]. In other words, he will
see and acknowledge the _truth_ of our divine religion.




SERMON VII.

PREACHED IN THE YEAR 1771.

ST. JAMES, iv. 1.

    _From whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they not
    hence, even of your lusts that war in your members?_


Interpreters have observed, that these questions refer to the state of
things, which then took place among the Jews, when this epistle was
addressed to them. For, about that time, they had grievous _wars and
fightings_ among themselves; every city, and every family, almost, of
this devoted people, not only in Judea, but in many other countries,
through which they were _scattered abroad_, being miserably distracted
and torn asunder by civil and domestic factions.

This application, then, of the Apostle’s words to the Jews of his own
time, seems a just one. But we need look no further for a comment upon
them, than to that _hostile_ spirit, which too much prevails, at all
times, and under all circumstances, even among Christians themselves.

The root of this bitterness, we are told, is in _the lusts, that war
in our members_: that is, there is, first, an insurrection of our
carnal appetites against the law of our minds; and, then, the contagion
spreads over families, neighbourhoods, and societies; over all those,
in short, with whom we have any concern, till the whole world,
sometimes, becomes a general scene of contention and disorder.

For, ask the princes of this world, what prompts them to disturb
the peace of other states, and to involve their subjects in all the
horrors of war; and their answer, if they deign to give one, and if
it be ingenuous, must, commonly, be, _their lust of conquest and
dominion_. Ask the servants of those princes, what splits them into
parties and factions; and they can hardly avoid answering, or we can
answer for them, _their lust of wealth and power_. Ask the people, at
large, and under whatever denomination, what occasions their contempt
of authority, their disobedience to magistrates, their transgressions
of law, their cabals and tumults, their hatred, defamation, and
persecution of each other; and charity herself, for the most part, can
dictate no other reply for them to this question, than that they are
excited to all these excesses by _the lust of riot_ and misrule, or,
of, what they call, LIBERTY.

But there is no end of pursuing this subject in all its applications
to particular instances. What we have most reason to lament, is,
that Christians not only _fight_ with each other, at the instigation
of their _lusts_, for their own carnal and corrupt ends; but that
they make the very _means_, which God has appointed to compose these
differences, the instruments of their animosity, and become outrageous
in their hostile treatment of each other, by the perversion of those
_principles_, which were intended to be its restraint. For if any thing
could appease this tumult among men, what more likely to do it, than
the _administration of civil justice_, and the _sacred institutions of
religion_? Yet, are even these provisions of divine and human wisdom,
for the support of peace and good order, defeated by our restless
and ingenious passions; and we contrive, to make RELIGION and LAW
themselves, subservient to the increase of that contention, which they
tend so naturally to keep out of the world.

As this abuse, which inverts the order of things, and turns the
medicine of life into a deadly poison—as this abuse, I say, can never
be enough exposed; let me represent to you some part of the evils,
which this monstrous misuse of RELIGION and CIVIL JUSTICE has brought
upon mankind; as the last, and most striking effort of these malignant
_lusts_, from which, according to the holy Apostle, all our violations
of peace and charity are derived.

And, FIRST, of the mischiefs, arising, from MISAPPLIED RELIGION.

It were an ample field, this, should I undertake to follow the
ecclesiastical historian in all the abuses, which he so largely
displays. But my design is to _open the fountains_; to point, only,
to the _general causes_, from which those abuses have flowed. And the
chief of these _causes_ will not be overlooked, if we consider that
Christianity has been corrupted by _superstition_, by _policy_, and by
_sophistry_: for, in each of these ways, the _lusts_. of men have found
free scope for their activity; and have produced all those endless
discords and animosities, which have dishonoured the Christian world.

1. SUPERSTITION began very early to make cruel inroads into the
religion of Jesus: _first_, by debasing its free spirit with the
servility of Jewish observances; next, in adulterating its simple
genius by the pomp of pagan ceremonies; and, afterwards, through a
long course of dark and barbarous ages, in disfiguring its _reasonable
service_[58] by every whimsy, which a gloomy or disturbed imagination
could suggest.

The _lusts_ of men gave birth to these several perversions. The
obstinate _pride_ of the Jewish Christian was flattered in retaining
the abrogated ritual of the Law: the pagan proselyte gratified his
_vanity_, and love of splendor in religious ministrations, by dressing
out Christianity in all the paint and pageantry of his ancient worship:
and the miserable monk soothed his _fears_, or indulged his _spite_,
in busying himself with I know not what uncommanded and frivolous
expiations, or in torturing others with the rigours of a fruitless
penance.

From these rank passions, sprung up _wars_ in abundance among
Christians. The Apostles themselves could not prevent their followers
from _fighting_ with each other, in the cause of _circumcision_. The
superstition of _days_[59], and of _images_[60], grew so fierce,
that the whole Christian world was, at different times, thrown into
convulsions by it. And the dreams of monkery excited every where the
most implacable feuds; which had, commonly, no higher object, than the
credit of their several _Rules_, or the honour of their _Patron-saints_.

2. When superstition had thus set the world on fire, a godless POLICY
struck in, to encrease the combustion.

The Christian religion, which had TRUTH for its object, could not but
require an assent from its professors to the doctrines, it revealed;
and, having GOD for its author, it, of course, exacted a compliance
with the few ritual observances, which he saw fit to ordain. But the
wantonness, or weakness, of the human mind, introducing a different
interpretation of those _doctrines_, and a different ministration of
those _rites_, the policy of princes would not condescend to tolerate
such unavoidable differences, but would inforce a rigid uniformity both
of sentiment and ceremony, as most conducive, in their ideas, to the
quiet and stability of their government.

Again: the honour of prelates and churches seemed to be concerned
in all questions concerning place and jurisdiction; and, when these
questions arose, was to be maintained by every artifice, which an
interested and secular wisdom could contrive.

The _lust_ of dominion, was plainly at the bottom of these infernal
machinations; and the fruit, it produced, was the most bloody and
unrelenting wars, massacres, and persecutions; with which the annals of
mankind are polluted and disgraced. But,

3. To work up these two pests of humanity, _superstition_, and
_intolerance_, to all the fury, of which they are capable, unblessed
SCIENCE and perverted REASON lent their aid.

For, the pride of knowledge begot innumerable portentous heresies:
which not only corrupted the divine religion of Jesus (obnoxious to
some taint from the impure touch of human reason, because _divine_),
but envenomed the hearts of its professors, against each other, by
infusing into them a bitter spirit of altercation and dispute.

In these several ways, then, and from these causes, has our holy
religion been abused. The _lusts_ of men have turned the Gospel of
peace itself into an instrument of _war_: a misadventure, which could
not have taken place, had Christians but recollected and practised one
single precept of their master—_Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly
in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls_[61].

But the perversity of man could not be brought to learn this salutary
lesson; and so has fulfilled that memorable saying of our Lord, who,
foreseeing what abuses would hereafter be made of his charitable
system, declared of himself—_I came not to send peace, but a
sword_[62]. This prediction, at least, the enemies of our faith are
ready enough to tell us, has been amply verified, in the event. It has
been so: it was therefore inspired, because it was to be fulfilled.
But let them remember, withall, that not the genius of the Gospel, but
man’s incorrigible passions, acting in defiance of it, have given to
this prophecy its entire completion.

I come now to represent to you,

II. In the second place, how the _lusts_ of men have perverted CIVIL
JUSTICE, as well as Religion, into an instrument of contention and hate.

The object of all civil, or municipal laws, is the conservation of
private peace, in the equal protection they afford to the property
and persons of men. Yet, how often have they been employed to other
purposes, _by those, who administer the Laws_; and _by those, for whose
sake they are administered_!

1. In reading the history of mankind, one cannot but observe, with
indignation, how frequently the magistrate himself has turned the Law,
by which he governs, into an engine of oppression: sometimes, directing
it against the liberties of the state; and sometimes, against the
private rights of individuals. It were a small matter, perhaps, if he
only took advantage of a _severe_ law, or drew over an _ambiguous_ one,
to countenance his iniquitous purposes. But how oft has he embittered
the mildest, or tortured the plainest laws, by malignant glosses and
strained interpretations! gratifying, in both ways, his revenge, his
avarice, or his ambition; yet still in the forms of Law, and under the
mantle, as it were of public justice!

Such abuses there _have_ been in most states, and, it may be, in our
own. God forbid, that, standing in this place, I should _accept the
persons of men, or give flattering titles unto any_[63]. But truth
obliges me to say, that there is, now, no colour for these complaints.
The administration of justice, on the part of the _Magistrate_, is so
pure, as to be the glory of the age, in which we live. The abuses all
arise from another quarter; and the contentious spirit is kept alive
and propagated by the lusts of private men. And what renders their
iniquity without excuse, is, that the very equity of those forms, in
which our laws are administered, is made the occasion of introducing
all these corruptions.

2. To come to a _detail_ on this subject, might be thought improper.
Let me paint to you, then, in very _general_ terms, the disorders that
spring from this perversion of Law; and, to do it with advantage, let
me employ the expressive words of an ancient Pagan writer.

The Roman governors of provinces, it is well known, had their times
for the more solemn administration of civil justice. Suppose, then,
one of these governors to have fixed his residence in the capital of
an Asiatic province, to have appointed a day for this solemnity, and,
with his Lictors, and other ensigns of authority about him, to be now
seated in the forum, or public place of the city; and consider, if the
following representation of an indifferent by-stander be not natural
and instructive.

“See,” says the eloquent writer[64], whose words I only translate, “see
that vast and mixt multitude assembled together before you. You ask,
what has occasioned this mighty concourse of people. Are they met to
sacrifice to their country Gods, and to communicate with each other
in the sacred offices of their religion? Are they going to offer the
Lydian first-fruits to the Ascræan Jupiter? or, are they assembled
in such numbers to celebrate the rites of Bacchus, with the usual
festivity? Alas, no. Neither pious gratitude, nor festal joy, inspires
them. _One_ fierce unfriendly passion _only_ prevails; whose epidemic
rage has stirred up all Asia, and, as returning with redoubled force on
this stated anniversary, has driven these frantic crowds to the forum;
where they are going to engage in law-suits with each other, before the
Judges. An infinite number of causes, like so many confluent streams,
rush together, in one common tide, to the same tribunal. The passions
of the contending parties are all on fire; and the end of this curious
conflict is, the ruin of themselves and others. What fevers, what
calentures, what adust temperament of the body, or overflow of its
vicious humours, is to be compared to this plague of the distempered
mind? Were you to interrogate each cause (in the manner you examine a
witness) as it appears before this tribunal, and ask, WHENCE IT CAME?
the answer would be, an obstinate and self-willed spirit produced
_this_; a bitter rage of contention, _that_; and a lust of revenge and
injustice, _another_.”

It is not to be doubted, that this rage of the contending parties
was inflamed, in those times, by mercenary agents and venal orators;
by men, who employed every fetch of cunning, and every artifice of
chicane, to perplex the clearest laws, to retard the decision of
the plainest cases, and to elude the sentence of the ablest judges.
Without some such management as this, the passions of the litigants
could not have been kept up in such heat and fury, but must gradually
have cooled, and died away of themselves. Add this, then, to the other
features, so well delineated, and you will have the picture of _ancient
litigation_ complete.

And what think we, now, of this picture? Is there truth and nature in
it? Are we at all concerned in this representation; and do we discover
any resemblance to it in what is passing elsewhere, I mean in modern
times, and even in Christian societies? If we do, let us acknowledge
with honesty, but indeed with double shame, that, like the Pagans of
old, we have the art to pervert the best things to the worst purposes;
and that the _lusts_ of men are still predominant over the wisest and
most beneficent institutions of civil justice.

Indeed, as to ourselves, the mild and equitable spirit of our laws
might be enough, one would think, to inspire another temper: but
when we further consider the divine spirit of the Gospel, by which
we pretend to be governed, and the end of which is _charity_, our
prodigious abuse of _both_ must needs cover us with confusion.

The instruction, then, from what has been said, is this: That, since,
as St. James observes, all our _wars and fightings_ with each other
proceed only from our _lusts_, and since _these_ have even prevailed
to that degree as to corrupt the two best gifts, which God, in his
mercy, ever bestowed on mankind, that is, to make _Religion_ and _Law_
subservient to our bitter animosities; since all this, I say, has been
made appear in the preceding comment on the sacred text, it becomes
us, severally, to consider what our part has been in the disordered
scene, now set before us: what care we have taken to check those unruly
passions, which are so apt, by indulgence, to tyrannize over us; and,
if this care has been less than it ought to have been, what may be
the consequence of our neglect. We should, in a word, _take heed, how
we bite and devour one another_; not only, as the Apostle admonishes,
_that we be not consumed one of another_; but lest, in the end, we
incur the chastisement of that LAW, we have so industriously perverted,
and the still sorer chastisement of that RELIGION, we have so impiously
abused.




SERMON VIII.

PREACHED APRIL 29, 1770.

1 TIM. i. 5.

    _The end of the Commandment is charity, out of a pure heart, and of
    a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned._


The Apostle, in the preceding verse, had warned Timothy against
_giving heed to fables and endless genealogies_: by FABLES, meaning
certain Jewish fictions and traditions applied to the explication
of theological questions, and not unlike the tales of the pagan
mythologists, contrived by them to cover the monstrous stories of their
Gods; and, by GENEALOGIES, the derivation of Angelic and Spiritual
natures[65], according to a fantastic system, invented by the Oriental
philosophers, and thence adopted by some of the Grecian Sects. These
_fables and genealogies_ (by which the Jewish and Pagan converts to
Christianity had much adulterated the faith of the Gospel) the Apostle
sets himself to expose and reprobate, as producing nothing but curious
and fruitless disputations; being indeed, as he calls them, _endless_,
or interminable[66]; because, having no foundation in the revealed word
of God, they were drawn out, varied, and multiplied at pleasure by
those, who delighted in such fanatical visions.

Then follows the text.—_The end of the Commandment, is_ CHARITY:
_out of a_ PURE HEART: _and of a_ GOOD CONSCIENCE; _and of_ FAITH
UNFEIGNED—As if the Apostle had said, “I have cautioned you against
this pernicious folly: but, if ye must needs deal in the way of
Mythology and Genealogy, I will tell you how ye may employ your
ingenuity to more advantage. Take Christian _Charity_, for your theme:
_mythologize_ that capital Grace of your profession; or, deduce the
_parentage_ of it, according to the steps, which I will point out
to you. For it springs immediately out of _a pure heart_; which,
itself, is derived from _a good conscience_; as that, again, is the
genuine offspring or emanation of _faith unfeigned_. In this way,
ye may gratify your mythologic or genealogical vein, innocently and
usefully[67]; for ye may learn yourselves, and teach others, how to
acquire and perfect that character, which is the great object of your
religion, and _the end of the Commandment_.”

Let us, then, if you please, attend to this genealogical deduction of
the learned Apostle; and see, if the descent of Christian charity be
not truly and properly investigated by him.

I. CHARITY, says he, is _out of a pure heart_: that is, it proceeds
from a heart, free from the habits of sin, and unpolluted by corrupt
affections.

To see with what propriety, the Apostle makes a pure heart the
_parent_ of charity, we are to reflect, that this benevolent temper,
which inclines us to wish and do well to others, is the proper growth
and produce, indeed, of the human mind, but of the human mind in
its native and original integrity. To provide effectually for the
maintenance of the social virtues, it hath pleased God to implant
in man, not only the power of reason, which enables him to see the
connexion between his own happiness and that of others, but also
certain instincts and propensities, which make him _feel_ it, and,
without reflexion, incline him to take part in foreign interests. For,
among the other wonders of our make, this is _one_, that we are so
formed as, whether we will or no, _to rejoice with them that rejoice,
and weep with them that weep_[68]. But now this sympathetic tenderness,
which nature hath put into our hearts for the concerns of each other,
may be much impaired by habitual neglect, or selfish gratifications.
If, instead of listening to those calls of nature, which, on the
entrance into life, are incessantly, but gently, urging us to acts of
generosity, we turn a deaf ear to them, and, charmed by the suggestions
of self-love, yield up ourselves to the dominion of the grosser
appetite, it cannot be but that the love of others, however natural to
us, must decline, and become, at length, a feeble motive to action;
or, which amounts to the same thing, be constantly overpowered by the
undue prevalence of other principles. Thus we may see, how ambition,
avarice, sensuality, or any other of the more selfish passions, tends
directly, by indulgence, to obstruct the growth of _charity_; and how
favourable an uncorrupt mind is to the production and maturity of this
divine virtue.

But, further, the impurities of the heart do not only hinder the
exertions of _benevolence_; they have even a worse effect, they cause
us to pervert and misapply it. It is not, perhaps, so easy a matter,
as some imagine, to divest ourselves of all attachment to the interest
of our fellow-creatures. But, by a long misuse of our faculties, we
may come in time to mistake the objects of _true_ interest; and so
be carried, by the motives of benevolence itself, to do irreparable
mischief to those we would most befriend and oblige. This seems to
be the case of those most abandoned of all sinners, who take pains
to corrupt others, and not only do wicked things themselves, _but
have pleasure in those who do them_[69]. All that can be said for
these unhappy victims of their own lusts, is, that their _perverted
benevolence_ prompts them to encourage others in that course of life,
from which, if it were rightly exercised, they would endeavour, with
all their power, to divert them.

So necessary it is, that charity should be out of _a pure heart_! It is
polluted in its very birth, unless it proceed from an honest mind: it
is spurious and illegitimate, if it be not so descended.

II. The next step in this line of moral ancestry, is a GOOD CONSCIENCE:
which phrase is not to be taken here in the negative sense, and as
equivalent only to a _pure heart_; but as expressing a further, a
_positive_ degree of goodness. For so we find it explained elsewhere;
_having_, says St. Peter, a GOOD CONSCIENCE, _that whereas they
speak evil of you, as_ EVIL DOERS, _they may be ashamed that falsely
accuse your_ GOOD CONVERSATION _in Christ Jesus: for it is better,
if the will of God be so, that ye suffer for_ WELL DOING, _than for
evil doing_[70]. Whence, by _a good conscience_, we are authorized
to understand a mind, _conscious to itself of beneficent actions_.
And thus the Apostle’s intention will be, to insinuate to us, that,
to be free from _depraved affections_, we must be actively virtuous;
and that we must be _zealous_ in good works, if we would attain to
that _purity_ of heart, which is proper to beget the genuine virtue of
Christian charity.

For, we may conceive of the matter, thus. A _good conscience_, or a
mind enured to right action, is most likely, and best enabled, to shake
off all corrupt partialities; and, as being intent on the strenuous
exercise of its duty, in particular instances, to acquire, in the
end, that tone of virtue, which strengthens, at once, and refines the
affections, till they expand themselves into an universal good-will.
Thus we see that, without this moral discipline, we should scarce
possess, or not long retain, a _pure heart_; and that the heart, _if
pure_, would yet be inert and sluggish, and unapt to entertain that
prompt and ready benevolence, which true charity implies.

So that an active practical virtue, as serving both to purify and
invigorate the kind affections, has deservedly a place given to it in
this lineal descent of Christian love. But,

III. The Apostle rises higher yet in this genealogical scale of
charity, and acquaints us that a _good conscience_, or a course of
active positive virtue, is not properly and lawfully descended, unless
it proceed from a FAITH UNFEIGNED, that is, a sincere undissembled
belief of the Christian religion.

And the reason is plain. For there is no dependance on virtuous
practice; we cannot expect that it should either be steady, or lasting,
unless the principle, from which it flows, be something nobler and more
efficacious, than considerations taken from the beauty, propriety,
and usefulness of virtue itself. Our active powers have need to be
sustained and strengthened by energies of a higher kind, than those
which mere philosophy supplies. We shall neither be able to bear up
against the difficulties of a good life, nor to stand out against the
temptations, which an evil world is always ready to throw in our way,
but by placing a firm trust on the promises of God, and by keeping our
minds fixed on the glorious hopes and assurances of the Gospel. And
_experience_ may satisfy us, that practical virtue has no stability or
consistency, without these supports.

Besides, considering a _good conscience_, or a moral practical conduct,
with an eye to its influence on a _pure heart_, till it issue in
complete _charity_, we cannot but see how the Christian faith is
calculated to direct its progress, and secure the great end proposed.
For the whole system of our divine religion, which hath its foundation
in _grace_; its _precepts_, which breathe nothing but love and amity;
its _doctrines_, which only present to us, under different views,
the transcendent goodness of God in the great work of redemption;
its _history_, which records the most engaging instances of active
benevolence; all this cannot but exceedingly inspirit our affections,
and carry them out in a vigorous and uniform prosecution of the
subordinate _means_, which are to produce that last perfection of our
nature, a pure and permanent love of mankind. For at every step we
cannot but see the _end of the commandment_, so perpetually held out
to us, and derive a fresh inducement from _faith_, to accomplish and
obtain it.

Indeed, to produce this effect, our _faith_, as the Apostle adds, must
be UNFEIGNED: that is, it must be nourished and intimately rooted in
the heart; we must not only yield a general assent to the sacred truths
of our religion, we must embrace them with earnestness and zeal, we
must rely upon them with an unshaken confidence and resolution. But
all this will be no difficulty to those who derive their _faith_
from its proper source, that is, who make a diligent study of the
holy scriptures: where _only_ we learn what the _true_ faith (which
will ever be most friendly to virtue) is; and whence we shall _best_
derive those motives and considerations, which are proper to excite and
fortify this principle in us.

And thus, that Charity, which a _pure mind_ gives the liberty of
exerting, and which a _good conscience_ manifests and at the same time
improves, will, further, be so sublimed and perfected by the influence
of divine _faith_, as will render it the sovereign guide of life, and
the pride and ornament of humanity.

Or, to place the descent of Charity, in its true and natural order, it
must spring, first, from an _unfeigned faith_ in the Gospel of Jesus:
that faith must then produce, and shew itself in, a _good conscience_:
and that conscience must be thoroughly purged from all selfish and
disorderly _affections_: whence, lastly, the celestial offspring
of _Charity_ has its birth, and comes forth in all the purity and
integrity of its nature.

FROM THIS lineage of Christian Charity, thus deduced, many instructive
lessons may be drawn. We may learn to distinguish the true and
genuine, from pretended Charity: we have, hence, the surest way of
discerning the spirits of other men, and of trying our own: we may
correct some popular mistakes concerning the virtue of charity; and
shall best comprehend the force and significancy of the several
commendations, which the inspired writers, in many places, and in very
general terms, bestow upon it.

Let me conclude this discourse with an instance of such instruction,
respecting each of those heads, which the order of the text hath
afforded the opportunity of considering.

And, _first_, from the necessity of a PURE HEART, we are instructed
what to think of the benevolence of those men, who, though enslaved to
their own selfish passions, are seldom the most backward to make large
pretences to this virtue. But, be their pretences what they will, we
know with certainty, that, if the heart be impure, its charity must be
defective. It must, of course, be weak and partial; confined in its
views, and languid in its operations; in a word, a faint and powerless
quality, and not that generous, diffusive, universal principle, which
alone deserves the exalted name of _Charity_.

We conclude, also, on the same grounds, that the hatred of vice is no
breach of Christian charity. This charity is required to flow from a
_pure heart_. But there is not in nature a stronger antipathy, than
between _purity_, and _impurity_. So that we might as well expect light
and darkness, heat and cold, to associate, as spotless virtue not to
take offence at its opposite. I know, indeed, that the hatred due to
the vices of men, is too easily transferred to their persons. But that
charity, which is lineally descended from _faith_, will see to make a
difference between them; and while it feels a quick resentment against
_sin_, will conceive, nay will, by that very resentment, demonstrate, a
tender concern for _sinners_, for whom Christ died.

_Secondly_, from the rank, which a GOOD CONSCIENCE holds in this family
of love, we are admonished to avoid the mistake of those, who are
inclined to rest in negative virtue, as the _end of the commandment_;
and who account their charity full and complete, when it keeps them
only from intending, or doing mischief to others. The Apostle, on the
contrary, gives us to understand, that its descent is irregular, if
it be not allied to active positive virtue; such as takes a pleasure
in kind offices, is zealous to promote the welfare of others, and is
fertile in _good works_. And this conclusion is the more necessary to
be inforced upon us, since, in a world like this, where vice is sure to
be active enough, the interests of society will not permit that Charity
should be idle.

Lastly, from the lineal descent of Charity from FAITH, we must needs
infer, that infidelity is not a matter of that indifference to social
life, which many careless persons suppose it to be. It is the glory of
our faith, that it terminates in charity. Every article of our creed is
a fresh incitement to good works: in so much that, he who understands
his religion most perfectly, and is most firmly persuaded of it, can
scarce fail of approving himself the best man, as well as the best
_Christian_. And this, again, is a consideration, which should affect
all those who profess to have any concern for the interests of society
and moral virtue.

Thus it appears, how instructive the doctrine of the text is, and how
usefully, as well as elegantly, the Apostle sets before us, in this
short genealogical table, the proper ancestry of Charity: in which
_Faith_, as the ultimate progenitor, begets an _active virtue_; and
that, impregnating the _heart_ with pure affections, produces at
length this divine offspring of _Christian love_.

If we had found this mythological fiction in Xenophon or Plato, we
should have much admired the instruction conveyed in it. Let it not
abate our reverence for this moral lesson, that it comes from an
Apostle of Jesus, and, if not dressed out in the charms of human
eloquence, has all the authority of truth and divine inspiration to
recommend it to us.




SERMON IX.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 9, 1766.

ROM. xii. 10.

—_In honour preferring one another._


It is much to the honour of the inspired writers, because it shews
them to be no enthusiasts, that, with all their zeal for the revealed
doctrines of the Gospel, they never forget or overlook the common
duties of _humanity_; those duties, which Reason itself, a prior
Revelation, had made known to the wiser part of mankind.

Nay, which is more remarkable, they sometimes condescend to enforce
what are called the _lesser moralities_[71]; that is, those inferiour
duties, which, not being of absolute necessity to the support of human
society, are frequently overlooked by other moralists, and yet, as
contributing very much to the comfortable enjoyment of it, are of
_real_ moment, and deserve a suitable regard.

The text is an instance of this sort—_in honour preferring one
another_—the NATURE, and GROUND, and right APPLICATION, of which duty,
it is my present purpose to explain.

1. The general NATURE of this virtue consists in a disposition to
express our good will to others by exteriour testimonies of respect;
to consult the credit and honour of those we converse with, though at
some expence of our own vanity and self-love. It implies a readiness to
prevent them in the customary decencies of conversation; a facility to
give way to their reasonable pretensions, and even to abate something
of our own just rights. It requires us to suppress our petulant claims
of superiority; to decline all frivolous contests and petty rivalries;
to moderate our own demands of pre-eminence and priority; and, in a
word, to please others, rather than ourselves.

It is an easy, social, conciliating virtue; a virtue made up of
_humility_ and _benevolence_; the _former_, inclining us not to think
more highly of ourselves than we ought; and the _latter_, to give our
Christian brother an innocent satisfaction when we can.

And our obligation to the practice of this virtue is FOUNDED,

II. On the clearest reasons, taken both from the _nature of man_, and
the _genius of our holy Religion_.

And, FIRST, from _the nature of man_.

Among the various principles, some of them, in appearance, discordant
and contradictory, which constitute our common nature, one of the
first to take our attention is, “A conscious sense of dignity;” an
opinion of self-consequence, which mixes itself with all our thoughts
and deliberations; prompting us to entertain lofty sentiments of our
own worth, and aspiring to something like superiority and dominion
over other men. This principle, which appears very early, and is
strongest in the more generous dispositions, is highly necessary to a
being formed for virtuous action; and naturally leads to the exertion
of such qualities as are proper to benefit society, as well as to gain
that ascendency in it, to which we pretend. It is the spring, indeed,
of every commendable emulation; puts in act all our better and nobler
faculties; and gives nerves to that labor and industry, by which every
worthy accomplishment is attained.

But now this principle (so natural and useful), when it is not
checked by others, but is suffered to take the lead and predominate
on all occasions, undisciplined and uncontrolled, easily grows into
a very offensive and hurtful quality: _offensive_, because it is now
exerted to the humiliation of every other, who is actuated by the same
principle; and _hurtful_, because, in this undue degree, it counteracts
the very purpose, _the good of human society_, for which it was
designed.

This quality we know by the name of PRIDE. The other moderate degree
of self-esteem, which is allowable and virtuous, seems not (I suppose,
from its rare appearance under that form) to have acquired in our
language a distinct name.

To _Pride_, then, the pernicious and too common issue of self-love, it
became necessary, that some other principle should be opposed. And such
a principle, as is proper to correct the malignity of pride, we find in
that _philanthropy_, which, by an instinct of the same common nature,
disposeth us to consult the happiness, and to conciliate to ourselves
the good will and affection, of mankind. This benevolent movement of
the mind is, further, quickened by the mutual interest all men have
in the exercise of it. For Pride is disarmed by submission; and, by
receding from our own pretensions, we take the most likely way to
moderate those of other men. Thus, the generous affections are kept in
play; reciprocal civilities are maintained; and, by the habit of _each
preferring other_, which prudence would advise, if instinct did not
inspire, the peace of society is preserved, its joy encreased, and even
our vanity, so far as it is a just and natural affection, gratified and
indulged.

The reason of the Apostolic precept is, then, laid deep in the
constitution of human nature; which is so wonderfully formed, that its
_perfection_ requires the reconciliation of contrary qualities; and
its _happiness_ results from making benevolence itself subservient to
self-love.

2. If, from the philosophic consideration of man, we turn to the
_genius of the Gospel_, we shall there find this conclusion of natural
reason strengthened and confirmed by evangelical motives.

Benevolence, which, in the Gospel, takes the name of _Charity_, hath
a larger range in this new dispensation, than in that of nature. The
doctrine, and still more the example, of Jesus, extends the duty of
humility and self-denial; requires us to make ampler sacrifices of
self-love, and to give higher demonstrations of good-will to others,
than mere reason could well demand or enforce. He, that was so far
from _seeking his own_, that he _emptied himself of all his glory_,
and stooped from heaven to earth, for the sake of man, hath a right
to expect, from his followers, a more than ordinary effort to conform
to so divine a precedent, a peculiar attention to the mutual benefits
and concerns of each other. It is but little that we keep within
some decent bounds our aspiring tempers and inclinations: we are now
to _subject_ ourselves to our Christian brethren; to renounce even
our innocent and lawful pretensions; and to forego every natural
gratification, when the purposes of Christian Charity call us to this
arduous task.

For the Gospel, it is to be observed, has taken us out of the loose
and general relation of men, and has bound us together in the closer
and more endearing tie of _Brethren_: it exalts the good-will, we
were obliged to bear to the species, into the affection, which
consanguinity inspires for the individuals of a private family. The
Apostle, therefore, in the words preceding the text, bids us—_be
kindly affectioned one to another with_ BROTHERLY LOVE—not, with the
_love_, that unites one _man_ with another[72], which is the highest
pretension of mere morality; but with the _love_, that knits together
natural _brethren_[73], which is the proper boast and character of
evangelical love. The words of the original have a peculiar energy[74].
They express that instinctive warmth of affection, which nature puts
into our hearts for our nearest kindred, such as communicate with us by
the participation of one common blood.

So that the same compliances, we should make with _their_ inclinations,
the same preference, we should give to _their_ humour and interest
above our own, should now be extended and exercised towards all
Christians; and that principle of an ardent affection, by which we are
led to make the most chearful condescensions to our _natural_ brother,
should work in us the same generous consideration of our _spiritual_
brother, _for whom Christ died_.

Having explained the _nature_ of this duty, and the _grounds_, both in
reason and religion, on which it rests, it now remains,

III. To provide for the RIGHT APPLICATION of it in practice. And here,
in truth, the whole difficulty lies.

It is evident enough, I suppose, from what has been said, That the
moral and Christian duty of _preferring one another in honour_,
respects only social peace and charity, and terminates in the good and
edification of our Christian brother. Its use is, to soften the minds
of men, and to draw them from that savage rusticity, which engenders
many vices, and discredits the virtues themselves. But when men had
experienced the benefit of this complying temper, and further saw the
ends, not of charity only, but of SELF-INTEREST, that might be answered
by it; they considered no longer its just purpose and application,
but stretched it to that officious sedulity, and extreme servility of
adulation, which we too often observe and lament in polished life.

Hence, that infinite attention and consideration, which is so rigidly
exacted, and so duly paid, in the commerce of the world: hence, that
prostitution of mind, which leaves a man no will, no sentiment,
no principle, no character; all which disappear under the uniform
exhibition of good-manners: hence, those insidious arts, those studied
disguises, those obsequious flatteries, nay, those affected freedoms,
in a word, those multiplied and nicely-varied forms of insinuation
and address; the direct aim of which may be to acquire the fame of
politeness and good-breeding; but the certain effect, to corrupt every
virtue, to sooth every vanity, and to inflame every vice, of the human
heart.

These fatal mischiefs introduce themselves under the pretence
and semblance of that _humanity_, which the text encourages and
enjoins. But the _genuine_ virtue is easily distinguished from the
_counterfeit_, and by the following plain _signs_.

1. TRUE POLITENESS is modest, unpretending, and generous. It appears as
little as may be; and, when it does a courtesy, would willingly conceal
it. It chuses silently to forego its own claims, not officiously to
withdraw them. It engages a man to _prefer his neighbour to himself_,
because he really esteems him; because he is tender of his reputation;
because he thinks it more manly, more Christian, to descend a little
himself, than to degrade another—It respects, in a word, the _credit
and estimation_ of his neighbour.

The mimic of this amiable virtue, FALSE POLITENESS, is, on the
other hand, ambitious, servile, timorous. It affects popularity; is
solicitous to please, and to be taken notice of. The man of this
character does not offer, but obtrude, his civilities: _because_ he
would merit by this assiduity; because, in despair of winning regard
by any worthier qualities, he would be sure to make the most of this;
and, lastly, because of all things he would dread, by the omission of
any punctilious observance, to give offence.—In a word, this sort
of politeness respects, for its immediate object, the _favour and
consideration_ of our neighbour.

2. Again: the man, who governs himself by the _spirit_ of the Apostle’s
precept, expresses his _preference of another_ in such a way as
is worthy of himself: in all innocent compliances, in all honest
civilities, in all decent and manly condescensions.

On the contrary, the man of the world, who rests in the _letter_ of
this command, is regardless of the _means_, by which he conducts
himself. He respects neither his own dignity, nor that of human
nature. Truth, reason, virtue, all are equally betrayed by this supple
impostor. He assents to the errors, though the most pernicious; he
applauds the follies, though the most ridiculous; he sooths the vices,
though the most flagrant, of other men. He never contradicts, though
in the softest form of insinuation; he never disapproves, though by
a respectful silence; he never condemns, though it be only by a good
example. In short, he is sollicitous for nothing, but by some studied
devices to hide from others, and, if possible, to palliate to himself,
the grossness of his illiberal adulation.

3. Lastly, we may be sure, that the _ultimate_ ENDS, for which these
different _objects_ are pursued, and by so different _means_, must also
lie wide of each other.

Accordingly, the truly polite man would, by all proper testimonies of
respect, promote the credit and estimation of his neighbour, _because_
he sees, that, by this generous consideration of each other, the peace
of the world is in a good degree preserved; _because_ he knows that
these mutual attentions prevent animosities, soften the fierceness of
men’s manners, and dispose them to all the offices of benevolence and
charity; _because_, in a word, the interests of society are best served
by this conduct; and _because_ he understands it to be his duty, _to
love his neighbour_.

The falsely polite, on the contrary, are anxious by all means whatever,
to procure the favour and consideration of those they converse with,
_because_ they regard ultimately nothing more than their private
interest; _because_ they perceive, that their own selfish designs are
best carried on by such practices: in a word, _because_ they _love
themselves_.

Thus we see, the genuine virtue consults the honour of others by worthy
means, and for the noblest purpose; the counterfeit, sollicits their
favour by dishonest compliances, and for the basest end.

By such evident marks are these two characters distinguished from each
other! and so impossible it is, without a wilful perversion of our
faculties, to mistake in the application of the Apostle’s precept!

It follows, you see, from what has been said, “that integrity of heart,
as Solomon long since observed, is the best guide in morals[75].” We
may impose upon others by a shew of civility; but the deception goes no
farther. We cannot help knowing, in our own case, if we be ingenuous,
when this virtue retains its nature, and when it degenerates into the
vice that usurps its name. To conclude, an honest man runs no risk in
being polite. Let us only _respect_ ourselves; and we shall rarely do
amiss, when, as the Apostle advises, _in honour we prefer one another_.




SERMON X.

PREACHED MAY 6, 1770.

JOHN xiii. 8.

    —_Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with
    me._


To comprehend the full meaning of these words (which, as we shall
see, are of no small importance) we must carefully attend to the
circumstances of the history, which gave occasion to them.

The chapter begins thus—_Now before the feast of the Passover, when
Jesus knew that his hour was come, that he should depart out of this
world to the Father, having loved his own, which were in the world, he
loved them to the end._—

We are prepared by these words to expect something, on the part of our
Lord, very expressive of his love for his Disciples.

The _season_, too, is critical, and must excite our attention: _it was
before the feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour was
come, that he should depart out of this world to the Father_; in other
words, just before his crucifixion.

There is, indeed, some difficulty in fixing the precise time, when
the transaction, now to be related, happened. I take no part in the
disquisition, because it is not material to my purpose, and would
divert me too much from it. It is enough to say, that it was at most,
but the evening before the Paschal supper was celebrated, and therefore
but two days before Jesus suffered.

The history proceeds—“_And supper being ended_ (or rather, as the text
should have been translated, _the time of supper being come_[76]) _the
Devil having now put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son,
to betray him, Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into
his hands, and that he was come from God and went to God; he riseth
from supper, and laid aside his garments, and took a towel and girded
himself. After that, he poureth water into a bason, and began to wash
the Disciples feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was
girded._”

Thus far all is clear. Jesus condescended to _wash the feet of his
Disciples_; a ministry, very common in the East, and usually performed
by servants, in discharge of their duty towards their masters, or, by
inferiors, at least, in testimony of respect towards their superiors;
as is abundantly plain from many instances.

This then was ONE end of this _washing_. Our Saviour meant it as a
lesson of humility and condescension to his Disciples. But was it the
ONLY, or the _chief_ end? That is the point we are now to consider.

Let it be remembered, then, that nothing was more familiar with the
Jews, than to convey an information to others, especially if that
information was of importance, by natural, rather than artificial
signs, I mean by _deeds_, rather than _words_; as every one knows,
who has but dipped into the history and writings of the Old and New
Testament. The transaction before us, if understood _only_ as a lesson
of humility, is a lesson conveyed to the Disciples in this form[77].

Now, this way of _information by action_ was occasionally made to serve
TWO contrary purposes: either to give more force and emphasis to an
instruction; or, to cloathe it with some degree of obscurity, or even
ambiguity. For _actions_, speaking to the eye, when the purpose of
them is by any means clearly ascertained, convey the most lively and
expressive information: on the other hand, when it is not, they are
somewhat obscure, one thing being to be collected by us from another:
or the information is even ambiguous, as the action may signify more
things than one.

Sometimes, the primary sense is declared, or easily understood; while,
yet, a secondary sense, a less apparent one, but more momentous, is,
also, intended.

This, upon inquiry, may be the case before us. Christ’s _washing the
feet of his Disciples_ obviously conveys this instruction, which is
asserted, too, in express words—that, _as he, their Lord and master,
washed their feet, so they ought also to wash one another’s feet_[78].
But _another_, and far more important, instruction _may_ be conveyed
in this action, though it be not so fully and explicitly declared. It
_may_, I say, be conveyed: from laying all circumstances together,
we shall be able to form a judgment, whether it were, indeed, in the
Agent’s _intention_ to convey it.

_First_, as I said, the narrative of this transaction (which, take it
as you will, was clearly designed to be an _information by action_) is
prefaced in a very extraordinary manner. _Jesus, knowing that his hour
was come—knowing too that the Father had given all things into his
hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God_, proceeded—to
do what? Why, to give his disciples a lesson of humility and charity,
in washing their feet. The Lesson, no doubt, was important; and
becoming the character of their divine master. But does it rise up to
those _ideas_ of importance, which we are prepared to entertain of an
action, performed at such a time, and so awfully introduced? _His hour
was come—the Father had given all things into his hands—he came from
God, and was now going to God._ All this announces something beyond
and above a common lecture of morality; something, which might be a
suitable close to the instructions of such a teacher.

Let us see, _next_, how the action is received. One of the disciples,
Peter, surprized at his Lord’s condescension, says very naturally,
_Lord, dost thou wash my feet?_ Jesus, to remove his scruples, replies,
_What I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter_. The
words are ambiguous, and may mean, “Thou shalt know, _immediately_,
from the explication I am about to give of this action;” or, “thou
shalt know _hereafter_, in due time, and by other means,” what the
purport of it is. Still Peter, not satisfied with this answer, but
confounded at the apparent indignity of Christ’s condescension, replies
resolutely, _Thou shalt never wash my feet_. This resistance was to be
overcome, that the _information_, whatever it was, might take place,
by the performance of that which was the vehicle of it. Jesus answers,
therefore, more directly and solemnly, IF I WASH THEE NOT, THOU HAST
NO PART WITH ME—Which words, whether understood by Peter or not, were
clearly seen to have _some_ meaning of the last concern to him; and,
struck with this apprehension, he submits.

But what! taking these oracular words, in the sense only in which Jesus
thought fit to explain them, we hardly see the force and propriety of
them. For, had Peter _no part with Jesus_, that is, was he incapable of
receiving any benefit from him, unless he had this ceremony of washing,
performed upon him, when that ceremony had no further use or meaning,
than to convey a moral lesson? If he had not learnt _this_ lesson from
Christ, he might have learnt many _others_: or, he might have learnt
_this_, some other way: and taking it in either light, he might still
be said to _have some part_ with Jesus, though he had not been _washed_
by him.

The true import, then, of these enigmatic words, and of the whole
transaction which is here recorded, begins to appear, and is further
opened by the sequel of Peter’s conversation with Jesus. For,
understanding, that this _ablution_ was, some way so necessary to him,
Peter subjoins, _Not my feet only, but also my hands and my head_.
Jesus saith to him, _He that is washed, needeth not, save to wash his
feet, and is clean every whit; and ye are clean, but not all; for he
knew who should betray him: therefore said he, Ye are not all clean_.

It was, we see, the uncleanness of sin, or the _filth of an evil
conscience_, which was to be taken away by this washing. More than a
single moral lesson, how excellent soever, was, therefore, couched in
this act; indeed, the necessity and efficacy of CERTAIN MEANS, by which
mankind were, in general, to be cleansed from sin, was that which was
ultimately and mainly signified by it. He that was _thus washed, was
clean every whit_; and the _information_ of this benefit being the end
of the washing, it was enough if that was conveyed by washing any one
part.

You see at length to what all this tends. Jesus, knowing the secret
treachery of Judas, and, by the divine spirit which was in him,
foreseeing the destined effect of that treachery; knowing, that he
was now, forthwith, to suffer death upon the cross, the purpose, for
which he came from God, and for the execution of which he only waited
before he returned to him; considering, withal, the immense benefit,
which was to accrue to mankind from his voluntary devotion of himself
to this death, and that the eternal Father, for the sake of it, _had
given all things into his hands_, had given him the power to redeem all
the sons of Adam from the vassalage of sin and death, by virtue of that
BLOOD which he was now to pour out upon the cross, as a propitiation
for them; Jesus, I say, foreseeing and considering all this, chose
this critical season, when _his hour was now come_, to signify by the
ceremony of washing his disciples feet[79], the efficacy and value of
his own precious blood, by which alone they, and all mankind, were to
have all their sins purged and washed away for ever.

This was apparently the momentous instruction, which it was our Lord’s
purpose to convey in this transaction. He would, _first_, shew that
we were to be washed in his blood; and _then_, subordinately, that we
were to follow his example in a readiness _to do as he had done_; that
is, not only to _wash_ each other, but, emblematically still, to lay
down our lives and pour out our blood, if need be, for the sake of the
brethren. All circumstances concur to assure us, that such was the
real secret intent of this mysterious washing; and thus, at length, we
understand the full purport of those words—_If I wash thee not, thou
hast no part with me_[80].

If it be still said, that Jesus explains his own purpose differently,
it is enough to reply, that these emblematic actions were generally
significative of more things, than one; and that the manner of Jesus
was, on other occasions, to enforce that instruction, which was not
the primary one in his intention[81]: the reason of which conduct was
founded in this rule, so constantly observed by him, of conveying
information to his disciples, only, _as they were able to bear
it_[82]. In a word, he gave them many instructions, and _this_, among
the rest, darkly and imperfectly, because they could not then bear a
stronger light; but yet with such clearness as might, afterwards, let
them into his purpose; leaving it to the Holy Ghost (whose peculiar
province it was) to illuminate their minds, in due time; to reveal
all that had been obscurely intimated; and to open the full meaning
of his discourses and actions, as well as to _bring them all to their
remembrance_[83].

From this memorable part of the Gospel-history, thus opened and
explained, we may draw some important conclusions.

1. FIRST, we learn, if the comment here given be a just one, That _the
blood of Christ_ (so an Apostle hath expressed himself) _cleanseth
us from all sin_[84]: I mean, that the death of Christ was a true,
proper, and real propitiation for our sins; and not a mere figure, or
tropical form of speech; as too many, who call themselves Christians,
conceive of it. For the pertinence and propriety of the representative
action, performed by our Lord, is founded in this supposition, “That
the blood of Christ was necessary to our purification, and that, but
for our being _washed in his blood_[85], we should be yet in our sins.”
Jesus himself, in explaining this transaction, so far as he thought
fit to explain it, confines us to this idea. For in this sense, only,
is it true—_that we, who are washed, are clean every whit_—and, that
_unless we are washed by Christ, we have no part with him_.

Such, then, is the information given us in this ceremony of _washing
the disciples feet_; and not in this, only. For, besides the present
emblematic act, performed by our Lord, for the special benefit of his
disciples, the TWO Sacraments, it is to be observed, were purposely
instituted, for the general use of his church, to hold forth to us an
image of his _efficacious blood_, poured out for us: the sacrament
of BAPTISM, by the reference it had (like this act) to the typical
_washings_ of the Law; and the sacrament of the LORD’S SUPPER, as
referring, in like manner, to the typical _sacrifices_ of that
dispensation. Of such moment, in the view of our Lord himself, was this
doctrine of _propitiation_! And so careful, or rather anxious, was
he, that this consolatory idea of _redemption through his_ BLOOD[86]
(suggested in so many ways, and in so striking a manner) should be
always present to us!

Nor were his Apostles (let me, further, remark) less intent in
prosecuting this design. For they insist every-where, and with a
singular emphasis—that _Christ, our passover, is sacrificed for
us_[87]—and that _we are_ WASHED, _and sanctified, and saved, by the
sprinkling of the blood of Jesus_[88].

Go now, then, and say, that the _blood_ of Christ is only a metaphor,
and means no more in the mouth of a Christian, than it might be
supposed to do in that of an honest heathen, who should say, That he
had been _saved_, or benefited in a moral way, by the _blood_, that
is, the exemplary death, of Socrates!—When we speak of its _washing_
away sin, it is true, we use the term _washing_ metaphorically (for
_sin_ is not literally washed): but the scriptures are unintelligible,
and language itself has no meaning, if _the blood of the lamb slain_
had not a true, direct, and proper efficacy (considered in the literal
sense of _blood_) in freeing us from the _guilt_ of sin, or, in other
words, from the _punishment_ of it.

2. A SECOND conclusion may be drawn, more particularly, from the
words of the text—_if I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me_.
For, if these words mean, as I have endeavoured to shew, and as, I
think, they must mean, that we are redeemed only by the _blood_ of
Christ; and if, as the context seems to speak, it is in our power to
forfeit this benefit, by refusing to be _washed_ by his blood, that
is, to accept the deliverance, offered to us, _through faith in his
blood_[89]: it follows, that there is something very alarming in the
condition of those persons, who hold out against all the calls of
Grace, and obstinately persist in a state of infidelity. In vain have
they recourse to natural religion, or to any other supposed means of
purification and salvation. In vain do they trust even to the moral
part of the Gospel, while they reject or disbelieve the rest. They must
be washed by _Christ_, if they desire _to have any part with him_;
they must place their entire hope and confidence in the _blood_ of the
covenant, who would share in the blessings of it.

Nay, more than this: the Redeemer is _outraged_ by this refusal to
comply with the gracious terms of his salvation. And, though some may
make slight of _having no part with Christ_, it may concern them to
reflect, what it is to _have a portion with unbelievers_[90].

3. LASTLY, and above all, I conclude, that they, who are _washed_, and,
in consequence of that washing, trust to _have a part with Christ_,
as they can never be enough thankful for the inestimable benefit, they
have received, so they can never be enough careful to retain, and to
improve it. If we, who have once embraced the faith, revolt from it;
or, while we make a shew of professing the faith, pollute ourselves
again with those sins, from which we have been cleansed; nay, if we
do not strive to purify our hearts and minds still more and more by
the continual efficacy of a lively faith in Jesus; if, in any of these
ways, we be in the number of those, _who draw back unto perdition_,
what further sacrifice remains for us, or what hope have we in that,
which has been already offered?

Judas himself, be it remembered, was _washed_ among the other
Disciples; yet he was not _clean_, for all that, nor had he _any part_
with Jesus. What can this mean, but that something is to be done, on
_our_ part, when the Redeemer has done _his_? and that the permanent
effect of this _washing_, as to any particular person, depends on his
care to keep those _robes white_, which have been _washed in the blood
of the lamb_[91]?

The account, and the conclusion, of the whole matter, is plainly
this—_If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in
darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: but, if we walk in the light,
as he is in the light, then have we fellowship with him, and_ HIS BLOOD
CLEANSETH US FROM ALL SIN[92].




SERMON XI.

PREACHED JUNE 20, 1773.

MARK ix. 49.

    _For every one shall be salted with fire, and every sacrifice shall
    be salted with salt._


This is generally esteemed one of the most difficult passages in the
four Gospels. I confess, I take no pleasure in commenting on such
passages, especially in this place; because the comment only serves,
for the most part, to gratify a learned curiosity, and is, otherwise,
of small use.

But, when a difficult text of Scripture can be explained, and the
sense, arising out of the explanation, is edifying and important, then
it falls properly within our province to exert our best pains upon it.

This I take to be the case of the difficulty before us, which therefore
I shall beg leave to make the subject of the present discourse.

There are TWO very different interpretations, of which the words are
capable: and they shall both of them be laid before you, that ye may
adopt either as ye think fit; or even reject them both, if ye do not
find them sufficiently supported.

To enable you to go along with me in what follows, and to judge of
either interpretation, whether it be reasonable or not, it is necessary
to call your attention to the preceding verses of this chapter, to
which the text refers, and by which it is introduced.

Our blessed Lord (for the words, I am about to explain, are _his_) had
been discoursing to his Disciples on _offences_, or _scandals_; that
is, such instances of ill-conduct, such indulgences of any favourite
and vicious inclination, as tended to obstruct the progress of the
Gospel, and were likely to prevent either themselves, or others, from
embracing, or holding fast, the faith. Such offences, it was foreseen,
would come: _but woe to that man_ (as we read in the parallel passage
of St. Matthew’s Gospel) _by whom the offence cometh_[93].

And, to give the greater effect to this salutary denunciation, our
Saviour proceeds, in figurative, indeed, but very intelligible terms,
to enforce the necessity of being on our guard against such _offences_,
what pain soever it might cost us to subdue those passions, from which
they were ready to spring. No virtue of self-denial was too great to
be attempted in such a cause. A _hand_, a _foot_, an _eye_, were to be
_cut off_, or _plucked out_; that is, inclinations, as necessary and
as dear to us, as those members of the body, were to be suppressed or
rejected by us, rather than the _woe_, denounced against the indulgence
of them, be incurred. This woe is, that the offenders should be cast
into hell-fire, _where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not
quenched_: and it is subjoined _three times_, in the same awful words,
to so many instances of supposed criminal indulgence, in the case
alledged; or rather, to one and the _same_ species of ill-conduct,
differently modified, and, to make the greater impression upon us,
represented under three distinct images. After the last repetition of
it, the text immediately follows—_for every one shall be salted with
fire, and every sacrifice shall be salted with salt_.

I. Now, taken in this connexion, the words _may_ clearly, and,
according to our ideas, of interpretation, most naturally _do_, admit
this sense; that the offenders, spoken of, shall be preserved entire
to suffer the punishment threatened, though it might seem that they
would, in no long time, be totally destroyed by it: as if our Lord had
expressed himself thus—“I have repeated this woe three times, to shew
you the degree and duration of it, as well as the certainty of its
execution; _the worm shall not die_, that is, the sense of suffering
shall continue, even in circumstances, which may seem proper and likely
to put an end to it: for such, as are worthy to be cast into this fire,
shall be _salted_, or preserved from wasting (salt being the known
emblem of _incorruption_, and thence of _perpetuity_) by the very
fire itself. And [you may easily conceive how this shall be, _for_]
_every sacrifice_, the flesh of every animal to be offered up to God
in your Jewish sacrifices, is kept sound and fit for use by being (as
the Law directs in that case) _salted with salt_. Just so, the _fire
itself_ shall act on these victims of the divine justice: like _salt_,
sprinkled on your legal victims, it shall preserve these offenders
entire, and in a perpetual capacity of subsisting to that use, to which
they are destined.”

Now, if such be the sense of the words, they contain the fullest and
most decisive proof of that tremendous doctrine, _the eternity of
future punishments_, which is any where to be met with in Scripture.
For the words, being given as a reason and explanation of the doctrine,
are not susceptible of any vague interpretation, like the words
_eternal_ or _everlasting_, in which it is usually expressed; but must
necessarily be understood, as implying and affirming the literal truth
of the thing, for which they would account. And, this being supposed,
you see the use, the unspeakable importance, of this text, as addressed
to all believers in Jesus. But,

II. There is another sense, of which the text is capable: and, if you
think it not allowable to deduce a conclusion of such dreadful import
from words of an ambiguous signification, you will incline perhaps (as
it is natural for us to do) to this more favourable interpretation,
which I am going to propose.

I observed, that the text, as read in connexion with the preceding
verse, is most naturally, according to our ideas of interpretation,
to be understood, as I have already explained it. But, what is the
most _natural_, according to our modern rules and principles of
construction, is not always the _true_, sense of passages in ancient
oriental writers (who did not affect our accuracy of connexion), and
particularly in the writers of the New Testament.

To give a remarkable instance in a discourse of our Lord himself. He
had prescribed to his disciples that form of prayer, which we know
by the name of the _Lord’s prayer_, consisting of several articles;
the last of which is—_for thine is the kingdom, and the power and
the glory for ever_[94]. Now, to this concluding sentence of his
prayer he immediately subjoins these words—FOR _if we forgive men
their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you_. But,
from the illative particle, _for_, according to our notions of exact
composition, was to be expected a reason, or illustration, of the
_immediately foregoing_ clause, the _doxology_, which shuts up this
prayer: whereas, the words, which that particle introduces, have
respect to another and _remote_ clause in the same prayer, namely,
_forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors_[95], and express the
ground and reason, only, of that petition.

In like manner, the illation expressed in the text—FOR _every one
shall be salted with fire, and every sacrifice shall be salted with
salt_—may not be intended to respect the preceding words—_where
the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched_—but something
else, which had been advanced in our Lord’s discourse, though at some
distance from the text; and possibly, the general scope or _subject_
of it. Consider, then, what that subject is. It is necessary, our Lord
tells his disciples, for such as would escape the woes, threatened, and
approve themselves faithful followers of him, to subdue or renounce
their most favourite inclinations, by which they might be, at any time,
tempted to _offend_, though the pain of this self-denial should be ever
so grievous to them.

To reconcile their minds to this harsh doctrine, he may then be
supposed to resume that topic, and to _justify_ the advice, which,
with so much apparent severity, he had given them. And then we may
conceive him to speak to this effect:

“I have said, you must not regard the _uneasiness_, which the conduct,
I require of you, will probably occasion. For _every one_, that is,
every true Christian, _every one_ that is consecrated to my service,
and would escape the punishment by _fire_, in the world to come, _shall
be salted with fire_, in the present world; that is, shall be tried
with sufferings of one kind or other, can only expect to be continued
in a sound and uncorrupt state, by _afflictions_; which must search,
cleanse, and purify your lives and minds, just as _fire_ does those
bodies, which it refines, by consuming all the dross and refuse,
contained in them. The process may be violent, but the end is most
desirable, and even necessary. _And_, that it is so, ye may discern
from the wisdom of your own Law, which requires that _every sacrifice_,
fit to be offered up to God in the temple-service, _shall be salted
with salt_; that is, preserved from putrefaction, and even all
approaches to it, by the application of that useful, though corroding
substance. Now, the _fire_ of affliction shall be to your moral
natures, what _salt_ is to the animal. It may agitate and torment
your minds, but it shall eat all the principles of corruption out of
them, and so keep them clean and untainted; as is fit, considering the
heavenly use that is to be made of them, it being your duty, and even
interest, to present them, as _a sacrifice acceptable and well pleasing
to God_[96].”

In this way, you see, the text is reasonably explained of _moral
discipline_ in this world, not of future _punishment_. What may
be thought to occasion some little difficulty, or, at least,
particularity, in the mode of writing, is, that _one_ metaphor seems
here employed to explain _another_. But we should rather conceive of
the two metaphors, as employed, jointly and severally, to express this
moral sentiment—‘That affliction contributes to preserve and improve
our virtue.’ The allusion to the effects of _salt_ was exceedingly
obvious and natural in the mouth of a Jew, addressing himself to
Jews[97]. Not but it was common enough, too, in Gentile writers[98].
And the other allusion to the effects of _fire_ (though the two figures
are in a manner run together by speaking of the _subject_, to which
they are applied, as _salted_ with fire). This allusion, I say, to
_fire_, is justified by the familiar use of it, in the sacred writings.
For thus we are told, _that fire must try every man’s work_[99]—that
_our faith is tried, as gold by fire_[100]—that _a fiery trial must
try us_[101]—that, _as gold is tried in the fire_, so are _acceptable
men in the furnace of adversity_[102]—and in other instances.

Of _both_ these natural images, it may be affirmed, that they are not
unusually applied to moral subjects: and, if we thus _apply_ them in
the text, the _use_ to ourselves, according to this interpretation, is
considerable and even important; no less, than the seeing enforced,
in the most lively manner, and by our Saviour himself, this great
moral and evangelical lesson—_that the virtue of a good mind must
be maintained at whatever expence of trouble and self-denial_—and
for this plain reason, because, though _no chastening for the present
seem to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless, afterward, it yieldeth
the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them, which are exercised
thereby_[103].

And, that such is probably the true sense of the text, we have been
considering, may further be concluded from the light it throws on the
following and last verse of this chapter; the meaning of which will now
be very plain and consequential, as may be shewn in few words.

For, having spoken of _Christian discipline_ under the name of _salt_,
which _preserves_ what it searches, our Lord very naturally takes
advantage of this idea, and transfers the appellation to _Christian
faith_, which was necessary to support his followers under that
discipline, and has this property, in common with _salt_, that it gives
soundness and incorruption to the subject on which it operates. _Salt_,
says he, _is good: but, if salt have lost its saltness, wherewith
will ye season it?_ That is, _faith in me_ (for by _salt_, you easily
perceive, I now mean that faith, which is your true _seasoning_, and
can alone maintain your firmness and integrity under all trials; this
_faith_, I say) is a salutary principle: but take notice, if you
suffer that principle, so active and efficacious, to decay and lose
its virtue, there are no means left to retrieve it. Like _salt_, grown
insipid, it can never recover its former quality, but is for ever
worthless and useless[104]. Therefore, adds he, take care to _have_,
that is, retain, this _salt_, this good seasoning of your Christian
principles, _in yourselves_; which will preserve you incorrupt, as
individuals: and, as _salt_, from its necessary use at the table,
is further an emblem of union and friendship, give proof of these
principles in your intercourse with all Christians, so as to keep
_peace one with another_; for, by this _seasoning_ of peace, ye will
best preserve yourselves entire, as _a body of men_, or society[105].

We see, then, that understanding this _fire_, with which _every one
shall be salted_, of the fire of _affliction_ only, which, like
salt, is to try and preserve the moral integrity of all believers,
and not of the _fire which dieth not_, and, according to the former
interpretation, was to preserve _offenders_ in a perpetual capacity
of enduring future punishment; understanding, I say, this metaphor in
the former sense, we have an easy, elegant, and extremely useful sense
in the words of the text: a sense, which perfectly agrees with what
precedes the text, and illustrates what follows it: whereas, in the
other way of explaining these words, it will be difficult to shew their
coherence with the subsequent verse, though they admit an application
to the foregoing.

On the whole, I leave it to yourselves to judge, which of the two
interpretations, now proposed to you, is the proper one. I know of
no other, that so well deserves your notice, as these two: and, if
_either_ of them be admissible, we have gained the satisfaction of
understanding a very obscure passage of holy Scripture. But we have
gained more, than this: for, whichever we prefer, a momentous inference
may be drawn from it. EITHER, we must resolve to stick close to our
CHRISTIAN FAITH AND PRINCIPLES, as the only means of preserving our
integrity, and making us fit for the favour of God, to whatever trials
of any kind they may expose us: OR, we shall have to reflect, what
SUFFERING, terrible beyond imagination, is reserved for obstinately
impenitent and incorrigible sinners.




SERMON XII.

PREACHED FEBRUARY 9, 1766.

GAL. vi. 3.

    _If a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he
    deceiveth himself._


This is one of those many passages in the sacred writings, in which the
simplicity of the expression is apt to make us overlook the profound
sense contained under it. Who doubts, it may be said, the truth of so
general an axiom, as this? and what information, worth treasuring up in
the memory, is conveyed by it?

In answer to such questions, as these, it may be observed, That the
inspired writers are not singular in this practice; the moral wisdom
of all nations, and, in particular, that of the ancient Pagan sages
(whom these objectors, no doubt, reverence) being usually conveyed in
such large and general aphorisms: and, further, that many good reasons
may be given for this mode of instruction.

FIRST, _the necessity of the thing_, in times, when men have not been
accustomed to refine on moral subjects: it is also _necessary_ in
another sense, in order to convey the rules of life in some reasonable
compass. Good sense in moral matters is but the experience of observing
men, the result of which must be given in compendious parcels or
collections; otherwise the memory is loaded too much; besides that
neither the leisure, nor the talents of those, for whom these lessons
are designed, will serve for nicer disquisitions.

SECONDLY, if this _mode_ of teaching were not necessary, it would
still be preferable to any other for its _own proper dignity_. A
philosopher in the schools, or a divine in his closet, may deduce the
laws of morality with a minute exactness. But the authority of an
Apostle disdains this care, and awakens the consciences of men by some
_general_ precept, by some large and _comprehensive_ observation. It
becomes the majesty of his character to deliver the principles of right
conduct in _few and weighty words_: his precepts are _Laws_; and his
observations, _Oracles_: it is for others to speculate upon them with
curiosity, and draw them out into systems.

THIRDLY, sometimes the very address of a writer leads him to
_generalize_ his observations. It is, when a more direct and pointed
manner would press too closely on the mind, and, by making the
application necessary, indispose us to conviction; whereas, when a
reproof presents itself in this form, less offence is likely to be
given by it, the application being left, in a good degree, to ourselves.

This last, we shall find, was the case of St. Paul in the text; in
whose behalf, therefore, we need not, in the present instance, plead
the _necessity_, the _convenience_, or the _dignity_ of this method of
instruction; though these reasons, we see, might, on other occasions,
be very justly alledged.

For, to come now to the aphorism in the text—_If a man think himself
to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself_—as trivial
as this general truth may appear at first sight, we shall perceive,
by turning to the context, that the inspired writer applies it with
infinite address to mortify the pride of some persons, against whom the
tenour of his discourse is there directed. For certain false teachers,
it seems, had very early crept into the churches of _Galatia_, who
arrogated a superior wisdom to themselves, and, on the credit of this
claim, presumed to impose the yoke of Jewish ordinances on the Gentile
converts: in direct opposition to the injunctions of the Apostle,
who had lately planted these churches; and in manifest violation of
Christian charity, which forbad those grievous burthens to be laid on
the consciences of believers.

One natural feature in the character of these vain-glorious boasters,
was the contempt with which they treated the more infirm Christians,
and the little consideration they had for such of their brethren as
happened to be _overtaken with any fault_. This proud, unchristian
temper he therefore takes upon him to correct—_Brethren_, says he, _if
any man be overtaken with a fault, you, that are spiritual, restore
such a one in the spirit of meekness, considering thyself, lest thou
also be tempted: Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law
of Christ_. And then follows the observation of the text—_for, if a
man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth
himself_: leaving the conceited Doctors and their admirers to apply
these general words, as they saw fit; but clearly enough pointing to
some persons among them, _who took themselves to be something_, and yet
miserably _deceived themselves_, in that, indeed, they _were nothing_.
In what respects their conduct shewed them to be so, he leaves to their
own sagacity, quickened by the poignancy of this covert reproof, to
find out.

Such is the Apostle’s _address_ in this divine admonition; and such the
_force_ (the greater, _for_ the address) of the reprehension conveyed
in it!

But now, what those RESPECTS are, in which these sufficient men
shewed themselves _to be nothing_, though St. Paul thought it not fit
to specify them to the _Galatians_, it may be _useful to us_, as it
certainly is left _free_ for us, to inquire.

FIRST, then, their very _Conceit_ was a certain argument of their
_Folly_. For, what surer indication of a weak and shallow man,
than his proneness to think highly of himself! Wise men understand
themselves at another rate. They are too conscious of their own
infirmities; they know their judgment to be too fallible, their
apprehension too slow, their knowledge too scanty, their wills
too feeble, and their passions too strong, to give way to this
insolent exultation of heart, to indulge in this conceit of their
own importance, and much less to form injurious comparisons between
themselves and others. They understand, that the only question is
concerning the different degrees of _weakness and imperfection_;
and that, where the best come far short of what they should be, all
pretence of boasting is cut off.

SECONDLY, these superior airs of importance were unsuitable to the
nature of their religion, and shewed how little proficiency they had
made in it; BECAUSE, as _Christians_, whatever light and knowledge they
laid claim to, they must needs confess was not their own, but derived
to them from above. All, these spiritual men could pretend to know
of divine things, had been freely and solely revealed to them by the
Spirit of God; a distinction, which ought indeed to fill their hearts
with gratitude, but could be no proper foundation of their pride or
vain-glory. For, as the Apostle himself argues in another place, _Who
maketh thee to differ from another? And what hast thou, which thou
didst not receive? Now, if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory,
as if thou hadst not received it[106]?_

Whatever temptation, therefore, there might be to a poor vain heathen
to pride himself in his pittance of knowledge or virtue, a CHRISTIAN
should, by the very principles of his religion, be more modest, and
ascribe his proficiency in either, not to himself, but to the indulgent
favour and good pleasure of God.

THIRDLY, these boasters betrayed themselves by the _fruits_, which this
self-importance produced, namely, their contemptuous and unfeeling
treatment of their brethren under any instance of their weakness and
frailty. Such behaviour was doubly ridiculous: _first_, as it implied
an ignorance of their own infirmity, and liableness to temptation; and,
_then_, as it argued a total want of _Charity_, the most essential part
of their religion, without which a man is _nothing_, whatever gifts and
graces of other kinds he may possess[107].

FOURTHLY, whatever merit a man may possess, this fond complacency of
mind can hardly fail to _deprive_ him of it. For this conceit of his
own sufficiency puts him off his guard, and makes him more liable to
fall into any _misconduct_, when, apprehending no danger to himself,
he employs no care; just as nothing is more fatal to an army, than a
confidence in its own strength, inducing a neglect of that watchfulness
and discipline, by which alone its security can be maintained.

This sufficiency also leads to _ignorance_, as well as misconduct, by
cutting off all hopes of further improvement. For he, that is proud of
his own knowledge, is not anxious to extend it; and, indeed, does not
easily apprehend there is much room or occasion for his so doing. Now,
from the moment a man stands still, and interrupts his intellectual,
as well as moral course, by the known constitution of things, he
necessarily goes backward; and, for his just punishment, relapses fast
into that ignorance, in a freedom from which he had before placed his
confidence and triumph.

_Lastly_, this presumptuous conceit is _belyed_ in the EVENT, I mean
in the opinion of those very persons, to whom the vain man would
willingly recommend himself. For the natural effect of such presumption
is, to excite the _contempt_ of the wise, and the _envy_ of the rest.
Men of discernment easily penetrate the delusion, and, knowing how
little reason there is for any man to pride himself in his knowledge
or virtue, are provoked to entertain an ostentatious display of those
qualities with that ridicule, it so well deserves: while the weaker
sort always take themselves to be insulted by superior accomplishments;
and rarely wait the just provocation of _vain-glory_ to malign and envy
those, to whom they belong.

But the misfortune does not stop here. Contempt and Envy are active
and vigilant passions; they are quick at espying a weakness, and
spare no pains to expose it: and where can this merciless inquisition
end, but in the proud man’s mortification to see his best faculties
slighted, or traduced, and all his imperfections laid bare and exposed?
So good reason had the Apostle to warn the Galatian teachers against
_vain-glory_, in the close of the preceding chapter—_Let us_, says he,
_not be vain-glorious, provoking one another, envying one another_; an
exhortation which the _vain-glorious_ among them should have listened
to, even for their own sakes.

We see, then, that, _in these several respects_, a man, who _takes
himself to be something_, in effect proves himself _to be nothing_. So
full of instruction is the plain unpretending aphorism in the text to
the persons concerned!

The Apostle adds—that such a man DECEIVETH HIMSELF—which must
needs be, and cannot want to be enlarged upon; since it appears in
the very instances, in which his _nothingness_ has been shewn. The
_vain-glorious_ Christian is manifestly and notoriously deceived
in _thinking himself something_—while that very conceit shews the
contrary—while it shews that he overlooks the very principles of his
religion—while it proves him to be void of Christian charity, the
very end of the commandment—while it betrays him into ignorance and
folly, and therefore tends to subvert the very foundation, on which his
_vain-glory_ is raised—while, lastly, in the event, it deprives him of
that very consideration to which he aspires.

“SUCH are the mischiefs of _Self-conceit_!” a vice, which Reason
universally condemns, but which our Christian profession renders most
contemptible and ridiculous. Even in the pursuits of _human_ Science,
where Reason can do most, all the efforts of the ablest understanding
penetrate but a little way. We know enough of _the nature of things_,
to serve the purposes of common life; and enough of _the nature of
man_, to discover our duty towards each other. And within this narrow
circle all our knowledge, be we as proud of it as we please, is
confined. Clouds and darkness cover the rest; and this the ablest men
of all times have seen and confessed. If there be a man, whom Heaven
has formed with greater powers and stronger faculties than are commonly
met with in the species, he is the _first_ to discover, and to lament,
his own blindness and weakness: a Socrates and a Pascal have been
considered as prodigies of parts and ingenuity; yet, while the meanest
Sophister is puffed up with the conceit of his own knowledge, these
divine men confess nothing so readily as their own ignorance.

And, if this be the case of human learning, what must we think of
_divine_? where Reason teaches nothing, beyond the existence and
attributes of God, and, as to every thing else, without the aid of
_Revelation_, is stark-blind. _The things of God knoweth no man but
the Spirit of God_—is an assertion, to which common sense and common
experience must assent. Yet shall every idle Speculatist, who has but
the confidence to call himself a Philosopher, treat the _divine word_,
as freely as any ordinary subject; and pronounce as peremptorily of the
_revealed will of God_, which the Angels themselves adore in silence,
as if he knew for certain that his poor and scanty understanding was
commensurate with _the councils of the most High_!

To these professors of Science, whether human or divine, who know so
little of themselves as to presume they know every thing, may the
Apostle’s aphorism be most fitly addressed—_If a man think himself to
be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself_;—and, through
all the simplicity of the expression, the good sense of the observation
must be felt by the proudest understanding.

Not, that the proper remedy for this evil, of _Self-conceit_, is a vile
subjection of the understanding, which our holy Religion disdains,
and to which none but slaves will submit—nor yet Scepticism, another
vice, to which the less sanguine disputers of this world are much
addicted—but a modest use of the faculties we possess, and above all,
_charity_. It is but another species of _pride_, to pretend that we
know nothing; _Christian humility_ is best expressed in referring, what
we know, to the good of others. Without this reference, all our claims
of superior wisdom are vain and delusive: for it is with _knowledge_,
as with faith, unless it _work by charity_, it is nothing.

To return to the text, then, and to conclude.

Let the ignominy of this _Self-delusion_ deter us, if nothing else can,
from the unseemly arrogance, it so well exposes and condemns. And let
us learn to revere the wisdom of the great Apostle, who, by couching
so momentous an admonition in so plain terms, has taught us, That,
as conceit and vain-glory terminate in shame and disappointment; so
the modesty of unpretending knowledge may be entitled to our highest
esteem.




SERMON XIII.

PREACHED MAY 16, 1773.

2 COR. x. 12.

    _We dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves,
    with some that commend themselves: But they, measuring themselves
    by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not
    wise._


I shall not inquire, _who_ the persons were, to whom these words
are applied. It is enough, for the use I intend to make of them, to
observe, that they contain a censure of _some_ persons, “who, conscious
of certain advantages, and too much taken up in the contemplation of
them, came to think better of themselves, and, consequently, worse
of others, than they had reason to do; demonstrating, by this, their
partiality (as the Apostle gently remonstrates), that _they were not
wise_.”

But this censure admits a more extensive application. _Measuring
themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves_,
whole nations, and even ages, as well as individuals, are, sometimes,
misled in the estimate they make of their own worth; and never more
easily, or remarkably, than when the object of their partial fondness
is their proficiency in _knowledge_, and, above all, in _religious
knowledge_: for nothing flatters the pride of human nature so much, as
an idea of superiority in the exercise of its _best faculties_, on the
_noblest subjects_.

It would be easy to illustrate this observation by _many_ examples,
that have occurred in the history of mankind. But ONE, only, will
sufficiently employ your thoughts at this time; and that one (to make
it the more interesting and useful) shall be taken from OURSELVES.

The improvements, that have been made, for two or three centuries
past, in almost every art and science, seem to authorize the _present
age_ to think with some respect, of itself. It accordingly exults
in the idea of its own wisdom: and _this country_, in particular,
which has contributed its full share to those improvements, may well
be thought as forward, as any other, to pay itself this tribute of
self-esteem. It would not be strange, if it appeared, on inquiry, That
some _presumption_ had, in either case, been indulged; and had even
operated, according to the _nature_ of presumption, to the prejudice
of that claim, which, with so much confidence, has been set up. But
I have now in view, only, _one effect_ of this presumption; I mean,
the complacency which many take in supposing, That the _present age_
excels equally in _sacred_ and _secular_ learning; and, with regard to
ourselves, That _our_ theological knowledge as much surpasses that of
our forefathers at the Reformation, as _their_ knowledge did, the thick
and gross ignorance of the monkish ages.

It concerns us, for more reasons than one, not to mistake in this
matter. The direct way to decide upon it, would, no doubt, be, To
compare the best modern writers, with the ablest of those among the
Reformers, on the subject of religion. But, till ye have the leisure
or curiosity to make this comparison for yourselves, ye will pay some
regard, it may be, to the following considerations; which, at least, I
think, make it questionable, whether _our_ claims, in particular (for
the inquiry shall, for the present, be confined to them), whether, I
say, _our_ pretensions to religious knowledge have not been carried too
far. And,

1. One is tempted to ask, whether it be credible, that we of this age
should have much advantage over our Reformers, in respect of religious
knowledge, when both had an opportunity of deriving it from the same
source? You will apprehend the meaning of this question, if you
reflect, that our Reformers had not their religious system to fetch
out of the dark rolls of ancient tradition, and much less to create,
or fashion for themselves, out of their own proper stock of ingenuity
and invention. Had such been their unhappy circumstances, there would
be reason enough to presume that their system was defective. For the
first attempts towards perfection in any art, or science, will not bear
a comparison with those happier and more successful efforts, which a
length of time and continued application enable men to make. But the
case of those good men, we know, was wholly different. They had only
to copy, or, rather, to inspect, a consummate model, made to their
hands; I mean, the _sacred scriptures_, which lay open to them, as they
do to us; and, being taken by them, as we understand they were, for
their _sole_ rule of faith, what should hinder them, when they _read_
those scriptures, from seeing as distinctly, as we do at this day,
what the Gospel-terms of salvation are, and what _the erudition of a
Christian man_ should be?

Did the primitive Christians, a plain people, and taken, for the
most part, from the lowest ranks of life, did _they_ understand
their religion, when it was proposed to them, so as to have no doubt
concerning its great and leading principles; nay, so as to be the
standard of orthodoxy to all succeeding ages of the Church? and shall
we think that the ablest Doctors at the Reformation, when they had once
turned themselves to the study of the sacred volumes, could be at a
loss about the contents of them?

“Yes, it will, perhaps, be said; the primitive Christians had the
advantage of reading the scriptures in the languages in which they
were composed, or of hearing them explained, at least, by learned and
well-instructed teachers: whereas, at the Reformation, those languages
were understood by few, or none; and consequently, in those days, there
could be no persons sufficiently skilled in the sacred scriptures to
ascertain their true meaning.”

But to this charge of ignorance you will easily reply, by asking,

2. In the next place, whether it can consist with a _known fact_,
namely, That the revival of letters had preceded the Reformation
every-where, especially in England; and that the excellent persons who
took the lead in that work, were all of them, competently, and, some of
them, deeply, skilled in the learned languages?

Indeed, in the nature of the thing, it is scarce possible, that the
Reformers should be so little versed, as the objection supposes, in the
original scriptures. For, whether the _new learning_ as it was called,
had, or had not, been cultivated, _before_ the Reformation began, we
may be sure it would _then_ be cultivated with the utmost assiduity;
both, because it was a _new_ learning, that is, because the charms of
novelty would naturally engage many in the study of it; and, because
no step could be taken in the Reformation, without some proficiency
in _that_ learning. Now, if you consider, of what the human mind is
capable, when pushed on by two such active principles, as _learned
curiosity_, and _religious zeal_, you will conclude with yourselves,
even without recurring to positive testimony, that the Reformers must
needs have made an acquaintance with the authentic text: _such_ an
acquaintance, as would let them into a clear apprehension, at least,
of those doctrines, which are the _elementary_, as we may say, or
necessary ingredients in the constitution of a truly Christian Church.

If you hesitate about coming to this conclusion, the reason, I suppose,
is, that you consider the Reformers as just then emerging from the
darkness of Popery, and therefore so far blinded by the prejudices
of _that_ church[108], or by their own[109] prejudices against it,
as not to see distinctly, and at once, the true sense of Scripture,
though they might be competently skilled in the learned languages.
And, possibly, there is some truth, as well as plausibility, in this
suggestion, as applied to the case of the foreign Protestant Churches,
which were formed with too much haste, and in a time of too much heat,
to be quite free from all such exceptions. But, then, you will call to
mind,

3. _Thirdly_, that the Reformation was not carried on with us in
a precipitate tumultuary manner, as it was, for the most part, on
the Continent. On the other hand, it advanced, under the eye of the
magistrate, by slow degrees; nay, it was, more than once, checked and
kept back by him. Hence it came to pass, that there was time allowed
for taking the full benefit of all discoveries, made abroad; for
studying the chief points of controversy, with care; and for getting
rid of such mistakes, as might arise from a hasty or passionate
interpretation of holy Scripture. In short, you will reflect, that,
between the first contentions in Germany; on the account of Religion,
and the first establishment of it in the Church of England, under
Elizabeth, there was the space of near half a century: a space,
sufficient, you will think (especially, if the activity of those times
be considered) to admit all the _improvements of learning_, that were
necessary to those who had the charge of conducting the Reformation;
and all the _deliberate circumspection_, with which it was fit that so
great a work should be finally completed.

If it be said, “that the Reformers are convicted of ignorance in _one_
important part of scriptural knowledge, that of _Toleration_, and
that therefore, possibly, they have erred in others;” I reply, that
this subject had never been understood, from the first establishment
of Christianity down to the æra of the Reformation; and that the
mistakes about it had, chiefly, arisen, not from a want of seeing what
the Scriptures had revealed, but of knowing how to reconcile the New
Testament to the Old. If we are, now, able to do this, it is well.
In the mean time, let it be acknowledged, that no peculiar charge of
ignorance can be brought against the Reformers for misapprehending
a subject, not only difficult in itself, but perplexed with endless
prejudices, and not yet, as appears, quite disentangled of them. After
all, this doctrine of intolerance, though it unhappily affected the
_personal conduct_ of our Reformers, has no place in the LITURGY and
ARTICLES of our Church.

Still, perhaps, the main point, on which this question, concerning the
comparative skill of the two periods, in matters of religion, turns,
is yet untouched; which is, that the amazing progress, confessedly
made, since the æra of the Reformation, in all true _Philosophy_, must
have contributed very largely to the increase of _religious_ knowledge;
and that so much light of science, as we now enjoy, must have served to
give us a clearer insight, than our benighted ancestors had, into the
_revealed doctrines of_ Christianity.

But to this so flattering, and, at first view, not improbable,
assumption, it may be replied,

4. In the last place, That the doctrines in question, being _purely
Christian_, that is, such as it pleased God to reveal to mankind
concerning his eternal purpose in Christ Jesus,—that the doctrines, I
say, having this original, and being of this nature, have, possibly,
no communication with the discoveries of later times: that, of the
divine councils, on such a subject, we could have known nothing, if the
Revelation had been silent; and that all we _do_ know, when it speaks
clearest, is only _what_ those councils are, not on what _grounds_ of
reason they stand; whether it be, that such knowledge is unattainable
by our faculties, or that it was seen to be improper for our situation:
that, to say the least, all the efforts of the ablest men to explain
the peculiar fundamental doctrines of our religion, on the principles
of our philosophy, have not hitherto been so successful, as to make it
certain that these doctrines are indeed cognisable by human reason:
that possibly, therefore, those doctrines are the objects of _faith_,
simply, and not of knowledge; in other words, that they are no clearer
to us at this day, than they were to those plainer men, who lived in
the sixteenth century[110].

And now, if we recollect the substance of what has been said—That
our Reformers had only to consult the _Scriptures_ for a just idea of
the Christian Religion—that they were likely enough to _understand_
those Scriptures, being invited, or rather impelled, to the study of
them, by the most active principles of human nature—that they _could
not but_ understand those Scriptures in all the more important points
of doctrine, which they had so much time and occasion to consider,
and which there wanted no more than a common skill in the language
of Scripture to understand—and that, lastly, they could not have
understood those points _better_, than they did, even with all our real
or fancied skill in philosophy, because, in truth, philosophy is not
applicable to those points, being matters of pure Revelation, and not
susceptible of any additional clearness from the exertion of our best
faculties, however improved:—If these things, I say, are put together,
we shall conceive it possible for our Reformers to have acquired such
a knowledge, at least, of their religion, as not to deserve that
utter contempt, with which, on a comparison with ourselves, they are,
sometimes, treated.

But a single FACT will, perhaps, speak more conviction to you, than all
these general presumptive reasonings. When the question is, therefore,
concerning the degree of religious knowledge, which such men as Cranmer
and Ridley possessed, let it be remembered, “That Erasmus (who lived
and died before the English Reformation had made any considerable
progress, and the benefit of all whose light and knowledge those
Reformers, therefore, had) that this learned man, I say, had, in those
days, explained himself as reasonably, on almost every great topic of
revealed religion, as any writer has since done; or is now able to do.”

This _fact_, however, does not imply, that the age of the Reformation
was equally enlightened with the present; or that the clearer light, we
enjoy, is of no service to religion. Our improved CRITICISM has been
of use in ascertaining the authority, and, sometimes, in clearing the
smaller difficulties, of the sacred text; and our improved PHILOSOPHY
has enabled many great men to set the evidences of revealed religion,
in a juster and stronger light: but, with the _doctrines_ themselves,
our improvements, of whatever kind, have no concern. Be our proficiency
in human science what it may, those doctrines are the _same_ still.
Reason, under any degree of cultivation, may if we please to misapply
it, perplex and corrupt our faith; but will never be able to see to
the bottom of those _judgments_, which are _unsearchable_, nor to clear
up those _ways_, which are _past finding out_[111].

To conclude: I am not, now, making the panegyric of those venerable
men, to whom we are indebted for our religious establishment. They
were our inferiors, if you will, in many respects. But, if, _measuring
ourselves by ourselves, and comparing ourselves among ourselves_, we
overlook their real abilities and qualifications; if we pronounce them
ignorant of _good letters_, because they lived in an age, which we have
learned to call barbarous; and ignorant of the _Christian religion_,
because they were not practised in our philosophy; we, probably, do
THEM great injustice, and take, it may be, not the best method of doing
honour to OURSELVES.




SERMON XIV.

PREACHED APRIL 27, 1766.

St. MARK, iv. 24.

_Take heed what ye hear._

Or, as the equivalent phrase is in

St. LUKE, viii. 18.

_Take heed_ HOW _ye hear_.


Faith, says the Apostle, _cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word
of God_[112]. The assertion was strictly true in the early days of
the Gospel, before books were yet written and spread abroad for the
edification of the Church. The inlet of faith was, then, the _ear_:
through that organ only was conveyed, from the tongue of the preacher,
_the word of God_. But the case is much the same at all times; even
_now_, when books are enough multiplied, and perhaps more than enough,
in the Christian world. For, it having pleased God, that a standing
ministry should be kept up for the instruction of mankind in _the
faith_, and a _woe_ being denounced against such, as have received
this commission, and yet _preach not the Gospel_[113], the _sole_ way
by which _faith cometh_ to most men, and the _principal_, by which it
cometh to almost all, is still that of _hearing_. It is still by the
_word preached_, that men, in general, come to the faith of Christ, and
are confirmed in the profession of it.

Our Lord, then, foreseeing how much would depend on this faculty of
_hearing_, and finding by experience how liable it was to be abused,
thought fit to give his Disciples a particular, and what may almost
seem a _new_, precept, for their conduct in this respect. The ancient
masters of rhetoric, and of morals, had frequently warned their
scholars to take heed what _they speak_: but our Divine Master carries
his attention still farther; and while his ministers are required, _to
speak, as the oracles of God_, the people are very properly instructed
by him, _to take heed what they hear_.

Now, that this admonition may have its full effect, it will be proper
to explain the reasons, on which it is founded; to lay before you the
several considerations which shew of what infinite concern it is to
those, who _hear_ the word, to be _attentive_ in hearing.

And it naturally occurs, as the

I. FIRST reason for this attention, that what is spoken, is delivered
to them, _as the word of God_.

When a person in high place and authority thinks fit to honour us with
a message, though it be in a matter of no great importance, with what
submission is it received! How diligently do we listen to it! How
circumspectly is every sentence, and even syllable, weighed! We do
not stand to make exceptions to the messenger, who may have nothing
in his own _person_ to command our respect; we do not much consider
the _grace_ with which he delivers his message; we are not curious to
observe in what _choice_ or _elegant_ terms it is expressed. We are
only concerned to know, that the message has been faithfully related,
and then a due regard is immediately paid to it. And shall God speak
to us by the mouth of his ministers, in terms which himself dictates,
and which we may verify, if we please, by comparing them with his own
_written word_,—shall, I say, the God of Heaven thus address himself
to us, and we not _take heed what and how we hear_?

Or, suppose the opinion of a man learned in any secular profession
is reported to us, on a point which falls within his province, and
of which it concerns us to form a right apprehension, Is not such
_opinion_ received with respect by us, and studied with care?

And shall our Divine Master be negligently _heared_, when he
condescends to instruct us in the way of life and salvation, a subject,
of all others, the most interesting to us; a subject, which he alone
perfectly understands, and concerning which he will not and cannot
mislead us?

Still further, besides the authority of the divine word, there is
something in the _nature_ of it, which deserves, and, if we be not
wholly insensible, must command our attention.

For shall a little superficial rhetorick be listened to with regard,
perhaps with admiration? And shall not the heart-felt truths of the
Gospel warm and affect us? Shall a few spiritless periods, ranged
in measure, and coloured with art, mere sound and paint, throw
an assembly, sometimes, into joy or grief, or transport it with
indignation? And can we lend a careless ear to the word of God, _which
is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing
even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and a discerner of the
thoughts and intents of the heart_[114]?

Such is the attention due to the word of God, when _acknowledged_ under
that character. But

II. A SECOND reason for _hearing_ with caution, is, that the hearers
are required to judge for themselves whether what is delivered to them
be, _indeed_, the word of God. Without this care, impostures may be
endless, and the effect of them fatal.

When we give up ourselves with an implicit trust to others in mere
temporal concerns, the mischief, although considerable, may yet be
checked by experience; or, at most, as it respects this life only,
is not conclusive and irreparable: but in matters of religion, if we
accept _that_ as the word of God, and act upon it, which has no higher
authority than the word of fallible and presumptuous men, we may be led
into all the visions of fanaticism or superstition, and into all the
crimes which so naturally spring from both, to the loss of our future,
as well as present happiness.

It pleased God, therefore, from the time that miracles ceased to be
the credentials of his ministers in the Christian Church, to secure
the faithful from these dangers by the guidance of the _written
Word_; in which, besides _special rules_ there given for the trial
of _the spirits, whether they are of God_, such _general principles_
are delivered as may direct our judgment. And by the help of these,
interpreted by the _tenor_ of that word, and the _analogy_ of faith, we
may be secured from all deception or surprize.

It is true, all men cannot _apply_ these rules and principles, or not
with full knowledge and effect. Woe, therefore, be to him who abuses
the incapacity of such hearers, by obtruding on their easy belief his
own fancies, as the doctrines of God! But to the abler hearers of the
word, to all, indeed, who are competently instructed in their Religion,
the task is not difficult to avoid gross and dangerous delusions,
to determine for themselves _whether the doctrine be of God_, or
not. This task, I say, is _not difficult_; yet it implies care and
circumspection; and the necessity of discharging it must be allowed a
good argument for _taking heed what we hear_.

III. A further reason for this diligence in _hearing_ is, That the
hearers are expected and required _to profit by the word spoken_.

_The word of wisdom and of knowledge is given to every man to profit
withal[115]._ It is not a curious problem, a fine lecture, a trial of
wit, or play of ingenuity, calculated to entertain us for the time,
and to be laid aside and forgotten by us again, when the occasion is
over. The ministry of the word is of another kind, and destined to
higher purposes. It is an instrument of reproof, of exhortation, of
instruction in righteousness. _The sword of the spirit_ is put into
the hands of men for no ends of pageantry and amusement. The minister
of God _bears it not in vain_. He is entrusted with it to smite the
hearts of the wicked, to _pierce through the souls_ of unrighteous
men, and to flash conviction in the face of unbelievers. It is an
ordinance of God, by which he would humble the proud, and convert the
obstinate; strengthen the weak, and confirm the wise, hearer. Whatever
our condition, it is to be corrected or improved by the word of God;
whatever our necessities, they are to be relieved by it. But every
gift of the spirit, as well as faith, _cometh by hearing_: and that
not in the instant, but by degrees; for the Gospel does not illuminate
and sanctify men at once; but by successive improvements, according to
the care with which we listen to its admonitions, and the impression
they make upon us. Hence it concerns the hearer, that nothing be lost,
and that _the good seed_ be not committed to the ground in vain. One
_truth_ received, prepares the mind to entertain a second; that, a
third; and so on, till we become perfect in the knowledge of the
_faith_. Our moral advances are made in the same manner: one good
resolution begets another, which again produces succeeding ones, till,
through several intervening states, we arrive, or almost arrive, at
perfect _obedience_.

And this consideration, indeed, seems to have been immediately present
to our Lord, when he delivered the admonition in the text. For so he
comments upon, and enforces his own words—_Take heed what ye hear_:
[for] _with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you, and_ TO
YOU THAT HEAR, SHALL MORE BE GIVEN: that is, plainly and certainly,
your proficiency in faith and virtue will depend upon the degree of
attention ye pay to my word, and shall be proportioned to it; therefore
it cannot be too strict and earnest. Nay, our Lord goes farther, and in
his jealousy, as it were, for the honour of the word spoken, threatens
the listless hearer, that he should not only not advance in religious
qualifications, but that he should even lose those, which he already
possessed. _For he that hath, to him shall be given_: AND HE THAT
HATH NOT, FROM HIM SHALL BE TAKEN AWAY EVEN THAT HE HATH. And this
dispensation of Providence, as severe as it may seem, is, I suppose,
confirmed by too certain experience, and is analogous to the rest of
God’s moral government.

It is no slight matter then, _how we hear_. And let no idle prejudices
prevent or mislead us. The preacher of the Gospel may, on various
pretences, be unacceptable to us. Still, the Gospel itself is not
_his_, but God’s; to which no _circumstance_ should indispose us. Nay,
in spite of this indisposition, the _preacher_, if we resolve to hear,
may profit us. For it is not, I conceive, without example, that such as
come to amuse themselves with a stated discourse, or perhaps to censure
the discourser, have found their hearts touched by the quickening
power of the word, and have returned with serious thoughts and better
resolutions.

This, I say, is not too much to expect from the Gospel of Christ, and
the grace which attends it, since we find it recorded of a _Pagan
moralist_, that, when a young reveller came into his school, flushed
with wine, and (as the custom of such was) crowned with flowers,
and therefore in no disposition, we may presume, to profit by his
instructions; the philosopher, however, chose his topics so well, and
pressed them on his gay disciple with such effect, as to send him away
in a graver mood, and without his garland[116]. But,

IV. The last and most important reason of all why we should give an
attentive ear to the word of God, is, _That we shall finally be judged
by it_.

If the Gospel had only proposed to instruct us in the knowledge of
God, that so we might speculate more ably on divine subjects; or, at
most, refer the knowledge we acquire to present use; though it could
not be denied that such purpose was an important one, yet, if it went
no further, we might, if we could allow ourselves in such imprudence,
make light of this, as we do of so many other kinds of instruction.
We should be ignorant, indeed, and unaccomplished in a very sublime
science; but so we are of many others, and yet are contented to remain
in that ignorance. We might conduct ourselves foolishly and perversely,
and might suffer much inconvenience, and even misery, for want of
acting on the principles of this science; but so we do, in many other
instances, for want of acting on the maxims of art and prudence in the
management of our common concerns, and yet we make a shift to satisfy
ourselves with our condition. But if the Gospel follow us into another
world; if this immortal volume must be laid open in the presence of
men and angels, and our eternal doom pronounced out of it, though we
would not obey, or so much as listen to its commands, when they were so
earnestly, so repeatedly, in this life pressed upon us; if such be the
effect of not _hearing_, how shall we excuse our indifference in this
respect, or what can support us under the consciousness of it?

Hear then the awful sentence of Christ himself, denounced in that
Gospel—_He that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one
that judgeth him_; THE WORD _that I have spoken, the same shall judge
him at the last day_[117].

Go now, ye careless hearers, ye despisers of the WORD, and justify to
yourselves, if ye can, your neglect and scorn of it!

When our Lord himself taught in the streets of Jerusalem, many a
_supercilious_ Pharisee, we may suppose, passed by, without so much
as stopping to hear what this divine teacher had to say to them:
others, if they gave attention to his words, were only gratifying an
idle, perhaps a malignant curiosity; they sought occasion from what
he said to intrap him in his discourse, to accuse him to the rulers,
or to vilify him in the eyes of the people. Again: when this same
doctrine was taught by the Apostle Paul in another proud city, as proud
of its philosophic schools, as Jerusalem was of its temple, many a
contemptuous sophist, we may believe, disdained to listen, at all to
the _foolishness of preaching_; and of those few who did, _some_, we
know, _mocked_, while others negligently asked their companions, _What
would this babbler say_? But how will both these be astonished in the
last day to find themselves judged by that _word_ which they neglected,
or contemned; by that word, which they would not _hear_, though it was
brought home to their doors, or which they rejected with scorn, when
they _did_ hear it!

Nor think, because neither Jesus nor Paul hath preached in person to
us, that therefore our case is much different. Jesus and Paul still
speak in the ministers of the word: or, what if the speakers be widely
different, the _word_ is the same: _this treasure we_ still _have_,
though _in earthen vessels_[118]. Nay, in one respect, our guilt
exceeds theirs. The Pharisees and Philosophers were, alike, ignorant
and unbelieving. We profess _to know_, and _to believe_.

Let US, then, _take heed what we hear_; lest our knowledge and belief
add terrors to that day, when _the neglected word_ shall sit in
judgment upon us.




SERMON XV.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 24, 1765.

ROM. xvi. 19.

    _I would have you wise unto that which is good, and simple
    concerning evil._


Our blessed Lord had given it in charge to his followers to be _wise
as serpents, and harmless as doves_[119]. And the Apostle explains and
enforces this command of his Master, when he enjoins us in the words of
the text, To be _wise unto that which is good, and simple concerning
evil_.

I confine myself, at present, to the former part of the text, and shall
enquire into the properties or characters of CHRISTIAN WISDOM.

This wisdom consists in the prosecution of what the Scriptures declare
to be the true _end_ of man, and by such _means_ as they prescribe to
us.

That _end_ is the SALVATION of our souls; and the _means_, which lead
to it, are FAITH and OBEDIENCE. Thus far there can be no mistake.
The _wise Christian_ is he who is intent on securing his _eternal_
interest; and who, to that end, fortifies his mind with a firm belief
of the _doctrines_, and conducts his life according to the _precepts_,
of the Gospel.

I. But PERFECT WISDOM, which consists in a strict attention to these
_several_ particulars, and according to the true worth of _each_, is
rarely the lot of human nature. And there are _two_ ways, in which we
are most apt to forfeit our pretensions to it. ONE is, when our minds,
wholly taken up with the ultimate _object_ of their hopes, neglect the
_means_ which are appointed to bring them to it: The OTHER, when we
rest in the intervening _means_ themselves, without a due regard to
that _final purpose_, for the sake of which they were appointed.

1. The FORMER of these defects we may observe in those persons who,
from a too warm and enthusiastic turn of thought, are for subliming
all piety into the trances of mystic contemplation; as if _morality_
and _faith_ scarce deserved their notice; and the _beatific vision_
were as well the _object_, as _end_ of the Christian life. Here the
fault lies in an impatience to come at the _point_ we propose to
ourselves, without observing the proper _methods_ which are to put us
in possession of it; and is much the same phrenzy as we should charge
on those _travellers_, who, being on their way towards a distant
country, stop short in the contemplation of all the wonders they have
heard reported of it, without pursuing their journey, or indeed without
taking one step towards it.

2. The OTHER defect of wisdom is seen in those less sanguine, and, in
truth, lukewarm Christians, who do not, indeed, altogether neglect the
subservient duties of their profession, but, as not enough considering
the _prize of their high calling_, grow remiss in the exercise of them:
in which they too much resemble those _same travellers_; who, when
taking the ordinary means of arriving at their journey’s end, fall
into an idle way of loitering on the road, and use not that dispatch
and diligence in their stages, which an earnest consideration of the
_end_, they have in view, should naturally inspire.

II. But this duty of Christian wisdom is further violated, when, with
a full respect to our final _hopes and expectations_, and a general
intention to pursue them by the _means_ appointed in holy Scripture, we
do not, however, observe the _due bounds and measures_ of each; that
is, when, of the _two_ appointed means of salvation, _a pure faith_,
and _right practice_, we chose to ourselves a favourite, and incline
too much to _one_, at the expence of the _other_. For,

1. With regard to the distinct provinces of FAITH and MORALITY, we
know there are those, who, provided they are but sound and orthodox
in their opinions, that they give an entire assent to the several
articles of their creed, and submit their faith to the entire direction
of Scripture, or perhaps of the church with which they communicate,
suppose the affair of _moral practice_ of much less importance; and
conclude their devotion for this acceptable sacrifice of _a right
faith_ will excuse their making somewhat too free with the article
of _obedience_. Such persons there have been and still are in all
churches; but we know _what_ sect of Christians is most deeply infected
with this error.

2. On the contrary, they who have shaken off this bondage of
superstition, and have observed the mischiefs which arise in abundance
from this exclusive attachment to creeds and confessions, are very apt
to run into the other extreme; and, because they find _morality_ to
be of eternal obligation, make the less account of _faith_ and right
opinion. As the former excess is the peculiar disgrace of _Popery_,
this other has frequently been objected to _Protestantism_. _Both_
are manifest violations of _Christian wisdom_; which, besides that
it commands an equal reverence for the two tables of the divine law,
should further instruct us, _that as faith without works is vain_, so
_good works_ themselves, unassisted and unsanctified by _faith_, are
either not so perfect, or not so acceptable from us Christians, as
otherwise they might be. Not to observe, that as the articles of our
holy faith may be founded on _reasons_, which we do not know; so the
belief or rejection of them may have _consequences_, which we cannot
foresee.

III. And with this preparation, let us now descend to still more
particular reflexions on the duty which lies upon us to approve
our _wisdom_ in the _public profession_ of that faith, and the
_manifestation_ of that practice. _Christian wisdom_ requires an
attentive regard to the main _end_ we have in view, and to the
_methods_ by which we are instructed to obtain it. But still there
is great room for discretion to shew itself in the _management and
pursuit_ of those methods. One _manner_ of doing the good, we are
appointed to do, will be preferable to another. And it is a great
part of Christian prudence to be ready and expert in discovering and
acting upon that _preference_. This indeed is a large field; nor is it
possible to enumerate all the cases which fall within this province
of true wisdom. But to prescribe to _ourselves_ some plan, however
defective, we may consider, that, if a constant regard be had to
_ourselves_, to our _own character and circumstances_, our virtues will
then be most GRACEFUL; if to the exigencies of the _times_ and _places_
in which we live, most SEASONABLE; and, lastly, if to the _persons_,
_conditions_, and _characters_ of other men, they will thus become most
ATTRACTIVE and EFFICACIOUS.

1. It was a point the masters of ancient wisdom took a singular
pleasure to inculcate, and we find an equal stress laid upon it by the
sacred writers, that a strict _decorum_ be observed in the exercise of
our virtues; or, in other words, that the _good_ we do be that which
is _fit_ and _decent_, considering our _circumstances and characters_.
Thus we find one set of duties more especially recommended to the
_young_, another to the _aged_; some to _private_ persons, others to
such as are in _place and authority_. Different _professions_ in life
have also different sets of offices belonging to them; or in such as
are _common_ to all, propriety demands, that they be evidenced in
very different _manners_. The virtues we expect in the _poor man_,
are humility, industry, and resignation. These too are virtues, from
the obligation of which no _rich man_ is exempted; but it would be
strangely _misbecoming_, if _he_ did not surpass the _other_ in acts of
charity and beneficence. And in respect of the same _common_ virtue,
suppose _charity_, what the _one_ would very commendably discharge by
little acts of service and assiduity towards his distressed neighbour,
might require a very considerable expence of wealth or labour in the
_other_. Nay, the several humours and dispositions of men will occasion
a difference, if not in the _matter_ of their duty, yet in the _way_ in
which it will become them to express it. An eminent moralist, indeed,
carried this point of _decorum_ very far when he would justify so bad
an action, as _suicide_, and which he owns he should have condemned in
any other, from the singular turn of Cato’s temper and virtue[120]. But
thus much may be said with great truth: that an action, good in itself,
may come with a better grace from one man than another. A lesson of
good advice, for instance, might be requisite from the liveliest man
to his friend; but it would have additional weight and propriety from
one of a graver disposition: and certainly what the _former_ could only
hint with address, the _latter_ might be allowed to enforce with much
earnestness and authority.

In short, if we study _ourselves_, and reflect what our _station_,
_character_, or _nature_ is, we shall best discern what the virtues
are, and in what manner to be expressed, which sit most properly and
_gracefully_ upon us. And to give a diligent attention to these is no
mean part of _moral wisdom_. But,

2. We must look beyond ourselves; we must consider what the condition
of the _times_, what the state of the _places_ in which we live, may
require of us. I do not mean that religion is a matter of _policy_; or
that virtue is a mere _local_ consideration. But when the question
is, how we may do the _most_ good by our religious or moral conduct,
a prudent accommodation of ourselves to time and place will be very
necessary[121]. The primitive Christians were not _wise unto that which
is good_, when they provoked the cruelty of their enemies, and offered
themselves without cause to the racks and fires of persecution. Nor
would _they_ be less blameable, who, in a careless, prophane age, when
_silence_ would be readily taken for _assent_: when, not to profess the
faith would be construed to renounce it, should, from a too scrupulous
fear of giving offence, forbear to make an open confession of their
religion. The exigencies of _times_, we see, are very different. A
wise man would have endeavoured to moderate the excessive zeal, which
prevailed in the _former_ of these periods: he would apply himself to
raise and quicken it, were he to find himself in the circumstances
described in the _latter_. Or, to explain myself by a case which may
still more nearly affect us. There was a _time_, when the religion of
our country consisted too much in a zeal for unintelligible articles
and superstitious ceremonies; when Popery had enslaved both mind and
body, had bent the _one_ to an implicit acquiescence in the doctrines
of the Church, and burthened the _other_ with a constant unprofitable
exercise of its worship. How then was the _wisdom_ of a good man to
express itself in these circumstances? In dispelling, it will surely be
said, the gloom of superstition; in asserting the great privileges of
natural reason, and in pressing the obligation and necessity of a good
life, as of more worth than all ceremonial observances.

This _was_ the service rendered by the best men of those days to true
Religion; and _we_ have reason to bless and revere their memories
for it. But should the liberty into which we are called, degenerate
into licentiousness; should it ever be common for men, in the fear of
_believing_ too much, not to believe what the Scriptures themselves
plainly require of them; and from the apprehension of relapsing into
their old superstitious practices, to give little or no regard to
the duties of external worship: should this at any time be the case,
those truly wise men, who laboured so profitably to check the _other_
extreme, would certainly, in this different state of things, apply
themselves with equal earnestness to correct _this_. Not that their
former practice was not good in itself, but that, by a change in the
disposition of the times, it was now become less _seasonable_.

3. We are, lastly, to have a regard to the _conditions_, _characters_,
and _persons_ of those with whom we converse; this attention being
especially requisite to render our virtues _attractive and efficacious_.

The philosopher that took upon him to discourse on the science of war,
did not enough consider his own _character_. If he chose to do this in
an age which wanted no such instructions, his conduct was certainly
_unseasonable_. But when he presumed to instruct the greatest general
and commander in the world, he deserved the censure which has disgraced
him with all posterity[122]. A decorum like this is required in our
attempts to promote truth and virtue. To dictate in such matters to
persons wiser than ourselves, or to persons, who by their stations and
characters should, in all reason, be supposed wiser, is a manifest
indiscretion, and can never be attended with any good consequences.
Were _we_ ever so able to instruct, or were _they_ ever so much in want
of instruction, _prudence_ would suggest a very different conduct. It
would recommend to us all the honest arts of insinuation and address;
it would oblige us to watch the fittest seasons and opportunities;
or, perhaps, to content ourselves with the silent admonition of a
good example. Or, were there nothing in the _rank and condition_ of
those we would work upon, to restrain us to this caution, we might
even be required to shew a condescension to their very _prejudices
and humours_. The errors of men may sometimes be removed by arguing
with them on their own mistaken principles; by allowing all that
truth and reason will warrant to their opinions; by putting the
fairest construction upon their designs; by hinting objections to
their wrong tenets, instead of fiercely declaiming against them;
above all, by testifying a sincere disposition to advance truth and
goodness, without any indirect views to our own interest. Or, were all
other considerations out of the case, we could never be excused from
proceeding in the way of gentleness and civility, from treating them
with due respect, and expressing the sincerest good-will to their
_persons_. Be their _moral_ or _religious_ defects what they will, we
should hardly be _wise_; that is, we should take very improper methods
of reclaiming them from _either_, if we reproved with bitterness,
advised with insolence, or condemned with passion. In all addresses to
mistaken or bad men, where our purpose is to inform or amend them, the
gentlest _applications_ are surely the best, because _these_ excite no
passion to counteract their _virtue_.

And now, at length, should it be asked who is that WISE CHRISTIAN
whom the text designs and recommends to our imitation, we are able to
furnish, at least, the outline of his character.

“HE is one who sets before him the great END and prize of his _high
calling_; who, in his progress through the various stages of _this_
life, keeps in constant view the immortal happiness which his religion
holds out in prospect to him in _another_: who, in humble adoration
of his God and Saviour, is content to wait the appointed season which
is to crown his hopes and expectations; and, for the present, is
sollicitous to _work out his salvation with fear_ and reverence, by
an earnest application of his time and pains to those _subservient
duties_, which are to qualify him for the enjoyment of Heaven; who
subjects all the towering conceits of his _understanding_, to the
_doctrines_ of the Gospel, and the impetuous sallies of his _will_, to
the _precepts_ of it; who makes no audacious separation of what the
wisdom of God hath joined together; but, whilst he adores the mysteries
of his holy FAITH, walks on in the plain and humble path of moral
OBEDIENCE. He is _one_, who thinks it not enough to rest in the mere
MATTER of his duty, but performs it in such a MANNER as will render it
most exemplary and efficacious. He knows it to be a great precept of
his religion, to see, _that his good be not evil spoken of_. He would
not disgrace the _best_ cause in the world by the neglect of those
decencies, which, as he observes, have sometimes the strange power to
recommend the _worst_. The good he intends, therefore, is attempted in
such a way, as is most BECOMING of himself; most SEASONABLE in respect
of the opportunities which are offered to him; and most agreeable and
PERSUASIVE to other men. In short, HE is one who, taking _Prudence_ for
his guide, and _Innocence_ for his companion, thinks himself secure in
these attendants; and therefore neglects no _decorum_, which the best
philosophy prescribes; no _art_, which the soundest policy suggests;
and no _address_, which the politest manners recommend: and so, in the
high emphatic sense of the words, approves himself a WISE MAN; _wise
unto that which is good_, to all purposes in _this_ world, as well as
in a _better_.”




SERMON XVI.

PREACHED DECEMBER 1, 1765.

ROM. xvi. 19.

_I would have you wise unto that which is good, and simple concerning
evil._


In considering the first part of this precept, I endeavoured to give
some general description of Religious or CHRISTIAN WISDOM; both in
respect of the END it has in view, and of the MEANS employed by it:
I further exemplified some of those subordinate WAYS, in which the
prudent application even of those _means_ is seen and expressed: And
all this, for the sake of those sincere, but over-zealous persons, who
are apt to think that _wisdom_ hath little to do in the prosecution of
honest and upright purposes.

It now remains to treat that other part of the text, which requires
us to be INNOCENT, as well as _wise_, to be SIMPLE CONCERNING EVIL.
And this, perhaps, will be thought the more important branch of the
subject. For, generally speaking, the ways of _wisdom_, when our
purposes are the very best, are not only the most effectual, but
the safest and most convenient. So that _prudence_ is likely to be
a favourite virtue with us. But the case is different with regard
to _simplicity concerning evil_; which is often found a hard and
disagreeable injunction; as it may happen to cross our passions and the
more immediate views of self-interest. So that this SIMPLICITY will
sometimes seem, what the world is ready enough to call it, _folly_: and
therefore, for the credit of our _sense_, as well as virtue, we should
be well apprized of the worth and excellence of this Christian duty.

The virtue of SIMPLICITY consists, in general, in following the plain
ingenuous sense of the mind; in taking our measures according to the
dictates of conscience, and acting, on all occasions, without reserve,
duplicity, or self-imposture, up to our notions of obligation. It is
the office of WISDOM to see that our conscience be rightly informed:
But our INTEGRITY is shewn in doing that which conscience, be it
erroneously informed or no, requires of us. It consists, in a word,
in whatever we understand by an _honesty of nature_; in observing,
universally, that which we believe to be _right_, and avoiding what we
know, or but suspect[123] to be _wrong_.

This _simplicity of mind_ may be almost said to be born with us. It is
the bias of nature on our young minds; and our earliest instructions,
as well as the first efforts of reason, strengthen and confirm it. But
the impression lasts not long. We are scarcely entered into life, when
we begin to treat it as one of _those childish things_, which it is
beneath the dignity of our riper age to be amused with. The passions
put forth and grow luxuriant; and why, we say to ourselves, should this
tender apprehension of evil check their growth, and restrain their
activity? We are now in the season of _pleasure_; and can there be any
hurt in taking a little of it, out of that narrow path, which our early
prejudices have prescribed to us?

Still, as we advance in years, fresh objects arise, and other passions
engage us in the pursuit of them. Wealth and honour, or what we
improperly call our _interests_, have now an ascendant over us; and
the passion for each is rarely gratified but at the expence of some
virtue. And thus it comes to pass, that, though we set out in the world
with a warm sense of truth and honour, experience by degrees refines
us out of these principles; and our hearts, instead of retaining that
_infant_ purity, the grace and ornament of our nature, and which Christ
so especially requires[124] in the professors of his religion, are
all over stained with fraud, dissimulation, and disingenuity. We are
even proud of the acquisition, and call it a _knowledge of life_: so
dextrous are we in giving a good name to our worst qualities!

But effects follow their causes; and the vice we are now considering is
not the less operative, nor the less hurtful, for the specious terms
in which we dress it up, and present it to each other.

Of its malignity I shall give two or three instances; and, to fit them
the better for use, they shall be taken from very different quarters;
from the _cabinets of the wise, and the schools of the learned_, as
well as from the _vulgar haunts of careless and licentious men_. We
shall learn, perhaps, to reverence the Apostle’s advice, when we find
that the neglect of it has DEGRADED RELIGION; RELAXED MORALITY, and
POLLUTED COMMON LIFE.

To begin with an instance which shews how dangerous it is to depart
from this _simplicity concerning evil_, in the great concerns of
RELIGION.

I. When the priest, the sage, and the politician joined together in
the days of heathenism to propagate among the people a superstition,
which themselves condemned and detested; when they did their utmost
to support a senseless, an immoral, an irreligious worship; when they
strove, by every seducing artifice, to keep up that strong delusion,
which God, in his just indignation, had sent among them, to believe a
_lye_, (for such in its whole fabric and constitution was the old Pagan
idolatry) when these men, who _knew the truth_, were yet contented _to
hold it in unrighteousness_; they believed, no doubt, nay, they made
no scruple to boast, that they had acted with consummate prudence; and
that, in sacrificing the interests of religious truth (a small matter
in their estimation) they had most effectually provided for the public
interest. But what sentence does the Scripture pass on these men of
ancient and renowned wisdom? Why this severe and mortifying one, That
_professing themselves wise, they became fools_. And how well they
deserved this censure, we understand from their own history; where we
read, That Pagan idolatry, thus countenanced and supported, teemed
with all the vices, of which our depraved nature is capable; and that
the several contrivances of its wise advocates to keep an impious
and barefaced falshood in credit, served only to produce, _first_,
a SUSPICION, and in the _end_, an open and avowed CONTEMPT, of all
Religion.

However, the ends of _divine wisdom_ were greatly promoted by this
sad experience of _human folly_. For Christianity, which made its
appearance at this juncture, found it an easier task to establish
itself on the ruins of a fallen, or falling superstition. _Truth_,
which had for so long a time been anxiously kept out of sight, was now
the more welcome to those, who wished her appearance. And the detection
of those prophane arts, which had been so manifestly employed in that
service, disposed the most perverse or careless the more easily to
reconcile themselves to her.

And it would have been happy if the sense of this advantage, which the
_simplicity of truth_ obtained, in the first pages of the Gospel, over
all the frauds of imposture, had prevented Christians from copying
afterwards what they had so successfully contended against and exposed.
Then had a great dishonour of the Christian name been avoided. But that
_truth_, whose virtues are here magnified, must not be dissembled.
The practice of _lying_ for the cause of God, too soon revived, and
became too frequent in the Christian world. It is in vain to think of
diverting your minds, more especially, from that great part of it,
which has long since forgotten to be _simple concerning evil_. But
true _wisdom will ever be justified of her children_. These dishonest
arts, which could not support a bad cause, have been injurious and
disgraceful to the _best_. They have corrupted the ingenuous spirit of
the Gospel, they have adulterated the sincere word of God; and, in both
ways, have produced innumerable mischiefs, in civil and religious life.
They have helped to bring into discredit or disuse a true _Christian
temper_; and have unhappily created in the minds of many an undeserved
prejudice against the _Christian faith_.

II. But if these men have dishonoured _Religion_, others have defiled
MORALITY; yet both assume to themselves the title of _wise_ men; and
for that very reason, because they have departed as far as possible
from the virtue of _simplicity_.

And here your indignation cannot but rise more especially against a
set of men, who, applying the subtleties of school-philosophy to the
plain science of Ethics, have made as free with the _precepts_ of the
Gospel, as some others had done with its _doctrines_. These men, under
the respectable name of CASUISTS, have presumed to wind up, or let down
the obligation of moral duties to what pitch they please. Such as have
taken the STRICTER side, deserve but small thanks for perplexing the
minds of good men with needless scruples; and discouraging the rest
with those austerities, which our Religion no where commands, and the
condition of human life will not admit. But for that _looser_ sort,
who by a thousand studied evasions, qualifications, and distinctions,
dissolve the force of every moral precept; and, as the Pharisees of
old, _make the word of God of none effect_ by their impious glosses,
I know not what term of reproach you will think bitter enough for
_them_. The sacred writers thought it sufficient to deliver the rules
of life in _general_ terms[125]; leaving it, as they well might, to
common sense and common honesty, to make the application of them to
_particular_ cases, as they chanced to arise. But this officious
sophistry intervening and perverting the ingenuous sense of the mind,
instructs us how to transgress them all with impunity, and even
innocence. By the help of this magic, we may extract the sting of guilt
from every known sin; and, if we have but wit enough, may be as wicked
as we please with a safe conscience.

If the features of this corrupt casuistry have not been overcharged;
or, indeed, if there be any such thing in the world as a corrupt
casuistry, it may concern us to reflect, that this pest of society
could not have arisen but from a contempt of the Apostle’s rule, _of
being simple concerning evil_.

III. Hitherto we have exemplified the breach of this rule in the
_learned_, and the _wise_. And it may be thought that nothing but
perverted science could qualify men for so prodigious a depravity.
But there is a casuistry of _the heart_, as well as head; and we find
by woeful experience, that men may refine themselves out of that
_simplicity_ which the Gospel enjoins, without the assistance of
_unblessed knowledge_.

For I come now, in the last place, to instance in the vulgar tribes
of _libertine and careless men_. Of whom we may observe, that when
indulged passion has taught them to make light of an honest mind;
the consequence is, that they run into all excesses, and are rarely
hindered from _working all uncleanness with greediness_. It is true,
indeed, that no man becomes at once desperately and irretrievably
wicked. But it is not less true, that when this great step is taken
of prevaricating with a man’s own conscience, the other stages of
iniquity are presently passed over. And how indeed can it be otherwise?
So long as a man preserves the integrity of his natural disposition,
there is always hope that, though particular passions may prevail for
a time, reason and virtue will, in the end, regain their dominion
over him. At least, he will be constantly checked and kept back in
the career of his vices. But when this sincerity of heart is lost;
when he confounds the differences of right and wrong, palliating the
deformities of vice, or bestowing on vice itself the attractions of
virtue; then all reasonable expectation of a return is cut off; since
this perverted ingenuity tends to make him easy under his sins, and
leaves him at leisure to pursue his evil courses with security.

We see then from the excesses into which these different sorts of men
have been led, by the refinements of POLICY, of ABUSED SCIENCE, and
DELUSIVE PASSION, how dangerous it is to bid adieu to that _simplicity
concerning evil_, which the Holy Apostle requires of us.

It remains, that we cannot provide too cautiously against those evasive
PLEAS AND PRETENCES, which would incline us to part with it.

These PRETENCES are infinite: for, when the _heart_ is corrupted, the
_understanding_ is ready to pander to every lust that importunes it.
But we may know the principal of them by these signs. To be _simple
concerning evil_ is the easiest thing in the world; but we may suspect
that something _wrong_ is ready to intrude itself, “WHEN we cast about
for excuses to cover the nakedness of ingenuity; when we are driven
to distinctions and far-fetched reasoning for our justification;
when we pause a moment between the clear conviction of duty, on one
hand, and any indirect views on the other; more _particularly_, WHEN
we find the tone of our virtue relax at the consideration of what we
may chance to lose by adhering to it; when we but suspect, that a
severe unqualifying virtue looks like inhumanity; when we think our
dependencies and connexions in life have a demand upon conscience;
when we lament with the politician, that _good men are impracticable_,
and so, from a principle of public spirit, resolve not to encounter
that prejudice: Above all, when we go about to regulate morality by
what _a knowledge of the world_ teaches; when _custom_ is pleaded in
opposition to _duty_, and vice itself authorized by _fashion_[126];
when we acknowledge what we do is in itself not justifiable, but excuse
it by a pretence of the good ends we hope to serve by it; when we are
willing to plead the infirmity of nature, the power of temptation, the
prevalence of example; when we venture too securely on the confines of
immorality, and are curious to know how near we may go to vice, without
being directly vicious.”

These, and such as these, are the dangerous insinuations which attempt
our virtue. And how, you will ask, shall we secure ourselves from them?
By reason and argument? By speculation and philosophy? Shall we stay to
examine their several pretences, call these delusive pleas to account,
and shew we can confute them all, before we reject them?

Alas, I dare not advise this method; which besides its other
inconveniencies, is not, I doubt, a very safe one. Our heads may be
unequal to the task; or, which is worse, our hearts may betray us.
At the best, we shall waste much time in these ingenious inquiries,
when the business of life demands an immediate determination. St.
Paul has shewn us a shorter and _more excellent way_, when he bids us,
_Be simple concerning evil_. In virtue of this sacred admonition, a
wise man will think it sufficient to dismiss these vain insinuations
at once, without so much as spending a thought upon them. “What,”
he will say to himself, “if I cannot detect the falsehood of these
pleas, I have a _heart_, that revolts against them. I cannot, perhaps,
disentangle the sophistry of these arguments; but I _feel_ the baseness
of the conclusion, and I _see_ in others the folly of acting upon it.
It were ill with _vice_ indeed, if it had no false colours to appear
in; and _error_ would be hooted out of the world, if she did not hide
her obliquities under the garb of reason. But what are these disguises
to me, who am neither dazzled by the one, nor duped by the other? Let
the curious, if they will, inquire, wherein the imposture consists:
I have that within me, which tells me in a moment, they are but
impostures. In vain then, will such a one conclude, are these insidious
attempts on me, who take a sure refuge in the word of God, and the
integrity of my own virtue. Be the pretences what they will, the
confutation of them is no part of a Christian’s care. I may exercise my
understanding profitably in other matters. It is my duty to consider
much of the ways of _doing good_. I may be prudent and WISE here. But,
EXPERIENCE, and CONSCIENCE, and RELIGION, command me to be, SIMPLE
CONCERNING EVIL.”




SERMON XVII.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 22, 1772.

JOHN v. 44.

    _How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seek
    not the honour that cometh of God only?_


It has been thought unfair to charge unbelief, simply and
indiscriminately, on the grosser passions. The observation, I believe,
is just: and yet it may be true, notwithstanding, that unbelief is
always owing to _some or other_ of the passions. The evidences of
revealed religion are so numerous, and upon the whole so convincing,
that one cannot easily conceive how a reasonable man should reject
them all, without the intervention of some secret prejudice, or
predominant affection.

Of these _prejudices and affections_, one of the commonest, and the
most seducing of any to the better sort of unbelievers, is that
irregular love of _praise and reputation_, which our Lord condemns in
the text—_How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and
seek not the honour that cometh from God only?_

The question, we may observe, is so expressed, as if we _could not_
receive honour from one another, and believe, at the same time; as
if there was a physical, at least a moral impossibility, that these
two things should subsist together. And we shall find, perhaps, the
expression no stronger than the occasion required, if, besides other
considerations, we attend to the following; which shew how inconsistent
a true practical faith in the Gospel is with the sollicitous and
undistinguishing pursuit of human glory.

For, I. _The Gospel_ delivers many of its doctrines as inscrutable, and
silences the busy curiosity of our understandings about them: but the
_honour of men_ is frequently obtained by indulging this curiosity, and
pushing the researches of reason into those forbidden quarters.

II. _The Gospel_ demands an humble and reverential awe in the
discussion of all its doctrines; such of them, I mean, as it leaves
most free to human inquiry: but this turn of mind is contrary to that
high courage and daring intrepidity, which the _world_ expects in those
who are candidates for its honour.

III. _The Gospel_ prescribes an uniform and unqualified assent to
whatever it declares of divine things, whether we can or cannot
apprehend the reason of such declaration: but this submission to
authority, the _world_ is ready to call ill-faith, and to consider the
defiance of it, as a mark of superior honesty and virtue.

Thus we see, that WIT, COURAGE, and PROBITY, the three great qualities
we most respect in ourselves, and for which we receive the highest
honour from each other, appear many times to the world with less
advantage in the Christian, than the unbeliever. Not, that Christianity
strips us of these virtues: on the other hand, it requires and
promotes them all, in the proper sense of the words; and they may
really subsist in a higher degree in the _believer_, than any other:
but they will often seem to be more triumphantly displayed by those
who give themselves leave to _disbelieve_; and the prospect of honour,
which that opinion opens to such men, is one of the commonest sources
from which they derive their infidelity.

But to make good this charge against the unbelieving world, and to lay
open the mysteries of that insidious self-love, which prompts them to
aspire to _fame_, by the means of infidelity, it will be necessary to
resume the THREE TOPICS before mentioned, and to enlarge something upon
each of them.

I. FIRST, then, I say, That He, who at all adventures resolves to
obtain the honour of men, _cannot believe_, because the unrestrained
exercise of his WIT, by which he would acquire that honour, is
inconsistent with the genius and principles of our religion.

The fundamental articles of the Gospel are proposed to us, as objects
of faith, not as subjects of inquiry. As they proceed from the source
of light and truth, they are founded, no doubt, in the highest reason;
but they are for the most part, at least in many respects, inscrutable
to our reason. It is enough that we see cause to admit the revelation
itself, upon the evidences given of it: it is not necessary that we
should carry our researches any farther. It is not safe, or decent,
or practicable, in many cases, to do it. The just and sober reasoner
is careful to proceed on clear and distinct ideas, and to stop where
these fail him. But how soon does he arrive at this point? For the
sublime genius of Christianity reminds him, at almost every step, how
impossible it is, with the scanty line of human reason, to fathom
the _deep things of God_; and represses the sallies of his wit and
fancy, with this reflexion—_how unsearchable are his judgments, and
his ways past finding out!_ In a word, where he finds the subject too
obscure for his understanding to penetrate, or too vast for his ideas
to comprehend (and he presently finds this, when he attempts to reason
on the mysteries of the Christian faith) he checks his inquiries, he
believes, and adores in silence.

But now this silence, this adoration, is ill suited to the restless
ambition of the human mind, when it aspires to the reputation of
profound and extensive knowledge. The vain reasoner would signalize
himself on all subjects, the most abstruse and mysterious, in
preference to others; and fears not to carry his presumptuous inquiries
to the seat and throne of God. He questions the revealed truths
of the Gospel as freely as any other; and finding them many times
inexplicable by the principles of human science, he triumphs in the
discovery, applauds his own reach of thought, and dazzles the world
into a high opinion of his wit and parts. The truth is, he decides
on subjects, which he does not, and cannot understand: but the world
sees, he decides upon them; and that is generally enough to attract its
admiration and esteem.

Again: In such parts of revealed Religion, as lie more within the
cognizance of human reason, an inquirer may find difficulties, and
start objections, which the best instructed believer either does not
attempt, or is not able to resolve. Here, the triumph of wit over
faith is thought conspicuous, and is indeed seducing. For, while the
believer has only to confess his own ignorance, the infidel shines in
exposing and inforcing those difficulties and objections: And, when the
ingenuity is all on one side, it is rarely suspected, that reason and
good sense may be, with modesty, on the other.

Nay, where the point in question can be effectually cleared up,
still their will generally seem to be more acuteness in discovering
a difficulty, than in removing it: And thus the subtle caviller in
religious controversy shall have the fortune to pass for a shrewder
man, than the ablest apologist.

And that this advantage of reputation is, indeed, that which free and
libertine reasoners propose to themselves, you will see by calling to
mind the sort of subjects, which they are fondest to treat, and the
sort of character, which they are most proud to assume.

In natural religion, the origin of evil, and God’s moral government,
are their favourite topics: in revealed religion, the fall of human
nature, its restoration by the death and sufferings of Christ, the
incarnation of the Son of God, and the adorable Trinity. But why are
these high subjects picked out to exercise their speculations upon?
subjects, in which the sublimest understanding is absorbed and lost;
subjects, which they well know (for I speak of the abler men in that
party) we have no faculties to comprehend. Why, then, are these
subjects preferred to all others? For an obvious cause: to shew how
ingenious they can be in perplexing human reason, if any believer
should be indiscreet enough to subject these mysterious truths to that
test.

But the character, they assume, declares their purpose no less than the
arguments they delight to treat. For their pride is to affect a sort
of pyrrhonism, or universal doubt and hesitation, even on the plainest
points of morals; to controvert the most received principles and
opinions; and, as the sophists of old, _to make the worse appear the
better reason_, in all questions which they undertake to discuss. Would
you desire a stronger proof of the principle which actuates such men?

II. It appears, then, how the ostentation _of wit_ leads to infidelity.
The affectation of COURAGE is another snare to those, who lie in wait
for the honour of men.

The believer, it has been observed, presumes not to reason at all on
some points of his Religion. In others, he is left at liberty; yet on
these, he reasons, always with great reverence and circumspection.
Now, though this conduct be highly fit and proper, it is not so likely
to strike the observation of men, as a more forward and enterprizing
behaviour. Not only his understanding is restrained, but his spirit,
they say, is cramped and broken. The inconsiderate world, on the other
hand, is taken with bold assertions, and hazardous positions; which
it easily construes into a mark of high courage, as well as capacity.
A fearless turn of mind is a dazzling quality, and we do not always
distinguish between intrepidity and temerity. Thus it comes to pass,
that as the Christian’s love of peace and charity in common life,
so his cautious respect in religious matters, has been treated by
libertine men, as pusillanimity. He is considered, in the fashionable
world, as a tame and spiritless man; and in the learned world, as a
tame and spiritless reasoner.

Hence, when we are bent, at any rate, upon _receiving honour one of
another_, we are tempted to make a display, not of our wit only, but
our courage: And, as nothing is thought a surer indication of this
quality, than to make light of that which the rest of the world hold
sacred, we easily see how a passion for this sort of fame betrays the
unbalanced mind into all the extravagancies of infidelity.

The instances are frequent, and well-known. When the Philosopher of
Malmsbury, in the last century, took upon him to resolve all morality
and all religion into the will of the magistrate, whatever other end he
might have in view, the bold singularity of this paradox was, no doubt,
that which chiefly recommended it to himself, as well as surprized the
world into an opinion of his bravery: though we know, from his story,
that, in fact, he had no more of this virtue, than might well have
consisted with faith, and the fear of God. But vain man oft affects to
make a shew of that which he does not possess: and thus his defect in
true courage, may be the true account of his pretending to so much of
it.

Still, the heart of man is more deceitful, than we have hitherto seen,
or can easily believe: For who,

III. In the last place, would suspect, that an admiration of INTEGRITY
itself, as well as of _wit_ and _courage_, should seduce the unwary
mind into irreligion? Yet so it is, that men, intoxicated with the love
of fame, will sacrifice any virtue, the best quality they have, to the
reputation of it.

The true believer admits, with a full and perfect assent, whatever
he takes to be clearly revealed in the Gospel; the most impenetrable
article of his creed, as well as the simplest proposition in morals.
All stands with him on the same equal footing of divine authority: no
matter, whether he can, or cannot, perceive the grounds of reason, on
which the Revelation is founded.

But now this facility of belief, this entire resignation of the
understanding to the dictates of Heaven, the world is ready to suspect,
of disingenuity. And they who live only in the opinion of that world,
would not be exposed to so dishonourable a suspicion.

The process of their vanity may be traced in this manner. They have
observed, that some persons (of their acquaintance, it may be)
pretend to more faith than they have. They suppose the same thing of
many others; and they suppose too, the rest of the world, the more
intelligent part of it at least, are in the same opinion. But they
pique themselves on their honesty: they will give no man leave to call
in question their good faith; the ornament of their lives, and the
idol of their hearts. And thus, as many men are ill-bred, for fear of
passing in the world for flatterers; so these men are unbelievers, that
they may not be accounted hypocrites.

As extravagant as this turn of mind appears, it cannot be thought
incredible; especially when united, as it may be, with that pride of
understanding, and courage, before mentioned. “It is not for _me_,
(says a presuming inquirer to himself) who am distinguished by a reach
of thought and penetration from the vulgar, to admit, without scruple,
so extraordinary a system, as that of Revelation. I must doubt and
disbelieve, where others see nothing to stop at. Nor is it for a man
of my spirit to endure those shackles of reserve and respect, which
oppress the timid and servile believer. Above all, it becomes the
honesty, I profess, to take no part of my religion upon trust; an easy
submission to what is called authority, is, with discerning men, but
another name for insincerity. As I tender, then, the reputation of my
_wit_, my _courage_, and my _integrity_, it concerns me to take heed
how I entertain a belief; which may, at once, shake the credit of all
these virtues.”

This train of sophistry, you see, is not ill laid; and one conceives
how a mind, transported with the love of false honour, may be caught by
it.

At first, perhaps, the disbelief is _pretended_, only. But
pretences[127], continued for any time, become _realities_. And thus,
what was assumed, to give us the credit of certain virtues with
the world, or with that part of it to which we desire to recommend
ourselves, is at length embraced with a sort of good faith; and we are,
what we have seemed to be, at the instance indeed of our vanity, but,
as we flatter ourselves, for the sake of those very virtues.

Something like this, which I have here described, may have been the
case of a well-known philosopher, who would be thought to crown his
other parts of ingenuity and courage, with the purest probity[128].
This unhappy man, having published to the world an offensive system of
infidelity, and being called to account for it, replies to his censurer
in these words—_The world may calumniate me, as it sees fit; but it
shall never take from me the honour of being the only author of this
age, and of many others, who hath written with good faith_[129].

What shall we say of this strange boast? Was it enthusiasm, or the
pride of virtue, that drew it from him? This _honest_ man, we will say,
might believe himself, when he talked at this rate: but then we must
conclude, that nothing but the most intemperate love of praise could
have wrought him up to so frantic a persuasion.

I suppose, it may now appear how easily we become the dupes of any
favourite passion; and how perfect an insight our Lord had into the
nature of man, when he asserted in the text—_that we cannot believe,
if we will receive honour one of another_. _We cannot_, you see,
_believe_; because, if that honour be the ultimate end and scope of our
ambition, the best faculties we possess, the fairest virtues of our
hearts, will pervert, and, in a manner, force us into infidelity.

Let this humiliating consideration have its full effect upon us.
Above all, let it check, or rather regulate that ardent desire of
fame, which is so predominant in young and ingenuous minds. Let
such learn from it to mistrust their passions, even the most refined
and generous, when they would inquire into the evidences of their
religion. Let them remember that _reason_, pure impartial reason, is
to direct them in this search; that the passion for honour is in all
cases, but particularly in this (where it is so seducing) an unsafe and
treacherous guide; and that, to escape the illusions of infidelity and
a thousand other illusions, to which they will otherwise be exposed
in common life, one certain method will be, To controul their love of
fame, by the love of truth; which is, in other words, _to seek the
honour, that cometh of God, only_.




SERMON XVIII.

PREACHED APRIL 23, 1769.

JOHN, ix. 41.

    _Jesus saith to them, If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but
    now ye say we see, therefore your sin remaineth._


These words were spoken by our Lord on occasion of a great miracle
performed by him, in restoring a man _born blind_ to his sight. This
wonderful display of power had its natural effect on the man himself,
in converting him to the faith of Jesus; while the Pharisees, who
had the fullest evidence laid before them of the _fact_, persisted
obstinately in their infidelity. Yet the _blind_ man, on whom this
miracle had been wrought, was one of those whom the Pharisees accounted
_blind_ in understanding, also; in other words, he was a plain
unlettered man; whereas they themselves were _guides to the blind_,
that is, they pretended to a more than ordinary knowledge of the law
and the prophets, by which they were enabled to conduct and enlighten
others.

Jesus, therefore, respecting at once his late restoration of the blind
man’s _sight_, and the different effects of that miracle on the _minds_
of the two parties, applies, with singular elegance, to himself, the
famous prediction of Isaiah—_For judgment_, says he, _am I come into
this world, that they, which see not, might see; and that they who see,
might be made blind_. The Pharisees were, indeed, sharp-sighted enough
to perceive the drift of this application, and therefore said to him,
in the same figurative language, _Are we blind also?_ To whom Jesus
replied in the words of the text, _If ye were blind, ye should have
no sin; but now ye say we see, therefore your sin remaineth_. As if
he had said, “If ye were indeed ignorant of the law and the prophets,
as ye account this poor man to be, ye might have some excuse for not
believing in _me_, who appeal to that law and those prophets for the
proof of my mission; but being so skilled in them, as ye are, and
profess yourselves to be, ye are clearly convicted of a willful, and
therefore criminal, infidelity.”

It is implied, we see, in this severe reproof of the Pharisees, that
knowledge and faith very well consist together, or rather that, where
_knowledge_ is, there _faith_ must needs be, unless a very perverse use
be made of that knowledge.

But to this decision of our Lord, the unbelieving world is ready to
oppose its own maxims. “It sees so little connexion between _faith_
and _knowledge_, that it rather concludes them to be incompatible: It
allows the ignorant, indeed, who cannot _walk by sight_, to _walk by
faith_; but, as for the knowing and intelligent, the men of science and
understanding, it presumes, that _faith_ cannot be required of these;
and that, BECAUSE _they see_, it is too much to expect of them, _to
believe in Jesus_.”

It is true, the persons, who speak thus slightly of _faith_, are
not the most distinguished in the world by their own parts, or
knowledge. But a certain mediocrity of _both_, inflated by vanity, and
countenanced by fashion, is forward to indulge in this free language;
and the mischief done by it to Religion, is so great, that it may not
be amiss to expose, in few words, the indecency and folly of it.

FAITH AND KNOWLEDGE, then, it is said, are at variance with each other.
Why? The answer, I suppose, will be, Because _faith_ is in itself
_unreasonable_; in other words, it will be said, That the _evidences_
of our religion are not convincing, and that the _doctrines_ of it are
not credible.

One word, then, on _each_ of these bold insinuations.

I. The EVIDENCES of _revealed religion_ are so many and various; they
lye so deep, or extend so wide; and consequently the difficulty of
collecting them into one view is so great, that few men have, perhaps,
comprehended the full force and effect of them. At least, none but
persons of very superior industry, as well as understanding, have a
right to pronounce on the total amount of such evidence.

But the _chief_ evidences of the _Christian Religion_ are drawn from
PROPHECIES, and MIRACLES; and who are they who tell us, that these
methods of proof are unreasonable or unsatisfactory?

1. That the argument from PROPHECIES should not convince those, who
have not considered the occasion, and design of them, the purposes
they were intended to serve, and therefore the degree of light and
clearness, with which it was proper they should be given; who have
not studied the language in which those prophecies are conveyed, the
state of the times in which they were delivered, the manners, the
customs, the opinions of those to whom they were addressed; above all,
who have not taken the pains to acquire a very exact and extensive
knowledge of history, and so are not qualified to judge how far they
have been accomplished; that to such persons as these, I say, the
argument from prophecy should not appear to have all that evidence
which believers ascribe to it, is very likely; but then this effect is
to be accounted for, not from their knowledge, but their ignorance,
not from their _seeing_ too clearly, but from their not seeing at all,
or but imperfectly, into the merits of this argument. As for those,
who have searched deepest, and inquired with most care into this kind
of evidence, they depose unanimously in its favour, and profess
themselves to have received conviction from it. So that, although there
may be difficulties in explaining particular prophecies, and though the
completion of some be questioned, or not fully apprehended, yet, on the
whole, there is so much light arising out of this evidence, that it
must be great presumption in any man to say that there is no strength
at all in it. Indeed, if the appeal lie to authority (as it must do,
if men will not, or cannot, inquire for themselves) we can scarce help
concluding that the argument from prophecy carries with it a very
considerable degree of evidence, since we find that such a man as
Newton, not only submitted to this evidence himself, but thought it no
misapplication of his great talents, to illustrate and enforce it. Yet,
such is the judgment or temper of our leaders[130] in infidelity, that
they had rather turn this very circumstance to the discredit of human
nature itself (exhibited in its fairest form, and shining out with full
lustre, in the virtues and accomplishments of that divine man) than
allow it to do honour to that immortal object of their fear and spite,
revealed religion.

2. The other great foundation of our faith is laid in MIRACLES; a sort
of evidence, which may be estimated without that learning, or that
sagacity, which is required in the case of _prophecies_; and which some
men therefore, out of the abundance of their common sense, have taken
the freedom to account of little weight or value. Yet, what opinion
soever these persons may have of their own understandings, they will
scarce be able to convince a reasonable man that this evidence is not
conclusive, and even incontestible, if they will but place it in a
fair and just light. For the question is not concerning the evidence
of miracles in _general_, but of miracles so circumstanced and so
attested as those of the _Gospel_. Now, when the Religion to which
this attestation is given, has nothing in it which appears unworthy
of the Deity; when the purpose for which the supposed miracles are
wrought is such as must be allowed the most important of any that, in
our ideas, could enter into the divine counsels with regard to mankind;
when these miracles have further the advantage of being attested by
the most unexceptionable characters, and of being recorded in books,
written soon after they were _wrought_, and by those who _saw_ them
wrought, and in books too, which have been transmitted, without any
note of suspicion on them, to our times; when, lastly, these miracles
have all the circumstances of public notoriety attending them, when no
contemporary evidence discredits, and when many otherwise inexplicable
facts and events, suppose and confirm them; when such miracles, I say,
as these, and under such circumstances only, are alledged in support of
the Christian Revelation, it must be a very extraordinary turn of mind
that can reject, as nothing, the evidence resulting from them. With
any other miracles, however numerous, however confidently asserted, or
plausibly set forth, we have nothing to do. There may have been ten
thousand impostures of this sort, in the world. But _these_ miracles
speak their own credibility so strongly, that they are admitted, on
human testimony, with the highest reason; and it must be more than a
slender metaphysical argument, taken from their contrariety to what is
called experience, which can prevent our belief of them, and overpower
the natural sense of the human mind.

It seems then, even on this slight view of the subject, that, if these
two capital arguments from _prophecies and miracles_, for the truth of
Christianity, appear inconclusive to unbelievers, the cause must be
some other than a want of that evidence, which may satisfy a reasonable
man.

II. But, perhaps the DOCTRINES of Christianity are such as revolt the
rational mind, and are not capable of being supported by any evidence.

Let us inquire then what truth there is in this _second_ allegation of
unbelievers.

It is not possible, in a discourse of this nature, to enter into a
detail on the subject; but the chief obstacles to a faith in Jesus,
independently of the evidence on which it rests, are, I suppose, these
TWO.

1. A confused idea that the law of nature is sufficient to the
salvation of mankind;

2. The mysterious nature of the Christian revelation.

Reason, they say, is a sufficient guide in matters of Religion;
therefore, Christianity is unnecessary: Again, Christianity is all over
mysterious; therefore, it is unreasonable.

Now, it will not be presuming too much to say, that the greater
advances any man makes in true knowledge, the more insignificant must
these _two_ great stumbling-blocks of infidelity needs appear to him.

1. And, _first, for the sufficiency of nature in matters of religion_.

Whether _nature_ be a sufficient guide in _morals_, let the history of
mankind declare. They who know most of that history, and have, besides,
a philosophic knowledge of human nature, are the proper judges of the
question; and to that tribunal I leave it: the _rather_, because,
though it be very clear what its decision must be, I hold, that what is
most essential to the Christian religion (which is a very different
thing from _a republication of the law of nature_) is not at all
concerned in it.

Let the law of nature be what it will, under this idea of a guide in
morals, let Socrates, if you please, be as great a master of it, as
Jesus, still the importance of Christianity remains, and is indeed very
little affected by that concession.

Our religion teaches, that man is under the sentence of mortality,
and that immortal life in happiness, (which is the true idea of
Gospel-salvation) is the gift of God through Christ Jesus. These
it relates as _two_ facts, which it requires us to believe on its
own authority; _facts_, which could not otherwise have come to our
knowledge, and on which the whole superstructure of Christianity is
raised.

Now, let the men of reason, the men who say, WE SEE, tell us, whether
they are sure that these facts are false; and, if they are not, whether
they know of any natural means by which _that sentence of mortality_
can be reversed, or _that gift of immortality_ can be secured.

Yes, they will say, by _a moral and virtuous life_, and by a _religious
trust_, which nature dictates, _in the goodness of the Deity_. What? Is
any man so assured of his own virtue, as that he dares expect so great
things from it? Does he think it so perfect and of such efficacy, as
that it should remove a curse which lies on his nature, that it should
redeem him from a general sentence, which is gone forth against all
mankind? Is it not enough, that he does his duty (though where is the
man that does that?) and thereby consults his own true interest in
this world, without requiring that his merits should deliver him from
the doom of death; or that, of force, they should compel the divine
_goodness_ to deliver him from it?

But say, that the boundless mercy of God might so far consider the
poor imperfect virtues of his lost creature, as to free him from the
bondage of _death_, will he pretend that he has any claim, even upon
infinite goodness itself, for _eternal life in glory_? All that reason
suggests is, that, some way or other, either in this state or in one to
come, he shall be no loser by his virtue: but so immense a reward is
surely, not of _right_; and reason is too modest to entertain the least
expectation, or even thought of it.

You see then what the _sufficiency of nature_ comes to: It leaves us,
for any thing we know, under the sentence of _death_; and, for any
thing we can do, very much short of _eternal life_. And is this all we
get by following _nature_, as our all-sufficient guide, and rejecting
the assistance of _Revelation_? Are men satisfied to live, as they do
here, and then to die for ever; and all this, rather than condescend to
lay hold on the mercy of God through Jesus? If they are, their ambition
is very moderate; but, surely, this is not a moderation of that sort
which is prescribed by _reason_.

2. But they fly now (and it is their last resource) to the _mysterious
nature of the dispensation itself_, which, they say, is perfectly
irreconcileable with the principles of natural reason.

That Christianity is _mysterious_, that is, that it acquaints us
with many things which our faculties could not have discovered, and
which they cannot fully comprehend or satisfactorily explain, is an
undoubted truth.—The pride of reason, when, from human sciences, where
it saw much and thought it saw every thing, it turns to these divine
studies, is something mortified to find a representation of things
very different from what it should previously have conceived, and
impenetrable in many respects by its utmost diligence and curiosity.
But then, when further exercised and improved, the same reason
presently checks this presumption, as seeing very clearly, that there
are inexplicable difficulties every where, in the world of _nature_, as
well as in that of _grace_, and as seeing too, that, if both systems
be the product of infinite wisdom, it could not be otherwise. Next,
a thinking man, as his knowledge extends, and his mind opens, easily
apprehends, that, in such a scheme as that of Christianity, which runs
up into the arcana of the divine councils in regard to man, there will
be many particulars of a new and extraordinary nature; and that such a
dispensation must partake of the obscurity in which its divine Author
chuses to veil his own glory.

Thus, we see, how the objections to the mysterious nature of the Gospel
spring out of pride and inconsideration, and are gradually removed, as
the mind advances in the further knowledge of God and itself.

Now, suppose there had been no mysterious parts in this Revelation,
and that every thing had lain clear and open to the comprehension of
natural reason, what would the improved understanding of a wise man
have thought of it? Would he not have said, that the whole was of mere
human contrivance? since, if it were indeed of divine, it must needs
have spoken its original by some marks of divinity, that is, by some
signatures of incomprehensible wisdom, impressed upon it. Consider,
I say, whether this judgment would not have been made of such a
Revelation; and whether there be not more sense and reason in it, than
in that _other_ conclusion which many have drawn from the mysterious
nature of the Christian religion.

IT MAY APPEAR, from these cursory observations, that _faith
and knowledge_ are no such enemies to each other, as they have
been sometimes represented; and that neither the _evidences_ of
Christianity, nor the _doctrines_ of it, need decline the scrutiny
of the most improved reason. Conclude, therefore, when ye hear a
certain language on this subject, that it is equally foolish, as it is
indecent; and that ye may safely profess a _belief_ in Jesus, without
risking the reputation of your _wisdom_.

Another conclusion is, that, when unbelievers lay claim to a more than
ordinary share of sense and penetration, we may allow their claim, if
we see fit, for other reasons, but NOT for their disdainful rejection
of our divine religion. We must have better proofs of their sufficiency
than this, before we subscribe to it. We may even be allowed to
conclude, from this circumstance of their unbelief, that they either
_see not_ so clearly as they pretend, or that the case is still worse
with them, if they do. They are ready to ask us, indeed, in the prompt
language of the Pharisees to our Lord, _Are we blind also?_ To which
question, having such an answer at hand, we need look out for no other
than that of Jesus, _If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but now
ye say we see_, THEREFORE _your sin remaineth_.




SERMON XIX.

PREACHED MAY 12, 1771.

1 COR. viii. 1.

_Knowledge puffeth up; but Charity edifieth._


There is none of our little accomplishments, or advantages, which we
are not apt to make the foundation of pride and vanity. When, upon
comparing ourselves with others, in any respect, we _entertain_ a
higher opinion of ourselves than we ought, this sentiment is called
PRIDE. And when we are forward to _express_ the good opinion, we have
of ourselves, to others, in our words or actions, (even though such
opinion be but proportioned to our desert) we give to this disposition
the name of VANITY. Each of these affections of the mind is, a real
vice: _Pride_, because it violates truth and reason; and _Vanity_,
because it violates Christian charity.

But, of all the subjects of comparison which betray us into these
vices, none is thought to produce them so easily, and to inflame them
to that degree, as _learning or knowledge_. And we see the reason why
it should be so. For knowledge arises from the exertion of our best
and noblest faculties; those faculties which distinguish us to most
advantage, not only from the inferior creatures, but from each other.
Hence we are naturally led to place a higher value on this, than other
acquisitions; and to make our pride and boast of that which is, indeed,
the glory of our nature.

The observation then seems well founded; and the Apostle advances no
more than what experience teaches, when he affirms in the text—THAT
KNOWLEDGE PUFFETH UP. Where, however, we are to take notice, that the
remedy for this vice is not ignorance (which, though for different
reasons, is as apt to engender pride and self-conceit, as knowledge
itself) but Christian love and charity. For, when the Apostle had
brought this charge against _knowledge_, _that it puffeth up_, he does
not say that _ignorance_ keeps men humble, but that _charity edifieth_.
Whence it appears, that, to correct this excess of self-love, which we
call pride, the Apostle would not have us renounce the way of learning
and knowledge, but only increase our love and respect for mankind.

Charity, then, is the proper cure of LEARNED PRIDE; and of
those unfriendly vices, which spring from it, _sufficiency_,
_self-importance_, and _ostentation_: And it will be worth our while
to consider, _in what_ RESPECTS, and _by what_ MEANS, this divine
principle of charity contributes to that end. And this it does

1. By keeping men steady to that OBJECT, which they ought to propose to
themselves in the cultivation of knowledge, I mean the _edification of
each other—charity edifieth_.

One of the ancient sects of philosophy carried their admiration of
_knowledge_ so far, that they made it _the supreme good_ of man, and
built their whole _moral_ system (if it might be called such) on
this extravagant idea. Whereas, common sense, as well as religion,
teaches, that knowledge, like our other faculties and attainments,
is only an instrument of doing good to others; not to be regarded by
us, as the end of moral action, or a good simply in itself, but as
one of those means by which we may express our moral character; and
promote the common interest of society, which (in subordination to
the will and glory of God) is the proper end of man. Now, if we keep
this end in view, which Christian charity sets before us, we shall
neither cultivate knowledge for its own sake (which is a strain of
fanaticism, unsuited to our present condition); nor for the sake of
that complacency, which may be apt to result from it; nor solely, for
any other selfish purpose to which it may serve: but we shall chiefly
and ultimately refer it to the use and edification of our brother; and
shall therefore suppress that inordinate elation of heart and display
of vain-glory, which tend so much to obstruct the success of our
applications to him in this way.

2. Charity, estimating the value of knowledge by the good it _actually_
does to others, finds the very foundation of pride and vanity, in the
application of it, in a great measure taken away. For, how divine
a thing soever knowledge may appear to the mind, when heated by
speculation, we shall find, in practice, that it falls very much short
of those glorious ideas we had formed of it; that the _real service_,
we are enabled to do to mankind by our most improved faculties, affords
but little occasion to the gratulations of self-esteem (which, when
resulting from such service, are, no doubt, more pardonable than in
any other case whatsoever); and that, if such gratulations arise in
us from some slight and partial services done to others, they are
sufficiently checked and mortified by the general ill success of our
most strenuous endeavours, and best concerted designs. The philosopher
and divine, after many studious days and sleepless nights, are ready to
promise to themselves great effects from their systems and apologies.
Alas, the world is little bettered or improved by them. Its amusements,
its follies, its vices, take their usual course. Reason and knowledge
are found but feeble instruments of its conversion. It attends so
little, or so negligently to its instructors, that it remains almost as
uninformed, and as corrupt as before.

Such is too commonly the issue of our best pains in the cultivation of
moral and religious truth! Or, if in some rare cases it be otherwise,
and some sensible, some considerable, benefit result from them, still
it will be far less than the good man wishes and intends. For, burning
with this holy zeal of love to mankind, the charitable instructor of
the ignorant is in the condition of HIM, whose ambitious zeal the poet
so well describes: His successes do but inflame his desires; and _he
reckons he has done nothing, so long as there remains any thing for him
to do_[131].

So certainly does charity, in this work of learned instruction,
disconcert and subdue all the projects and emotions of pride!

3. Charity takes a sure way to counteract those movements of vanity and
self-applause, which the pursuits of knowledge are apt to excite, _by
confining our attention to solid and important subjects_. For, when the
mind is thus employed, it naturally refers its acquisitions to _use_,
not vanity; or, if vanity should still find room to spring up with this
crop of useful knowledge, its growth would be much checked by this
benevolent and social attention: It would either die away amidst these
higher regards of duty and public spirit, or would lose at least very
much of its malignant nature, and of those qualities which render it so
offensive to mankind. Whereas, when we employ ourselves on frivolous
or unimportant subjects, which offer nothing to our view besides the
ingenuity of the speculation, and the distinction of the pursuit, these
ideas are so present to the mind, and engross it so much, that vanity
and self-esteem almost necessarily spring from them, luxuriant and
unrestrained.

Besides, the mind, which loves to justify itself in all its operations,
finding but little real use or worth in these disquisitions, strives to
make itself amends by placing an imaginary value upon them; and grows
so much the more enamoured of them, as it foresees and expects the
neglect and indifference of other men.

Hence, the sufficiency of such persons as wholly employ their time
and pains in the more abstract studies, in the minuter parts of
learning, and universally in such inquiries as terminate only or
chiefly in curiosity and amusement, is more than ordinarily glaring
and offensive. Their minds are _puffed up_ with immoderate conceptions
of their own importance; and this unnatural tumour they are neither
able, nor willing, to conceal from others. The secret is, they would
persuade themselves first, and then the world, that their studies and
occupations are less frivolous, than they in earnest believe or suspect
them, at least, to be.

Now, Charity, indisposing us to these fruitless speculations, and
delighting to cultivate such parts of knowledge as have a real dignity
in them, and are productive of light and use, tends directly to keep
us modest, by taking away this so natural temptation to pride and
self-conceit.

4. Further, we may observe that, of the more important studies
themselves, such as we call _practical_, are less liable to this
perversion of vanity, than the speculative, to what important ends
soever they may ultimately be referred. And the reason of the
difference is, that, in the former case, the calls of charity upon
us are more instant. We cannot stir a step in practical meditations
without considering what use and benefit may result from them: while
the speculative seem to terminate in themselves; are pursued, for the
time at least, for their own sakes; and so, by keeping the ultimate
end out of sight, do not divert the mind enough from that complacent
attention to its own ingenious researches, whence the passion of pride
is apt to take its rise.

Not but there are some parts of knowledge, which, though called
practical, and referring indeed to practice, have a different
effect. But these are such, as are in their own nature boastful and
ostentatious; calculated not so much for use, as pleasure; or, at most,
terminating in some private and selfish end. The proficients in these
popular arts and studies are tempted to regard, not the good _simply_,
which their knowledge might do to others, but the general influence of
it, and the consideration, which, by means of such influence, whether
to a good or bad purpose, they may draw to themselves.

Of this sort was, too commonly, the study of eloquence in the ancient,
and sometimes, I doubt, in the modern world. Vanity is apt to mix
itself with these practical studies, and to result from them; the
question generally being, not how the greatest good may be effected by
them, but how the greatest impression may be made.

Divine and moral subjects, _practically_ considered (though vanity may
creep in here), are more secure from this abuse. For, respecting the
spiritual and moral good of men, distinctly and exclusively, a regard
to the end must correct and purify the means. And thus we are not
surprised to find, that, while a vain rhetorician[132] is said to have
boasted, in the hearing of all Greece, that _he knew every thing_, the
sober moralist of Athens[133] readily confessed, _he knew nothing_.

5. Another way, in which _charity_ operates to the suppression of
_pride_, is, _by increasing our good opinion of other men_. _Pride_ is
an elation of mind upon comparing ourselves with others, and observing
how much we excel them in any respect; and, in the present instance,
how much we excel them in point of _knowledge_. When the mind is wholly
occupied by _self-love_, it easily magnifies its own attainments,
and as easily diminishes those of others: whence the advantage, on a
comparison, must needs be to _itself_. But when _charity_, or the love
of others, prevails in us to any degree, we are willing to do them
_justice_ at least, and _but_ justice to ourselves: nay, our affection
to others makes us willing to see their good qualities in the fairest
light, to magnify to ourselves their excellencies, and to lessen or
overlook their defects; while on the other hand, it inclines us readily
to forego any undue claims of pre-eminence, and even to abate something
of what we might strictly claim to ourselves: whence the comparison
must be more favourable to _others_; and our pride, if not entirely
prevented, must be considerably reduced. Increase this charity, and the
pride still lessens; till, at length, it is almost literally true, as
the Apostle divinely expresses it, that, _in lowliness of mind, each
esteems other better than himself_; _better_, in respect to _knowledge_,
as to every thing else.

6. Lastly, charity, not only by its qualities, but in the _very nature
of things_, is destructive of all _pride_. For what is pride, but an
immoderate _love_ of ourselves? And what is charity, but a fervent
_love_ of other men? It is the same passion of love, only directed to
different objects. When it is concentred in a man’s self, it naturally
grows abundant and excessive: divert some part of it upon others,
and the selfish love is proportionably restrained. Just as seas and
rivers would overflow their shores and banks, if they had no outlet
or circulation: but issuing forth in useful streams or vapours to
refresh the land, they are kept in due proportion, and neither deluge
the rest of the globe, nor drain themselves. Thus the affection of
_love_, if too much confined, would overflow in _pride and arrogance_;
but, when part of it is diffused on others, the rest is innoxious and
even salutary, as supplying the mind only with a _just and moderate
self-esteem_.

Hence we see that charity, by its very operation, corrects the excesses
of self-love; and therefore of learned pride (which is _one_ of those
excesses) as well as any other vice, which the confined and inordinate
exercise of that passion is apt to produce.

In these several ways then, whether, by prescribing the proper _end_
of knowledge, _the edification of our neighbour_, an attention to
which must needs lessen the temptation to pride; or, by suggesting how
_imperfectly_ that end is attained by knowledge, which must mortify,
rather than inflame our pride; or, by confining the candidates of
knowledge _to solid and important subjects_, and, of _these_, rather to
_practical_ subjects, than those of speculation, both which pursuits
are unfavourable to the growth of pride; or, by increasing _our good
opinion of others_, engaged in the same pursuits of knowledge, which
must so far take from our fancied superiority over them; or, lastly,
_by the necessary effect of its operation_, which is essentially
destructive of that vicious self-love, which is the parent of such
fancies—In _all_ these respects, I say, it is clearly seen how
CHARITY, whose office it is to _edify_ others, is properly applied to
the cure of that tumour of the mind, which knowledge generates, and
which we know by the name of LEARNED PRIDE.

There are many other considerations, no doubt, which serve to mortify
this pride; but nothing tends so immediately to remove it, as the
increase of charity. It is therefore to be wished, that men, engaged in
the pursuits of learning, would especially cultivate in themselves this
divine principle. Knowledge, when tempered by humility, and directed to
the ends of charity, is indeed a valuable acquisition; and, though no
fit subject of vain-glory, is justly entitled to the esteem of mankind.
It should further be remembered, that this virtue, which so much adorns
knowledge, is the peculiar characteristic grace of our religion;
without which, all our attainments, of whatever kind, are fruitless
and vain. Let the man of Science, then, who has succeeded to his wish
in rearing some mighty fabric of human knowledge, and from the top of
it is tempted with a vain complacency to _look down_, as the phrase
is, _on the ignorant vulgar_; let such an one not forget to say with
HIM, who had been higher yet, even as high as _the third Heaven[134]_,
“_Though I understand all mysteries, and all knowledge, and have not
charity, I am nothing_[135].”




SERMON XX.

PREACHED NOVEMBER 19, 1769.

ACTS OF THE APOSTLES, xxvi. 9.

_I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary
to the name of Jesus of Nazareth._


The case of the Apostle, Paul, as represented by himself in these
words, is so remarkable, that it cannot but deserve our attentive
consideration.

The account of _those many things_, which he thought himself obliged
_to do against the name of Jesus_, during his unbelieving state, he
gives us in the chapter whence the text is taken. _These things_,
continues he in his apology to king Agrippa, _I did in Jerusalem, and
many of the Saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority
from the chief-priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my
voice against them. And punished them oft in every synagogue, and
compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I
persecuted them, even to strange cities._ And then he proceeds to speak
of his going, with the same authority, and the same zeal, to persecute
the Christians that were at Damascus; when, in his journey thither, he
was suddenly stopt in the career of his impiety by _a heavenly vision_,
which had the effect to overturn his former persuasion, and to make a
full convert of him to the Christian faith.

1. From this account of himself, we learn, that Paul, in his Jewish
state, had been carried, by his zeal, into all the horrors of
persecution. And _these things_, he says, _he verily believed he ought
to do, contrary to the name of Jesus_.

“But what, you will ask, did this _belief_ then justify those crimes?
And, are blasphemy, murder, and persecution, innocent things, from the
time that a man persuades himself he ought to commit them? This would
open a door to all the evils of the most outrageous fanaticism, and
evacuate the whole moral law, under the pretence of conscience.”

In general, it would do so: and we shall presently find, that St. Paul
does not pretend to justify _himself_, notwithstanding _he verily
believed he ought to do these things_. But to see the degree of his
crime, it will be convenient, and but just to the criminal, to call to
mind, in the first place, the peculiar circumstances under which it was
committed.

Paul was at that time a Jew; and, as a follower of this law, his
conduct, supposing his conscience to have been rightly informed, had
not been blameable; on the contrary, had been highly meritorious. For
the law of Moses made the restraint of opinions, in matter of religion,
lawful: Heterodoxy was to a Jew but another word for disloyalty; and
a zeal to see the rigour of the law executed on that crime, was the
honour of a Jewish subject. Paul, then, conceiving of Jesus as a false
prophet, and the author of a new worship, contrary to that of the God
of Israel, Paul, I say, regarding Jesus in this light, but conformed
to the spirit of the law, when he joined in persecuting the Jewish
Christians, and must esteem himself to have deserved well of it.

And this he, in fact, did. For, reckoning up the several merits,
which, as a Jew, he might claim to himself, he mentions this
zeal of persecution, as one, which did him honour, under that
character—_Concerning zeal_, says he, PERSECUTING THE CHURCH[136].

The crime of Paul, then, as of the other Jews, in persecuting Christ
and his religion, was not _simply_ the crime of persecution (for,
had that religion been a false one, by the peculiar structure of the
Jewish œconomy, there would have been no crime at all in punishing
such of the Jews, as professed themselves of it); but his guilt was,
and, in general, the guilt of the other Jews was, in misapplying the
law to this particular case; in persecuting a just and divine person,
whom their own prophets had foretold and pointed out, who came in no
opposition to the Jewish law, nay, who came _not to destroy_, but _to
fulfill_[137].

The conclusion is, that, though _persecution_ be on no pretence of
conscience excusable in another man, yet in a Jew, and as directed
against an apostate Jew, it had not this malignity, and was not the
proper subject of his abhorrence[138].

To the question then, “Whether Paul’s belief justified his practice,
in the case before us, that is, whether he did right _in doing that
which he verily believed he ought to do_,” You may take his own
answer—_This_, says he, _is a faithful saying, and worthy of all
acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners_,
OF WHOM I AM CHIEF[139]. He owns himself, we see, to have been _the
chief of sinners_, that is, making all allowance for the hyperbole and
modesty of the expression, a very great sinner. And if you ask in what
respect, he tells you that, too: for, in the immediately preceding
verses, he declares the ground of this charge upon himself, _That he
had been a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious_. And in another
place he says of himself, _I am the least of the Apostles; that am
not meet to be called an Apostle, because I persecuted the church of
God_[140].

You see, then, that, notwithstanding his former religion authorized
him to persecute its enemies, notwithstanding he verily believed, that
he ought to persecute Jesus as such, yet he now condemns himself,
as having grievously sinned in giving way to that authority, and to
that persuasion. How is this conduct to be accounted for and made
consistent? plainly, by observing, that he had persecuted without
warrant, even from his former religion; that he had culpably and rashly
overlooked (what he might and ought to have seen) that Jesus was no
fit object of this severity even to a Jew, that he was no enemy or
subverter of the Jewish law, that he was no rebel to the God and king
of Israel, but came indeed from him, acted by his commission, and
displayed all the signs and credentials of the Messiah, in whom the law
and the prophets were finally to be completed.

Without doubt, his being now of a religion, which forbad persecution,
under all its forms, sharpened his sense of this crime, and may perhaps
account for his calling himself the _chief_ of sinners; yet, that the
persecution of Christians was to him a crime, and that he had sinned
in committing it, he could not but know, and is clearly to be inferred
from his expression. All the use he makes of his Jewish persuasion,
is, but to palliate something what he knew was without excuse:—_I
obtained mercy_, says he, _because I did it ignorantly in unbelief_:
that is, because I persecuted in my _unbelieving_ state of a Jew,
and was kept, by the genius of the Mosaic law, from _knowing_ and
considering the general malignity of persecution. And that there may
be some ground of mercy in this consideration, who can doubt, when we
find the Son of God interceding for his very murderers on the same
principle—_Father_, says he, _forgive them, for they know not what
they do_.

There was this difference, you see, between a Jewish and a Gentile
persecutor. The _Jew_ was answerable for his not seeing that Jesus
was the Messiah: The _Gentile_ was to answer for that ignorance, and
for his not seeing the general iniquity of persecution, on account of
religion.

Paul, however, was certainly to blame; nay, he takes much blame on
himself, for acting _ignorantly_ against the name of Jesus, though his
ignorance was of the former kind only.

2. But now another question, and a very important one, arises out of
this state of the case. Paul _verily thought_ that the religion of
Jesus was an imposture. Yet he was _mistaken_ in thinking so; and, what
is more, his mistake was highly _criminal_.

What then shall we say to those persons, who affirm, that, provided a
man be _persuaded_ of the truth of his opinions, he is not answerable
for his mistakes? or, in other words, what becomes of that notion which
many have taken up, concerning _the innocency of error in matters of
religion_?

I understand what is generally alledged in support of this candid and
conciliating opinion. But the text says expressly, that Paul _verily
believed he ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus_; and
with all this firmness of belief Paul was _the chief of sinners_.

Men therefore conclude too hastily, when from the sole _persuasion_ of
their sincerity they infer the innocence of their errors.

“But what then would you require of poor unhappy man, whose _reason_ is
naturally so weak, and whose _prejudices_ are often so strong?” Why,
to use the force he has; to consider well whether he be indeed sincere
(for to be firmly, and to be _sincerely_ persuaded, is not always the
same thing); to employ his reason, such as it is, with care, and to
controul his prejudices, what he can, by an impartial examination.

All this, it will be answered, is already done. It may be so. Let me
then have leave to interrogate the sincere rejecter of Christianity,
and try his good faith, of which he is so well assured, by the
following questions.

“Has he cultivated his mind, and furnished himself with the requisite
helps for religious inquiry? Has he studied the sacred volumes
with care? Has he considered their scope and end? their genius and
character? Has he fixed the boundaries of reason and of faith? Does
he know where the province of the former ends, and where that of the
second commences? Has he studied himself, his faculties and powers, his
wants and necessities? Has he weighed the importance of the search,
he is making into the will and word of God? Has he made that search
with a suitable diligence and sobriety? Has he accustomed himself to
the investigation of moral evidence? Has he collected, compared, and
estimated, what is brought in evidence for the truth of the Christian
religion? Has he, in short, (for I address myself to capable inquirers
only) omitted none of those means which reason requires, and employed
all that industry, and thought, and application, which the sincere love
of truth demands on so momentous an occasion?

“Still, I have other inquiries to make. Has he approached the sanctuary
of religion with awe? Has he purged his mind from all gross, nay from
all refined vices? Had he no interest to serve, no prejudice to sooth,
no predominant passion to gratify, by a hasty conclusion concerning the
truth of Christianity? Or, (not to suspect a philosophic mind of these
vulgar illusions) had he no vanity to flatter, no capricious levity to
indulge, by a short and disdainful rejection of it? Had he no spleen
to divert, no regard of fashion, no partialities of acquaintance or
education to mislead him, from conviction? Had he no secret wish or
hope, which he scarcely durst tell to himself, that his inquiry would
end in doubt at least, if not in infidelity? In a word, can he assure
himself, that in these several respects, he had no bias on his mind, or
did his best at least to have none, against a conclusion, to which an
impartial love of truth might invite and compell him?”

Had St. Paul himself been questioned in this manner, concerning his
sincere belief, that he _ought to do many things contrary to the name
of Jesus_, he would hardly, I suppose, have said, that he had fulfilled
all these conditions;—But we know what he did say, to himself and to
the world: He said, He was THE CHIEF OF SINNERS.

So remote is persuasion from sincerity! and so little acquainted, many
times, are _innocence and error_!

But ‘these questions, it will be said, may be retorted on the believer;
who may be neither more diligent, nor more impartial in his inquiries,
than the unbeliever.’

Allow that they may; yet observe the immense difference of the two
cases, in regard both to the _danger_ incurred, and to the _crime_
committed.

If I _believe_, on insufficient grounds, what do I lose? only what I
can well spare; my unbelief and my vices. And what do I gain? that,
which of all things is most precious to me; peace of mind, and the
hopes of heaven. On the other hand, if I _disbelieve_, I lose all that
is valuable in both worlds, and gain nothing but the sad privilege of
being set free from the restraints of this religion[141].

Consider, too, the difference of the _crime_, in the two cases. If the
Christian errs in admitting the truth of his religion, he has only
to answer for his ill judgment, at most: he could be drawn to this
persuasion by no criminal motives: for, which of these could bias
him to the belief of the holiest of all religions? If the error lies
on the other side, in rejecting this religion, how shall he know,
that, besides the blame of judging ill, some immoral purposes and
dispositions may not have secretly concurred to pervert his judgment?
The Christian may be unreasonable: but the unbeliever, I do not say,
certainly, but, is too probably _vicious_.

Thus the danger, in all views, is on the unbelieving side. And if there
be difficulty in knowing when I am sincere, there is none in knowing
which of the two mistakes is safer and less criminal.

It will be said, perhaps, that an inquirer may be biassed in favour
of Christianity by corrupt motives, that is, by views of _credit_
or _interest_, attending the profession of it, in countries where
this religion is legally established. Without doubt. But such persons
can hardly put themselves in the case of St. Paul, and say, They are
_verily persuaded_, they ought to be Christians. For such gross motives
can be no secret to their own hearts, and they cannot but know that
Christianity condemns all such motives. I regard then such persons
in the light of _hypocrites_ confessed, and by no means in that of
_believers_. On the other hand, men may _affect_ to disbelieve from the
like views of _credit_ or _interest_, in certain circumstances; and so
become hypocrites of another kind; of which the number is, perhaps, not
inconsiderable. But I am here speaking of such corrupt partialities
as may consist with a firm belief, or disbelief of Christianity. And
here it is plain, the criminality is likely to be much greater in him
who without ground rejects, than in him who too hastily admits such a
religion.

To conclude, then, with the case of St. Paul, which has given occasion
to these reflexions.

No firmness of persuasion, it is plain, can justify a man in being led
by it into the commission of gross and acknowledged crimes. And the
reason is, that no persuasion of the truth of any principle can be
greater than that which every man has that he ought not to commit such
actions. If St. Paul’s persuasion saved him from this guilt, it was
owing to the peculiar genius of the Jewish religion.

But, further, St. Paul was blameable for taking up that _persuasion_,
on which he acted. His mind had been corrupted by hasty prejudices,
and ungoverned passion. He concluded too fast, then, when he thought
his persuasion _sincere_, though it was indeed strong and violent. His
persuasion did not exclude error, and that error implied insincerity,
and so was not _innocent_.

It follows from the whole, that we ought never to _act_ wrong on
the pretence of conscience; and that we should learn to suspect the
possibility of guilt’s mixing itself even with what we call our
speculative opinions. Error may be innocent; but not so long as truth
lies before us, and we may, if we do our duty, discover it. Let our
inquiries, then, in all matters of moment, above all in those of
religion, be diligent, and strictly honest. Where these precautions are
not observed, our mistakes are always blameable, because in some degree
they are wilful and insincere.




SERMON XXI.

PREACHED MAY 10, 1767.

St. LUKE, vi. 26.

_Woe unto you, when all men speak well of you._


Among other _woes_ denounced in this chapter by our Saviour against
different sorts of men, we have one in the text against _those, of whom
all men speak well_.

The reason of this severe sentence may not appear at first sight:
first, because it may not immediately occur to us, what hurt or
inconvenience there can be in every man’s good word; and, secondly,
because every man’s good word is not likely to be had.

As to this last particular, it is true, the praise of _all men_, in
the full extent of the words, is not to be obtained. But the sense of
the text requires, only, that we understand a very general praise;
and this we see many men obtain: And if we only want to know, in what
respects, the possession of this praise can be deemed a misfortune, we
shall find them, I suppose, (without looking further) in the following
considerations.

The WOE, of being _well spoken of by all men_, may be apprehended,
if we reflect, That (taking the world as it is) its good word, so
largely bestowed on any man, implies _a mediocrity of virtue, at the
best_;—that it frequently implies, _a considerable degree of positive
ill-desert_;—that it sometimes implies, _a thorough depravity and
prostitution of the moral character_.

From these THREE considerations, I propose to illustrate the _woe_ of
the text.—In moral discourses, it is scarce possible to avoid very
general assertions. These may sometimes want to be restrained: but ye
will do it for yourselves, as ye see cause; for the appeal lies, all
along, to your own bosoms and experience.

I. I say then, _first_; that to be _well spoken of by all men_, implies
A MEDIOCRITY OF VIRTUE AT THE BEST.

And the assertion is founded on many reasons. An eminent degree
of virtue excites envy; is not generally understood; is unapt to
accommodate itself to men’s views and expectations; and, lastly, is
liable to some excesses, and connected with some infirmities, which
are either peculiar to itself, or would less disgrace a virtue of the
common stamp.

Let us weigh these several reasons.

1. The chapter of _envy_ is a common one, and has been exhausted by
every moralist. When a man’s worth lifts him above the generality
of his species, he is thought to depress those who feel themselves
beneath him. Their pride is hurt, their self-love is mortified, by
the acknowledged preference. And in this state of things, no wonder
that much industry is employed to obscure a virtue, whose unclouded
splendour would give pain.

2. But men sometimes detract from a superior character, with perfect
good faith. It is not envy, but _inapprehension_, which sets them on
work. For it is with some virtues, as with those sublimer graces in a
work of art of genius: few, but such as could have set the example,
have any idea or conception of them.

Thus, a disinterested goodness, when carried to a certain length; a
generosity of mind, when stretched beyond certain bounds; a sense of
honour, operating to a certain degree; in a word, temperance, justice,
piety, humanity, any or all of these virtues, exalted to a certain
pitch, are either not comprehended, or are perhaps traduced, as marks
of folly and extravagance, by those who are not capable of ascending to
these heights themselves. Of which, the instances are so frequent in
all history, and even in common life, that no man wants to be reminded
of them.

3. Still, if superior virtue were only envied, or ill-understood,
the misfortune would not be so great. It is, besides, _active,
enterprising, constant, and inflexible_. It contents not itself
with being merely passive, innoxious, blameless: it would oblige,
befriend, and merit of mankind. It would be distinguished by actual
services, or at least by glorious attempts. And in prosecuting these,
it consults no man’s occasions; bends to no man’s prejudices; leans to
no partial interests or considerations; is simple, uniform, invariable,
and holds on its course, steadily and directly, towards its main end
and scope. There is a magnanimity in true worth and goodness, which
scorns and rejects all disguises, and would appear and be itself.

A character of this stamp is too awful to be popular. There is
something of terror in so sublime a virtue; and those who are
distinguished by it, may be esteemed, perhaps, and revered, but are
rarely applauded by the world. What difference between the divine
integrity of Cato, and the specious temporizing virtues of Cæsar! Yet,
if history had been silent, we should easily have known which of these
men was destined to be the idol of the Roman people.

4. Nor is even this the worst. Virtue, in this exalted state, is not
easily restrained from running, at times, into certain EXCESSES:
_excesses_, which spring, as it were, from its very essence, and
which the truly wise allow for, excuse, and almost admire; but which
hurt the reputation more, with base and ordinary minds, than the
virtue itself, under a due exertion, serves and promotes it.

When the virtuous Brutus, in the crisis of the Roman state, struggling
for its last breath of liberty, chose rather to put everything to
hazard, than _violate the strict forms of law and justice_[142]:—And
again, when our virtuous Falkland was kept, by his nice sense of
honour, from _taking some liberties_[143], which the duty of his place,
the public service, and the practice of all times, might seem to
authorize; when these great men, I say, erred from an excess of virtue,
a thousand tongues were ready to blaspheme, and even ridicule their
mistakes, while one or two only revered the honesty of mind, which gave
birth to them.

These glorious excesses, which are frequent in a virtuous character,
hardly deserve the name of infirmities: yet _infirmities_, in the
common sense of the word, are the lot of human nature, in whatever
state of perfection. That heat of mind, which nourishes heroic virtue,
is apt to produce these; and, as the noblest genius sometimes lets fall
inaccuracies, which moderate talents would correct; so the best man
sometimes commits extravagancies, which a moderate virtue would avoid:
and when this mischance happens, the infirmity is sure to be observed,
and never pardoned. Or, let the weakness be such, as is incident to our
common nature; still its effects are very different; it shall eclipse
half the virtues of an excellent man, and, in a common character, be
either not seen, or not regarded.

So true it is, that, to be _well spoken of by all men_, implies but
an ordinary share of virtue, at best! For, consider these several
circumstances, and see what a shade they cast on the reputation of
extraordinary men. To shine out in the full lustre of a general flame,
is reserved for those, _whose virtue is not of a size to give umbrage;
whose merits are to the level of all eyes; who adapt themselves with
dexterity to all occasions; and who are kept, by their very mediocrity,
from any infirmity, or excess_.

And it would be well, if the _woe_ ended here; if the misfortune of
these applauded men were negative only, and amounted to no more than
the absence of vice, or the possession of virtue in the common degrees.
But, I doubt, it amounts to much more: it frequently implies

II. A CONSIDERABLE DEGREE OF POSITIVE ILL-DESERT.

When the Jews, in a fit of ignorant zeal, were taking up stones to cast
at our blessed Lord, he said to them: _Many_ GOOD WORKS _have I shewed
you from my Father; for which of_ THESE _works do ye stone me_[144]?
Intimating, that the resentment of a misjudging multitude is generally
occasioned by praise-worthy actions. On the same principle, when shouts
of popular applause are sounding in a man’s ears, he may reasonably
ask, _For which of my_ EVIL DEEDS _is this praise wasted upon me_? For
it is just as much to be expected that a clamorous praise should attend
a bad action, as that a clamorous rage should be excited by a good one.

And if we look abroad into the world, we shall find, that it is not
virtue, in whatever degree, but some popular vice, that too oft engages
its warmest approbation. In fact, even a moderate share of virtue,
joined to an inoffensive character, shall more frequently secure a
man from the censure, than procure him the applause of mankind. To
be generally _well spoken of_, he must do more than not offend: he
must merit his reward, before it is conferred upon him. And, though
illustrious services may sometimes extort this reward, yet the surer
and easier way to obtain it, is to please. And when I am to please _all
men_, in order to obtain the suffrage of all, tell me what way there
is of executing this project, without dishonouring myself. Men are not
pleased, unless I humour their foibles, sooth their vices, serve their
ill ends, or unjustifiable passions; and _woe_ unto me, if I acquire
their good opinion by these means.

But suppose I am restrained by some sense of decency and of duty, and
not disposed to run all lengths in my endeavours to please. Still it is
not nothing, to be silent where virtue bids me speak; it is something,
to give a man leave to think he is honoured by me for that which
deserves blame; it is base, to flatter and extoll immoderately even his
good qualities; and it is flagitious to countenance and inflame his bad
ones.

Yet one or other of these ways must he take, who is ambitious of every
man’s good word. And is there no _woe_, think ye, in such a conduct
as this? Suppose I but sacrifice one virtue to my reputation, but one
generous quality to my passion for fame; still am I innocent in making
this sacrifice? Can I applaud myself for making thus free with my
moral character? Or, rather, have I not cause to humble myself under a
sense of my ill-desert?

Yes, _woe_ to that man, who, to be well with the world, or with any
part of it, deserts any one virtuous principle, transgresses any one
known duty, corrupts his conscience with any one deliberate vice. Let
the world’s applause be what it will; he is a loser who gains it on
such terms.

But I am still putting matters at the best; For,

III. Lastly, this general acceptation, this mighty privilege of being
_well spoken of by all men_, sometimes, and not unfrequently, demands
a sacrifice, not of one, but all the virtues: it implies A THOROUGH
DEPRAVITY AND PROSTITUTION OF THE MORAL CHARACTER.

Our delicacy will not bear to have this matter pushed home, and brought
directly to ourselves. Our self-love revolts against the imputation;
and no man applies so severe a censure to his own case, or that of his
acquaintance. Let us look abroad, then, for what we are willing to
shift off so far from us.

Let us look for this opprobrious character in ancient times, and
distant regions, with which we may take greater liberties, and
concerning which we may discourse without offence. And when we have
found it, let us only remember that the character is no ideal one; that
it is fairly taken from the annals of human nature, and may therefore,
in part at least, concern ourselves.

A noble Roman is described by ONE who knew him well, in the following
manner[145]: “He possessed, in a wonderful degree, the faculty of
engaging all men to himself, by every art of address, and the most
obsequious application to their humours, purposes, and designs. His
fortune, his interest, nay his person, was wholly their’s; and he
was ready to shew his attachment to them by every service, and, if
occasion required it, by every crime. He had the most perfect dexterity
in moulding his own nature, and shaping it into all forms. The men of
austere morals he could gain to himself, by a well-dissembled severity;
the more free and libertine sort, by an unrestrained gaiety. He could
equally adapt himself to the vivacity of youth, and to the gravity
of old age: with men of bold spirits and factious designs, he was
prompt, enterprizing, audacious; with the men of pleasure, he could be
licentious, luxurious, dissolute.”

What think ye, now, of this character? With so various and pliable a
disposition, could he fail of being popular? And with so total a want
of principle, can we doubt of his being abandoned? He was, in truth,
both the one and the other. He was the favourite[146], and the pest of
his country: in a word, this man was, CATILINE.

But let us turn our thoughts from such a prodigy, and conclude only
from the instance here given, that a character may be much applauded
and very worthless; and that, to be _well spoken of by all_, in a
certain extent of those words, one must be, if not a Catiline, yet an
unquestionably vicious and corrupt man.

I have now gone through the several topics, I proposed to illustrate in
this discourse.

My more _immediate_ design was, to explain and justify the text; to
shew that it spake not without reason when it spake, perhaps, somewhat
differently from our expectations; and that our divine master had
abundant cause to pronounce a _woe_ on those, of whom the world is so
ready to speak well.

But in doing this, I persuade myself, I have done more; and, in shewing
the reasons of this _woe_, have said enough to repress and mortify that
lust of general praise, which is so fatal to our virtue, as well as
happiness. For what can be more likely to restrain men from this folly,
than to let them see, that the prize, they so ambitiously contend
for, would be a misfortune to them, if it could be obtained; since a
very general praise is rarely conferred, at best, but upon a feeble
imperfect state of virtue; is, frequently, the reward of positive
ill-desert; and is, sometimes, the pay, that men receive for the
greatest _crimes_.

These considerations shew the only true praise to be that which a well
informed mind gives to itself. This praise is pure and unmixed; is
only bestowed on real merit; and is nicely proportioned to the several
degrees of it. It is the earnest too of every other praise, which ought
to be precious to us. For, when conscience approves, good men and
angels are ready to applaud: nay, when _a man’s heart condemns him not,
then has he confidence towards God_[147].

To conclude: it is in this contention of human life, as in those games
of which the ancient world was so fond: the success consists not in the
acclamations of the attending multitude, but in the crown which the
victor receives at the hands of the appointed judge. If he obtains that
great prize, it is of little moment whether the rest follow or not. The
applause of the by-standers may add to the noise and pageantry of the
day; but the triumph is sincere and complete without it.

As then it would be arrogance and inhumanity to reject universally the
good opinion of the world, so it would be folly, or something worse,
to dote upon it. If it may be honestly obtained, it is well: if not,
let the friend of virtue; above all, let the follower of Jesus, console
himself, under the loss of it, with this reflection, “That it is no
certain argument of true honour and true happiness, nay, that it is a
presumption to the contrary, to be found in the class of those, _of
whom all men speak well_.”




SERMON XXII.

PREACHED FEBRUARY 6, 1774.

St. JOHN viii. 9.

_Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn thee; Go, and sin no more._


Every one understands the occasion of these words: _The absolution of
the woman taken in adultery_, says an ancient writer, _has been always
famous in the church_[148]: Indeed _so_ famous, that some, who know but
little of the other parts of the Gospel history, pretend to be well
acquainted with this; from which they draw conclusions so favourable to
their own loose practices, that others of stricter morals have been
disposed to question its authenticity, and to expunge this obnoxious
passage from the sacred books.

The attempt, indeed, has not succeeded. The obnoxious passage is
unquestionably authentic. But what then shall we say to the narrative
itself? How are we to expound it consistently with the known character
of Jesus? and how are we to obviate the ill consequences which seem so
naturally to flow from it?

These questions will be answered by considering attentively the nature
and circumstances of the case: from which it will appear, that this
decision of our Lord is founded on the highest wisdom; and, when seen
in its true light, affords no countenance to the licentious glosses
of one party, and needs give no alarm to the scrupulous fears and
apprehensions of another.

The fact is related by the sacred historian in these words: “The
Scribes and Pharisees brought to him a woman taken in adultery; and
when they had set her in the midst, they say to him, Master, this
woman was taken in adultery in the very act. Now, Moses in the law
commanded, that such should be stoned; but what sayest thou?”

Thus far we see there was no difficulty. A crime had been committed,
and might be proved; and their law had appointed the punishment. Why
then do the Scribes and Pharisees apply to Jesus, for his judgment in
the case? The text tells us; for it follows immediately—“This they
said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him.” They came to
him then, not for any information about the nature of the crime, or of
the punishment due to it; the crime had been distinctly specified in
their law (the authority of which Jesus admitted, as well as they) and
the sort of punishment had been distinctly specified, too: But they
came with the insidious design of _tempting him_; that is, of drawing
some answer from him, which might give them an occasion to accuse him,
either to the people, or to the rulers of the Jewish state.

In what then did their temptation consist? Or, what crime was it, of
which, by thus tempting him, they supposed they _might have to accuse
him_ to the Jews? The answer to this question will lead us into a
proper view of our Lord’s conduct on this occasion, and will enable
us to form a right judgment of the manner in which he disappointed the
malice of his insidious tempters.

We find in the preceding chapter of St. John’s Gospel, that _the Jews
sought to kill him_, ver. 1.; and that, being alarmed at the progress
of his doctrine among the people, _the Pharisees and chief priests
had even sent their officers to take him by force_, ver. 32. But this
project failing in the execution, by the growing favour of the people
towards him, and by the strange impression which the doctrine of Jesus
had made on those officers themselves, they found it expedient to try
other and more indirect methods.

For this purpose, having taken a woman in adultery, they supposed
they had now obtained a certain method of accomplishing their designs
against him. They therefore bring her to him, and say, _Master, this
woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now, Moses in the law
commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?_

They concluded, that his answer to this question must be such as would
give them a sure hold of him. For either it would be, that the law of
Moses was too severe; and then, they doubted not but he would fall a
sacrifice to the zeal of the people themselves, from whose favour to
him they had now the most dreadful apprehensions: or, if he justified
this law of Moses, and encouraged the execution of it (and this conduct
they had most reason to expect, from the known strictness of his life
and doctrine, and from his professed reverence for the law), in that
case, they would _have to accuse him_ to the Jewish rulers, as taking
to himself a civil and judicial character; or, rather to their Roman
masters, as presuming to condemn to death an offender by his own proper
authority; whereas _it was not lawful_ for the Sanhedrim itself, but by
express leave of the Roman governour, _to put any man to death_[149].

In short, either the people themselves would kill him on the spot, as
a disparager and blasphemer of the law; or, he would be convicted of
that capital crime, which their rulers wanted to fasten upon him, of
making himself _a king_, and so incur the punishment of rebellion to
the state.

Such being the profound artifice, as well as malice, of this _plot_,
the situation of our Lord was very critical; and nothing but that
divine wisdom, by which he spake, and which attended him in all
conjunctures, could deliver him from it.

Let us see, then, what that wisdom suggested to him in his present
perilous condition.

Instead of replying directly to their ensnaring question, “He stooped
down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heared them
not.” His enemies, no doubt, considered this affected inattention as
a poor subterfuge; or, rather, as an evident proof of his confusion,
and inability to avoid the snare they had laid for him; and were ready
to exult over him, as their certain prey, now fallen into their hands.
They therefore repeat and press upon him their insulting question,
urging him with much clamour to give them an immediate reply. “So
when they continued asking him, as the historian proceeds, he lift up
himself, and said to them, He that is without sin among you, let him
first cast a stone at her. And, again he stooped down and wrote on the
ground.”

The divinity of this answer can never be enough admired. He eluded
by it, at once, the two opposite snares they had laid for him:
he disconcerted all their hopes and triumphant expectations; and
carried, at the same time, by the weight of this remonstrance, and the
power which he gave to it, trouble, confusion and dismay into their
affrighted consciences. Without speaking a word against the law, or
taking to himself an authority which he had never claimed, and which
did not belong to him, he turned their _temptation_ on themselves;
and instead of falling a victim to it, astonished them with the moral
use he had made of it, and sent them away overwhelmed with shame,
conviction, and self-contempt. For it follows, “They which heared [this
reply] being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one,
beginning at the eldest, even to the last; and Jesus was left alone,
and the woman standing in the midst.”

This was no time, we see, for declaring his sense of the law of Moses,
or giving his assent to the execution of it; which, upon the least
signification of his mind, had certainly followed from the people (such
was their united zeal for the law, and reverence for his opinion). His
present purpose and duty was to preserve himself from a captious and
malicious question; but in such a manner as might consist with truth
and innocence, and even with a tender concern for the moral state and
condition of those questioners themselves.

No man will then expect, that, in such circumstances, he should
expatiate, to the by-standers, on the heinous crime of adultery,
objected to this unhappy woman: a point, concerning which they deserved
not, from any virtuous indignation they had conceived against it, which
they wanted not, from any ignorance they were under of its general
nature, to be further satisfied or informed. They deserved, and they
wanted to be made sensible of their own guilt and wickedness; and of
this they derived from Jesus the fullest conviction. This was the sole
purport of our Lord’s reply to them: any other had been unseasonable
and improper; and therefore no man will now be surprized to find the
issue of this remarkable conference in the mild dismission which he
gives to the unhappy person, who had furnished the occasion of it.

“When Jesus had lift up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said
to her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned
thee? She said, No man, Lord: Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn
thee; go, and sin no more.”

The story concludes in the very manner we should now expect from the
preceding circumstances. The accusers of the woman had withdrawn
themselves; being convicted in their own minds, by the divine energy
of Christ’s reproof, of the very same crime, as some suppose, but
certainly of some crime of equal malignity with that, which they had
objected to this sinner. Their accusation had not been formed on their
zeal for the honour of the law, or any antipathy they had conceived
to the crime in question, but on the wicked purpose of oppressing
an innocent man. When they failed of this end, they thought not of
carrying the criminal before the proper judge, or of prosecuting the
matter any further. To the question then which our Lord put to her,
_hath no man condemned thee_, i. e. hath no man undertaken to see the
sentence of the law carried into execution against thee? she answered,
_No man, Lord_. _Neither do I_, continued Jesus, _condemn thee_: I, who
am a private man, and have no authority to execute the law; I, who
_came not to judge the world, but to save the world_, I presume not
to pass the sentence of death upon thee. I leave this matter to thine
accusers, and to the proper judge. But what my office of a divine
instructor of mankind requires, that I am ready to perform towards
thee. Let me admonish thee, then, of thy great wickedness in committing
this act, and exhort thee to repentance and a better life for the
future; GO, AND SIN NO MORE!

Every thing here is so natural and so proper, so suitable to the
circumstances of the case, and to the character and office of Jesus,
that no shadow of blame can fall upon our Lord’s conduct; nor has any
man of sense, who considers the history, the least reason to conclude
that any countenance is hereby given to the horrid sin of adultery.
The mistake (if it be purely a mistake) has arisen from the ambiguous
sense of the words, I CONDEMN THEE NOT; which may either signify, _I
blame thee not, or I pass not the legal sentence of death upon thee_.
But they cannot be here taken in the former sense, because Christ
immediately charges the woman with her guilt, and bids her _sin no
more_; Nay, they can only be taken in the latter sense, because that
was the sense in which her accusers had _not condemned her_; for
otherwise, by bringing her to Jesus, and by their vehement accusation
of her, they had sufficiently testified their sense of her crime. When
Jesus therefore said, _Neither do I condemn thee_, he could only be
understood to mean, “Neither do I take upon me to do that which thine
accusers have omitted to do; that is, I do not condemn thee to be put
to death; a sentence, which however thou mayest deserve by the law of
Moses, I have no authority to pronounce against thee.”

It should further be observed, that although the turn here given by
Jesus to this famous accusation be indeed favourable to the criminal
(and it could not be otherwise, consistently with his own safety, or
even duty) yet it insinuates nothing against the propriety of a legal
prosecution, nor gives the least countenance to the magistrate to
abate of his rigid execution of the law which is entrusted to him.
The mixture of mercy and humanity in Christ’s decision is indeed very
amiable and becoming in a private man; but had the question been,
“Whether it were not fit to prosecute so great a crime in a legal and
regular manner,” there is no reason to believe that his answer would
have given any check to the course of public justice.

We see then from the whole narrative, and from this comment upon it,
That here is no encouragement given to any man to think more slightly
of the sin of adultery, than other passages of the Gospel, and the
reason of the thing, authorize him to do. The sin is unquestionably of
the deepest dye; is one of the most flagrant that men can commit in
society; and is equally and uniformly condemned by nature itself and
by the Christian morals. If, besides _condemning_, that is, expressing
his abhorrence of the sin, as Jesus did, he further made an adulterous
multitude sensible of their iniquity and savage inhumanity in calling
for the sudden and tumultuary punishment of one, who had deserved no
worse than themselves, this benefit was accessary and incidental to
the circumstances of the story; and, while it gives one occasion to
admire the address and lenity of our divine master, takes nothing
from the enormity of the crime itself, or from the detestation which
he had of it. In short, one cannot well conceive how Jesus could have
done more in the case, or have expressed his displeasure at the crime
more plainly, unless he had become a voluntary and officious informer
against the criminal; which, considering the occasion and his own
character, no man, I suppose, would think reasonable.

To conclude: if men would call to mind the purity and transcendant
holiness of Christ’s character, as evidenced in the general tenour
of his history, and considered withall, that _never man spake as he
spake_, they could not suspect him of giving any quarter to vice;
and might be sure, that, if what he said on any occasion, had the
least appearance of looking that way, the presumption must be without
grounds, and could only arise from their not weighing and considering
his words, so replete with all _wisdom_, as well as goodness, with a
proper attention. The case before us, we have seen, is a memorable
instance of this kind: and let all readers of the Gospel be taught
by it, that to understand the Scriptures, and to cavil at them,
are different things. Let them be warned by this example, not to
impute their own follies to the sacred text, which they must first
misinterpret, before they can abuse: And, above all, let them take
heed how they _turn the Grace of God into licentiousness_; that is,
how they seek to justify to themselves, or even palliate, their own
corruptions, by their loose and negligent, if not perverse, glosses
on the word of God; on that WORD, by which they must stand or fall;
and which, like the divine Author of it, will surely in the end _be
justified in_ all _its sayings, and be clear when it is judged_[150].




SERMON XXIII.

PREACHED MARCH 1, 1772.

St. MATTHEW, xi. 29.

_Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart: And ye shall find rest
unto your souls._


The moral quality recommended in the text, was little known and less
esteemed[151] in the heathen world. Not that _humility_, in the
Christian sense of the word; hath no foundation in natural reason: but
heathen practice gave no countenance to this Virtue, and the pride of
heathen philosophy would make no acquaintance with her.

She was left then to be acknowledged, for the first time, by Jesus of
Nazareth, who knew the worth of this modest stranger; and therefore, as
we see, recommends her to the notice and familiarity of his disciples
in the most emphatic terms.

One would wonder how a virtue, so advantageously introduced into
the Christian world, should be so much neglected by those who call
themselves of it. But the reason is not difficult to be explained.

I. It was seen fit, for the ends of human virtue, that, in moulding
the constitution of our common nature, a considerable degree of what
may be called _a generous pride_, should be infused into it. Man,
considered in one view, touches on the brutal creation; in another, he
claims an affinity with God himself. To sustain this nobler part of his
composition, the subject and source of all his diviner qualities, the
adorable wisdom of the Creator saw good to implant in him a conscious
sense of worth and dignity; that so a just self-esteem might erect his
thoughts and endeavours, and keep him from submitting too easily to
what the baser half of his nature might exact from him.

Thus far INSTINCT goes: and, as yet, there is no blame. But then to
moderate this instinct, (a blind power of itself, and capable of great
excesses) to circumscribe its bounds, and direct its energies to their
true end, REASON, a much higher faculty, was conferred on man; and his
duty, thenceforth, was to give the reins to the natural sentiment, only
so far as this supreme arbitress of human life allowed.

And hence his corruption and misery took its rise. He felt the
_instinct_ draw powerfully; and he would not take, or would not be at
the pains to ask, the advice of _reason_, who was ready to tell him how
far he might yield to it.

This wilfulness, or negligence, broke the balance of his moral
nature; till _reason_, in this, as in so many other instances, was
little regarded; and the instinctive sentiment of _self-esteem_,
long since degenerated into lawless pride, was left to domineer as
it would; universally, in the Pagan world, and, though checked by
this seasonable admonition of our great Master, too generally in the
Christian.

This is the true account of the first and fundamental reason, which
makes _humility_ so rare a virtue, and of so difficult practice, even
among the disciples of Jesus.

II. A _second_ reason is almost as extensive as the former, because
founded upon it; I mean, the power of _habit and institution_.

The bias of our minds towards a just self-esteem, not properly
directed, presently became _pride_: and pride, from being a general,
was easily mistaken for a _natural_ principle; which would then, of
course, be unconfined in its operation, and spread its influence
through every quarter of human life.

Hence our earliest education is tinctured with this vicious
self-esteem, and all our subsequent institutions are infected with it.
It is cherished in the schools, under the name of emulation; and in the
world at large, under that of ambition. Either sex, every age, every
condition, is governed by it. The female world are called upon to value
themselves; and the male world to assert their own dignity. The young
are applauded for shewing signs of spirit; and the old must vindicate
themselves from contempt. The lower ranks of men are not to be trampled
upon; and the higher, not to be affronted. Our camps encourage it, as
the spring of courage: and our courts, as the source of honour.

Thus pride predominates every where: and even the moralist or preacher,
who would give some check to this principle, is thought to have an
abject mind himself, or not to know that world, which he pretends to
inform and regulate.

What wonder then that this impatient and tyrannical passion, which
has general custom, and therefore claims to have reason, on her side,
should yield with reluctance even to the authority of religion?

III. _Another_ cause, which contributes to the same effect, a partial
one indeed, but of no small efficacy, where it prevails, is, perhaps,
the _Gothic principle of honour_, deeply interwoven with most of our
civil constitutions: a principle, in itself not friendly to Christian
humility; but, as confederated with the other two principles before
mentioned, what can it do but inflame them both, and give an infinite
force to all their operations?

In these three considerations then, we have the true account and
history of _pride_, the bane of civil life, and the disgrace of our
moral nature. It springs, first, from the _natural sentiment_, easily
indulged too far: it is, next, fostered by _general habit_; and, in the
end, made sacred by _fashion_. Thus, its tyranny grew up, and is now
so complete, that _lowliness of mind_ is ill looked upon even in the
Christian world; and her offspring, _meekness_, (the more provoking of
the two, as being that virtue drawn forth into outward act) seems in a
way to be fairly dismissed from it.

It would hardly serve to reinstate these despised virtues in their
pristine honours, to tell of their natures and conditions, to define
their properties, and deliver the grounds of reason on which their
pretensions are founded. Cold, abstracted philosophy, would do but
little in this service. Besides, few persons want to be informed
what humility is, or how becoming such a creature as man. And no
informations, in the general way of reasoning, could be given with so
much precision, but that a willing mind might find a way to mistake or
pervert them.

’Tis well then that the text supplies another method of combating the
universal pride of mankind. It calls upon us to contemplate, in the
person of Jesus, the true and living form of _humility_; and holds out
a solid, and suitable reward to the votaries of this divine virtue.
Would ye know what it is to be _meek and lowly in heart? Learn of
Jesus._ Do ye ask for what end ye should learn this lesson of him? the
answer is direct and satisfactory, _Ye shall find rest to your souls_.
These topics, then, must employ what remains of this discourse.

I. The particulars of Christ’s humility may be seen at large in the
history of his life. But they are summed up by the Apostle Paul in few
words.

_Let this mind be in you_, says he to the Philippians, _which was also
in Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it no robbery
to be equal with God_ [i. e. was in no haste to seize upon and assert
his right of equality with him]; _but made himself of no reputation,
and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness
of man; and being found in fashion, as a man, he humbled himself, and
became obedient to death, even the death of the cross_[152].

Who, that hears these words, can have a doubt concerning the nature
of humility, or concerning the duties of it? If heaven stooped to
earth; if Jesus descended from the dignity, I do not say of an angel,
or an archangel, but of God himself, to the abject state of man; if
he humbled himself to the lowest condition of that state; veiled all
his glories in the form of a servant; in that form administered to our
infirmities and necessities; bore all the scorn, the contradiction,
the contumely of injurious men; and even submitted himself to death,
the ignominious death of the cross, for their sake—If _this mind was
in Christ Jesus_, who but must see, that the greatest of mankind may
well descend from all his real or fancied eminence, for the service of
his brother? may easily forego the little advantage, which his birth,
his rank, his wealth, his learning, or his parts, may seem to give him
over his fellows, when an act of charity is to be performed by him;
when the distresses, the infirmities, nay the vices of humanity, may be
relieved, and covered, and corrected, by such condescension? To stoop
for such ends is almost pride itself: and to emulate such a pattern, is
scarce humility, but glory.

Nor think, that this humility requires of you more than reason
requires. You may suppress your pride, without giving up necessary
self-defence. Ye may be _meek and lowly in heart_, without being
unjust to yourselves, or imprudent. When your essential interests are
concerned, ye may assert them with firmness, and even with spirit, in
all ways, which good sense allows, or true wisdom recommends. But let
not every petty injury, much less any fancied injury, be presently
avenged; let not little neglects or discourtesies be hastily resented;
overlook many injuries, if not considerable; nay, and many considerable
injuries, if they be but tolerable. Think not that your dignity will
suffer by such connivance. The true dignity of man, is the performance
of his duty. Or, if some indignity be sustained, consider on whose
account, and by whose command ye suffer it. Consider, that He, whose
dignity was infinitely above yours, submitted to _every_ indignity, and
for your sake. The authority of your divine Master is nothing, if it
cannot bind you in any instance to bear his _yoke_: And to what end is
the example of your divine Saviour set before you, if ye resolve, on
no account, to _take up your cross and follow him_[153]?

But, because our compassionate Lord saw how uneasy this precept would
be to the indulged and inveterate pride of his followers, he has
therefore condescended to assure them that their obedience to it will,
even in this world, be attended with a suitable reward. _Ye shall find
rest to your souls._ And this

II. Is the other topic, which I engaged to insist upon, in this
discourse.

The great objection to the virtues of _meekness and humility_, is, that
the practice of them will put us to some present pain in resisting the
impulse of our disordered passions. It will do so. Nature prompts us to
repel an injury; and that nature, vitiated and depraved, is in haste to
repel it with indignation, and even fury. To give way to the impetuous
sentiment, would give us immediate ease; and to suppress it, till the
practice becomes habitual, will cost us some throws and agitation of
mind. To counteract this instant disquiet, a recompence is proposed,
exactly suited to the trial. Our mind is discomposed, for the instant,
by the struggle we have to make with the incensed passion: When that is
over, it settles again into a full and permanent tranquillity. _We find
rest_, as the text speaks, _to our souls_: we have the purest peace
within, and have no disturbance of it to apprehend, from without.

1. The uneasiness which _pride_ engenders, receives, as I said, some
present relief, from the free course of that passion. But see the
consequence of giving way to it. Disgust, remorse, fear, and hate,
succeed to the indulgence of this fiery sentiment, I mean, when it
proceeds so far as to acts of revenge. But, if it stop short of this
extreme, still the mind, by nourishing its resentments, and brooding
over the idea of a supposed indignity, hurts its own peace; grows sore
and fretful, and suspicious; and, though it be somewhat flattered
by the first tumultuous effort of its indignation, which looks like
courage and high spirit; yet, the briskness of this sensation soon goes
off, and flattens into a sullen gloom of thought, the bane of every
selfish, as well as social enjoyment.

It is much otherwise with the _meek and lowly in heart_. They never
retaliate injuries, and seldom resent them. They either feel not
the stroke of them; or, if they do, the wound is instantly healed
by the balsamic virtue of their own minds. But, indeed, a man, well
disciplined in the school of humility, receives but few injuries, for
he _suspects_ none; it being, I think, true, that, for one real injury
done us by others, a hundred such things, as we call by that name, are
only bred in our own captious and distempered imaginations. And then,
for those few injuries which he actually receives, they are easily
slighted or forgotten by him; because he sees them only in their true
shape and size, and not as magnified by an extravagant opinion of his
own worth, and as extravagant a contempt of the aggressor. He knows
his own infirmities, and can allow for those of other men. If they are
petulant or unjust, he, perhaps, has been inobservant or imprudent:
besides, he never thought himself entitled to any special respect, and
therefore wonders the less, if no great ceremony has been used towards
him. To these suggestions of humanity, he adds those of _religion_.
He knows what his Master enjoins, and he remembers on what terms the
injunction is pressed upon him. And thus, though the indignity seem
great, he easily excuses one half of it, and forgives the other. The
issue is, that he finds _rest_ in his own soul, which the proud man
never does: so that, as to internal peace, the advantage is clearly on
the side of meekness and humility. But then,

2. As to _external peace_, the matter may be thought more
problematical. “For that softness of mind, which religion calls
_humility_, invites, it is said, and multiplies injuries. Forgive one
insult, and you draw upon you a hundred more so that, if humility be
a virtue, it is never likely to be out of breath for want of exercise
and employment. In a word, the world is so base, that there is no
keeping it in respect, but by _fear_: and how is that needful sentiment
to be impressed on the minds of injurious men, in those numberless
cases which civil justice cannot reach, but by a quick resentment and
personal high spirit?”

Such is the language of those who have learned their ethics of the
world, and not of the Gospel. But let us see what there is in the
allegation itself.

_To connive at one indignity, is_, they say, _the ready way to invite
another_. It may be so, in some rare cases, when we have to do with
singularly base and ungenerous natures; but even then, I think,
chiefly, if not solely, when that connivance is joined with imprudence
or folly: and then it is not humility should bear the blame, but our
own indiscretion. Besides, the question is concerning a general rule
of conduct: and this rule may be a fit and reasonable one, though it
admit, as most rules do, of some exceptions.

Again, though a wise and good man will frequently suppress, and always
moderate resentment, yet neither reason nor the religion of Jesus
requires, that in no case whatsoever should we be actuated by that
principle. The principle itself, as I have shewn, is a natural one, and
under due restraint may serve to good purposes; one of which, perhaps,
is to give check to overbearing insolence and oppression, I mean when
it rises to a certain degree and exceeds certain bounds. Even our
blessed Lord, who was meekness itself, thought fit on some occasions to
express a very strong resentment: as, when he upbraided the Pharisees
in no gentle terms, but, in a just indignation at their malice, went so
far as to brand them with the bitter names of _vipers and serpents_,
and to menace them with the flames of _hell_[154]. So that meekness
and resentment are not absolutely incompatible; though the danger of
exceeding in this last quality is so great, that the general rule both
of reason and Christianity, is to cultivate meekness in ourselves, and
to restrain our resentments.

“But, if exceptions be allowed in any case, the rule, it will be said,
becomes of no use; for that pride and passion will find an exception in
every case.” If they should, they must answer for themselves. In all
moral matters, something, nay much, must be left to the fairness and
honesty of the mind. Without this principle, the plainest rule of life
may be evaded or abused: and with it, even that hard saying, of _loving
our enemies_, which is near of kin to this of _meekness_, is easily
understood, and may be reasonably applied.

“Still, the rule, it is said, must be an improper one; for that the
world, not some few persons, but mankind in general, are only to
be kept in order by _force and fear_.” So far as there is truth in
this observation, the civil sword, in every country, supplies that
needful restraint. But in the general commerce between man and man,
in all offices of civility and society, that is, in cases where the
stronger passions and more important interests of men are not directly
concerned, as they are in what relates to property and power, the
observation is clearly not true. Here, pride is the predominant vice of
mankind. And pride is naturally softened and disarmed by placability
and meekness. The good humour of the world is easily and most
effectually maintained by mutual concessions and reciprocal civilities:
for pride, having a mixture of generosity in it, yields to these,
and loses all the fierceness of its nature. So that they, who bring
this charge against the world, calumniate their kind, and either shew
that they have kept ill company; or, as I rather suspect, have never
tried the experiment, which they say is so hopeless. Let them learn to
think more favourably, that is, more justly, of human nature. We are
passionate, infirm creatures, indeed; but still men, and not fiends.
Let them set the example of that _humility_, which they affect to
think so unpromising a guard against injuries: and I dare assure them
they will generally find themselves better defended by it, than by any
resentment or high spirit which they can possibly exert.

Lastly, I would observe, that, if in some rare instances, and
in places, especially, where fashion has made resentment highly
creditable, this practice be found inconvenient, the rule is not to
be set aside on that account. The authority of the legislator should
exact obedience to it; and the inconvenience will be amply compensated
by other considerations. We shall have the merit of testifying the
sincerity of our religion, by giving to God and man so eminent a proof
of it; and, in due time, we shall have our reward.

To conclude: in this and all other cases, we shall do well to _learn of
Jesus, who was meek and lowly in heart_. His authority, his example,
his affectionate call upon us in the words of the text, are powerful
motives to the practice of this duty. And for the rest, we have seen,
that it leads directly to _peace and quiet_, in our intercourse with
each other; or, if the perverseness of man should sometimes disappoint
us in this expectation, that it will certainly and infallibly _yield
rest to our own souls_.




SERMON XXIV.

PREACHED APRIL 30, 1769.

LUKE xvi. 14.

_And the Pharisees also, who were covetous, heard all those things, and
they derided him._


But what then were _those things_ which our Lord had said in the
hearing of the Pharisees, and for which they derided him?

Had he been inveighing against the vice of covetousness in any
unreasonable manner? Had he carried the opposite virtue to an extreme,
as some moralists have done? Had he told the Pharisees that the
possession, and much more the enjoyment of riches, was, universally,
and under all circumstances, unlawful? Had he pressed it as a matter
of conscience upon them, to divest themselves of their wealth, and to
embrace an absolute and voluntary poverty? Had he even gone so far as
to advise these Pharisees, as he once did a rich man, to _sell what
they had and give it to the poor, and then take up the cross and follow
him_[155]?

Alas, no. He had been saying none of _these things_. He did not think
well enough of the Pharisees to give this last counsel of exalted
charity to _them_; a counsel, which he had addressed to one whom he
loved, to one who was a virtuous man as well as rich, and who wanted
only this _one thing_, to make him perfect.

And as for those other precepts, which would have implied, that riches
were unlawful in themselves, and the possession of them a crime, he was
too sober a moralist to address a lecture of this sort to any of his
hearers.

The truth is, he had only been advising rich men to employ their
wealth in such a way as should turn to the best account, to _make
themselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness_; that is, such
friends, as should be able to repay them with interest, and, when these
houses of clay are overturned, should _receive them into everlasting
habitations_: and, to give this advice the greater weight with them,
he had concluded his discourse with saying, that such conduct was even
necessary, if they aspired to this reward, for that they _could not
serve God and mammon_; that is, they could not serve _God_ acceptably,
unless they withdrew their service from _mammon_ in all those cases, in
which the commands of two such different masters interfered with each
other.

Such, and so reasonable was the doctrine which Jesus had been
delivering to the Pharisees. And how then could it provoke their
_derision_?

The text answers this question—THEY WERE COVETOUS. Their life
was a contradiction to this doctrine, and therefore they found it
unreasonable, and even ridiculous.

Nor let it be thought, that this illusion is peculiar to avarice. It is
familiar to vice of every kind, to scorn reproof; to make light of the
doctrine, which condemns it; and, when it cannot confute, to deride the
teacher.

So that the text affords this general observation, “That, when the
heart is corrupted by any vice, it naturally breeds a disposition to
unreasonable mirth and ridicule.”

And, because this levity of mind, in its turn, corrupts the heart still
further, it may be of use to open to you, more particularly, _the
sources of irreligious scorn_; to let you see from how base an origin
it springs; how it rises, indeed, on the subversion of every principle,
by which a virtuous man is governed, and by which there is hope that a
vicious man may be reclaimed.

Now ye will easily apprehend how the sinner comes to cultivate in
himself this miserable talent, if ye reflect; _how much he is concerned
to avoid the_ EVIDENCE _of moral truth; how insensible he chuses to be
to the_ DIFFERENCES _of moral sentiment; how studiously he would keep
out of sight the_ CONSEQUENCES _of moral action_: And if ye consider,
withal, how well adapted _the way of ridicule_ is, to answer all these
purposes.

I. FIRST, then, the sinner is much disposed to withhold his attention
from _the evidence of moral truth_; and the way of ridicule favours
this bad disposition.

When a moral lesson is addressed to us, it is but a common piece of
respect we owe the teacher of it, and indeed ourselves, to see what the
ideas are of which the doctrine is made up; to consider whether there
be a proper coherence between those ideas; whether what is affirmed in
the proposition be consonant to truth and reason, or not. If upon this
enquiry we find that the affirmation is well founded, either from our
immediate perception of the dependency between the ideas themselves,
or from the evidence of some remoter principle, with which it is
duly connected, we admit it thenceforth as a truth, and are obliged,
if we would act in a reasonable manner, to pay it that regard which
may be due to its importance. This is the duty of a rational hearer
in the school of instruction: and this, the process of the mind, in
discharging that duty. But this work of the understanding, it is plain,
requires attention and seriousness; _attention_, to apprehend the
meaning of the proposition delivered to us, and _seriousness_, to judge
of its truth and moment.

Indeed, if the result of our enquiry be, that the proposition is
unmeaning, or false, or frivolous, we of course reject it, and,
perhaps, with some contempt: but then this contempt is subsequent to
the inquiry, and would itself be ridiculous, if it went before it.

It is apparent, then, what reason demands in the case. But the
precipitancy of the mind is such, that it often concludes before it
understands, and, what is worse, contemns what it has not examined.
This last folly is more especially chargeable on those who are under
the influence of some inveterate prejudice, or prevailing passion.
For, when the moral instruction pressed upon us, directly opposes a
principle we will not part with, or contradicts an inclination we
resolve to cherish, the very repugnancy of the doctrine to our notions
or humours creates disgust: and then, to spare ourselves the trouble of
inquiry, or to countenance the hasty persuasion that we have no need to
inquire at all, we very naturally express that disgust in contempt and
ridicule.

I explain myself by the instance in the text, Jesus had said, _Ye
cannot serve God and mammon_. The Pharisees, who heard him say this,
had taken their resolution, _to serve mammon_; and they had, it
seems, a principle of their own, on which they presumed to satisfy
themselves, that they, likewise, _served God_. Now, this aphorism of
our Lord coming against these prejudices, they had not the patience to
consider what truth there was in the assertion; what it was _to serve
God_, and what it was _to serve mammon_; and what inconsistency there
was between these two services. This way of inquiry, which reason
prescribes, was too slow for these impatient spirits; and, besides, was
contrary to their fixed purpose of adhering, to their old principles
and practices. They therefore take a shorter method of setting aside
the obnoxious proposition. They conclude hastily, that their service
of mammon was, some how or other, made consistent with their service
of God, by virtue of their _long prayers_. And, for the rest, they
condescend not to reason upon the point at all: to get quit of this
trouble, or rather, to conceal from themselves, if possible, the
deformity of their practice, they slur an important lesson over with
an air of negligent raillery, and think it sufficient to _deride_ the
teacher of it.

Ye see then how naturally it comes to pass that the way of ridicule is
taken up by the sinner, to avoid the trouble and confusion which must
needs arise from a serious attention to the evidence of moral truth.

II. It serves equally in the next place, to sooth and flatter his
corruption, by keeping him insensible, as he would chuse to be, to _the
differences of moral sentiment_.

The divine wisdom has so wonderfully contrived human nature, that
there needs little more in moral matters, than plainly and clearly to
represent any instruction to the mind, in order to procure its assent
to it. Whatever the instruction be, whether it affirm this conduct to
be virtuous, or that vicious, if the mind be in its natural state,
it more than sees, it feels, the truth or falshood of it. The appeal
lies directly to the heart, and to certain corresponding sentiments
of right and wrong, instantly and unavoidably excited by the moral
proposition[156].

It is true, the vivacity of these sentiments may be much weakened by
habits of vice; but they must grow into a great inveteracy indeed,
before they can altogether extinguish the natural perception. The
only way to prevent this sensibility from taking place in a mind, not
perfectly abandoned, is to keep the moral truth itself out of sight;
or, which comes to the same thing, to misrepresent it. For, being
then not taken for what it is, but for something else, it is the same
thing as if the truth itself had not been proposed to us. But now this
power of misrepresentation is that faculty in which ridicule excells.
Nothing is easier for it than to distort a reasonable proposition, or
to throw some false light of the fancy upon it. The soberest truth is
then travestied into an apparent falshood; and, instead of exciting
the moral sentiment which properly belongs to it, only serves, under
this disguise, to provoke the scorner’s mirth on a phantom of his own
raising.

The instance in the text will again illustrate this observation.

Had the Pharisees seen, that, _to serve God_ implies an universal
obedience to all his laws, and that, _to serve mammon_ implies an equal
submission to all the maxims of the world, and that these laws and
these maxims are, in numberless cases, directly contrary to each other,
they would then have seen our Lord’s observation in its true light;
and they could not have helped feeling the propriety of the conduct
recommended to them. But the sentiments arising out of this truth,
would have given no small disturbance to men, who were determined to
act in defiance of them. To avoid this inconvenience, they had only
to put a false gloss on the words of Jesus; to suppose, for instance,
that by serving God was meant, to _make long prayers_, and by serving
mammon, to make a _reasonable provision for their families_; and,
then, where was the inconsistency of two such services? In this way
of understanding the text, nothing is easier than _to serve God and
mammon_. And thus, by substituting a proposition of their own, in the
room of that which he had delivered, they escape from his reproof, and
even find means to divert themselves with it.

III. But, lastly, a vicious man is not more concerned to obscure the
evidence of moral truth, and to suppress in himself the differences of
moral sentiment, than he is to keep out of sight _the consequences of
moral action_: and what so likely as ridicule to befriend him also in
this project.

When the sinner looks forward into the effects of a vicious life, he
sees so much misery springing up before him, even in this world, and
so dreadful a recompence reserved for him in another, that the prospect
must needs be painful to him. He has his choice, indeed, whether to
stop, or proceed, in his evil course; but, if he resolve to proceed,
one cannot think it strange that he should strive to forget, both what
he is about, and whither he is going. And, if other expedients fail
him, he very naturally takes refuge in a forced intemperate pleasantry.
For the very effort to be witty occupies his attention, and gratifies
his vanity. A little crackling mirth, besides, diverts and entertains
him; and, though his case will not bear reasoning upon, yet a lively
jest shall pass upon others, and sometimes upon himself, for the
soundest reason.

This is the true account of that disposition to ridicule, which the
world so commonly observes in bad men, and sometimes mistakes for
an argument of their tranquillity, when it is, in truth, an evident
symptom of their distress. For they would forget themselves, in this
noisy mirth; just as children laugh out, to keep up their spirits in
the dark.

Let me alledge the case in the text once more, to exemplify this
remark.

When our Lord reproved the Pharisees for their covetousness, and
admonished them how impossible it was _to serve God and mammon_, the
weight of this remonstrance should, in all reason, have engaged their
serious attention: and then they would have seen how criminal their
conduct was, in _devouring widows houses_, while yet they pretended a
zeal for _the house of God_; and being led by the principles of their
sect to admit a future existence, it was natural for them, under this
conviction, to expect the just vengeance of their crimes.

But vice had made them ingenious, and taught them how to elude this
dreadful conclusion. They represented to themselves their reprover in a
ridiculous light; probably as one of those moralists, who know nothing
of the world, and outrage truth and reason in their censures of it: or,
they affected to see him in this light, in order to break the force of
his remonstrance, and insinuate to the by-standers, that it merited no
other confutation than that of neglect. They did, then, as vicious men
are wont to do; they resolved not to consider the consequences of their
own conduct; and supported themselves in this resolution by _deriding_
the person, who, in charity, would have led them to their duty.

Thus it appears how naturally the way of ridicule is employed by those
who determine not to comply with the rules of reason and religion. They
are solicitous to keep _the evidence of moral truth_ from pressing too
closely upon them: they would confound and obliterate, if they could,
_the differences of moral sentiment_: they would overlook, if possible,
the _consequences of moral action_: and nothing promises so fair to
set them at ease, in these three respects, as to cultivate that turn
of mind, which obscures truth, hardens the heart, and stupifies the
understanding. For such is the proper effect of dissolute mirth; the
mortal foe to reason, virtue, and to common prudence.

I have shewn you this very clearly in the case of one vice, the vice of
avarice, as exemplified by the Pharisees in the text. But, as I said,
every other vice is equally disingenuous, and for the same reason. Tell
the ambitious man, in the language of Solomon, that _by humility and
the fear of the Lord, cometh honour_[157]; and he will loudly deride
his instructor: or, tell the voluptuous man, in the language of St.
Paul, _that he, who liveth in pleasure, is dead while he liveth_[158];
and you may certainly expect the same treatment.

It is not, that vague and general invectives against vice will always
be thus received: but let the reproof, as that in the text, be pressing
and poignant, let it _come home to men’s bosoms_, and penetrate, by
its force and truth, the inmost foldings and recesses of conscience,
and see if the man, who is touched by your reproof, and yet will not
be reclaimed by it; see, I say, if he be not carried, by a sort of
instinct, to repel your charitable pains with scorn and mockery. Had
Jesus instructed the Pharisees _to pray and fast often_; or had he
exhorted them, in general terms, to keep the law and to serve God; they
had probably given him the hearing with much apparent composure: but
when he spoke against _serving mammon_, whom they idolized: and still
more, when he told these hypocritical worldlings, that their service of
mammon did not, and could not consist with God’s service, to which they
so much pretended; then it was that they betook themselves to their
arms: they _heared these things_, and because _they were covetous_,
they _derided_ their teacher.

If this be a just picture of human nature, it may let us see how poor
a talent that of ridicule is, both in its origin, and application.
For, when employed in moral and religious matters, we may certainly
pronounce of it, That it springs from vice, and means nothing else but
the support of it. Should not the scorner himself, then, reflect of
what every other man sees, “That his mirth implies guilt, and that he
only laughs, because he dares not be serious?”

But Solomon[159] has long since read the destiny of him, who would
reprove men of this character. It will be to better purpose, therefore,
to warn the young and unexperienced against the contagion of vicious
scorn; by which many have been corrupted, on whom vice itself, in its
own proper form, would have made no impression. For the modesty of
virtue too easily concludes, that what is much ridiculed must, itself,
be ridiculous: and, when this conclusion is taken up, reflexion many
times comes too late to correct the mischiefs of it. Let those, then,
who have not yet seated themselves _in the chair of the scorner_,
consider, that ridicule is but the last effort of baffled vice to keep
itself in countenance; that it betrays a corrupt turn of mind, and
only serves to promote that corruption. Let them understand, that this
faculty is no argument of superior sense, rarely of superior wit; and
that it proves nothing but the profligacy, or the folly of him, who
affects to be distinguished by it. Let them, in a word, reflect, that
virtue and reason love to be, and can afford to be, serious: but that
vice and folly are undone, if they let go their favourite habit of
scorn and derision.




SERMON XXV.

PREACHED JUNE 25, 1775.

ECCLESIASTES v. 10.

_He that loveth silver, shall not be satisfied with silver._


If a preacher on these words should set himself to declaim against
silver, he would probably be but ill-heared, and would certainly go
beside the meaning of his text.

SILVER (or gold) is only an instrument of exchange; a sign of the
price which things bear in the commerce of life. This instrument is
of the most necessary use in society. Without it, there would be no
convenience of living, no supply of our mutual wants, no industry, no
civility, I had almost said, no virtue among men.

The author of the text was clearly of this mind; since, on many
occasions, he makes wealth the reward of wisdom, and poverty, of folly;
and since he laboured all his life, and with suitable success, to
multiply gold and silver in his dominions, beyond the example of all
former, and indeed succeeding, kings of the Jewish state.

The precious metals, then, (both for the reason of the thing, and the
authority of Solomon) shall preserve their lustre unsullied, and their
honours unimpaired by me. Poets and satirists have, indeed, execrated
those, who tore the entrails of the earth for them; and, provoked by
the general abuse of them, have seemed willing that they should be sent
back to their beds again. But sober moralists hold no such language;
and are content that they remain above ground, and shine out in the
face of the sun.

Still (for I come now to the true meaning of my text) good and useful
things may be OVER-RATED, or MISAPPLIED; and, in either way, may
become hurtful to us. _He, that_, in the emphatic language of the
preacher, LOVETH _silver_, certainly offends in one of these ways, and
probably in both: and, when he does so, it will be easy to make good
the royal denunciation—that _he shall not be_ SATISFIED _with it_.

1. Now, wealth is surely over-rated, when, instead of regarding it
only as the means of procuring a reasonable enjoyment of our lives, we
dote upon it for its own sake, and make it the end, or chief object of
our pursuits: when we sacrifice, not only ease and leisure, (which,
though valuable things, are often well recompensed by the pleasures
of industry and activity), but health and life to it: when we _grieve
nature_[160], to gratify this fantastic passion; and give up the social
pleasures, the true pleasures of humanity, for the sordid satisfaction
of seeing ourselves possessed of an abundance, which we never mean
to enjoy: above all, when we purchase wealth at the expence of our
innocence; when we prefer it to a good name, and a clear conscience;
when we suffer it to interfere with our most important concerns, those
of piety and religion; and when, for the sake of it, we are contented
to forego the noblest hopes, the support and glory of our nature, the
hopes of happiness in a future state.

When the false glitter of _silver_ (_of which the owner_, as Solomon
says, _has_, and proposes to himself, _no other good, but that of
beholding it with his eyes_[161]) imposes upon us at this rate, how
should our reasonable nature find any true or solid _satisfaction_ in
it!

“But the mere act of acquiring and accumulating wealth is, it will be
said, the miser’s pleasure, of which himself, and no other, is the
proper judge; and a certain confused notion of the uses, to which
it may serve, though he never actually puts it to any, is enough to
justify his pursuit of it.”

Be it so, then: But is there no better pleasure for him to aim at,
and which he loses by following this; and although _a man’s ways_,
we are told, _be right in his own eyes_[162]; yet, is there no
difference in them, and do not some of them lead through much trouble
to disappointment and _death_? And is there not a presumption, a
certainty, that the way of the _miser_ is of this sort? when his
very name may admonish him of the light in which the common sense of
mankind regards his pursuit of untasted opulence; and when he finds, by
experience, that his unnatural appetite for it is always encreasing, be
the plenty never so great which is set before him. But,

2. Wealth may be MISAPPLIED, as well as over-rated, and generally is
so, in the most offensive manner, by those, who think there are no
pleasures, which it cannot command. For, although the miser has the
worse name in the world, yet the spendthrift (since a certain alliance,
which has taken place between luxury and avarice) possibly deserves our
indignation more.

But ye shall judge for yourselves. Are not riches, let me ask, sadly
misapplied, when, after having been pursued and seized upon, with
more than a miser’s fury, they are suddenly let go again, on all the
wings[163] of prodigality and folly? which scatter their precious load,
not on modest merit, or virtuous industry, or suffering innocence,
but on the flatterers of pride, the retainers of pomp, the panders of
pleasure; in a word, on those miscreants, who imped these harpies, and
sent them forth, for the annoyance of mankind.

And well are these spendthrifts repaid for their good service.
For this profusion brings on more pains and penalties, than I am
able to express; disappointment, regret, disgust, and infamy; and
not uncommonly, in the train of these, that tremendous spectre to
a voluptuous man, _Poverty_: or, if the source, which feeds this
whirlpool of riotous expence, be yet unexhausted, and flow copiously,
these waters have that baleful quality, that they inflame, instead
of quenching, the drinker’s thirst. All his natural appetites grow
nice and delicate; and ten thousand artificial ones are created, and
become more vexatious to him, than any that are of nature’s growth.
The idolater of riches, the infatuated lover of _silver_, now finds,
that the power he serves, the mistress he adores, yields him no other
fruit of all his assiduity, but self-abhorrence and distraction; the
loss of all virtuous feelings; and numberless clamorous desires, which
give him no truce of their importunity, and are incapable, by any
gratification, of being quieted and assuaged.

So true is the observation, that _he, who, loveth silver, shall not be
satisfied with silver_! For, either the passion grows upon us, when the
object is not enjoyed; or, if it be, a new force is given to it, and a
legion of other passions, as impatient and unmanageable as the original
one, start up out of the enjoyment itself.

I know the lovers of money are not easily made sensible of this fatal
alternative. They think, that this, or that sum, will fill[164] all
their wishes, and make them as rich, and as happy, as they desire to
be. But they presently feel their mistake; and yet rarely find out,
that the way to content lies through self-command, and that to have
enough of any thing which this world affords, we must be careful not to
grasp at too much of it.

On the entrance into life, higher and more generous motives usually
excite the better part of mankind to labour in those professions, that
are accounted liberal. But, as they proceed in their course, interest,
which was always one spur to their industry, infixes itself deeply
into their minds, and stimulates them more sensibly than any other.
It can scarce be otherwise, considering the influence of example; the
experience they have, or think they have, of the advantages, that
attend encreasing wealth; the fashion of the times, which indulges,
or, as we easily persuade ourselves, requires refined, and therefore
expensive, pleasures; and, above all, the selfishness of the human
mind, which is, and, for wise reasons, was intended to be a powerful
spring of action in us.

Thus there are several adventitious, shall we call them? or natural
inclinations, which prompt us to the pursuit of riches; and I would not
be so rigid, as to insist on the total suppression of them.

Let then the fortune, or the honour (for both are included in the
magical word _silver_) which eminent worth may propose to itself,
be among the inducements which erect the hopes, and quicken the
application, of a virtuous man. But let him know withal (and I am in
no pain for the effect, which this premature knowledge may have upon
him) that the application, and not the object, is that in which he
will find his account; just as the pursuit, and not the game, is the
true reward of the chace. He who thinks otherwise, and reckons that
affluence is content, or grandeur, happiness, will have leisure, if he
attain to either, to rectify his opinion, and to see that he had made a
very false estimate of human life.

And, now, having thus far commented on my text, I will take leave, for
once, to step beyond it, and shew you, in few words (for many cannot be
necessary on so plain a subject) _where_ and _how_ satisfaction may be
found.

In the abundance of _silver_, it does not, and cannot lie; nor yet in a
cynical contempt of it: but, in few and moderate desires; in a correct
taste of life, which consults nature more than fancy in the choice
of its pleasures; in rejecting imaginary wants, and keeping a strict
hand on those that are real; in a sober use of what we possess, and no
further concern about more than what may engage us, by honest means,
to acquire it; in considering who, and what we are[165]; that we are
creatures of a day, to whom long desires and immeasurable projects
are very ill suited; that we are reasonable creatures, who should make
a wide difference between what seems to be, and what is important;
that we are accountable creatures, and should be more concerned to
make a right use of what we possess, than to enlarge our possessions;
that, above all, we are Christians, who are expected to sit loose to a
transitory world, to extend our hopes to another life, and to qualify
ourselves for it.

In this way, and with these reflections, we shall see things in a true
light, and shall either not desire abundant wealth, or shall understand
its true value. The strictest morality, and even our divine religion,
lays no obligation upon us to profess poverty. We are even required
to be industrious in our several callings and stations, and are, of
course, allowed to reap the fruits, whatever they be, of an honest
industry. Yet it deserves our consideration, that wealth is always a
snare, and therefore too often a curse; that, if virtuously obtained,
it affords but a moderate satisfaction at best; and that, if we WILL
be rich, that is, resolve by any means, and at all events, to be so,
we _pierce ourselves through with many sorrows_[166]; that it even
requires more virtue to manage, as we ought, a great estate, than to
acquire it, in the most reputable manner; that affluent, and, still
more, enormous wealth secularizes the heart of a Christian too much,
indisposes him for the offices of piety, and too often (though it may
seem strange) for those of humanity; that it inspires a sufficiency and
self-dependance, which was not designed for mortal man; an impatience
of complying with the rules of reason, and the commands of religion;
a forgetfulness of our highest duties, or an extreme reluctance to
observe them.

In a word, when we have computed all the advantages, which a flowing
prosperity brings with it, it will be our wisdom to remember, that its
disadvantages are also great[167]; greater than surely we are aware of,
if it be true, as our Lord himself assures us it is; _that a rich man
shall hardly enter into the kingdom of Heaven_[168].

Yet, _with God_ (our gracious Master adds) _all things are possible_. I
return, therefore, to the doctrine with which I set out, and conclude;
that riches are not evil in themselves; that the moderate desire of
them is not unlawful; that a right use of them is even meritorious.
But then you will reflect on what the nature of things, as well as
the voice of Solomon, loudly declares, that _he who loveth silver,
shall not be satisfied with silver_; that the capacity of the human
mind is not filled with it; that, if we pursue it with ardour, and
make it the sole or the chief object of our pursuit, it never did, and
never can yield a true and permanent satisfaction; that, if _riches
encrease_, it is our interest, as well as duty, _not to set our hearts
upon them_[169]; and that, finally, we are so to employ the riches, we
any of us have, with temperance and sobriety, with mercy and charity,
as to _make ourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness_ (of
the mammon, which usually deserves to be so called) that, _when we
fail_ (when our lives come, as they soon will do, to an end) _they may
receive us into everlasting habitations_[170].




SERMON XXVI.

PREACHED FEBRUARY 21, 1773.

1 COR. vi. 20.

_Therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are
God’s._


The words, as the expression shews, are an inference from the preceding
part of the Apostle’s discourse. The occasion was this. He had been
reasoning, towards the close of this chapter, against fornication,
or the vice of impurity; to which the Gentiles, in their unbelieving
state, had been notoriously addicted; and for which the Corinthians (to
whom he writes) were, even among the Gentiles themselves, branded to a
proverb.

The topics, he chiefly insists upon, are taken, not from nature, but
the principles of our holy religion, from the right and property, which
God hath in Christians. By virtue of their profession, their bodies and
souls are appropriated to him. THEREFORE, says he, _glorify God in your
body, and in your spirit, which are God’s_.

To apprehend all the force of this conclusion, it will be proper to
look back to the arguments themselves; to consider distinctly the
substance of them, and the manner in which they are conducted.

This double attention will give us cause to admire, not the logick
only, but the address, of the learned Apostle. I say, the _address_;
which the occasion required: for, notwithstanding that no sin is more
opposite to our holy religion, and that therefore St. Paul, in his
epistles to the Gentile converts, gives it no quarter, yet, as became
the wisdom and sanctity of his character, he forgets not of what, and
to whom, he writes.

The vice itself is of no easy reprehension: not, for want of arguments
against it, which are innumerable and irresistible; but from the
reverence which is due to one’s self and others. An Apostle,
especially, was to respect his own dignity. He was, besides, neither
to offend the innocent, nor the guilty. Unhappily, these last, who
needed his plainest reproof, had more than the delicacy of innocence
about them, and were, of all men, the readiest to take offence. For so
it is, the licentious of all times have seared consciences, and tender
apprehensions. It alarms them to hear what they have no scruple to
commit.

The persons addressed were, especially, to be considered. These
were Corinthians: that is, a rich commercial people, voluptuous and
dissolute. They were, besides, wits and reasoners, rhetoricians and
philosophers: for under these characters they are represented to us.
And all these characters required the Apostle’s attention. As a people
addicted to pleasure, and supported in the habits of it by abounding
wealth, they were to be awakened out of their lethargy, by an earnest
and vehement expostulation: as pretending to be expert in the arts
of reasoning, they were to be convinced by strict argument: and, as
men of quick rhetorical fancies, a reasoner would find his account in
presenting his argument to them through some apt and lively image.

Let us see, then, how the Apostle acquits himself in these nice
circumstances.

After observing that the sin he had warned the Corinthians to avoid,
was _a sin against their own body_; that is, was an abuse and
defilement of it, he proceeds, “_What! know ye not that your body is
the temple of the Holy Ghost, which is in you, which ye have of God?
And ye are not your own; for ye are bought with a price; therefore,
glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s._”

The address, we see, is poignant; the reasoning, close; and the
expression, oratorical. The vehemence of his manner could not but take
their attention: his argumentation, as being founded on Christian
principles and ideas, must be conclusive to the persons addressed;
and, as conveyed in remote and decent figures, the delicacy of their
imaginations is respected by it.

The whole deserves to be opened and explained at large. Such an
explanation, will be the best discourse I can frame on this subject.

I. First, then, the Apostle asks, _What! know ye not that your body
is the temple of the Holy Ghost?_—This question refers to that great
Christian principle, that we live _in the communion of the Holy
Ghost_[171]; not, in the sense in which we _all live and move and have
our being in God_; but in a special and more exalted sense; the Gospel
teaching, that _God hath given to us Christians the Holy Spirit_[172],
to be with us, and in us; to purify and comfort us: that we are
_baptized by this spirit_[173], sanctified, _sealed by it to the day of
redemption_[174].

Now this being the case, the _body_ of a Christian, which the Holy
Ghost inhabits and sanctifies by his presence, is no longer to be
considered as a worthless fabrick, to be put to sordid uses, but as the
receptacle of God’s spirit, as the place of his residence; in a word,
as his TEMPLE and sanctuary.

The figure, you see, presents an idea the most august and venerable.
It carried this impression with it both to the Gentile and Jewish
Christians. It did so to the Gentiles, whose superstitious reverence
for their idol-temples is well known: and though many an abominable
rite was done in them, yet the nature of the Deity, occupying this
temple, which was the Holy Ghost, put an infinite difference between
him and their impure deities, the impurest of which had engrossed the
Corinthian worship. So that this contrast of the object could not but
raise their ideas, and impress the reverence, which the Apostle would
excite in them for such a temple, with full effect on their minds[175].
And then to Jews, the allusion must be singularly striking: for their
supreme pride and boast was, the temple at Jerusalem, _the tabernacle
of the most high, dwelling between the cherubims, and the place of the
habitation of God’s glory_[176].

To both Jew and Gentile, the notion of a temple implied these two
things, 1. That the divinity was in a more especial manner present in
it: and, 2. That it was a place peculiarly set apart for his service.
Whence the effect of this representation would be, That the body,
having the Holy Spirit lodged within it, was to be kept pure and clean
for this cælestial inhabitant: and, as being dedicated to his own use,
it was not to be prophaned by any indecencies, much less by a gross
sin, which is, emphatically, _a sin against the body_, and by heathens
themselves accounted a _pollution_[177] of it.

Further; the Apostle does not leave the Corinthians to collect all this
from the image presented to them, but asserts it expressly; _What! know
ye not, that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost_, WHICH IS IN
YOU: Implying, that what they would naturally infer from their idea of
a temple, was true, in fact, _that the Holy Ghost was in them_; that
his actual occupancy and possession of their bodies appropriated the
use of them to himself, and excluded all sordid practices in them, as
prophane and SACRILEGIOUS. Nay, he further adds; AND WHICH [Holy Ghost]
YE HAVE OF GOD: ye have received this adorable spirit, _which is in
you_, from God himself; and so are obliged to entertain this heavenly
guest with all sanctity and reverence; not only for his own sake, and
for the honour he does you in dwelling in you, but for his sake who
sent him, and from whose hands ye have received him.

This first argument, then, against the sin of uncleanness, divested of
its figure, stands thus. In consequence of your Christian profession,
ye must acknowledge, that the Holy Spirit is given to inform and
consecrate your mortal bodies; that he is actually _within_ you; and
that he dwells and operates there, by the gracious appointment and
commission of God. Ye are therefore to consider your body as the place
of his more especial habitation; and as such, are bound to preserve it
in such purity, as the nature of so sacred a presence demands.

This is the clear, obvious, and conclusive argument; liable to no
objection, or even cavil, from a professor of Christianity. The figure
of a temple is only employed to raise our apprehensions, and to convey
the conclusion with more force and energy to our minds. But now,

II. The Apostle proceeds to another and distinct consideration, and
shews that the Holy Ghost is not only the actual _occupier and
possessor_ of the body of Christians, whom the Almighty had, as it
were, forced upon them, and by his sovereign authority enjoined them to
receive, but that he was the true and rightful PROPRIETOR of it. YE ARE
NOT YOUR OWN, continues the Apostle; not merely, as “God hath, by his
spirit, taken possession of you, and sealed you up, as his own proper
goods[178];” but as he hath redeemed and purchased you, as he hath done
that, by which the _property_ ye might before seem to have in your
bodies, is actually made over and consigned to him. FOR YE ARE BOUGHT
WITH A PRICE.

The expression is, again, figurative; and refers to the notions and
usages that obtained among the heathens, the Greeks especially, in
regard to _personal slavery_. As passionate admirers, as they were,
of liberty, every government, even the most republican, abounded in
slaves; every family had its share of them. The purchase of them, as
of brute beasts, was a considerable part of their traffick. Men and
women were bought and sold publicly in their markets: the wealth of
states and of individuals, in great measure, consisted in them. Thus
was human nature degraded by the Heathen, and I wish it might be said,
by heathens only. But my present concern is with them. It is too sad
a truth that human creatures sold themselves, or were sold by their
masters, to be employed in the basest services, even those of luxury
and of lust. This infamous practice was common through all Greece, but
was more especially a chief branch of the Corinthian commerce. Their
city was the head-quarters of prostitution, and the great market for
the supply of it.

Now to this practice the Apostle alludes, but in such a manner as
implies the severest reproof of it. His remonstrance is to this
effect. “Ye Corinthians, in your former pagan state, made no scruple
to consider your slaves as your own absolute property. Your pretence
was, that _ye had bought them with a price_; that is, with a piece of
money, which could be no equivalent for the natural inestimable liberty
and dignity of a fellow-creature; yet ye claimed to yourselves their
entire, unreserved service; and often condemned them to the vilest and
most ignominious.

“To turn now, says the Apostle, from these horrors to a fairer scene;
for I take advantage only of your ideas in this matter, to lead you
to just notions of your present Christian condition. God, the sole
rightful proprietor of the persons of men, left you in the state of
nature, to the enjoyment of your own liberty, with no other restraint
upon it than what was necessary to preserve so great a blessing, the
restraint of reason. Now, indeed, but still for your own infinite
benefit, he claims a stricter property in you, and demands your more
peculiar service. He first made you men, but now Christians. Still he
condescends to proceed with you in your own way, and according to your
own ideas of right and justice. _He has bought you with a price_: but,
merciful heaven, with _what_ price? With that, which exceeds all value
and estimation, with the BLOOD of his only begotten Son; the least drop
of which is of more virtue than all your hecatombs, and more precious
than the treasures of the East. And for what was this price paid? Not
to enslave, much less to insult and corrupt you (as ye wickedly served
one another), but to _redeem you into the glorious liberty of the sons
of God_: It was, to restore you from death to life, from servitude to
freedom, from corruption to holiness, _to make to himself a peculiar
people, zealous of good works_. Say, then, Is this ransom an equivalent
for the purchase of you? And is the end for which ye are purchased,
such as ye dare complain of, or have reason to refuse? Henceforth,
then, _ye are not your own_: the property of your souls and bodies is
freely, justly, equitably, with immense benefit to yourselves, and
unspeakable mercy on the part of the purchaser, transferred to God.
Your whole and best service is due to him, of strict right: what he
demands of you is to serve him in all virtue and godliness of living,
and particularly to respect and reverence yourselves; in a word, not to
pollute yourselves with forbidden lusts. In this way ye are required
to serve your new lord and master, who has the goodness to regard such
service, as an honour and glory to himself. _Therefore_, do your part
inviolably and conscientiously, _Glorify God in your body, and in your
spirit, which are God’s_.”

This is the the Apostle’s idea, when drawn out and explained at large.
The reasoning is decisive, as in the former case: and the expression
admirably adapted to the circumstances of the persons addressed. In
plain words, the argument is this. God has provided, by the sacrifice
of the death of Christ, for your redemption from all iniquity, both
the service, and the wages of it. By your profession of Christianity,
and free acceptance of this inestimable benefit, freely offered to
you, ye are become in a more especial manner, his servants: ye are
bound, therefore, by every motive of duty and self-interest to preserve
yourselves in all that purity of mind and body, which his laws require
of you; and for the sake of which ye were taken into this nearer
relation to himself. The figure of being _bought with a price_, was
at once the most natural cover of this reasoning, as addressed to the
Corinthian Christians; and the most poignant reproof of their country’s
inhuman practice of trafficking in the bodies and souls of men.

The force both of the _figure_ and the _reasoning_ is apparently much
weakened by this minute comment upon the Apostle’s words, which yet
seemed necessary to make them understood.

To draw to a point, then, the substance of what has been said, and to
conclude.

The vice which the Apostle had been arguing against, is condemned
by natural reason. But Christians are bound by additional and
peculiar considerations to abstain from it. YE, says the Apostle, ARE
THE TEMPLES OF THE HOLY GHOST. To defile yourselves with the sins
of uncleanness is, then, to desecrate those bodies which the Holy
Ghost sanctifies by his presence. It is, in the emphatic language
of scripture, _to grieve the holy Spirit_, and _to do despite to
the spirit of grace_. It is like, nay it is infinitely worse, than
polluting the sanctuary: an abomination, which nature itself teaches
all men to avoid and execrate. It is, in the highest sense of the
words, PROPHANENESS, IMPIETY, SACRILEGE.

Again; YE ARE BOUGHT WITH A PRICE: ye are not your own, but God’s;
having been ransomed by him, your souls and bodies, when both were
lost, through the death of his Son: a price, of so immense, so
inestimable a value, that worlds are not equal to it. To dispose of
yourselves, then, in a way which he forbids and abhors: to corrupt
by your impurities that which belongs to God, which is his right and
property; to serve your lusts, when ye are redeemed at such a price to
serve God only, through Jesus Christ; is an outrage which we poorly
express, when language affords no other names for it, than those of
INGRATITUDE, INFIDELITY, INJUSTICE.

Whatever excuses a poor heathen might alledge to palliate this sin, we
Christians have none to offer. He, _who knew not God_, might be led
by his pride, by his passions, and even by his religion, to conclude
(as the idolatrous Corinthians seem to have done) that _his own body
was for fornication_; or, at most, that he was only accountable to
_his own soul_ (if his philosophy would give him leave to think he had
one) for the misuse of it. But this language is now out of date. The
souls and bodies of us Christians are not ours, but the _Lord’s_: they
are _occupied_ by his spirit, and _appropriated_ to his service. The
conclusion follows, and cannot be inforced in stronger terms than those
of the text: THEREFORE GLORIFY GOD IN YOUR BODY, AND IN YOUR SPIRIT,
WHICH ARE GOD’S.




SERMON XXVII.

PREACHED MARCH 13, 1774.

JOB xxiii. 26.

    _Thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess
    the iniquities of my youth._


This is one of the complaints which Job makes in his expostulations
with the Almighty. He thought it hard measure that he should suffer,
now in his riper years, for the iniquities of his youth. He could
charge himself with no other; and therefore he hoped that these had
been forgotten.

Job is all along represented as an eminently virtuous person; so
that the iniquities of his youth might not have been numerous or
considerable: otherwise, he would not have thought it strange, that he
was _made to possess_ his sins, long after they had been committed. Our
experience is, in this respect, so constant and uniform, that there
is no room for surprize or expostulation. All those who have passed
their youth in sin and folly, may with reason express a very strong
resentment against themselves; but have no ground of complaint against
God, when they cry out, in the anguish of their souls: _Thou writest
bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my
youth_.

The words are peculiarly strong and energetic; and may be considered
distinctly from the case of Job, as expressing this general
proposition; “That, in the order of things, an ill-spent youth derives
many lasting evils on the subsequent periods of life.” An alarming
truth! which cannot be too much considered, and should especially be
set before the young and unexperienced, in the strongest light.

The sins of _youth_, as distinguished from those of riper years, are
chiefly such as are occasioned by an immoderate, or an irregular
pursuit of pleasure; into which we are too easily carried in that
careless part of life; and the ill effects of which are rarely
apprehended by us, till they are severely felt.

Now, it may be said of us, that we are made to POSSESS these sins,
“When _we continue under the constant sense and unrepented guilt of
them_:” “When _we labour under tyrannous habits, which they have
produced_:” And, “when _we groan under afflictions of various kinds,
which they have entailed upon us_.”

In these three respects, I mean to shew how _bitter those things are,
which God writeth_, that is, decreeth in his justice, _against the
iniquities of our youth_.

I. The _first_, and bitterest effect of this indulgence in vicious
pleasure, is the guilt and consequent remorse of conscience, we derive
from it.

When the young mind has been tinctured in any degree with the
principles of modesty and virtue, it is with reluctance and much
apprehension, that it first ventures on the transgression of known
duty. But the vivacity and thoughtless gaiety of that early season,
encouraged by the hopes of new pleasure, and sollicited, as it
commonly happens, by ill examples, is at length tempted to make the
fatal experiment; by which guilt is contracted, and the sting of guilt
first known. The ingenuous mind reflects with shame and compunction
on this miscarriage but the passion revives; the temptation returns,
and prevails a second time, and a third; still with growing guilt,
but unhappily with something less horror; yet enough to admonish the
offender of his fault, and to embitter his enjoyments.

As no instant mischief, perhaps, is felt from this indulgence, but
the pain of remorse, he, by degrees, imputes this effect to an
over-timorous apprehension, to his too delicate self-esteem, or to the
prejudice of education. He next confirms himself in these sentiments,
by observing the practice of the world, by listening to the libertine
talk of his companions, and by forming, perhaps, a sort of system to
himself, by which he pretends to vindicate his own conduct: till, at
length, his shame and his fears subside; he grows intrepid in vice, and
riots in all the intemperance to which youth invites, and high spirits
transport him.

In this delirious state he continues for some time. But presently the
scene changes. Although the habit continue, the enjoyment is not the
same: the keenness of appetite abates, and the cares of life succeed to
this run of pleasure.

But neither the cares nor the pleasures of life can now keep him from
reflexion. He cannot help giving way, at times, to a serious turn of
thought; and some unwelcome event or other will strike in to promote
it. Either the loss of a friend makes him grave; or a fit of illness
sinks his spirits; or it may be sufficient, that the companions of his
idle hours are withdrawn, and that he is left to himself in longer
intervals than he would chuse, of solitude and recollection.

By some or other of these means CONSCIENCE revives in him, and with a
quick resentment of the outrage she has suffered. Attempts to suppress
her indignant reproaches, are no longer effectual: she _will_ be
heared; and her voice carries terror and consternation with it.

“She upbraids him, first, with his loss of virtue, and of that which
died with it, her own favour and approbation. She then sets before him
the indignity of having renounced all self-command, and of having
served ingloriously under every idle, every sordid appetite. She next
rises in her remonstrance; represents to him the baseness of having
attempted unsuspecting innocence; the cruelty of having alarmed,
perhaps destroyed, the honour of deserving families; the fraud, the
perfidy, the perjury, he has possibly committed in carrying on his
iniquitous purposes. The mischiefs he has done to others are perhaps
not to be repaired; and his own personal crimes remain to be accounted
for; and, if at all, can only be expiated by the bitterest repentance.
And what then, concludes this severe monitor in the awful words of the
Apostle, _What fruit had ye then in those things whereof ye are now
ashamed? for the end of those things is death_[179].”

Suppose now this remonstrance to take effect, and that the sinner
is at length (for what I have here represented in few words, takes
much time in doing; but suppose, I say, that the sinner is at length)
wrought upon by this remonstrance to entertain some serious thoughts
of amendment, still the consciousness of his ill desert will attend
him through every stage of life, and corrupt the sincerity of all his
enjoyments; while he knows not what will be the issue of his crimes, or
whether, indeed, he shall ever be able truly and effectually to repent
of them. For we cannot get quit of our sins, the moment we resolve to
do so: But, as I proposed to shew,

II. _In the second place_, we are still made to possess the iniquities
of our youth, _while we labour under any remains of those tyrannous
habits, which they have produced in us_.

There is scarce an object of greater compassion, than the man who
is duly sensible of his past misconduct, earnestly repents of it,
and strives to reform it, but yet is continually drawn back into his
former miscarriages, by the very habit of having so frequently fallen
into them. Such a man’s life is a perpetual scene of contradiction;
a discordant mixture of good resolutions, and weak performances; of
virtuous purposes, and shameful relapses; in a word, of sin and sorrow.
And, were he only to consult his present ease, an uninterrupted course
of vice might almost seem preferable to this intermitting state of
virtue. But the misery of this condition comes from himself, and must
be endured, for the sake of avoiding, if it may be, one that is much
worse. In the mean time, he feels most sensibly what it is to _possess_
the iniquities of his youth. The temptation, perhaps, to persevere in
them, is not great; he condemns, and laments his own weakness. Still
the habit prevails, and his repentance, though constantly renewed, is
unable to disengage him from the power of it.

Thus he struggles with himself, perhaps for many years, perhaps for a
great part of his life; and in all that time is distracted by the very
inconsistency of his own conduct, and tortured by the bitterest pains
of compunction and self-abhorrence.

But let it be supposed, that the grace of God at length prevails
over the tyranny of his inveterate habits; that his repentance is
efficacious, and his virtue established. Yet the memory of his former
weakness fills him with fears and apprehensions: he finds his mind
weakened, as well as polluted, by his past sins; he has to strive
against the returning influence of them; and thus, when penitence and
tears have washed away his guilt, he still thinks himself insecure, and
trembles at the possible danger of being involved again in it.

Add to all this, the compunction which such a man feels, when he is
obliged to discountenance in others, perhaps, by his station, to punish
those crimes in which he had so long and so freely indulged himself:
and how uneasy the very discharge of his duty is thus rendered to him.

To say all upon this head: his acquired habits, if not corrected in due
time, may push him into crimes the most atrocious and shocking; and,
if subdued at length, will agitate his mind with long dissatisfaction
and disquiet. Repentance, if it comes at all, will come late; and will
never reinstate him fully in the serenity and composure of his lost
innocence. But,

III. Lastly, when all this is done (and more to do is not in our power)
we may still possess the iniquities of our youth, in another sense,
I mean, _when we groan under the temporal afflictions of many kinds,
which they entail upon us_.

So close do these sad _possessions_ cleave to us, and so difficult it
is, contrary to what we observe of all other possessions, to divest
ourselves of them!

When PLEASURE first spreads its share for the young voluptuary, how
little did he suspect the malignity of its nature; and that under so
enchanting an appearance, it was preparing for him pains and diseases,
declining health, an early old-age, perhaps poverty, infamy, and
irreparable ruin? Yet some, or all of these calamities may oppress him,
when the pleasure is renounced, and the sin forsaken.

Youth and health are with difficulty made to comprehend how frail a
machine the human body is, and how easily impaired by excesses. But
effects will follow their causes; and intemperate pleasure is sure
to be succeeded by long pains, for which there is no prevention, and
for the most part, no remedy. Hence it is that life is shortened;
and, while it lasts, is full of languor, disease, and suffering. If
by living _fast_, as men call it, they only abridged the duration of
their pleasures, their folly might seem tolerable. But the case is
much worse: they treasure up to themselves actual sufferings, from
disorders which have no cure, as well as no name. And not unfrequently
it happens, according to the strong expression in the book of Job, that
_a man’s bones are full of the sin of his youth, till they lie down
with him in the grave_[180].

Or, if health continue, his _fortune_ suffers; it being an observation
as old as Solomon, and confirmed by constant experience ever since,
that _he who loveth pleasure, shall not be rich_[181]. His paternal
inheritance is perhaps wasted, or much reduced. And his careless youth
has lost the opportunity of those improvements which should enable
him to repair it. Or, if the abundant provision of wiser ancestors
secure him from this mischance; or, if he has had the discretion to
mix some industry and œconomy with his vices, still his good name
is blasted, and so tender a plant as this is not easily restored to
health and vigour. For it is a mistake to think that intemperance
leaves no lasting disgrace behind it. The contrary is seen every
day; and the crimes which we commit in the mad pursuit of pleasure,
bring a dishonour with them, which no age can wholly outlive, and no
virtue can repair[182]. It stuck close to Cæsar himself in his highest
fortune: All his laurels could neither hide his _baldness_ from the
observation of men, nor the infamy of that commerce by which it had
been occasioned[183].

All this, it may be thought, is very hard. But such is the fact, and
such the order of God’s providence. We have not the making of this
system: it is made to our hands by him who ordereth all things for the
best, how grievous soever his dispensations may sometimes appear to
us. Our duty, and our wisdom is to reflect what that system is, and to
conform ourselves to it.

If a young man, on his entrance into life, could be made duly sensible
of the dreadful evils, which, in the very constitution of things, flow
from vice, there is scarcely any temptation that could prevail over his
virtue. But his levity and inexperience expose him to these evils: he
thinks nothing of them till they arrive, and then there is no escape
from them.

To conclude: if any thing can rescue unwary youth out of the hands of
their own folly, it must be such a train of reflection as the text
offers to us. Let it sink deep into their minds, that there are indeed
_bitter things_ decreed against the iniquities of that early age; that
a thousand temporal evils spring from that source; that vicious habits
are in themselves vexatious and tormenting; and, that, uncorrected,
and unrepented of, they fill the mind with inutterable remorse and
horror.

When the sins of youth are seen in this light, it is not by giving
them the soft name of infirmities, or by cloathing them with ideas of
pleasure, that we shall be able to reconcile the mind to them. Such
thin disguises will not conceal their true forms and natures from us.
We shall still take them for what indeed they are, for sorcerers and
assassins, the enchanters of our reason and the murderers of our peace.

The sum of all is comprised in that memorable advice of the Psalmist,
so often quoted in this place (and, for once, let it have its effect
upon us): _Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right,
for that shall bring a man peace at the last_[184].

Or, if the scorner will not listen to this advice, it only remains
to leave him to his own sad experience; but not till we have made
one charitable effort more to provoke his attention by the caustic
apostrophe of the wise man: _Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and
let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways
of thy heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but_ KNOW THOU, _that,
for all these things, God will bring thee into judgement_[185].




SERMON XXVIII.

PREACHED MAY 28, 1769.

ECCLESIASTES vii. 21, 22.

    _Take no heed unto all words that are spoken, lest thou hear thy
    servant curse thee. For oftentimes, also, thine own heart knoweth,
    that thou thyself, likewise, hast cursed others._


The royal author of this book has been much and justly celebrated for
his wise aphorisms and precepts on the conduct of human life. Among
others of this sort, the text may deserve to be had in reverence;
which, though simply and familiarly expressed, could only be the
reflexion of a man who had great experience of the world, and had
studied with care the secret workings of his own mind.

The purpose of it is, to disgrace and discountenance that ANXIOUS
CURIOSITY (the result of our vanity, and a misguided self-love) which
prompts us to inquire into the sentiments and opinions of other persons
concerning us, and to give ourselves no rest till we understand what,
in their private and casual conversations, they say of us.

“This curious disposition, says the preacher, is by all means to be
repressed, as the indulgence of it is both FOOLISH and UNJUST; as it
not only serves to embitter your own lives by the unwelcome discoveries
ye are most likely to make; but at the same time to convict your own
consciences of much iniquity; since, upon reflexion, ye will find that
ye have, yourselves, been guilty at some unguarded hour or other, of
the same malignity or flippancy towards other men.”

In these two considerations is comprised whatever can be said to
discredit this vice: the _one_, you see, taken from the preacher’s
knowledge of human life; the _other_, from his intimate acquaintance
with the secret depravity and corruption of the human heart.

Permit me, then, to enlarge on these two topics; and, by that means, to
open to you more distinctly the WISDOM, and the EQUITY of that conduct,
which is here recommended to us, of _not giving a sollicitous attention
to the frivolous and unweighed censures of other men_.

I. _Take no heed_, says the preacher, _to all words that are spoken_,
LEST THOU HEAR THY SERVANT CURSE THEE. This is the FIRST reason which
he assigns for his advice.

The force of it will be clearly apprehended, if we reflect (as the
observing author of the text had certainly done) that nothing is more
flippant, nothing more unreasonably and unaccountably petulant, than
the tongue of man.

It is so little under the controul, I do not say of candour, or of
good-nature, but of common prudence, and of common justice, that it
moves, as it were, with the slightest breath of rumour; nay, as if a
tendency to speak ill of others were instinctive to it, it waits many
times for no cause from without, but is prompted as we may say, by its
own restlessness and volubility to attack the characters of those who
chance to be the subject of discourse. Without provocation, without
malice, without so much as intentional ill-will, it echoes the voice of
the present company; vibrates with the prevailing tone of conversation;
or takes occasion from the slightest occurrence, from some idle conceit
that strikes the fancy, from the impulse of a sudden and half-formed
suggestion, that stirs within us, to exercise its activity in a
careless censure of other men.

Nay, what is more to be lamented, the sagacious observer of mankind
will find reason to conclude, that no zeal for our interests, no
kindness for our persons, shall at all times restrain this unruly
member, the tongue, from taking unwelcome freedoms with us. The
dearest friend we have, shall at some unlucky moment be seduced by an
affectation of wit, by a start of humour, by a flow of spirits, by a
sudden surmise, or indisposition, by any thing, in short, to let fall
such things of us, as have some degree of sharpness in them, and would
give us pain, if they were officiously reported to us.

This appears to have been the sentiment of the wise preacher in the
text. Avoid, says he, this impertinent curiosity, _lest thou hear thy
servant curse thee_; lest the very persons that live under thy roof
and are most obliged to thee, who are reasonably presumed to have the
warmest concern for thy honour and interest, and on whose fidelity and
gratitude the security and comfort of thy whole life more immediately
depends, lest even these be found to make free with thy character. For
there is a time, when even _these_ may be carried to speak undutifully
and disrespectfully of thee.

And would any man wish to make this discovery of those, who are
esteemed to be, and, notwithstanding these occasional freedoms, perhaps
_are_, his true servants and affectionate friends?

For think not, when this unlucky discovery is made, that the offended
party will treat it with neglect, or be in a condition to consider it
with those allowances, that, in reason and equity, may be required of
him. No such thing: It will appear to him in the light of a heinous
and unpardonable indignity; it will occasion warm resentments, and not
only fill his mind with present disquiet, but most probably provoke
him to severe expostulations; the usual fruit of which is, to make a
deliberate and active enemy of him, who was, before, only an incautious
and indiscreet friend: at the best, it will engender I know not what
uneasy jealousies and black suspicions; which will mislead his judgment
on many occasions; and inspire an anxious distrust, not of the faulty
person himself only, but of others, who stand in the same relation to
him, and, perhaps, of all mankind.

These several ill effects may be supposed, as I said, to flow from the
discovery: and it will be useful to set the malignity of _each_ in its
true and proper light.

1. _First_, then, consider that a likely, or rather infallible effect
of this discovery, is, _to fire the mind with quick and passionate
resentments_. And what is it to be in this state, but to lose the
enjoyment of ourselves; to have the relish of every thing, we possess,
embittered by pungent reflexions on the perfidy and baseness of those,
with whom we live, and of whom it is our happiness to think well; to
have the repose of our lives disturbed by the most painful of all
sensations, that of supposed injury from our very friends? And for
what is this wretchedness, this misery, encountered? For the idleness
of an unweighed discourse; for something, which, if kept secret from
us, had been perfectly insignificant; for a discourtesy, which meant
nothing and tended to nothing; for a word, which came from the tongue,
rather than the heart; or, if the heart had any share in producing it,
was recalled perhaps, at least forgotten, in the moment it was spoken.
And can it be worth while to indulge a curiosity which leads to such
torment, when the object of our inquiry is itself so frivolous, as well
as the concern we have in it?

2. _Another_ mischief attending the gratification of this impertinent
curiosity, is, That the unwelcome discoveries we make, _naturally lead
to peevish complaints and severe expostulations_; the effect of which
is, not only to continue and inflame the sense of the injury already
received, but to draw fresh and greater indignities on ourselves, to
push the offending party on extremes, and compell him, almost, whether
he will or no, to open acts of hostility against us. The former ill
treatment of us, whatever it might be, was perhaps forgotten; at least
it had hitherto gone no further than words, and, while it was, or was
supposed to be, undiscovered, there was no thought of repeating the
provocation, and there was time and opportunity left for repenting
of it, and for recovering a just sense of violated duty. But when
the offence is understood to be no longer a secret, the discovery
provokes fresh offences. Either pride puts the aggressor on justifying
what he has done; or the shame of conviction, and the despair of
pardon, turns indifference into hate; ready to break out into all
sorts of ill offices, and the readier, because the strong resentment
of so slight a matter, as a careless expression, is itself, in turn,
accounted an atrocious injury. And thus a small discourtesy, which, if
unnoticed, had presently died away, shall grow and spread into a rooted
_ill-will_, productive of gross reciprocal hostilities, and permanent
as life itself.

It is on this account that wise men have always thought it better to
connive at moderate injuries, than, by an open resentment of them, to
provoke greater: and nothing is mentioned so much to the honour of a
noble Roman[186], as that, when he had the papers of an enemy in his
hands (which would certainly have discovered the disaffection of many
persons towards the republic and himself) he destroyed them all, and
prudently, as well as generously, resolved to know nothing of what they
contained. And this conduct, which was thought so becoming a great man
in public life, is unquestionably (on the same principle of prudence
and magnanimity, to say nothing of higher motives) the duty and concern
of every private man.

3. But, _lastly_, supposing the resentment conceived on the discovery
of an ungrateful secret, should not break out into overt acts of hatred
and revenge, still the matter would not be much mended. For, _it would
surely breed a thousand uneasy suspicions_, which would prey on the
hurt mind; and do irreparable injury to the moral character, as well as
embitter the whole life of him who was unhappily conscious to them.

The experience of such neglect or infidelity in those whom we had
hitherto loved and trusted, and from whom we had expected a suitable
return of trust and love, would infallibly sour the temper, and
create a constant apprehension of future unkindness. It would efface
the native candour of the mind, and bring a cloud of jealousy over
it; which would darken our views of human life. It would make us
cold, and gloomy, and reserved; indifferent to those who deserved
best of us, and unapt for the offices of society and friendship.
The more we suppressed these sentiments, the more would they fester
and rankle within us; till the mind became all over tenderness and
sensibility, and felt equal pain from its own groundless surmises, as
from real substantial injuries. In a word, we should have no relish
of conversation, no sincere enjoyment of any thing, we should only be
miserable _in_, and _from_ ourselves.

And is this a condition to be officiously courted, and sought after? Or
rather, could we suffer more from the malice of our bitterest enemy,
than we are ready to do from our own anxious curiosity to pry into the
infirmities of our friends?

HITHERTO I have insisted on the danger of _giving heed to all words
that are spoken_, LEST THOU HEAR THY SERVANT CURSE THEE; in other
words, on the FOLLY of taking pains to make a discovery, which may
prove unwelcome in itself, and dreadful in the consequent evils it may
derive upon us.

II. It now remains that I say one word on the INJUSTICE, and want of
equity, which appears in this practice. FOR OFTENTIMES ALSO THINE OWN
HEART KNOWETH, THAT THOU THYSELF, LIKEWISE, HAST CURSED OTHERS.

And as in the former case the preacher drew his remonstrance from
his knowledge of the world; so in this, he reasons from his intimate
knowledge of the human heart.

Let the friendliest, the best man living, explore his own conscience,
and then let him tell us, or rather let him tell himself, if he can,
that he has never offended in the instance here given. I suppose, on a
strict inquiry, he will certainly call to mind some peevish sentiment,
some negligent censure, some sharp reflection, which, at times, hath
escaped him, even in regard to his _second self_, a bosom friend.
Either he took something wrong, and some suspicious circumstance misled
him; or, he was out of health and spirits; or, he was ruffled by some
ungrateful accident; or, he had forgotten himself in an hour of levity;
or a splenetic moment had surprised him. Some or other of these causes,
he will find, had betrayed him into a sudden warmth and asperity of
expression, which he is now ashamed and sorry for, and hath long since
retracted and condemned.

_Still further_, at the very time when this infirmity overtook him, he
had no purposed unfriendliness, no resolved disaffection towards the
person he allowed himself to be thus free with. His tongue indeed had
offended, but his heart had scarce consented to the offence. The next
day, the next hour, perhaps, he would gladly have done all service,
possibly he would not have declined to hazard his life, for this abused
friend.

I appeal, as the wise author of the text does, to yourselves, to the
inmost recollection of your own thoughts, if ye do not know and feel
that this which I have described hath sometimes been your own case.
And what then is the inference from this self-conviction? Certainly,
that ye ought in common justice, to restrain your inclination of prying
into the unguarded moments of other men. If your best friends have not
escaped your flippancy, where is the equity of demanding more reserve
and caution towards yourself from them? Without doubt the proper rule
is to suppose, and to forgive, these mutual indiscretions, which we
are all ready to commit towards each other. We should lay no stress on
these casual discourtesies; we should not desire to be made acquainted
with them; we should dismiss them, if some officious whisperer bring
the information to us, with indifference and neglect. To do otherwise
is not only to vex and disquiet ourselves for trifles: It is to be
unfair, uncandid, and _unjust_, in our dealings with others; it is to
convict ourselves of partiality and hypocrisy, _For thine own heart
knoweth, that thou thyself likewise hast done the same thing_.

Ye have now, then, before you the substance of those considerations
which the text offers, for the prevention of that idle and hurtful
curiosity of looking into the secret dispositions and discourses of
other men. Ye see how foolish, how dangerous, how iniquitous it is, _to
give heed to all words that are spoken_.

It becomes a man indeed to lay a severe check and restraint on his
own tongue. Far better would it be, if all men did so. But they who
know themselves and others, will not much expect this degree of
self-government, will not, if they be wise, be much scandalized at the
want of it; since they know the observance of it is so difficult and
sublime a virtue; since they know that nothing less than extraordinary
wisdom can, at all times, prevent the tongue of man from running into
excesses; since they are even told by an Apostle, _That if any man
offend not in word, the same is a perfect man_[187].

Let us then allow for what we cannot well help. And let this
consideration come in aid of the others, employed in the text, to
expell an inveterate folly, which prompts us to lay more stress upon
words, than such frivolous and fugitive things deserve. Let us regard
them, for the most part, but as the shaking of a leaf, or the murmur of
the idle air: they rarely merit our notice, and attention, more: or,
when they do, we should find it better to indulge our _charity_, than
our curiosity; I mean, to _believe well of others_, as long as we can,
rather than be at the pains of an anxious inquiry for a pretence to
_think ill_ of them.


THE END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.

NICHOLS and SON, Printers, Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.




FOOTNOTES:

[1] διὰ τοῦτο—referring to the good effect of this way of teaching on
the disciples, whom it had enabled, as they confessed, to _understand_
the things, which Jesus had taught them.

[2] Tit. ii. 7.

[3] Rom. xv. 2.

[4] They did this with design, and on principle; as appears from St.
Austin’s discourse _de Doctrinâ Christianâ_, in which he instructs the
Christian preacher to employ, on some occasions, inelegant and even
barbarous terms and expressions, the better to suit himself to the
apprehensions of his less informed hearers—_non curante illo, qui
docet, quantâ eloquentiâ doceat, sed quantâ evidentiâ. Cujus evidentiæ
diligens appetitus aliquando negligit verba cultiora, nec curat
quid benè sonet, sed quid benè indicet atque intimet quod ostendere
intendit_—and what follows. L. iv. p. 74. Ed. Erasm. t. iii.

[5] 1 Cor. ii. 2.

[6] Archbishop Tillotson.

[7] Heb. iii. 2.

[8] 2 Cor. iv. 5.

[9] Matt. xi. 15.

[10] 1 Pet. iii. 3.

[11] 1 Pet iii. 15.

[12] ALPHONSUS THE WISE—I go on the common supposition, that this
Prince intended a reflexion on the _system of nature_ itself; but,
perhaps, his purpose was no more than, in a strong way of expression,
(though it must be owned, no very decent one) to reprobate the
_hypothesis_ [the _Ptolemaic_], which set that system in so bad a light.

[13] —μεταξὺ ἀλλήλων τῶν λογισμῶν κατηγορούντων ἢ καὶ ἀπολογουμένων.
See the Paraphrase and Comment on this text by Mr. Taylor of Norwich,
to whom I acknowledge myself indebted for the idea which governs the
general method of this discourse.

[14] _Nat. Deor._ l. ii. c. 66.

[15] Sallust.

[16] Plato’s _Republic_.

[17] Xenophon’s _Inst. of Cyrus_.

[18] Rom. ch. i. ver. 28-32.—ποιεῖν τὰ μὴ καθήκοντα—συνευδοκοῦσι
τοῖς πράσσουσι.

[19] Cicero, passim.

[20] Felix, Acts xxiv. 25.

[21] Ch. ii. 26.

[22] Ch. iii. 1.

[23] Chap. iii.

[24] Rom. vi. 23.

[25] 2 Cor. v. 15.

[26] 2 Cor. v. 19.

[27] 1 John ii. 2.

[28] Rom. iii. 24.

[29] 1 Tim. iv. 10.

[30] Rom. i. 9.

[31] Rom. xv. 13.

[32] Col. ii. 10.

[33] Ephes. iii. 2.

[34] John xii. 48.

[35] Luke xix. 14.

[36] 2 Peter ii. 21.

[37] St. John, xiii. 1.

[38] Ch. xiv. 1.

[39] St. John, xiv. 2.

[40] Ch. xiv. 6.

[41] Ch. xiv. 7.

[42] 1 Cor. ii. 5.

[43] Matt. xxi. 27.—xxii. 46.—xxvii. 14.

[44] Matt. xii. 38.—xvi. 1.

[45] Mark iv. 34.

[46] Mark iv. 34.

[47] Mark iv. 11.

[48] Matt. xiii. 58. Mark ix. 23.

[49] Matt. vii. 6.

[50] Mark iv. 25.

[51] John xx. 29.

[52] Isaiah lv. 8.

[53] Wisdom, ix. 13.

[54] 1 Cor. ii. 11.

[55] Rom. xiii. 3.

[56] Φῶς ἀπρόσιτον. 1 Tim. vi. 16.

[57] John xiv. 22.

[58] Τὴν λογικὴν λατρείαν. Rom. xii. 1.

[59] The dispute about _Easter_, in the second century.

[60] The dispute about _Images_, in the eighth century.

[61] Matt. xi. 29.

[62] Matt. x. 34.

[63] Job xxxii. 21.

[64] Plutarch, or whoever was the author of a fragment, printed among
his moral discourses, and entitled, Πότερον τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἢ τὰ τοῦ
σώματος Πάθη χείρονα. Par. Ed. vol. ii. p. 500.

[65] Called _Æones_. See Grotius in loc.

[66] Ἀπεράντοις.

[67] Dat nobis et Paulus brevem γενεαλογίαν, sed perutilem. GROTIUS.

[68] Rom. xii. 15.

[69] Rom. i. 32.

[70] 1 Peter iii. 16.

[71] _Les petites morales_; as the French moralists call them.

[72] Φιλανθρωπία.

[73] Φιλαδελφία.

[74] Τῆ φιλ. εἰς αλλ. ΦΙΛΟΣΤΟΡΓΟΙ.

[75] _The integrity of the upright shall guide them._ Prov. xi. 3.

[76] Δείπνου γενομένου—

[77] See more on this subject in the DISCOURSE _on Christ’s driving the
merchants out of the temple_, at the end of the next volume.

[78] Ver. 14.

[79] If it be asked, why their _feet_? the answer is, that it was
customary in the east for one to wash the feet of another. And this
practice gave an easy introduction to the present enigmatical washing;
which was equally expressive of the information designed, when
performed on this part of the body, as on any other.

[80] Grotius saw the necessity of looking beyond the literal meaning of
those words—_If I wash thee not_. “Mos Christi, says he, est a rebus,
quæ adspiciuntur, ad sensum sublimiorem ascendere.” His comment then
follows. “_Nisi te lavero_, id est, nisi _et sermone et spiritu eluero_
quod in te restat minus puri,” &c. Considering how near Jesus was to
his crucifixion, when he said this, one a little wonders how the great
commentator, when he was to assign the mystical sense of these words,
should overlook that which lay before him. Surely his gloss should
have been, _Nisi sanguine meo te eluero_, &c.—Let me just add, that
the force of these words, as addressed to Peter, will be perfectly
understood, if we reflect that he, who said to Jesus—_Thou shalt
never wash my feet_—said on a former occasion to him, when he spoke,
without a figure, of his _death_ (though not, then, under the idea of a
propitiatory sacrifice, or ablution)—_Be it far from thee, Lord; this
shall not be unto thee_. Matt. xvi. 22. So little did Peter see the
necessity of being _washed_ by the blood of Christ! And so important
was the information now given him in this _mystical_ washing—_If I
wash thee not, thou hast no part with me_.

[81] A remarkable instance will be given, in the Discourse referred to
above, at the close of the next volume.

[82] Mark iv. 33. John xvi. 12.

[83] John xiv. 26.

[84] 1 John i. 7.

[85] Rev. i. 5.

[86] Eph. i. 7. Coloss. i. 14.

[87] 1 Cor. v. 7.

[88] 1 Pet. i. 12. 1 Cor. vi. 11. and elsewhere, _passim_.

[89] Rom. iii. 25.

[90] Luke xii. 46.

[91] Rev. vii. 14.

[92] 1 John. vi. 7.

[93] Matt. xviii. 7.

[94] Matt. vi.

[95] Ver. 12.

[96] Phil. iv. 18.

[97] See Whitby in loc.

[98] See passages cited by Dr. Hammond.

[99] 1 Cor. iii. 13.

[100] 1 Pet. i. 7.

[101] 1 Pet. iv. 12.

[102] Eccles. ii. 5.

[103] Heb. xii. 1.

[104] Heb. vi. 4, 5, 6.

[105] The difficulty in the two concluding verses of this chapter,
arises from a _vivacity of imagination in the pursuit and application
of metaphors_; a faculty, in which the Orientals excelled, and
delighted. They pass suddenly from one idea to another, nearly, and
sometimes, remotely, allied to it. They relinquish the primary sense,
for another suggested by it; and without giving any notice, as we
should do, of their intention. These numerous _reflected lights_, as we
may call them, eagerly catched at by the mind in its train of thinking,
perplex the attention of a modern reader, and must be carefully
separated by him, if he would see the whole scope and purpose of many
passages in the sacred writings.

[106] 1 Cor. iv. 7.

[107] 1 Cor. xiii.

[108] As in the case of the _real presence_ in the sacrament of the
altar.

[109] As in the case of _good works_.

[110] An ingenious writer, who appears not to have been hackneyed in
the ways of controversy, and is, therefore, the more likely to see
the truth, in any plain question of religion, as well as to declare
it, expresses himself, fully, to the same effect—“It is very weakly
urged, that religion should keep pace with science in improvement; and
that a subscription to articles must always impede its progress: for
nothing can be more absurd than the idea of a progressive religion;
which, being founded upon the declared, not the imagined, will of God,
must, if it attempt to proceed, relinquish that Revelation which is
its basis, and so cease to be a religion founded upon God’s word. God
has revealed himself; and all that he has spoken, and consequently all
that is demanded of us to accede to, is declared in one book, from
which nothing is to be retrenched, and to which nothing can be added.
All that it contains, was as perspicuous to those who first perused it,
after the rejection of the papal yoke, as it can be to us NOW, or as it
can be to our posterity in the FIFTIETH GENERATION.” See _A Scriptural
Confutation of Mr. Lindsey’s Apology_. Lond. 1774. p. 220.

[111] Rom. xi. 33.

[112] Rom. x. 17.

[113] 1 Cor. ix. 16.

[114] Heb. iv. 12.

[115] 1 Cor. xii. 7.

[116]

    ——potus ut ille
    Dicitur ex collo furtim carpsisse coronas,
    Postquam est impransi correptus voce magistri.
                            Hor. 2. Sat. iii. 254.

[117] John xii. 48.

[118] 2 Cor. iv. 7.

[119] Matth. x. 16.

[120] Cic. Off. L. i. c. 31.

[121] See the Story of Musonius Rufus in Tacitus, Hist. L. iii. c. 81.

[122] Cic. de Or. L. ii. c. 18.

[123] Bene præcipiunt, qui vetant quidquam agere, quod dubites, æquum
sit an iniquum: æquitas enim lucet ipsa per se; dubitatio cogitationem
significat injuriæ.
                                                 Cic. de Off. L. I. ix.

[124] Matth. v. 8.

[125] To the same purpose, Seneca, of the old heathen philosophers:
“Antiqua sapientia,” says he, “nihil aliud, quàm FACIENDA et VITANDA,
præcepit: et tunc longè meliores erant viri: postquam docti prodierunt,
boni desunt. Simplex enim illa et aperta virtus in obscuram et solertem
scientiam versa est, docemurque disputare, non vivere.” Senec. Ep. xcv.

[126] Corrumpere et corrumpi, _sæculum_ vocatur. Tacitus.

[127] Frequens imitatio transit in mores. Quinctil. L. I. c. XI.

[128] _Vitam impendere vero._ His motto.

[129] Mes ennemies auront beau faire avec leurs injures; ils ne
m’ôteront point l’honneur d’être un homme véridique en touts chose,
_d’être le seul auteur de mon siecle, & de beaucoup d’autres, qui ait
écrit de bonne foi_.
                                   Rousseau, Lettre à M. de Beaumont.

[130] “Une preuve de sa bonne foi, c’est qu’il [M. Newton] a commenté
l’Apocalypse. Il y trouve clairement que le Pape est l’Antichrist, et
il explique d’ailleurs ce livre comme tous ceux qui s’en sont mêlés.
Apparemment qu’il a voulu par ce commentaire CONSOLER LA RACE HUMAINE
de la supériorité qu’il avoit sur elle.” Œuvres de Voltaire, T. v. c.
29. 1757.

“If he [K. James I.] has composed a commentary on the Revelations,
and proved the Pope to be Antichrist; may not a similar reproach be
extended to the famous Napier; and even to NEWTON, at a time when
learning was much more advanced than during the reign of James? From
the grossness of its superstitions, we may infer the ignorance of an
age; but never should pronounce concerning the FOLLY OF AN INDIVIDUAL,
from his admitting popular errors, consecrated with the appearance of
religion.” Hume’s Hist. of Great Britain, Vol. VI. p. 136. Lond. 1763.
8vo.

[131]

    Nil actum credens, dum quid superesset agendum.
                                             Lucan.

[132] HIPPIAS, THE ELEAN. Cic. de Oratore, c. 32.

[133] SOCRATES.

[134] 2 Cor. xii. 2.

[135] 1 Cor. xiii. 2.

[136] Philip. iii. 6.

[137] Matt. v. 17.

[138] BAYLE, Comm. Phil. Part II. Ch. IV. LOCKE on Toleration, Letter
I. WARBURTON, D. L. B. v. S. 11.

[139] 1 Tim. i. 15.

[140] 1 Cor. xv. 9.

[141] De se tromper en croyant vraie la religion Chrétienne, il n’y
a pas grand’ chose à perdre: mais quel malheur de se tromper en la
croyant fausse! M. Pascal, p. 225.

[142] Plutarch. BRUTUS.

[143] Of opening private letters, and employing spies of state.
CLARENDON.

[144] John x. 32.

[145] “Illa in illo homine mirabilia fuerunt, comprehendere multos
amicitiâ, tueri obsequio, cum omnibus communicare quod habebat, servire
temporibus suorum omnium, pecuniâ, gratiâ, labore corporis, scelere
etiam, si opus esset, et audaciâ: versare suam naturam, et regere ad
tempus, atque huc et illuc torquere et flectere; cum tristibus severè,
cum remissis jucunde; cum senibus graviter, cum juventute comiter; cum
facinorosis audacter, cum libidinosis luxuriosè vivero. Hâc ille tam
variâ multiplicique naturâ, &c.” _Cicero pro M. Cælio_, c. iii.

[146] Juventus pleraque, sed maximè _nobilium_, Catilinæ incœptis
favebat. _Sallust._ c. 17. And again: omnino _cuncta plebes_, Catilinæ
incœpta probabat. c. 37.

[147] 1 John iii. 21.

[148] St. Ambrose. Apud Whitby.

[149] John xviii. 31.

[150] Rom. iii. 4.

[151] The words ταπεινὸς, and _humilis_, are observed to be generally,
if not always, used in a bad sense by the Greek and Latin writers.

[152] Philipp. ii. 5. 8.

[153] Matthew xvi. 24.

[154] Matth. xxiii. 33.

[155] Mark x. 21.

[156] For it is with propositions, as with _characters_, in relation
to which the language of the true moralist is: “Explica, atque excute
intelligentiam tuam, ut videas quæ sit in eâ species, forma, et notio
viri boni.”
                                           Cic. de Off. l. III. c. 20.

[157] Prov. ii. 4.

[158] 1 Tim. v. 6.

[159] Prov. ix. 8.

[160] Queis humana sibi doleat natura negatis.
                             Hor. I. S. i. 75.

[161] Eccles. v. 11.

[162] Prov. xvi. 25.

[163] Prov. xxiii. 5.

[164] Si hoc est _explere_, quod statim profundas.
                                 CIC. Phil. ii. 8.

[165] Quid sumus, et quidnam victuri gignimur. PERSIUS.

[166] 1 Tim. vi. 9.

[167]

    Ardua res hæc est, opibus non tradere mores,
      Et cùm tot Crœsos viceris, esse Numam.
                                MARTIAL, XI. vi.

[168] Matth. xix. 23.

[169] Ps. lxii. 10.

[170] Luke xvi. 9.

[171] 2 Cor. xiii. 14.

[172] 1 Thess. iv. 8.

[173] Acts xi. 16.

[174] Eph. i. 13.

[175] It was the easier to do this, as the Heathens had their Minerva
and Diana, as well as grosser deities; and their vestal virgins too;
though, I doubt, in less numbers than the shameless votaries of the
Corinthian Venus.
                              See STRABO, L. viii. p. 378. Par. 1620.

[176] Ps. xlvi. 4.—lxxx. 1.—xxvi. 8.

[177] Nullis POLLUITUR casta domus stupris. HOR.

Cum castum amisit POLLUTO CORPORE florem. CATUL.

[178] Dr. Whitby on the place.

[179] Rom. vi. 21.

[180] Job xx. 11.

[181] Prov. xxi. 17.

[182] The poet says well of such _stains_, as these;

    _Impressæ resident nec eluentur._
                              CATULL.

[183] SUET. J. Cæsar, c. 45.

[184] Ps. xxxvii. 38.

[185] Eccles. c. xi. 9.

[186] Pompey, who burnt the papers of Sertorius.

[187] James iii. 2.


[Transcriber’s Note:

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.

Greek words beginning with ϖ have had the character replaced with π.]