The Project Gutenberg eBook of The works of Richard Hurd, volume 6 (of 8) This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The works of Richard Hurd, volume 6 (of 8) Author: Richard Hurd Release date: April 12, 2017 [eBook #54541] Language: English Credits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, Bryan Ness, wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF RICHARD HURD, VOLUME 6 (OF 8) *** Produced by Charlene Taylor, Bryan Ness, wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Transcriber’s Note: Italicized text delimited by underscores. There are many special characters in this text that require a utf-8 compliant font. If you find characters that appear as a question mark in a black box or a small rectangle with numbers in it, you should check your reader’s default font. If you have a font installed with SIL after the font name, you should use that one.] 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.] *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF RICHARD HURD, VOLUME 6 (OF 8) *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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