THE
                                WORKS
                                OF THE
                           Rev. JOHN WESLEY




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                                 THE

                                WORKS

                                OF THE

                        Rev. JOHN WESLEY, M.A.
              Late Fellow of _Lincoln-College_, OXFORD.


                              VOLUME V.


                               BRISTOL:
              Printed by WILLIAM PINE, in _Wine-Street_.
                              MDCCLXXI.




                                 THE
                               CONTENTS
                        Of the _Fifth_ VOLUME.


                  An extract from Mr. LAW’s treatise
                      on _Christian Perfection_.


                              CHAP. VI.

    _Christians are called to a constant state of prayer and
      devotion._


                              CHAP. VII.

    _All Christians are required to imitate the life and example
      of Jesus Christ._


                             CHAP. VIII.

    _An exhortation to Christian Perfection._


               An extract from Mr. LAW’s serious _Call_
                          to a _Holy Life_.


                               CHAP. I.

    _Concerning the nature and extent of Christian devotion._


                              CHAP. II.

    _An enquiry into the reason why the generality of
      |Christians| fall so short of the holiness and devotion
      of Christianity._

                              CHAP. III.

    _Of the great danger and folly of not |intending| to be as
      eminent as we can, in the practice of all Christian virtues._


                              CHAP. IV.

    _We can please God in no state or employment, but by
      |intending| and |devoting| it all to his glory._


                               CHAP. V.

    _Persons that are free from the necessity of labour and
      employments, are to consider themselves as devoted to God
      in a higher degree._


                              CHAP. VI.

    _How the imprudent use of an |estate| corrupts all the
      tempers, and fills the heart with poor and ridiculous
      passions; represented in the character of |Flavia|._


                              CHAP. VII.

    _How the wise and pious use of an estate carrieth us to
      all the virtues of the Christian life; represented in
      the character of |Miranda|._


                             CHAP. VIII.

    _Shewing all orders of men and women, of all ages, are
      obliged to devote themselves to God._


                              CHAP. IX.

    _Shewing that great devotion fills our lives with the
      greatest peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this
      world._


                               CHAP. X.

    _The happiness of a life wholly devoted unto God,
      farther proved, from the |vanity|, and |ridiculous, poor|
      enjoyments which they are forced to take up with, who live
      according to their own humours. This represented in various
      characters._


                              CHAP. XI.

    _That not only a life of |vanity|, or |sensuality|, but
      even the |most regular| kind of life, that is not governed
      by great devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries, its
      wants and emptiness to the eyes of all the world. This
      represented in various characters._


                              CHAP. XII.

    _Concerning that part of devotion which relates to |times|
      and |hours| of |prayer|. Of daily |early| prayer in the
      morning. How we may improve our |forms| of prayer, and
      increase the |spirit| of devotion._


                             CHAP. XIII.

    _Recommending devotion at nine o’clock in the morning,
      called, in scripture, the |third hour| of the day. The
      subject of these prayers may be humility._


                              CHAP. XIV.

    _Shewing how the |education| which men generally receive,
      makes the doctrines of humility difficult to be practised.
      The spirit of a better education represented in the
      character of |Paternus|._


                              CHAP. XV.

    _Shewing how the method of educating |daughters|, makes it
      difficult for them to enter into the spirit of Christian
      humility. How miserably they are injured and abused by such
      an education. The spirit of a better education, represented
      in the ♦character of |Eusebia|._

      ♦ ‘charact’ replaced with ‘character’


                              CHAP. XVI.

    _Recommending devotion at twelve o’clock, called, in scripture,
      the |sixth hour| of the day, this frequency of devotion,
      equally desirable by all orders of people. |Universal love|
      is recommended to be the subject of prayer at this hour. Of
      intercession, as an act of universal love._


                             CHAP. XVII.

    _Of the necessity and benefit of |intercession|, considered
      as an exercise of universal love. How all orders of men
      are to interceed with God for one another: how such
      intercession amends and reforms the heart._


  Illustration: (‡ decoration)




                      An Extract from Mr. LAW’s
                               TREATISE
                       On CHRISTIAN PERFECTION.




                              CHAP. VI.

              _Christians are called to a constant state
                       of prayer and devotion?_


I. IT is one principal article of our religion to believe that
our blessed Saviour is now at the right hand of God, there making
_perpetual intercession_ for us, till the redemption of mankind is
finished. Prayer therefore is undoubtedly a proper means of drawing
near to God; since he who has conquered sin and death, who is Lord
of all, is yet as the _great advocate_ for sinners, obliged to make
perpetual intercession for them.

Whenever therefore we are in the spirit of prayer; when our hearts are
lifted up to God, breathing out holy petitions to the throne of grace,
we have this encouragement to be _constant_ and _fervent_ in it, that
we are then joining with an intercession at the right hand of God,
and doing that for ourselves on earth which our blessed Saviour is
perpetually doing for us in heaven. This reason of prayer is perhaps
not much considered; yet it certainly contains a most powerful motive
to it. For who that considers his redemption as now carrying on by
an _intercession_ in heaven, can think himself so rightly employed as
when the constancy of his own prayers bear some resemblance to that
never-ceasing intercession which is made above? This shews us also,
that we are most of all to desire those prayers which are offered up
at the _altar_, where the body and blood of Christ are joined with
them. For as our prayers are only acceptable to God through the merits
of Jesus Christ; so we may be sure it is the most prevailing prayer,
when we thus pray in the name of _Christ_, and plead his merits in the
_highest manner_ we can.


II. Devotion may be considered either as an exercise of public or
private prayers at set times and occasions; or as a temper of the mind,
a state and disposition of the heart, which is rightly affected with
such exercises. Now external acts of devotion, are like other external
actions, very liable to falseness, and are only so far good as they
proceed from a right disposition of heart. Zealous professions of
_friendship_ are but hypocrisy, unless there be an equal zeal in the
heart; and so solemn prayers are but repeated hypocrisies, unless the
heart be _conformable_ to them. Since therefore it is the heart only
that is devout, I shall consider devotion chiefly in this respect, as
it is a _state_ and _temper_ of heart; for it is in this sense only
that _Christians_ are called to a _constant state_ of devotion. They
are not to be always upon their knees; but they are to be always in
the state of devotion.


III. *Friendship does not require us to be always waiting upon our
friends in external services; these offices have their times of
intermission; it is only the service of the heart that is never to
intermit. This is not to begin and end, as external services do;
but to persevere like the motion of our heart, or the beating of our
pulse. It is just so in devotion; _prayers_ have their _hours_, their
beginning and ending, but that turn of mind, that disposition of the
heart towards God, which is the life and spirit of prayer, is to be as
constant and lasting as our own life and spirit.

*The repeating of a _creed_ at certain times is an act of faith; but
that faith, which _overcometh_ the _world_, stays neither for times
nor seasons, but is a living principle of the soul, that is always
believing, trusting and depending upon God. In the same manner verbal
prayers are acts of devotion; but that prayer which openeth the gates
of heaven, stops not at _forms_ and _manuals_ of devotion; but is a
language of the soul, which worships, adores, and delights in God, at
all times and seasons.

The reason of prayer, like all other duties of piety, is founded in
the nature of God, and the nature of man. It is founded in the nature
of God, as he is the sole fountain of all happiness; it is founded
in the nature of man, as he is weak and helpless, and full of wants.
So that prayer is an _earnest application, or ascent of the heart to_
God, _as to the sole cause of all happiness_. He therefore that most
truly feels the misery, corruption, and weakness of his own nature;
who is most fully convinced that a relief from all these disorders,
and a true happiness, is to be found in God alone; he who is most
fully convinced of these two truths, is most fully possessed of the
spirit of prayer.


IV. *Hence we may perceive why people of _learning_, and great
_application_ to _books_, who seem to have retired from the
corruptions of the world, are yet often not devout. The reason is,
because devotion imparts a full sense of the vanity and littleness
of _every thing_ but God, whereas it is often the _same vanity_ that
wears out scholars in their _studies_, and other people at _court_,
in the _camp_, or at _sea_. They do not want to be _merchants_, or
_colonels_, or _secretaries of state_; but they want to be critics,
grammarians and historians. They, it may be, disregard riches and
equipage; despise the sports and diversions of the _present age_; but
then it is to contemplate the _riches_ and _equipage_, the sports and
diversions of the ancient _Romans_.

The vanity of some _ladies_ and _gentlemen_ would be touched, if you
should tell them ♦that they did not understand _dress_: some great
_scholars_ would be more dejected, if you should suppose them ignorant
of a _fold_ in the _Roman garments_.

  ♦ duplicate word removed ‘that’

The _bulk_ of mankind are so dull and tasteless, and illiterate, as
to set their hearts upon _current coin_. But great learning has raised
some men above this vulgar grossness of taste. Their heart does not
beat but at the sight of a _medal_, or an ancient coin. And they are
only afraid of dying before they have out-done the world for their
collections of _shells_, _skins_, _stones_, _flies_, and _insects_.


V. *When men retire into their studies to _change_ their nature; to
_correct_ and _reform_ their passions; to find out the folly, the
falseness, the corruption and weakness of their hearts; to penetrate
into the vanity and emptiness of all worldly attainments; when they
read and meditate, to fill their souls with heavenly affections,
and to raise their hearts unto God; when this is _learning_, (and
what else deserves the name?) then learning will lead men unto God;
then learned men will be devout, and great _scholars_ will be great
_saints_.


VI. Many people are thus far sincere in their devotions, that they
would be glad to pray devoutly; they strive to be fervent, but never
attain to it, because they never took the only possible way. They
never thought of altering their lives, or of living different from the
rest of the world; but hope to be devout merely by reading over books
of devotion: which is as odd a fancy, as if a man should expect to be
happy, by reading discourses upon happiness. When these people dare
take Christianity, as it is offered to them in the gospel; when they
deny themselves, and renounce the world, they then will have begun
devotion.

_Trebonius_ asks how often he shall pray? He thinks the nicety of
the question shews the _piety_ of his heart. But _Trebonius_ is
deceived, for the question proves, that he is a stranger to devotion.
_Trebonius_ has a friend; he is constantly visiting him; he is never
well out of his company. If he is absent, letters are sent at all
opportunities. Now what is the reason that he never asks how often he
shall visit, how often he shall delight in, how often he shall write
to his friend? It is because his friend has his heart, and his heart
is his faithful and sufficient instructor. When _Trebonius_ has given
his heart to God, he will have done asking how often he shall pray.

_Julius_ goes to prayers; he confesses himself to be a miserable
sinner; he accuses himself to God with all the aggravations that
can be, as having no _health_ in him. Yet _Julius_ cannot bear to
be informed of any imperfection, or suspected to be wanting in any
degree of virtue. Now, can there be a stronger proof, that _Julius_ is
wanting in the sincerity of his devotions? Is not this a plain sign,
that his confessions to God are only words of _course_, an humble
_civility_ of speech to his Maker, in which his heart had no share?

If a man was to confess that his _eyes_ were bad, his hands weak, his
feet feeble, and his body helpless; he would not be angry with those
that supposed he was not in perfect strength. Yet _Julius_ confesses
himself to be in great weakness, corruption, disorder, and infirmity;
and yet is angry at any one that does but suppose him defective in
any virtue. Is it not the same thing as if he had said “you must not
imagine that I am in earnest in my devotions”?


VII. To live in true devotion, we must daily consider the end and
hope of our calling, that all worldly passions and desires may be
swallowed up in one great desire of future glory. This devotion to God
is signified in scripture, by living _by faith and not by sight_, when
the invisible things of the other life, are the reason, the motive,
and the measure of all our desires and tempers. And those who thus
tend to God in all their motion and desires, are devout every where.
This makes their common actions acts of religion, and turns every
place into a _chapel_. And it is to this devotion we are all called,
not only by particular precepts, but by the whole nature and tenour
of our religion.


VIII. Now, as all states and tempers of the mind must be supported
by actions and exercises suitable to them; so devotion, which is an
earnest application of the soul to God, as its only happiness, must
be supported and kept alive by actions and exercises suitable to it.
The devotion of the heart disposes us to observe set times of prayer;
and, on the other hand, set times of prayer increase and enliven
the devotion of the heart. It is thus in all other cases: habits of
the mind dispose us to actions suitable to them; and these actions
strengthen and improve the habits from whence they proceed.

*It is the habitual taste for _music_ that carries people to
_concerts_; and again, it is _concerts_ that increase the habitual
love of _music_: so it is the right disposition of the heart towards
God that leads people to outward acts of prayer; and, on the other
side, outward acts of prayer preserve and strengthen the right
disposition of the heart towards God. As therefore we are to judge of
the significancy of our prayers, by looking to the state and temper
of our heart; so are we also to judge of the state of our heart by the
_frequency_, _constancy_, and _importunity_ of our prayers. For as we
are sure that our prayers are insignificant, unless they proceed from
a right heart; so unless our prayers be _frequent_, _constant_, and
full of _importunity_, we may be sure our heart is not right towards
God.


IX. Our blessed Saviour has indeed condemned one sort of long prayer.
_But, when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the Heathens do; for
they think they shall be heard for their much speaking_¹. But it is
not _length_, or a _continuance_ of prayer that is here forbid; but
_vain repetitions_. Nor are the _Heathens_ here condemned for being
_importunate_, and _persevering_ in prayer; but for a _wrong judgment_,
in that they thought they were heard, because they _spoke much_; that
is, often repeated the same words. So that all that Christians are
here forbid, is this, to think that the _efficacy_ of prayer consists
in vain and long repetitions; yet some imagine, that a _continuance_
of prayer is here reproved, and thence conclude, that shortness is a
necessary qualification of prayer.

  ¹ Matt. vi. 7.

But how willing must people be to be deceived, before they can reason
in this manner? For the words have plainly no relation to _length_ or
_shortness_ of prayer. They no more condemn the one than the other.
They only condemn an opinion of the _Heathens_, that the excellency
of prayer consisted in a multitude of repetitions. Now, to think that
short prayer is better, because it is _short_, is the same error as
to hold with the _Heathens_, that it is better because it is often
repeated. It is the same mistake in the nature of devotion.


X. But supposing the meaning of these words was obscure (which it is
not) yet surely it is plain enough, that our Saviour has elsewhere
expresly recommended a _continuance_ and _importunity_ in prayer. And
how perversely do they read the gospel, who can find this authority
against such kind of devotion! For can he who was so often retiring
to _deserts_, to _mountains_, to _solitary_ places to pray, who spent
_whole nights_ in prayer; can he be supposed to have left a reproof
of those who should follow his example? But besides his example, his
doctrine is on no point more plain and certain. _He spake a parable
unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray and not to
faint._ And it is plain to any one that reads it, that it has no other
intent but to recommend _continuance_ and _importunity_ in prayer.
The widow is relieved; not because she asked relief, but because
she _continued_ asking it: And God is said to avenge his elect; not
because they cry to him now and then, but because they _cry day and
night_. Our blessed Saviour teacheth the same doctrine in another
parable, of a person going to his friend to borrow _three loaves_ at
midnight, which he concludes thus: _I say unto you, though he would
not rise and give him, because he is his friend; yet because of
his importunity, he will rise and give him as many as he needeth_.
Here again the sole scope of the passage is to shew the efficacy of
continuance and importunity in prayer.


XI. _Clito_ says he desires no more time for rising, dressing, and
saying his prayers, than a quarter of an hour. He tells this to his
friends; not to shew his want of religion, but that he may be thought
to understand devotion. You tell him that our Saviour’s parables teach
_continuance_ and _importunity_ in _prayer_; that the apostles exhort
to pray _without ceasing_, to pray _always_; and that devout persons
are recorded in scripture as praying _night and day_. Still _Clito_ is
for short prayers. He at last finds a text of scripture, and appeals
to the example of the _angels_; they only said, _Glory be to_ God _on
high, and on earth peace, good-will towards men_. _Clito_ takes this
to be an argument for short prayer, because the angels had done so
soon. But _Clito_ must be told, that this is no prayer at all; it is
only a joyful proclamation to men. And surely the manner of _angels_
speaking to men, can be no rule or measure of men’s speaking to God.
The angels had no more to tell the world than this message of joy;
but does it therefore follow, that sinners are to be as short in their
addresses to God? If _Clito_ must have an example from heaven, he
might have found one much more proper than this, where it is said,
_That they rest not day and night, saying, holy, holy, holy, Lord
|God| Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come_¹.

  ¹ Rev. iv. 3.


XII. There are _two seasons_ of our hearts which we should carefully
observe: I mean the _time_ when we are _most affected_ with our
devotions, and the _time_ when we are _most indisposed_ to pray. For
both these might equally serve to instruct us in the knowledge of
ourselves, and how to govern the motions of our hearts.

*Reflect with yourself, how it was with you; what circumstance you was
in; what had _happened_ to you; what you had been _doing_; when you
found yourself _so affected_ with your devotions. Now, if you find out
what state you was then in, when you was disposed to pray so fervently,
then you have found out a way of raising your devotion at another time.
If you was then to put down in _writing_ some short remembrance of the
_chief things_ that raised your heart, so that you might have a view
of them as often as your mind wanted such assistance, you would find
a benefit that would reward your labour. On the contrary, whenever
you have found yourself _very much indisposed_ for prayer, reflect
with yourself, what _state_ you was then in; what had _happened_ unto
you; what _thoughts_ you had in your head; what _passions_ were then
awakened; what you had been _doing_, or were _intending_ to do: for
when you have found out the state you was then in, you have found out
the hindrances of your devotion; and know what things to avoid, if you
desire not to quench the Spirit.


XIII. If you was here again to make short remembrances in _writing_,
of the chief things which rendered you indisposed for prayer,
and frequently to read and reflect upon them, you would have a
faithful information of what you are most to avoid. If you find that
_impertinent visits_, _foolish conversation_, or a day idly spent in
_civil compliances_ with other people, have rendered your mind _dull_
and _indisposed_, and less _affected_ with devotion, then you will
have found that impertinent visits, and ceremonious compliances in
spending our time, are not _little indifferent_ things; but are to be
daily watched and guarded against by all those who desire to be daily
alive unto God.


XIV. They who are for short prayers, because God does not _need_ much
intreaty, ought also to shew, that man does not need much prayer; does
not _need_ that strength, and light, and help, which arises from _much
praying_. For unless this be the state of our hearts, we shall want
much prayer to _move_ and _awake_ ourselves; how little soever we
suppose necessary to _excite_ the goodness of God. If therefore men
would consider prayer, not only as it is an _invocation_ of God, but
also as it is an _exercise of holy thoughts_; as it is an endeavour to
_feel_ and be affected with the great truths of religion, they would
soon see, that tho’ God is so good as not to _need_ much calling upon;
yet that man is so weak as to need much assistance, and to be under
a constant necessity of that help, and light, and improvement which
arises from praying much. When therefore we would know how much we
ought to pray, we must consider how much our hearts want to be altered,
and remember that the great work of prayer is, to work upon ourselves;
it is not to _move_ and affect God, but it is to move and affect our
own hearts, and fill them with such tempers as God delights to reward.


XV. *Now prayer never so corrects and amends the heart as when we
extend it to all the _particulars_ of our state, enumerating all
our wants, infirmities, and disorders; not because God needs to be
informed of them, but because by this means we inform ourselves, and
make our hearts in the best manner acquainted with our true condition.
When our prayers thus descend to all the circumstances of our
condition, they become a faithful glass to us; and so often as we
pray, so often we see ourselves in a true light.

Don’t be content therefore with confessing yourself to be a _sinner_,
or with praying against sin in _general_: for this will but a little
affect your mind; it will only shew you to yourself in such a state
as all mankind are in: but if you find yourself out; if you confess
and lay open the guilt of your own _particular sins_; if you pray
constantly against such particular sins as you find yourself most
subject to, the _frequent sight_ of your own sins, and your _constant
deploring_ of their guilt, will give your prayers entrance into your
hearts, and put you upon measures how to amend.

If you confess yourself only to be a _sinner_, you confess yourself
to be a _man_; but when you describe and confess your _own particular_
guilt, then you find cause for your own _particular sorrow_; then
you give your prayers all the power they can have to affect and wound
your heart. In like manner, when you pray for God’s grace, don’t be
satisfied with a general petition, but make your prayers suitable to
your defects; and continue to ask for such gifts and graces of the
Holy Spirit as you find yourself most defective in: for this will give
life to your petitions, and make your heart go along with them.


XVI. Lastly, this particularity in our prayers is the greatest trial
of the _truth_ of our hearts. A man perhaps thinks he prays for
humility, because he has the word _humility_ in his prayers; but if
he was to branch out humility into all its _particular parts_, he
would perhaps find himself not disposed to pray for them. If he was
to represent to himself the several particulars which make a man _poor
in spirit_, he would find his heart not desirous of them. So that the
only way to know our hearts, and whether we really pray for any virtue,
is to have all its parts in our prayers, and to ask for it in all its
instances. If the _proud_ man was to pray daily for humility in all
its kinds, and to beg of God to remove him from all occasions of _such
pride_, as is common to his _particular state_, and to disappoint him
in all his attempts that were contrary to humility, he would find that
such prayers would either conquer his pride, or his pride would put
an end to his prayers. For it would be impossible to live long in any
instances of pride, if his daily and frequent prayers were petitions
against those particular instances.


XVII. Let me now only add this one word more, that he who has learned
_to pray_, has learned the greatest secret of a holy and happy life.
Which way soever else we let loose our hearts, they will return unto
us again _empty_ and _weary_. Time will convince the _vainest_ and
_blindest_ minds, that happiness is no more to be found in the things
of this world, than it is to be dug out of the earth. But when the
motions of our hearts are motions of piety, tending to God in constant
acts of devotion, then have we found rest unto our souls; then is
it that we have conquered the misery of our nature: and neither love
nor desire in vain: then is it that we have found out a good that
is equal to all our wants: that is, a constant source of comfort and
refreshment, that will fill us with peace and joyful expectations
here, and eternal happiness hereafter. For he that lives in the spirit
of devotion, whose heart is always full of God, lives at the _top_
of human happiness, and is the farthest from all the vanities and
vexations which disturb the minds of men devoted to the world.




                              CHAP. VII.

     _All Christians are required to imitate the life and example
                          of Jesus Christ._


I. OUR religion teaches us, that as we have _borne the image of the
earthly, so we shall bear the image of the heavenly_; that after our
death we shall rise to a state of life and happiness, like to that
life and happiness which our blessed Saviour enjoys at the right hand
of God. Since therefore we are to be fellow-heirs with Christ, it is
not to be wondered at, that we are to be like Christ in this life,
that we may enter into that state of happiness which he enjoys in the
kingdom of heaven.


II. Not that we are called to the same outward manner of life with his;
but to the same spirit and temper, which was the spirit and temper
of our blessed Saviour. We are to be like him in heart, to act by the
_same rule_, to look towards the _same end_, and to govern our lives
by the _same spirit_. This is an imitation of Jesus Christ which is
as necessary to salvation as it is to believe in his name. This is the
sole end of all the doctrines of Christ, to make us like himself, to
fill us with his _spirit_ and _temper_, and make us live according to
the rule and manner of his life. As no doctrines are true, but such
as are according to the doctrines of Christ, so no life is right, but
such as is according to the life of Christ. For he lived as infallibly
as he taught; and it is as wrong to vary from his example, as from his
doctrines. To live as he lived, is as certainly the one way of living
as we ought, as to believe as he taught is the one way of believing
as we ought. There is no other way besides this; nothing can possibly
bring us to God in heaven, unless we are now one with Christ, and walk
as he also walked. For we may as well expect to go to a heaven where
Christ is not, as to go to that where he is, without his spirit and
temper. If Christians would but suffer themselves to reflect upon this,
their own minds would soon convince them of it. For who can find the
least reason, why he should not imitate the life of Christ? Or why
Christians should think of any other rule of life? It would be as easy
to shew that Christ acted amiss, as that we need not act after his
example.


III. If it should be said, that Jesus was the _Saviour_ of the world,
that he was born to redeem mankind, and was the _Son of_ God. It may
be answered, that this does not make the life of Christ to be less the
_rule_ and _model_ of all Christians. For, as I observed before, it is
the spirit and _temper_ of Christ that all Christians are to imitate;
they are to do their _proper work_ in that spirit and temper, in which
Christ did the work on which he was sent. So that although Christians
are not redeemers of the world, as he was; though they have not that
great work to finish which he had; yet they have _their_ work to do
in the manner that he had _his_; they have their part to act, which
though it be a different part, must not be performed with a different
spirit; but with such obedience to God, such regard to his glory, and
all such holy dispositions, as our blessed Saviour manifested in every
part of his life.


IV. The blessed Jesus came into the world to save the world. Now we
must enter into this same design, and make _salvation_ the business of
our lives. And though we cannot contribute towards it like him, yet we
must contribute all that we can, and make the salvation of ourselves
and others the one care of our lives.

The _poor widow’s mites_ were but a small matter in themselves, yet
as they were the utmost she could give, our blessed Saviour set them
above the larger contributions of the rich. This may encourage people
in every state of life to be contented with their _capacity_ of doing
good, provided they act up to it. Let no one think that he is too low,
too mean and private to follow his Lord in the salvation of souls.
Let him but add his mite, and if it be all that he hath, he shall
be thought to have done much. Not that all are to be preachers and
teachers of religion, no more than all are to be _apostles_, or all
_prophets_, or all _workers of miracles_. Christians are like members
of one and the same body; they are as different from one another, as
hands and eyes, and have as different offices; yet may their different
parts promote the same common end. As _the eye cannot say to the
hand, I have no need of thee; nor again, the head to the feet, I have
no need of you_¹; so neither can the learned teacher say he hath no
need of the private, unlearned person. For the work of salvation is
carried on by all hands, as well by him that is taught, as by him that
teacheth. An _unlearned_ person, by being desirous of instruction, and
careful to comply with it, may promote salvation as truly, in a degree,
as he that is able and willing to instruct. This teachable disposition
may as effectually influence others as another man’s ability and care
of teaching. Therefore, though, as the apostle saith, all have _not
the gift of healing_, though all do not _speak with tongues_, yet all
have _some part_ that they may act in the salvation of mankind, and
may follow their Lord and Master in the great work, for which he came
down from heaven: we must not then think, that it is the business of
_clergymen_ only to carry on the work of salvation; but must remember,
that we are engaged in the same business, though not in the same
manner.

  ¹ 1 Cor. xii. 2.


V. Had the _poor widow_ thought herself excused from taking care
of the treasury; had she thought it belonged only to the _rich_ to
contribute to it, she had lost that great commendation which our
Saviour bestowed upon her. Now, it may be that some widows are so very
poor, as not to have so much as a _mite_ to give to the treasury, who
must therefore content themselves with the charity of their hearts;
but this can never happen in the business of salvation. Here no one
can be so poor, as not to have a _mite_ to contribute towards it. For
no circumstances of life can hinder us from being _examples_ of piety,
and making our lives a _lesson_ of instruction to all that are about
us. And he that lives an exemplary life though his state be ever so
_poor_ and _mean_, is largely contributing to the salvation of others,
and proving himself the _best_ follower of his Lord and Master.


VI. This therefore is the first great instance in which we are to
follow the example and spirit of our blessed Saviour. He came to save
the world: we must all consider ourselves as called to carry on this
_great work_. For how can we think ourselves to be his _followers_,
if we do not follow him in that for which he came into the world? How
can we be like the Saviour of the world, unless the _salvation_ of the
world be our constant care? We cannot save the world as he saved it,
but we can contribute our mite towards it. _How knowest thou, O wife,
whether thou shalt save thine husband? Or how knowest thou, O man,
whether thou shalt save thy wife¹?_ This shews plainly, that _all
persons_ may have a share in the salvation of those that are near
them, and that they are to consider themselves as expresly called to
this great work. For the apostle uses it as the same argument both to
husband and wife; which supposes that it is a business in which one
is as much concerned as the other. The _woman_ we know is not allowed
to speak in the _church_, yet is she entrusted with _some share_ in
the salvation of the world; she is supposed equally capable of saving
the husband, as the husband of saving the wife. Now what is here said
of husband and wife, we must extend to every _state_ and relation;
_brothers_ and _sisters_, _friends_ and _neighbours_, must all
consider themselves as called to the salvation of one another. How
knowest thou, O _sister_, whether thou shalt save thy _brother_?
How knowest thou, O _man_, whether thou shalt save thy _neighbour_?
Is a way of thinking that ought never to be out of our minds. For
this would make brothers and sisters bear with one another, if they
consider, that they are to do that for one another which Christ hath
done for the whole world. This reflection would turn our anger toward
bad relations into care and tenderness for their souls; we should
not be glad to get away from them, but give them more of our company,
and be more exact in our behaviour towards them; always supposing it
possible, that our _good conversation_ may some time or other affect
them, and that God may make use of us as a means of their salvation.

  ¹ 1 Cor. vii. 16.


VII. *_Eutropius_ is very good and pious himself; but then his fault
is, that he seeks only the conversation of pious and good people. He
is careful and exact in his behaviour towards his virtuous friends;
always studying to oblige them; but gets away from and avoids
those that are of another temper. Now _Eutropius_ should recollect,
that this is acting like a _physician_ that would take care of the
_healthy_, and disregard those that are _sick_. He should remember,
that his irreligious friends and relations are the very persons that
are fallen to his care; and that he is as directly called to take care
of their salvation, as the husband to take care of the unbelieving
wife. _Eutropius_ therefore, if he would imitate his Lord and Master,
must apply to the _lost sheep of the house of Israel_, and endeavour
by all the innocent arts of pleasing his friends, to gain them to
repentance. We must not excuse ourselves from this care, by saying
that our relations are obstinate, hardened, and careless; but must
support ourselves with the apostle’s argument, How knowest thou, O
man, whether thou mayst not at last save thy relation?


VIII. The apostle saith, _destroy not him with thy meat, for whom
Christ died_¹. We may therefore justly reason thus, that as it lies
much in our power to hinder the salvation, so it must, to promote the
salvation of those for whom Christ died. Destroy not therefore by thy
negligence, by thy impatience, by thy want of care, that relation for
whom Christ died; nor think that thou hast done enough, till there is
no more that thou canst do. This is the state in which all Christians
are appointed by God in their several stations; to carry on that great
work, for which Christ came into the world. _Clergymen_ are not the
only men that have a _cure_ of souls, but every Christian has some
people about him, whose salvation he is obliged to be careful of; with
whom he is to live in all godliness and purity, that they may have the
benefit of his example and assistance in their duty to God. So that
all Christians, though ever so _low_, and _mean_, and _private_, must
consider themselves as _hired_ by Christ to work in his vineyard; for
as no circumstances of life can hinder us from saving ourselves, so
neither can they hinder us from promoting the salvation of others. And
though we have, according to our different stations, different parts
to act; yet if we are careful of that part which is fallen to our
share, we are equally objects of God’s favour.

  ¹ Rom. xiv. 15.

Thou, it may be, art not a _prophet_; God has not honoured thee with
this post in his service; yet needest thou not fall short of this
happiness: for our Saviour hath said, _He that receiveth a prophet,
in the name of a prophet, shall receive a prophet’s reward_. Now this
shews us, that though all men have not the same part to act in the
common salvation, yet none will be losers by that state they are in,
if they be but true to the particular duties of it. If they do all the
good they can in their _particular state_, they will be looked upon
with such acceptance as the _poor widow_ that gave all that she had.


IX. *Hence we may learn the greatness of their folly, who, neglecting
the exact performance of such duties as fall within their power, are
pleasing themselves with the great things they would do, were they but
in another state.

_Clemens_ has his head full of imaginary piety. He is often proposing
to himself what he would do if he had a great estate. He would outdo
all charitable men that are gone before him: he would retire from
the world; he would have no equipage; he would allow himself only
necessaries, that widows and orphans, the sick and distressed, might
find relief out of his estate. He tells you, that all other ways of
spending an estate is folly and madness.

Now _Clemens_ has at present a moderate estate, which he spends upon
himself, in the same vanities and indulgences as other people do.
He might live upon one third of his fortune, and make the rest the
support of the poor; but he does nothing of all this that is in his
power, but pleases himself with what he would do if his power was
greater. Come to thy senses, _Clemens_; do not talk what thou wouldest
do, if thou wast an _angel_, but consider what thou canst do, as
thou art a _man_. Make the best use of thy _present state_; do now
as thou thinkest thou wouldest do with a great estate; be _sparing_,
_deny_ thyself, abstain from all vanities, that the poor may be better
maintained, and then thou art as charitable as thou canst be in any
estate. Remember the poor _widow’s mite_.

_Fervidus_ is exact in the duties of religion; but then the greatness
of his zeal to be doing things that he cannot, makes him overlook
those little ways of doing good which are every day in his power.
_Fervidus_ is only sorry that he is not in holy orders, and that his
life is not spent in a business the most desirable of all things in
the world. He is often thinking what reformation he would make in
the world, if he was a _priest_ or a _bishop_; he would have devoted
himself wholly to God and religion, and have had no other care but
how to save souls. But do not believe yourself, _Fervidus_; for if you
desired in earnest to be a _clergyman_, that you might devote yourself
entirely to the salvation of others, why are you not doing all you can
in the state you are now in? Would you take extraordinary care of a
_parish_, or a _diocese_, why then are you not as extraordinary in the
care of a family? If you think the care of other peoples salvation to
be the happiest business in the world, why do you neglect the care of
those that are fallen into your hands? Why do you shew no concern for
the souls of your servants? If they do their business for which you
hired them, you never trouble your head about their Christianity. Nay,
_Fervidus_, you are so far from labouring to make those that are about
you truly devout and holy, that you almost put it out of their power
to be so. You hire a _coachman_ to carry you to church, and to sit in
the street with your _horses_, whilst you are attending divine service.
You never ask him how he supplies the loss of divine service, or what
means he takes to preserve himself in a state of piety. You imagine
that if you was a _clergyman_, you would be ready to lay down your
life for your flock; yet you cannot lay aside a _little state_ to
promote the salvation of your servants. It is not desired of you,
_Fervidus_, to die a _martyr_ for your brethren; you are only required
to go to _church_ on foot, to spare some _state_ and _attendance_, to
bear sometimes with a little _rain_ and _dirt_, rather than keep those
souls which are as dear to God and Christ as yours is, from their
_full share_ in the common worship of Christians. Do but deny yourself
such small matters as these; let us but see that you can take the
least trouble to make all your servants and dependants true servants
of God, then you shall be allowed to imagine what good you would have
done had you been devoted to the altar.


X. *_Eugenia_ is a young woman, full of pious dispositions; she is
intending, if ever she has a family, to be the _best mistress_ of
it that ever was; her house shall be a _school_ of religion, and her
children and servants shall be brought up in the strictest piety; she
will spend her time, and live in a very different manner from the rest
of the world. It may be so, _Eugenia_; you think you intend all this:
but you are not yet at the head of a family, and perhaps never may
be. But _Eugenia_, you have now one maid, and you do not know what
religion she is of; she dresses you for the church; you ask her for
what you want, and then leave her to have as little Christianity as
she pleases. You turn her away; you hire another; she comes, and goes,
no more instructed, or edified in religion, by living with you than if
she had lived with any body else. And this comes to pass, because your
mind is taken up with greater things, and you reserve yourself to make
a whole family religious, if ever you come to be head of it. You need
not stay, _Eugenia_, to be so extraordinary a person; the opportunity
is now in your hands; you may now spend your time, and live in as
different a manner from the rest of the world, as ever you can in any
other state. Your _maid_ is your family at present; she is under your
care; be now that religious governess that you intend to be; teach
her the _catechism_, hear her read, exhort her to pray, take her with
you to church, persuade her to love the divine service as you love
it; and spare no pains to make her as devout as yourself. When you do
thus much good in your present state, then you are that extraordinary
person you intend to be; and till you thus live up to your present
state, there is but little hopes that the altering your state will
alter your way of life.


XI. *There is no falseness of our hearts that leads us into greater
errors, than imagining, that we shall some time or other be better
than we are, or need be now: for _perfection_ has no dependance upon
_external_ circumstances; it wants no _times_ or _opportunities_;
but is then in its highest state, when we are making the _best use_
of that condition in which we are placed. The _poor widow_ did not
stay till she was _rich_ before she contributed to the treasury; she
readily brought her mite; and, little as it was, it got her the reward
and commendation of great charity. We must therefore all imitate
the wisdom of the poor widow, and exercise every virtue in the same
manner that she exercised her charity. We must stay for no time or
opportunities, wait for no _change_ of _life_, or _fancied abilities_,
but remember that every time is a time for piety and perfection. Every
thing but piety has its hindrances; but piety, the more it is hindered
the higher it is raised. Let us therefore not vainly say, that if we
had lived in our Saviour’s days, we would have followed him; or that
if we could work miracles, we would devote ourselves to his glory. For,
to follow Christ in our present state, and to do all that we are able
for his glory, is as acceptable to him, as if we were working miracles
in his name.


XII. When our blessed Saviour was upon the cross, he thus prayed for
his enemies, _Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do_¹.
Now all Christians readily acknowledge that this temper of Christ is
to be the _exact rule_ of our temper on the like occasion; that we
are not to fall short of it, but must be perfectly like Christ in this
charity towards our murderers. But then perhaps they do not enough
consider, that for the very same reason, every other temper of Christ,
is as much the _exact rule_ of all Christians as his temper towards
his murderers. For we are to be thus disposed towards our persecutors
and murderers, because Christ was so disposed towards his. And is it
not as good an argument, that we are to be so and so disposed towards
the world, and all worldly enjoyments, because Christ was so disposed
towards them? He was as right in one case as the other, and no more
erred in his temper towards _worldly things_, than in his temper
towards his _enemies_. Should we not fail to be good Christians, if
we fell short of that forgiving spirit, which the blessed Jesus shewed
upon the cross? And shall we not equally fail to be good Christians,
if we fall short of that humble and meek spirit which he shewed in all
his life?

  ¹ Luke xxiii. 34.


XIII. The short of the matter is this, the spirit and temper of Christ
is the _strict measure_ of the Spirit and temper of all Christians.
It is not in this or that particular temper of Christ, that we are to
follow his example; but we are to aspire after his whole spirit, to
be in all things as he was, and think it as dangerous to depart from
his Spirit and temper in one instance as in another. For besides that
there is the same authority in all that our Saviour did, which obliges
us to conform to his whole example. Can any one tell why we should
have more value for this world than our Saviour had? What is there
in our _state_ and _circumstances_, that can make it proper for us to
have more affection for the things of this life than our Saviour had?
Is the world any more our _happiness_, than it was his happiness? Are
riches, and honours, and pleasures, any more our _proper good_, than
they were his? Are we any more born for this life than our Saviour
was? Are we in less danger of being _corrupted_ by its enjoyments than
he was? Are we more at leisure to take up _our rest_, and spend our
time in worldly satisfactions than he was? Have we a work upon our
hands that we can _more easily finish_, than he could finish his? That
requires of us less _mortification_ and _self-denial_, less _devotion_
and _watching_, than our Saviour’s required of him? Now as nothing of
this can be said; as this world is as little our happiness, and more
our danger than it was his; as we have a work to finish that requires
_all our strength_, it is plain there was no reason for his disregard
of the world, but what is the same reason for us to disregard it in
the same manner.


XIV. Take another instance of our blessed Saviour’s Spirit, _I came
down from heaven_ (says he) _not to do mine own will, but the will of
him that sent me_¹.

  ¹ John vi. 38.

And again, _My meat and drink is to do the will of him that sent me_.
Now, can any Christian shew, why he may think otherwise of himself,
than our Saviour here thought? Or that he need be _less devoted_
to the glory of God than he was? What is there in our nature and
_condition_ to make any difference of this kind? Or can any thing
else be the happiness of our nature, but that which was the happiness
of his? Was he a _loser_? Did he leave the true happiness of _human
life_, by devoting himself to the will of God? Or can this be our case,
tho’ it was not his? *Can we be _losers_ by looking to God _alone_,
and _devoting_ ourselves to his glory? Was it not the greatness and
happiness of our Saviour that he lived to God alone? And is there
any other greatness or happiness for us? We may as well seek out for
another God, as for another happiness, or another way to it, than
that in which Christ is gone before us. He did not mistake the nature
of _man_, or the nature of the _world_; he did not overlook any _real
felicity_, or pass by any _solid good_; he only made the best use
of human life; and his spirit and temper is as _necessary_ for our
condition as it was for his. For this world, and all the things of the
world, signify as _little_ to us as they did to him. We are no more
in our _true state_, till we are got out of this world, than he was;
and we have no way to arrive at true felicity and greatness, but by
so _devoting_ ourselves to God as our blessed Saviour did. We must
therefore make it the business, and aim of our lives, to be like
Christ: and this not in a _loose_ or _general_ way, but with great
_nicety_ and _exactness_, always looking to his _spirit_, to his
_ends_ and _designs_, to his _tempers_, to his ways and conversation
in the world, as the exact _model_ and _rule_ of ours.


♦XVI. Again, _Learn of me_, (saith our blessed Saviour) _for I am meek
and lowly in heart_.

  ♦ Number XV. omitted in text.

*It ought to be observed, that there must be something very
_extraordinary_ in these dispositions, from the manner in which we are
taught them. It is only in this place, that our Saviour says expresly,
_Learn of me_; and when he says, _Learn of me_, he does not say, for
I am just and equitable, or kind, or holy, but _I am meek and lowly in
heart_; as if he would teach us, that these are the tempers which most
of all _distinguish_ his Spirit, and which he most of all requires
his followers to learn of him. For consider, does Christ, when he
describes himself, chuse to do it by _these tempers_? When he calls
upon us to learn of him, does he only mention _these tempers_? And is
not this a sufficient proof that these are tempers which the followers
of Christ are most of all obliged to learn; and that we are then most
_unlike_ to Christ, when we are wanting in them? Now as our great Lord
and Master has made these characters the _distinguishing_ characters
of his Spirit, it is plain that they are to be the _distinguishing_
characters of our spirit; for we are only so far his, as we are like
him. Consider also, was he _more lowly_ than he need have been? Did he
practise any degrees of humility that were _unnecessary_? This can no
more be said, than he can be charged with folly. But can there be any
instances of lowliness which became him, that are not necessary for
us? Does our state and condition excuse us from any kind of humility
that was necessary for him? Are we higher in our nature, more raised
in our condition, or more in the favour of God than he was? Are
there _dignities_, _honours_, and _ornaments_ of life, which we may
delight in, tho’ he might not? We must own these absurdities, or else
acknowledge that we are to breathe the same _lowly spirit_, act with
the _same meekness_, and practise the _same humble_ behaviour that he
did. So that the matter comes plainly to this conclusion, either that
Christ was more humble than his nature and condition required, or we
are under a necessity of the same humility, till we can prove, that we
are in a higher state than he was.


XVII. We see the height of our calling; that we are called to follow
the example of our Lord and Master, and to go thro’ this world with
his Spirit and temper. Now nothing is so likely a means to fill us
with his Spirit and temper, as to be frequent in reading the _gospels_,
which contain the history of his life and conversation in the world.
We are apt to think, that we have sufficiently read a book, when we
have so read it, as to know what it contains. This reading may be
sufficient as to many books: but as to the _gospels_, we are not to
think that we have read them enough, because we have often read and
heard what they contain: but we must read them as we do our _prayers_,
not to know what they contain, but to fill our hearts with the spirit
of them. There is as much difference betwixt reading and reading,
as there is betwixt praying and praying: and as no one prays well,
but he that is daily and constant in prayer; so no one can read
the scriptures to advantage, but he that is constant in the reading
of them. By thus conversing with our blessed Lord; looking into
his actions and manner of life; hearing his divine sayings; his
heavenly instructions; his accounts of the terrors of the damned; his
descriptions of the glory of the righteous, we should find our hearts
formed and disposed _to hunger and thirst after righteousness_. Happy
they who saw the Son of God upon earth converting sinners, and calling
_fallen spirits_ to return to God! And next happy are we, who have his
discourses, doctrines, actions, and miracles, which then converted
_Jews_ and Heathens into _saints_ and _martyrs_, still preserved to
fill us with the same heavenly light, and bring us to the same state
of glory!




                             CHAP. VIII.

    _An exhortation to Christian perfection._


I. WHOEVER hath read the foregoing chapters with attention, is, I hope,
sufficiently instructed in the knowledge of Christian perfection. He
hath seen that it requireth us to _devote_ ourselves _wholly_ unto
God; to make the ends and designs of religion, the ends and designs
of all our actions; that it calleth us to be _born again of_ God; to
live by the light of his Holy Spirit; to _renounce the world_, and all
_worldly tempers_; to practise a constant _universal self-denial_; to
make daily war with the corruption of our nature; to shew the power
of _divine grace_, by holiness of conversation; to avoid all pleasures
and cares which _grieve the Holy Spirit_, and separate him from us; to
live in a _daily, constant state_ of prayer and devotion; and, as the
crown of all, to imitate the _life and Spirit_ of the Holy Jesus.


II. *It now only remains that I exhort the reader to labour after
this perfection. Was I to exhort any one to the study of _poetry_ or
_eloquence_, to labour to be _rich_ and _great_, or to spend his time
in _mathematics_, or other learning, I could only produce such reasons
as are fit to delude the vanity of men, who are ready to be taken
with any appearance of excellence. For if the same person was to ask
me, what it signifies to be a _poet_ or _eloquent_, what advantage
it would be to him, to be a great _mathematician_, or a great
_statesman_, I must be forced to answer, that these things would
signify just as much to him, as they now signify to those poets,
orators, mathematicians, and statesmen, whose bodies have been a long
while lost among common dust. For if a man will be so thoughtful as to
put the question to every human enjoyment, and ask what real good it
would bring along with it, he would soon find, that every success in
the things of this life, leaves us just in the same state of want and
emptiness in which it found us. If a man asks why he should labour to
be the first _mathematician_, _orator_, or _statesman_, the answer is
easily given, because of the _fame_ and _honour_ of such a distinction;
but if he was to ask again, why he should thirst after fame and honour,
or what good they would do him, he must stay long enough for an answer.
For when we are at the _top_ of all human attainments, we are still at
the _bottom_ of all human misery, and have made no farther advancement
towards true happiness, than those whom we see in the want of all
these excellencies. Whether a man die before he has writ _poems_,
compiled _histories_, or raised an _estate_, signifies no more than
whether he died an hundred or a thousand years ago.


III. On the contrary, when any one is exhorted to labour after
Christian perfection, if he then asks what good it will do him, the
answer is ready, that it would do him a good which eternity only can
measure; that it will deliver him from a state of vanity and misery:
that it will raise him from the poor enjoyments of an animal life;
that it will give him a glorious body, carry him, in spite of death
and the grave, to live with God, be glorious among angels and heavenly
beings, and be full of an infinite happiness to all eternity. If
therefore we could but make men so reasonable, as to make the shortest
enquiry into the nature of things, we should have no occasion to
exhort them to strive after Christian perfection. _Two questions_ we
see put an end to all the vain projects of human life; they are all
so empty and useless to our happiness, that they cannot stand the
trial of a _second_ question. And, on the other hand, ’tis but asking,
whether Christian perfection tends: and one single thought upon the
eternal happiness it leads to, is sufficient to make people _saints_.


IV. This shews us how inexcusable all Christians are, who are devoted
to the things of this life. It is not because they want _fine parts_,
or are unable to make _deep reflections_; but it is because they
reject the first principles of _common sense_; they won’t so much as
ask what those things are which they are labouring after. Did they but
use thus much reason, we need not desire them to be wiser, in order
to seek only eternal happiness. As a shadow at the first trial of the
hand appears to have no substance; so all human enjoyments sink away
into nothing at the first approach of a _serious_ thought. We must not
therefore complain of the deceitful appearances of worldly enjoyments,
because the lowest degree of reason, if listened to, is sufficient to
discover the cheat. If you will, you may _blindly_ do what the rest of
the world are doing; you may follow the _cry_, and run yourself out of
_breath_ for you know not what: but if you will but shew so much sense,
as to ask why you should take such a chace, you will need no deeper
a reflection than this to make you leave the broad way; and let the
wise and learned, the rich and great, be mad by themselves. Thus much
common sense will turn your eyes towards God, will separate you from
all the appearances of worldly felicity, and fill you with one only
ambition after eternal happiness.


V. Suppose _strict sobriety_ was the sole end of man, the necessary
condition of happiness, what would you think of those people, who,
knowing and believing this to be true, should yet spend their time
in getting quantities of all sorts of the _strongest liquors_? What
would you think if you saw them constantly enlarging their _cellars_,
filling every room with _drams_, and contending who should have the
largest quantities of the strongest liquors? Now this is the folly
and madness of Christians; they are as wise and reasonable, as they
are who are always providing strong liquors, in order to be _strictly
sober_. For all the enjoyments of human life, which Christians
so aspire after, whether of _riches_, _greatness_, _honours_, or
_pleasures_, are as much the dangers and temptations of a Christian,
as strong and pleasant liquors are the temptations of a man that
is to drink only water. Now if you was to ask such a man, why he is
continually increasing his stock of liquors, when he is to abstain
from them all, and only to drink water, he can give you as good a
reason, as those Christians, who spare no pains to acquire riches,
greatness, and pleasures, at the same time that their salvation
depends upon their renouncing them all, upon their heavenly-mindedness,
humility, and constant self-denial.


VI. But it may be you are not devoted to these things; you have
a greater soul than to be taken with _riches_, _equipage_, or the
_pageantry_ of state; you are deeply engaged in _learning_ and
_sciences_.

You are squaring the _circle_, or settling the distances of the
_stars_, or busy in the study of _exotic plants_.

You are comparing the ancient languages, have made deep discoveries
in the change of _letters_, and perhaps know how to write an
_inscription_ in as obscure characters as if you had lived above two
thousand years ago: or, perhaps you are meditating upon the _Heathen
theology_, collecting the history of their _Gods_ and _Goddesses_; or,
you are scanning some ancient _Greek_ or _Roman_ poet, and making an
exact collection of their _scattered_ remains, _scraps_ of sentences,
and _broken_ words.

You are not exposing your life in the field like a mad _Alexander_ or
_Cæsar_; but you are fighting over all their battles in your _study_;
you are collecting the names of their _generals_, the number of their
troops, the manner of their arms, and can give the world a more exact
account of the times, places, and circumstances of their battles, than
has yet been seen.


VII. You will perhaps ask, whether these are not very commendable
enquiries? An excellent use of our time and parts? Whether people may
not be very reasonably exhorted to these kind of studies? It may be
answered, that all enquiries (however learned they may be reckoned)
which do not improve the mind in some useful knowledge, that do not
make us wise in _religious wisdom_, are to be reckoned amongst our
greatest vanities and follies. All speculations that will not stand
this trial, are to be looked upon as the wanderings and impertinencies
of a _disordered understanding_.

It is strange want of thought to imagine, that an enquiry is ever the
better, because it is taken up in _Greek_ and _Latin_. Why is it not
as wise and reasonable for a _scholar_ to dwell in the _kitchen_ and
converse with _cooks_, as to go into his study, to meditate upon the
_Roman_ art of _cookery_, and learn their variety of _sauces_?

*A grave _doctor_ in divinity would perhaps think his time very ill
employed, that he was acting below his character, if he was to be an
_amanuensis_ to some _modern poet_. Why then does he think it suitable
with the weight of his calling, to have been a _drudge_ to some
_ancient poet_, counting his syllables for several years, only to help
the world to read what some _irreligious_, _wanton_, or _epicurean_
poet has wrote?

It is certainly a much more reasonable employment to be making
_cloaths_, than to spend one’s time in reading or writing volumes upon
the _Grecian_ or _Roman_ garments.


VIII. If you can shew me a learning that makes man truly sensible
of his duty, that fills the mind with _true light_, that reforms
the heart, that disposes it right towards God, that makes us more
_reasonable_ in all our actions; that inspires us with _fortitude_,
_humility_, _devotion_, and contempt of the _world_: that gives
us right notions of the _greatness_ of religion, the _sanctity_ of
morality, the _littleness_ of every thing but God, the _vanity_ of
our passions, and the misery and corruption of our nature, I will
own myself an advocate for such learning. But to think that time is
well employed, because it is spent in such speculations as the vulgar
cannot reach, or because they are fetched from antiquity, or found in
_Greek_ or _Latin_, is a folly that may be called as great as any in
human life.

They who think that these enquiries are consistent with a heart
_entirely devoted_ to God, have not enough considered human nature;
they would do well to consult our Saviour’s rebuke of _Martha_. She
did not seem to have wandered far from her proper business; she was
not busy in the history of _house-wifery_, or enquiring into the
_original of the distaff_; she was only taken up with present affairs,
and _cumbered about much serving_: but our blessed Saviour said unto
her, _Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things.
But one thing is needful._

Now if _scholars_ and _divines_ can shew, that they only apply to such
studies as are serviceable to the _one thing needful_; if they are
busy in a philosophy and learning that have a necessary connection
with the devotion of the heart to God, such learning becomes the
followers of Christ; but, if they trifle in _Greek_ and _Latin_, and
only assist other people to follow them in the same impertinence, such
learning may be reckoned amongst the corruptions of the age. For all
the arguments against _pride_, _covetousness_, and _vanity_, are as
good arguments against _such learning_; it being the same irreligion
to be devoted to any false _learning_, as to be devoted to any other
_false good_.

A satisfaction in any vain ornaments of the body, whether of _cloaths_
or _paint_, is no greater a mistake, than a satisfaction in the _vain
accomplishments_ of the mind.


IX. A man that is eager and laborious in the search and study of
that which does him _no good_, is the same poor, little soul, as
the _miser_ who is happy in his _bags_ that are laid by in dust. A
ridiculous application of our _money_, _time_, and _understanding_, is
the same fault, whether it be found amongst the finery of _fops_, the
hoards of _misers_, or the trinkets of _virtuoso_’s. It is the same
false turn of mind, the same mistake of the use of things, the same
ignorance of the state of man, and the same offence against religion.

*When we see a man brooding over _bags_ of wealth, and labouring to
die _rich_, we do not only accuse him of a poor littleness of mind;
but we charge him with great guilt; we do not allow such a one to be
in a state of religion. Let us therefore suppose that this covetous
man was on a sudden changed into another temper; that he was grown
_polite_ and _curious_; that he was fond and eager after the most
useless things, if they were but _ancient_ and _scarce_; let us
suppose that he is now as greedy of _original paintings_, as he was
before of _money_; that he will give more for a _dog’s head_, or
a _snuff_ of a candle done by a good _hand_, than he ever gave in
charity all his life; is he a wiser man, or a better Christian than
he was before? Has he more overcome the world, or is he more devoted
to God, than when his soul was locked up with his money? Alas! his
heart is in the same false satisfaction; he is in the same state
of ignorance, is as far from the true good, as much separated from
God, as he whose soul is cleaving to the dust; he lives in the same
vanity, and must die in the same misery, as he that lives and dies in
_foppery_ or covetousness.


X. Here therefore I place my argument for _Christian perfection_.
I exhort thee to labour after it, because there is nothing else for
thee to labour after; there is nothing else that the reason of man can
exhort thee to. The whole world has nothing to offer thee in its stead;
chuse what other way thou wilt, thou hast chosen nothing but vanity
and misery; for all the different ways of the world are only different
ways of deluding thyself: this only excells that as one vanity can
excel another. If thou wilt make thyself more happy than those who
pursue their own destruction, if thou wilt shew thyself wiser than
_fops_, more reasonable than _sordid misers_, thou must pursue that
happiness, and study that wisdom which leads to God; for every other
pursuit, every other way of life, however _polite_ or _plausible_
in the opinion of the world, has a folly and stupidity in it that is
equal to the folly and stupidity of _fops_ and _misers_.

For awhile shut thine eyes, and think of the _silliest creature_ in
human life; imagine to thyself something that thou thinkest the most
_poor_ and _vain_ in the way of the world. Now thou art thyself that
poor and vain creature, unless thou art devoted to God, and labouring
after Christian perfection; unless this be thy difference from the
world, thou canst not think of any creature more silly than thyself.
For it is not any _post_, or condition, or figure in life, that makes
one man wiser or better than another; if thou art a proud _scholar_,
a worldly _priest_, an indevout _philosopher_, a crafty _politician_,
an ambitious _statesman_, thy imagination cannot invent a way of life
that has more of vanity or folly than thine own.


XI. Every one has wisdom enough to see what variety of fools and
madmen there are in the world.

Now perhaps we cannot do better, than to find out the true reason
of the folly and madness of any sort of life. Ask thyself therefore
wherein consists the folly of any sort of life, which is most
condemned in thy judgment.

*Is a drunken _fox-hunter_ leading a foolish life? Wherein consists
the folly of it? Is it because he is not getting money upon the
_exchange_? Or because he is not wrangling at the _bar_? Or not
waiting at _court_? No; the folly of it consists in this, that he is
not living like a _reasonable creature_; that he is not acting like
a being that has a salvation to work out with _fear and trembling_;
that he is throwing away his time amongst _dogs_, and noise, and
intemperance, which he should devote to watching and prayer, and the
improvement of his soul in all holy tempers. Now, if this is the folly
(as it most certainly is) of an intemperate _fox-hunter_, it shews us
an equal folly in every other way of life, where the same great ends
of living are neglected. Tho’ we are shining at the _bar_, making a
figure at _court_, great at the _exchange_, or famous in the _schools_
of _philosophy_, we are yet the same despicable creatures as the
intemperate _fox-hunter_, if these things keep us as far from holiness
and heavenly affections. There is nothing greater in any way of life
than _fox-hunting_: it is all the same folly, unless religion be the
beginning and ending, the rule and measure of it all. For it is as
_noble_ a _wisdom_, and shews as _great_ a _soul_, to die less holy
and heavenly for the sake of _hunting_ and _noise_, as for the sake
of any thing that the world can give us.


XII. Another motive to induce you to aspire after _Christian
perfection_, may be taken from the double advantage of it in this
life, and that which is to come.

The apostle thus exhorts the _Corinthians_, _Wherefore, my beloved
brethren, be ye stedfast, immoveable, always abounding in the work of
the Lord; for as much as ye know that your labour will not be in vain
in the Lord_¹.

  ¹ 1 Cor. xv. 58.

This is an exhortation founded upon solid reason: for what can be so
reasonable, as to be always abounding in _that work_ which will never
be _in vain_? Whilst we are pleased with ourselves, or pleased with
the world, we are pleased with vanity: and our most prosperous labours
of this kind are but _vanity of vanities_: but whilst we are labouring
after Christian perfection, we are labouring for eternity, and
building to ourselves higher stations in the joys of heaven. _As one
star differeth from another star in glory, so also is the resurrection
of the dead._ We shall surely rise to different degrees of glory, of
joy and happiness in God, according to our different advancements in
holiness, and good works.

No degrees of mortification and self-denial, no private prayers, no
secret mournings, no instances of charity, no labour of love, will
ever be forgotten, but all treasured up to our everlasting comfort.
For though the rewards of the other life are free gifts of God; yet
since he has assured us, that every man shall be rewarded according to
his works, it is certain that our rewards will be as different as our
works have been.


XIII. Now stand still awhile, and ask yourself, whether you really
believe this to be true, that the more perfect we are here, the more
happy we shall be hereafter? If you do not believe this, you know
nothing of God and religion. And if you do believe it, is it possible
to be _awake_ and not aspiring after Christian perfection? What can
you think of, what can the world shew you, that can make you any
amends for the loss of _any degree_ of virtue? Can any way of life
make it reasonable for you to die _less perfect_ than you might have
done? But if you would now devote yourself to God, perhaps you must
part with some friends; you must displease some relations, you must
refrain from some pleasures, you must alter your life; nay, perhaps
you must do more than this, you must expose yourself to the hatred of
your friends, to the jest and ridicule of _wits_, and to the scorn and
derision of worldly men. But had you not better do and suffer all this,
than die _less perfect_, less prepared for eternal glory? And indeed
the suffering all this is suffering nothing. For why should it signify
any thing to you, what _fools_ and _madmen_ think of you? And surely
it can be no wrong or rash judgment to think those both fools and mad,
who condemn what God approves, and like that which God condemns: but
if you think this too much to be done, to obtain eternal glory, think
on the other hand, what can be gained instead of it.

*Fancy yourself living in all the ease and pleasure that the world can
give you, esteemed by your friends, undisturbed by your enemies, and
gratifying all your _natural tempers_. If you could _stand still_ in
such a state, you might say that you had got _something_; but alas!
every day that is _added_ to such a life, is the same thing as a day
taken from it, and shews you that so much happiness is gone from you.
For be as happy as you will, you must see it all sinking away from
you; you must feel yourself _decline_; you must see that your time
_shortens apace_; you must hear of _sudden deaths_; you must fear
_sickness_; you must both dread and desire _old age_; you must fall
into the hands of death; you must either die in the bitter sorrows of
a deep repentance, or in sad gloomy despair, wishing for _mountains to
fall upon you, and rocks to cover you_. And is this a happiness to be
chosen? Is this all that you can gain by neglecting God, by following
your own desires, and not labouring after Christian perfection? Is it
worth your while to separate yourself from God, to lose your share in
the realms of light, to be _thus happy_; or, I may better say, to be
thus miserable even in this life? You may be so blind and foolish, as
not to think of these things; but it is impossible to think of them,
without labouring after _Christian perfection_.


XIV. It may be, you are too young, too happy, or too busy to be
affected with these reflections; but let me tell you, that _all_ will
be over before you are aware; your _day_ will be spent, and leave you
to such a _night_, as that which surprized the _foolish virgins_. _And
at midnight there was a cry made, behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye
out and meet him¹._

  ¹ Matt. xxv. 6.

*The _last hour_ will soon be with you, when you will have nothing to
look for, but your _reward_ in another life; when you will stand with
nothing but _eternity_ before you, and must begin to be something
that will be your state for ever. I can no more _reach_ heaven with my
hands, than I can describe the sentiments that you then will have; you
will then feel motions of heart that you never felt before; all your
thoughts and reflections will pierce your soul in a manner, that you
never before experienced; and you will feel the immortality of your
nature, by the depth and piercing vigour of your thoughts. You will
then know what it is to die; you will then know that you never knew it
before, that you never thought worthily of it; but that dying thoughts
are as _new_ and _amazing_ as that state which follows them.

Let me therefore exhort you to come prepared to this time of trial;
to look out for comfort, whilst the day is before you; to treasure up
such a _fund_ of good and pious works, as may make you able to bear
that state, which cannot be borne without them. Could I any way make
you apprehend, how dying men feel the want of a pious life; how they
lament time lost, health and strength squandered away in folly; how
they look at eternity, and what they think of the rewards of another
life, you would soon find yourself one of those, who desire to live in
the highest state of piety and perfection, that by this means you may
grow old in peace, and die in full hope of eternal glory.


XV. Consider again, that besides the rewards of the other life, the
devoting yourself wholly to God has a great reward even in this life,
as it makes religion _doubly_ pleasant to you. Whilst you are divided
betwixt God and the world, you have neither the pleasures of religion,
nor the pleasures of the world; but are always in the uneasiness of
a divided state of heart. You have only so much religion as serves to
disquiet you; to check your enjoyments; to shew you a _hand-writing
upon the wall_; to interrupt your pleasures; to reproach you with
your follies; and to appear as a _death’s head_ at all your feasts;
but not religion enough to give you a taste and feeling of its proper
pleasures and satisfactions. You dare not wholly neglect religion; but
then, you take no more of it than is just sufficient to keep you from
being a terror to yourself; and you are as loath to be _very good_,
as you are fearful to be _very bad_. So that you are just as happy as
the _slave_, that dares not run away from his master, and yet always
serves him against his will. Instead of having a religion that is your
comfort in all troubles, your religion is itself a _trouble_, under
which you want to be comforted; and those days and times hang heaviest
on your hands, which leave you only to the offices and duties of
religion. _Sunday_ would be very dull and tiresome, but that it is but
one day in _seven_, and is made a day of _dressing_ and _visiting_, as
well as of divine service. You don’t care to keep away from the public
worship, but are always glad when it is over. This is the state of
half _piety_; thus they live who add religion to a worldly life; all
their religion is mere _yoke_ and _burden_, and is only made tolerable
by having but little of their time.


XVI. _Urbanus_ goes to church, but he hardly knows whether he goes out
of a sense of duty, or to meet his friends. He wonders at those people
who are _prophane_, and what pleasure they can find in irreligion;
but then, he is in as great a wonder at those who would make every day
a day of divine worship. He feels no more of the pleasures of piety,
than of the pleasures of prophaneness. As religion has every thing
from him but his _heart_, so he has every thing from religion but its
_comforts_. _Urbanus_ likes religion, because it seems an _easy_ way
of pleasing God; a _decent_ thing, that takes up but little of our
time, and is a proper _mixture_ in life: but if he was reduced to
take _comfort_ in it, he would be as much at a loss, as those who
have lived without God in the world. When _Urbanus_ thinks of joy, and
pleasure, and happiness, he does not think at all of religion. He has
gone through a hundred misfortunes, fallen into variety of hardships;
but never thought of making religion his _comfort_ in any of them. He
makes himself quiet and happy in another manner. He is content with
his Christianity, not because he is _pious_, but because he is not
_prophane_. He continues in the same course of religion, not because
of any real good he ever found in it, but because it does him no hurt.

*To such poor purposes as these do numbers of people profess
Christianity. Let me therefore exhort you to a _solid piety_, to
devote yourself wholly unto God; that entering deep into religion,
you may enter deep into its comforts; that serving God with all your
heart, you may have the peace and pleasure of a heart that is at unity
with itself. When your conscience once bears you witness, that you
are _stedfast_, _immoveable_, _and always abounding in the work of the
Lord_, you will find that your reward is already begun, and that you
could not be less devout, less holy, less charitable, or less humble,
without lessening the most substantial pleasure that ever you felt in
your life. So that to be content with any lower attainments in piety,
is to rob ourselves of a present happiness, which nothing else can
give us.


XVII. You would perhaps devote yourself to perfection, but for this
or that _little difficulty_ that lies in your way; you are not in so
convenient a state for the full practice of piety as you could wish:
but consider that this is nonsense, because perfection consists in
conquering difficulties. You could not be perfect as the present state
of trial requires, had you not those difficulties and inconveniences
to struggle with. These things therefore which you would have removed,
are laid in your way, that you may make them so many steps to glory.

As you could not exercise your charity, unless you met with objects;
so neither could you shew, that you had _overcome_ the world, unless
you had many worldly engagements to overcome. If all your _friends_
and _acquaintance_ were devout, humble, heavenly-minded, and wholly
intent upon the one end of life, it would be less perfection in you
to be like them: But if you are _humble_ amongst those that delight
in pride, _heavenly-minded_ amongst the worldly, _sober_ amongst the
intemperate, _devout_ amongst the irreligious, and labouring after
_perfection_ amongst those that despise and ridicule your labours,
then are you truly devoted unto God. Consider therefore, that you can
have no difficulty, but such as the world lays in your way; and that
perfection is never to be had, but by parting with the world. To stay
therefore to be perfect till it suits with your condition in the world,
is like staying to be charitable till there were no objects of charity.
It is as if a man should intend to be courageous some time or other,
when there is nothing left to try his courage.


XVIII. Again, you perhaps turn your eyes upon the world; you see
all orders of people full of other cares and pleasures; you see
the generality of _clergy_ and _laity_, learned and unlearned, your
friends and acquaintance, mostly living according to the spirit that
reigneth in the world; you are therefore content with such a _piety_
as you think contents great _scholars_ and _famous_ men: and it may
be you cannot think that God will reject such numbers of Christians.
Now all this is amusing yourself with nothing; it is only losing
yourself in vain imaginations; it is making that a _rule_ which is no
rule, and cheating yourself into a false satisfaction. As you are not
censoriously to damn other people; so neither are you to think your
own salvation secure, because you are like the generality of the world.

*The _foolish virgins_ that had provided no oil in their lamps, and
so were shut out of the marriage-feast, were only thus far _foolish_,
that they trusted to the _assistance_ of those that were _wise_: but
you are more foolish than they; for you trust to be saved by the folly
of others; you imagine yourself safe in the _negligence_, _vanity_,
and _irregularity_ of the world; you take confidence in the _broad
way_, because it is _broad_; you are content with yourself, because
you seem to be along with _the many_, though God himself has told you,
that _narrow_ is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that
find it.


XIX. One word more and I have done. Think with yourself, what a
happiness it is, that you have it in your power to secure a share in
the glories of heaven, and make yourself one of those blessed beings
that are to live with God for ever. Reflect upon the glories of bright
angels, that shine about the throne of heaven. Think upon that fulness
of joy, which is the state of Christ at the right hand of God; and
remember that it is this same state of glory and joy that lies open
for you. You are less, it may be, in worldly distinctions than many
others; but as to your relation to God, you have no superior upon
earth. Let your condition be what it will, let your life be ever so
mean, you may make the end of it the beginning of eternal glory. Be
often therefore in these reflections, that they may fill you with a
wise ambition of all that glory which God in Christ hath called you to.
For it is impossible to understand and feel any thing of this, without
feeling your heart affected with strong desires after it. There are
many things in human life which it would be in vain for you to aspire
after; but the happiness of the next, the sum of all happiness, is
secure and safe to you against all accidents. Here no chances or
misfortunes can prevent your success; neither can the treachery of
friends, nor the malice of enemies disappoint you; it is only your own
false heart that can rob you of this happiness. Be but your own true
friend, and then you have nothing to fear from your enemies. Do but
you sincerely labour in the Lord, and then neither heighth nor depth,
neither life nor death, neither men or devils, can make your labour
vain.




                      An Extract from Mr. LAW’s
                             SERIOUS CALL
                           TO A HOLY LIFE.




                               CHAP. I.

    _Concerning the nature and extent of Christian devotion._


1. DEVOTION is neither _private_ nor _public_ prayer; but prayers,
whether private or public, are particular parts or instances of
devotion. Devotion signifies a life _devoted_ to God.

He therefore is the _devout_ man, who lives no longer to his own
_will_, or the _way_ and _spirit_ of the world, but to the sole will
of God; who considers God in every thing, who serves God in every
thing, who makes all the parts of his _common_ life, parts of piety,
by doing every thing in the name of God, and under such rules as are
conformable to his glory.


2. *We readily acknowledge, that God alone is to be the rule and
measure of our _prayers_; that in them we are to look _wholly_ unto
him, and act _wholly_ for him; that we are only to pray in _such a
manner_, for _such things_, and _such ends_, as are suitable to his
glory.

Now let any one but find out the reason why he is to be thus strictly
pious in his prayers, and he will find the same as strong a reason
to be strictly pious in all the other parts of his life. For there is
not the least reason why we should make God the _rule_ and _measure_
of our prayers, why we should then look _wholly_ unto him, and pray
according to his will; but what equally proves it necessary for us
to look _wholly_ unto God, and make him the rule and measure of all
the other actions of our life. Were it not our strict duty to live by
_reason_, to devote all the actions of our lives to God; were it not
absolutely necessary to walk before him in wisdom and holiness, and
all heavenly conversation, doing every thing in his name and for his
glory, there would be no excellency or wisdom in the most _heavenly
prayers_: nay, such prayers would be absurdities; they would be like
prayers for _wings_, when it was no part of our duty to _fly_.


3. As sure therefore as there is any wisdom in praying for the Spirit
of God, so sure is it, that we are to make that Spirit the rule of
_all_ our actions; as sure as it is our duty to look _wholly_ unto God
in our prayers, so sure is it, that it is our duty to live _wholly_
unto God in our lives. But we can no more be said to live unto God,
unless we live unto him in all our _ordinary_ actions, unless he be
the rule and measure of all our ways, than we can be said to pray unto
God, unless our prayers look _wholly_ unto him. So that unreasonable
and absurd ways of life, whether in _labour_ or _diversion_, whether
they consume our _time_ or our _money_, are like unreasonable and
absurd prayers, and are as truly an offence unto God.


4. ’Tis for want of knowing, or at least considering this, that we
see such a _mixture_ of ridicule in the lives of many people. You see
them strict as to some _times_ and _places_ of devotion; but when the
service of the _church_ is over, they are but like those that seldom
or never come there. In their way of life, their manner of spending
their _time_ and _money_, in their _cares_ and _fears_, in their
_pleasures_ and _indulgencies_, in their labour and diversions, they
are like the rest of the world. This makes the world generally make a
jest of those that are _devout_, because they see their devotion goes
no farther than their _prayers_, and that they live no more unto God,
till the time of prayer returns again; but live by the same _humour_
and _fancy_, and in as full an enjoyment of all the follies of life
as other people. This is the reason why they are the jest of worldly
people; not because they are really devoted to God, but because they
appear to have no other devotion, but that of _occasional prayers_.


5. _Julius_ is very fearful of missing prayers; all the parish
supposes _Julius_ to be sick, if he is not at _church_. But if you
was to ask him, why he spends the rest of his time by _humour_ or
_chance_? Why he is a companion of the silliest people in their most
_silly pleasures_? Why he is ready for every impertinent entertainment
and diversion? If you was to ask him why there is no amusement
too trifling to please him? Why he gives himself up to an _idle_,
_gossiping_ conversation? Why he lives in foolish friendships for
particular persons, that neither want nor deserve any particular
kindness? If you ask him why he never puts his _conversation_, his
_time_, and _fortune_ under the rules of religion, _Julius_ has no
more to say for himself than the most disorderly person. For the whole
tenor of scripture lies as directly against such a life, as against
_debauchery_ and _intemperance_. He that lives in such a course, lives
no more according to the religion of Jesus Christ, than he that lives
in gluttony and intemperance.

If a man was to tell _Julius_, that there was no occasion for so much
constancy at prayers, and that he might neglect the service of the
church, as the generality of people do, _Julius_ would think such a
one to be no Christian, and that he ought to avoid his company: but
if a person only tell him, that he may live as the generality of the
world does, that he may enjoy himself as others do, that he may spend
his _time_ and _money_ as people of fashion do, that he may conform to
the follies of the generality, and gratify his temper and passions as
most people do, _Julius_ never suspects that man to want a Christian
spirit, or that he is doing the devil’s work.


6. The short of the matter is this. Either reason and religion
prescribe _rules_ and _ends_ to all the ordinary actions of our lives,
or they do not: if they do, then it is as necessary to govern all
our actions by those rules as it is necessary to worship God. For if
religion teaches us any thing concerning _eating_ and _drinking_, or
spending our _time_ and _money_; if it teaches us how we are to _use_
the world; if it tells us what tempers we are to have in _common_ life,
how we are to be disposed towards all people, how we are to behave
towards the _sick_, the _poor_, the _old_ and _destitute_; if it tells
us whom we are to treat with a particular love, whom we are to regard
with a particular esteem; if it tells us how we are to treat our
enemies, and how we are to deny ourselves, he must be very weak that
can think these parts of religion are not to be observed with as much
_exactness_ as any doctrines that relate to prayers.


7. Our blessed Saviour and his apostles are wholly taken up in
doctrines that relate to _common life_. They call us to differ in
every _temper_ and _way_ of life from the spirit and way of the world:
to renounce all its goods, to fear none of its evils, to reject its
joys, and have no value for its happiness: to be as _new-born babes_,
that are born into a new state of things; to live as pilgrims, in
spiritual watching, in holy fear, aspiring after another life; to take
up our daily cross; to deny ourselves; to profess the blessedness of
mourning; to seek the blessedness of poverty of spirit; to forsake the
pride and vanity of riches; to take no thought for the morrow; to live
in the profoundest humility; to rejoice in sufferings; to reject the
lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life; to
bear injuries; to forgive and bless our enemies, and to love mankind
as God loveth them; to give up our whole hearts and affections to God;
and strive to enter thro’ the strait gate into a life of eternal glory.


8. Thus it is in all virtues and holy tempers; they are not _ours_,
unless they be the virtues and tempers of our _ordinary life_. So that
Christianity is so far from leaving us to live in the common ways of
life, conforming to the folly of customs, and gratifying the passions
and tempers which the spirit of the world delights in: it is so far
from indulging us in any of these things, that all its virtues, which
it makes necessary to salvation, are only so many ways of living,
contrary to the world in all the common actions of our life.

If our common life is not a course of _humility_, _self-denial_,
_renunciation_ of the world, _poverty_ of spirit, and _heavenly_
affection, we don’t live the life of Christians.


9. But yet, tho’ it is thus plain, that this, and this alone, is
Christianity, an uniform, open and visible practice of all these
virtues; yet it is as plain, that there is little or nothing of this
to be found, even among the better sort of people. You see them often
at church; but look into their lives, and you see them just the same
sort of people as others are. The difference that you find betwixt
them is only the difference of their natural tempers. They have
the same _taste_ of the world, the same worldly cares, fears, and
joys; they have the same _turn_ of mind, are equally _vain_ in their
desires. You see the same vanity of _dress_, the same _self-love_ and
indulgence, the same foolish _friendships_ and groundless _hatreds_,
the same _levity_ of mind and _trifling_ spirits, the same idle
dispositions, and vain ways of spending their time in visiting and
conversation, as in the rest of the world, that make no pretences to
devotion.


10. I don’t mean this comparison betwixt people seemingly good and
professed _rakes_ but betwixt people of sober lives. Let us take an
instance in two modest women: let it be supposed that one of them
is careful of times of devotion, thro’ a sense of duty; and that the
other is at church seldom or often, just as it happens. Now it is a
very easy thing to see this difference betwixt these persons. But,
can you find any farther difference betwixt them? Can you find that
their _common life_ is of a different kind? Are not the _tempers_,
and _customs_, and _manners_, of the one, of the same kind as of
the other? Do they live as if they belonged to different worlds, had
different views in their heads, and different rules and measures of
all their actions? Have not they the same _goods_ and _evils_? Are
they not pleased and displeased in the _same manner_, and for the same
things? Do they not live in the same course of life? Does one seem
to be of this world, looking at the things that are temporal, and
the other to be of another world, looking wholly at the things that
are eternal? Does the one live in pleasure, delighting herself in
_shew_ or _dress_, and the other live in _self-denial_, renouncing
every thing that looks like vanity, either of _person_, _dress_, or
_carriage_? Does the one trifle away her time? And does the other
study all the arts of improving it, living in prayer and watching, and
such good works as may make all her time turn to her advantage, and be
placed to her account at the last day? Is the one careless of expence,
and glad to adorn herself with every costly ornament of dress? And
does the other consider her fortune as a talent given her by God,
which is to be improved religiously, and no more to be spent in vain
and needless ornaments than it is to be buried in the earth?

Where must you look, to find one person of religion differing in
this manner from another that has none? And yet if they do not differ
in these things, can it with any sense be said, the one is a _good_
Christian, and the other not?


11. Take another instance among the men. _Leo_ has a great deal of
good nature, has kept what they call _good_ company, hates every thing
that is _false_ and _base_, is very generous to his friends; but has
concerned himself so little with religion, that he hardly knows the
difference betwixt a _Jew_ and a _Christian_.

_Eusebius_, on the other hand, has had early impressions of religion,
and buys books of devotion. He can talk of all the _feasts_ and
_fasts_ of the church, and knows the _names_ of most men that have
been eminent for piety. You never hear him swear, and when he talks
of religion, he talks of it as a matter of great concern.

Here you see, that one person has religion enough, to be reckoned
a _pious Christian_; and the other is so far from all appearance of
religion, that he may fairly be reckoned a _Heathen_. And yet, if you
look into their _common life_, if you examine their _ruling_ tempers
in the greatest _articles_ of life, you will find the least difference
imaginable. Consider them with regard to the use of the world, because
that is what every body can see. Now, to have right _notions_ and
_tempers_, with regard to the world, is as essential to religion,
as to have right notions of God. And it is as possible for a man
to worship a _Crocodile_, and yet be a _pious man_, as to have his
affections set upon this world, and yet be a _good Christian_.

But now, if you consider _Leo_ and _Eusebius_ in this respect, you
will find them exactly alike; seeking, using, and enjoying all that
can be got in this world, in the same manner. You will find, _riches_,
_prosperity_, _pleasures_, and _honour_, are just as much the
happiness of _Eusebius_ as they are of _Leo_. And yet, if Christianity
has not changed a man’s temper, with relation to these things, what
has it done for him?


12. Every one capable of reflection, must have observed, that this is
generally the state, even of devout people, whether _men_ or _women_.
You may see them different from other people, as to _times_ and
_places_ of prayer, but like the rest of the world in all the other
parts of their lives; that is, adding _Christian_ devotion to an
_Heathen_ life. I have the authority of our blessed Saviour for this
remark, where he says, _Take no thought, saying, what shall we eat,
or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be cloathed? For after
all these things do the Gentiles seek._ But if to be thus affected
even with the necessary things of this life, shews that we are not of
a _Christian spirit_, but an _Heathen_; surely, to enjoy the vanity
of the world as they did, to be like them in the main tempers of our
lives, in sensual pleasures and diversions, in the vanity of dress,
the love of shew and greatness, or any other gaudy distinctions of
fortune, is a much greater sign of an Heathen temper; and consequently,
they who add devotion to such a life, must be said to _pray_ as
_Christians_, but live as _Heathens_.




                              CHAP. II.

    _An enquiry into the reason why the generality of |Christians|
      fall so short of the holiness of Christianity._


1. IT may now be reasonably enquired, how it is, that the lives,
even of the better sort of people, are thus strangely contrary to
the principles of Christianity?

Before I give a direct answer, I desire it may be enquired, how it is,
that _swearing_ is so common amongst Christians? It is indeed yet not
so common amongst _women_, as amongst _men_; but among men this sin
is so common, that perhaps there are more than two in three that are
guilty of it through the whole course of their lives; swearing _more_
or _less_, just as it happens; some constantly, others only now and
then. Now I ask how comes it, that two in three of men are guilty
of so gross a sin as this is? There is neither ignorance nor human
infirmity to plead for it: it is against an express commandment, and
the most plain doctrine of our blessed Saviour.

Do but find the reason why the generality of men live in this
notorious vice, and you will have found the reason, why the generality
even of the better sort of people, live so contrary to Christianity.


2. *Now the reason of common swearing is this; it is because men have
not so much as the _intention to please God in all their actions_. For,
let a man but have so much piety as to _intend to please God in all
the actions of his life, as the happiest and best thing in the world_,
and then he will never swear more. It will be as impossible for him
to swear, whilst he feels _this intention_ within himself, as it is
impossible for a man that intends to please his prince, to go up and
abuse him to his face.


3. It is but a small part of piety to have such an _intention_ as this;
and he has no reason to look upon himself as a disciple of Christ, who
is not this far advanced. And yet it is purely for want of this degree
of piety, that you see such a mixture of sin and folly in the lives
even of the better sort of people. It is for want of this _intention_,
that you see men that profess religion, yet live in _swearing_ and
_sensuality_; that you see _clergymen_ given to pride and covetousness,
and worldly enjoyments. It is for want of this _intention_, that you
see _women_ that profess devotion yet living in all the vanity and
folly of _dress_, and wasting their time in _idleness_ and _pleasures_,
in all such instances as their estates will reach. For, let but a
woman feel her heart full of _this intention_, and she will find it
as impossible to _patch_ or _paint_, as to curse or swear; she will
no more desire to shine at _balls_ and _assemblies_, or make a figure
amongst those that are most finely dressed, than she will desire to
dance upon a _rope_ to please spectators: she will know, that the one
is as far from the _wisdom_ and _excellency_ of the Christian spirit
as the other.


4. It was this _general intention_ that made the _primitive
Christians_ such eminent instances of piety. And if you will here stop,
and ask yourself, why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians
were, your own heart will tell you, it is neither through _ignorance_
or _inability_, but purely because you never _thoroughly intended_
it. You observe the same _Sunday-worship_ that they did; and you are
_strict_ in it, because it is your full intention to be so. And when
you as fully intend to be like them in their _common_ life; when
you intend to please God in _all your actions_, you will find it as
possible, as to be strictly exact in the service of the church. And
when you have this _intention to please God in all your actions, as
the happiest and best thing in the world_, you will find in you as
great an aversion to any thing that is _vain_ and _impertinent_ in
common life, whether of business or pleasure, as you now have to any
thing that is _prophane_. You will be as fearful of living in any
foolish way, either of spending your time, or your _fortune_, as you
are now fearful of neglecting the public worship.


5. Now, who that wants this general _intention_, can be reckoned a
Christian? And yet if it was among Christians, it would change the
whole face of the world; exemplary holiness, would be as common and
visible, as _buying_ and _selling_, or any trade in life.

*Let a _clergyman_ but be thus _pious_, and he will _converse_ as if
he had been brought up by an _apostle_. He will no more think and talk
of _noble preferment_, than of _noble eating_, or a glorious _chariot_.
He will no more complain of the _frowns_ of the _world_, or a _small
cure_, or the want of a _patron_, than he will complain of a _laced
coat_ or a _running horse_. Let him but _intend to please God in all
his actions, as the happiest and best thing in the world_, and then he
will know, that there is nothing _noble_ in a clergyman, but burning
zeal for the salvation of souls; nor any thing poor in his profession,
but _idleness_ and a _worldly spirit_. Again, let a _tradesman_ but
have this _intention_, and it will make him a saint in his _shop_; his
every day business will be a course of wise and reasonable actions,
made holy to God, by being done in obedience to his will and pleasure.
He will _buy_ and _sell_, and _labour_ and travel, because by so
doing he can do some good to himself and others; but then, as nothing
can please God but what is wise, and reasonable, and holy; so he
will neither buy nor sell, nor labour in any _manner_, but such as
is _wise_, and _reasonable_, and _holy_. He will therefore consider,
not what arts, or methods, will make him richer and greater than
his brethren, or remove him from a _shop_ to a life of _state_ and
_pleasure_; but he will consider what arts, what methods, can make
worldly business most acceptable to God, and make a life of trade a
life of holiness, devotion, and piety. This will be the temper and
spirit of every tradesman; he cannot stop short of these degrees of
piety, whenever it is his _intention to please God in all his actions,
as the best and happiest thing in the world_.


6. Again, let the _gentleman_ of fortune but have this _intention_,
and it will carry him from every appearance of evil, to every instance
of piety and goodness.

He cannot live by _chance_, or as _humour_ or fancy carries him,
because he knows that nothing can please God but a wise and regular
course of life. He cannot live in _idleness_ and _indulgence_, in
_sports_ and _gaming_, in vain expences and high living, because these
things cannot be turned into means of holiness, or made so many parts
of a wise and religious life.

*As he thus removes from all appearance of evil, so he aspires after
every instance of goodness. He does not ask what is _allowable_
and _pardonable_, but what is _commendable_ and _praise-worthy_. He
does not ask whether God will forgive the _folly_ of our lives, the
_madness_ of our pleasures, the _vanity_ of our expences, and the
careless consumption of our _time_; but he asks whether God is pleased
with these things; or whether these are the appointed ways of gaining
his favour. He does not enquire, whether it be pardonable to hoard up
money, to adorn ourselves with diamonds, and gild our chariots, whilst
the _widow_ and the _orphan_, the _sick_ and the _prisoner_ want to
be relieved; but he asks whether God has required these things at our
hands; whether we shall be called to account at the last day for the
neglect of them? Because it is not his intent to live in such ways as
God may _perhaps_ pardon, but in such as we know God will _infallibly_
reward.

He will not therefore look at the lives of Christians, to learn how
he ought to spend his estate, but he will look into the scripture,
and make every _doctrine_, _parable_, or _instruction_ that relates
to rich men, a _law_ to himself in the use of it.

He will have but _one rule_ for charity, and that will be, to spend
all that he can that way; because the Judge of quick and dead hath
said, all that is so given, is given to him.


7. Let not any one look upon this as an imaginary description, that
looks fine in the notion, but cannot be put in practice. For it is
so far from being impracticable, that it has been practised by great
numbers of Christians in former ages, who were glad to turn their
whole estates into a constant course of charity. And it is so far
from being impossible now, that if we can find any Christians that
sincerely _intend to please God in all their actions, as the best and
happiest thing in the world_, whether they be young or old, single or
married, men or women, it will be impossible for them to do otherwise.
This one principle will infallibly carry them to this, and they will
find themselves unable to stop short of it.

For how is it possible for a man that _intends_ to please God in
the use of his _money_, because he judges it to be his _greatest
happiness_; to bury his money in _needless_, _impertinent_ finery, in
covering himself or his horses with gold, whilst there are any works
of piety or charity to be done with it, or any ways of spending it
well?


8. I have chose to explain this matter, by appealing to this
_intention_, because it makes the case so plain, and because every one
may see it in the clearest light, and feel it in the strongest manner,
only by looking into his own heart. For it is as easy for every person
to know, whether he _intends_ to please God in all his actions, as
for any _servant_ to know, whether this be his intention towards his
_master_. Every one also can easily tell how he lays out his money,
and whether he considers how to please God in it, as he can tell where
his estate is, and whether it be in _money_ or in _land_. So that here
is no plea left for _ignorance_ or _frailty_, as to this matter; every
body is in the _light_, and every body has _power_. And no one can
fail, but he that is not so much a Christian, as to _intend_ to please
God in the use of his estate.


9. You see two persons, one is regular in _public_ and _private_
prayer, the other is not. Now the reason of this difference is not
this, that one has _strength_ to observe prayer, and the other has not;
but the reason is this, that one intends to please God in the duties
of devotion, and the other has no intention about it. The case is the
same in the right or wrong use of our _time_ and _money_. You see one
person throwing away his time in _sleep_ and _idleness_, in _visiting_
and _diversions_, and his money in the most vain and unreasonable
expences. You see another careful of every day, dividing his hours
by rules of reason and religion, and spending all his money in works
of charity. Now the difference is not owing to this, that one has
strength to do thus, and the other has not; but to this, that one
_intends to please_ God in the right use of all his _time_ and all
his _money_, and the other has no intention about it.


10. Here therefore let us judge ourselves sincerely; let us not vainly
content ourselves with the common disorders of our lives, the _vanity_
of our expences, the _folly_ of our diversions, the _idleness_ of our
lives, and the _wasting_ of our time, fancying that these are _such
imperfections_ as we fall into thro’ the unavoidable _weakness_ of our
natures; but let us be assured that these disorders of our _common_
life are owing to this, that we have not so much Christianity as to
intend to please God in all our actions, as the best and happiest
thing in the world. So that we must not look upon ourselves in a state
of common imperfection, but in such a state as wants the _first_ and
_most fundamental_ principle of Christianity, _viz. an intention to
please God in all our actions_.


11. And if any one was to ask himself how it comes to pass, that
there are any _degrees_ of sobriety which he neglects, any _method_ of
charity which he does not follow, any _rules_ of redeeming time which
he does not observe, his own heart will tell him, that it is because
he never _intended_ to be so exact in those duties. For whenever we
fully intend it, it is as possible to conform to all this _regularity_
of life, as it is possible for a man to observe _times_ of prayer.

So that the fault does not lie here, that we desire to be good and
perfect, but thro’ the weakness of our nature fall short of it; but
we have not piety enough to _intend_ to be as good as we can, or to
please God in _all our actions_. This we see is plainly the case of
him that spends his time in _sports_, when he should be at _church_;
it is not his want of power, but his want of _intention_, or desire to
be there.


12. And the case is plainly the same in every other folly of human
life. She that spends her time and _money_ in the unreasonable ways
and fashions of the world, does not do so, because she wants power
to be wise and religious in the management of her time and money, but
because she has no _intention_ or desire of being so. When she feels
this intention, she will find it as possible to act up to it, as to be
strictly _sober_ and _chaste_ because it is her care and desire to be
so.


13. This doctrine does not suppose, that we have no need of divine
grace, or that it is in our own power to make ourselves perfect.
It only supposes, that through the want of a _sincere_ intention of
pleasing God in _all our actions_, we fall into such irregularities
of life, as by the _ordinary_ means of grace, we should have power to
avoid.

And that we have not that perfection, which our present state of grace
makes us capable of, because we don’t so much as intend to have it.

It only teaches us, that the reason why you see no _real_ self-denial,
no _eminent_ charity, no _profound_ humility, no _heavenly_ affection,
no _true_ contempt of the world, no _Christian_ meekness, no _sincere_
zeal, no _eminent_ piety in the _common lives_ of Christians, is this,
because they don’t so much as _intend to be exact and exemplary_ in
these virtues.




                              CHAP. III.

    _Of the great danger and folly of not |intending| to be as
      eminent as we can, in the practice of all Christian virtues._


1. ALTHOUGH the goodness of God, and his rich mercy in Christ Jesus,
are a sufficient assurance to us, that he will be merciful to our
unavoidable weaknesses, that is, to such failings as are the effects
of _ignorance_ or _surprize_; yet we have no reason to expect the
same mercy towards those sins which we live in, through a want of
_intention_ to avoid them.

For instance, a _common swearer_, who dies in that guilt, seems to
have no title to the divine mercy; because he can no more plead any
weakness in his excuse, than the man that hid his _talent_ in the
earth, could plead his want of strength to keep it out of the earth.


2. But, if this be right reasoning in the case of a _common swearer_,
that his sin is not to be reckoned a _pardonable frailty_, because he
has no weakness to plead in its excuse: why don’t we as much condemn
every other error of life, that has no more weakness to plead in its
excuse than common swearing?

For if this be so bad, because it might be avoided, if we did but
sincerely intend it, must not all other erroneous ways of life be very
guilty, if we live in them, not through weakness and inability, but
because we never sincerely intended to avoid them?

For instance, you perhaps have made no progress in the most important
Christian virtues, in _humility_ and _charity_. Now, if your failure
is owing to your want of _intention_ of performing them in any true
degree, have you not as little to plead for yourself? And are you not
as much without all excuse as the _common swearer_?


3. Why therefore don’t you press these things home upon your
conscience? Why do you not think it as dangerous for you to live in
such defects as are in your power to amend, as ’tis dangerous for a
common swearer to live in the breach of that duty, which it is in his
power to observe? Is not the want of a sincere intention, as blameable
in one case as another?

You, it may be, are as far from _Christian perfection_ as the common
swearer is from keeping the _third commandment_. Are you not therefore
as much condemned by the doctrine of the gospel, as the swearer is by
the third commandment?

You perhaps will say, that all people fall short of the perfection
of the gospel. But this is nothing to the purpose: for the question
is not, whether gospel perfection can be fully attained; but whether
you come as near it as a sincere intention, and careful diligence can
carry you? Whether you are not in a much lower state than you might be,
if you sincerely intended to advance yourself in all Christian virtues?

If your defects in _piety_, _humility_, and _charity_ are owing to
your want of _sincere intention_ to be as eminent as you can in these
virtues, then you leave yourself as much without excuse, as he that
lives in the sin of swearing, through the want of a sincere intention
to depart from it.


4. The salvation of our souls is set forth in scripture as a thing of
difficulty, that requires _all our diligence_, that is to be _worked
out with fear and trembling_.

We are told, _straight is the gate, and narrow is the way that leadeth
unto life, and few there be that find it_: that _many are called, but
few are chosen_: and that many will miss of their salvation who seem
to have taken _some pains_ to obtain it. _Strive to enter in at the
straight gate; for many, I say unto you, will seek to enter in, and
shall not be able._

*Here our blessed Lord commands us to _strive_ to enter in, because
many will fail, who only _seek_ to enter: by which we are plainly
taught, that religion is a state of _labour_ and _striving_, and that
many will fail of their salvation; not because they took no pains or
care about it, but because they did not take care and pains enough;
they only _sought_, but did not _strive_ to enter in.

Every Christian therefore should as well examine his life by these
_doctrines_, as by the commandments: for these doctrines are as plain
marks of our condition as the commandments are.

For if salvation is only given to those who _strive_ for it, then it
is as reasonable for me to consider, whether my course of life be a
course of striving to obtain it, as to consider whether I am keeping
any of the commandments.


5. If my religion is only a formal compliance with those modes of
worship that are in fashion where I live, if it costs me no pains or
trouble, if it lays me under no rules and restraints, if I have no
careful thoughts about it, is it not great weakness to think that I
am _striving to enter in at the straight gate_?

If I am seeking every thing that can delight my senses, spending my
time and fortune in pleasures, in diversions, and worldly enjoyments;
a stranger to watchings, fastings, prayers, and mortifications, how
can it be said, that I am _working out my salvation with fear and
trembling_?

If I use the world and worldly enjoyments, as the generality of people
do, and in all ages have done, why should I think that I am amongst
_those few_, who are walking in the _narrow way_ to heaven?

*And yet, if the way is _narrow_, if none can walk in it but those
that _strive_, is it not as necessary for me to consider, whether
the _way_ I am in be narrow _enough_, or the _labour_ I take to be a
_sufficient_ striving, as to consider whether I sufficiently observe
the second or third commandment?


6. The measure of our love to God seems in justice to be the measure
of our love of every virtue. We are to love and practise it _with
all our heart, with all our soul, with all our mind, and with all
our strength_. And when we cease to live with this regard to virtue,
we live below our nature, and instead of being able to plead our
_infirmities_, we stand chargeable with wilful _negligence_.

It is for this reason that we are exhorted to work out our salvation
with _fear_ and _trembling_; because unless our _heart_ and _passions_
are eagerly bent upon the work of our salvation, unless _holy fears_
animate our endeavours, and keep our consciences tender about every
part of our duty, constantly examining how we live, and how fit we are
to die, we shall in all probability sit down in such a course of life,
as will never carry us to the rewards of heaven.

And he that considers, that a just God can only make such allowances
as are suitable to his justice, that our works are all to be examined
by fire, will find _fear_ and _trembling_ are proper tempers for those
that are drawing near to so great a trial.

Now this is not intended to possess people’s minds with a scrupulous
anxiety; but to fill them with a just fear of living in the neglect of
such virtues as they will want at the day of judgment.

It is only desiring them to be so apprehensive of their state, so
earnest after higher degrees of piety, and so fearful of falling short
of happiness, as the great apostle St. _Paul_ was, when he thus wrote
to the _Philippians_.

_Not as though I had already attained, either were already
perfect;――but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are
behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press
toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of |God| in Christ
Jesus._ And then he adds, _Let us therefore, as many as are perfect,
be thus minded_.

But if the apostle thought it necessary for those who were in his
state of perfection to be _thus minded_; thus labouring, pressing, and
aspiring after some degrees of holiness, to which they were not then
arrived; surely it is much more necessary for us, _to be thus minded_;
thus earnest and striving after such degrees of a holy life, as we
have not yet attained.


7. The best way for any one to know how much he ought to aspire after
holiness, is to ask himself, how much he thinks will make him easy at
the hour of death.

Now any man that dares put this question to himself, will be forced to
answer, that at death, every one will wish, he had been as perfect as
human nature can be.

Is not this sufficient to put us, not only upon wishing, but labouring
after all that perfection which we shall then lament the want of? Is
it not excessive folly to be content with such a course of piety as
we already know cannot content us, at a time when we shall so want
it, as to have nothing else to comfort us? How can we carry a severer
condemnation against ourselves, than to believe, that at the hour of
death, we shall want the virtues of the _saints_, and wish that we
had been among the first servants of God, and yet take no methods of
arriving at their height of piety, whilst we are alive?


8. Though this is an _absurdity_ that we can pass over, whilst the
health of our bodies, the passions of our minds, the noise, and
hurry, and pleasures, and business of the world, lead us on with eyes
that see not; yet at death, it will appear before us in a dreadful
magnitude: it will haunt us like a dismal ghost; and our conscience
will never let us take our eyes from it.

We see in worldly matters, what a torment self-condemnation is; and
how hardly a man is able to forgive himself, when he has brought
himself into any calamity or disgrace, purely by his own folly. The
affliction is made doubly tormenting; if he is forced to charge it all
upon himself, as his own act and deed, against the reason of things,
and contrary to the advice of his friends.

Now by this we may in some degree guess, how terrible that
self-condemnation will be, when a man shall find himself in the misery
of death, under the severity of a self-condemning conscience; charging
all his distress upon his own folly and madness, against the sense
and reason of his own mind, against all the doctrines and precepts of
religion, and contrary to all the instructions, calls, and warnings
both of God and man.


9. *_Penitens_ was a busy, notable tradesman, and very prosperous in
his dealings, but died in the _thirty-fifth_ year of his age.

A little before his death, when the doctors had given him over, some
of his neighbours came to see him; at which time he spoke thus to them.

I see, my friends, the tender concern you have for me, by the grief
that appears in your countenances; and I know the thoughts that you
have about me. You think how melancholy a case it is, to see so young
a man, and in such flourishing business, delivered up to death. And
perhaps, had I visited any of you in my condition, I should have had
the same thoughts of you.

But now, my friends, my thoughts are no more like your thoughts, than
my condition is like yours.

It is no trouble to me now to think, that I am to die young, or before
I have raised an estate.

These things are now sunk into such mere _nothings_, that I have no
name little enough to call them by. For if in a few days, or hours, I
am to leave this carcase to be buried in the earth, and to find myself
either for ever happy in the favour of God, or eternally separated
from all light and peace. Can any words sufficiently express the
littleness of every thing else?

Is there any dream like the dream of life, which amuses us with the
disregard of these things? Is there any folly like the folly of our
manly state, which is too _wise_ and _busy_ to be at leisure for these
reflections?


10. When we consider death as a misery, we only think of it as a
miserable separation from the enjoyments of this life. We seldom
mourn over an old man that dies rich; but we lament the young, that
are taken away in the progress of their fortune. You yourselves look
upon me with pity, not that I am going unprepared to meet the Judge
of quick and dead, but that I am to leave a prosperous trade in the
flower of my life.

This is the wisdom of our manly thoughts: And yet what folly of the
silliest children is so great as this?

For what is there miserable in death, but the consequences of it? When
a man is dead, what does any thing signify to him, but the state he is
then in?

Our poor friend _Lepidus_ died, you know, as he was dressing himself
for a _feast_. Do you think it is now part of his trouble, that he did
not live till that entertainment was over? _Feasts_, and _business_,
and pleasures, and _enjoyments_, seem great things to us, whilst we
think of nothing else; but as soon as we add death to them, they all
sink into an equal littleness; and the soul, that is separated from
the body, no more laments the loss of business, than the losing of a
_feast_.

If I am now going into the joys of God, could there be any reason
to grieve, that this happened to me before I was forty years of age?
Could it be a sad thing to go to heaven, before I had made a few more
_bargains_, or stood a little longer behind a _counter_?

And if I am to go amongst lost spirits, could there be any reason to
be content, that this did not happen to me till I was old, and full of
riches? If good angels were ready to receive my soul, could it be any
grief to me, that I was dying upon a _poor bed_ in a _garret_?

And if God has delivered me up to evil spirits, to be dragged by them
to places of torment, could it be any comfort to me, that they found
me upon a _bed of state_?


11. When you are as near death as I am, you will know, that all the
different states of life, whether of youth or age, riches or poverty,
greatness or meanness, signify no more to you, than whether you die in
a _poor_ or _stately_ apartment.

The greatness of those things which follow death, makes all that go
before it sink into nothing.

Now that everlasting happiness or misery is come so near, all the
enjoyments and prosperities of life seem as vain and insignificant,
and to have no more to do with my happiness than the cloaths I wore
before I could speak.

But, my friends, how am I surprized, that I have not always had these
thoughts? For what is there in the terrors of death, in the vanities
of life, or the necessities of piety, but what I might have as easily
and fully seen in any part of my life?

What a strange thing is it, that a little _health_, or the poor
business of a _shop_, should keep us so senseless of these great
things that are coming so fast upon us!


12. Just as you came into my chamber, I was thinking with myself,
what numbers of souls there are now in the world, in my condition
at this very time, surprized with a summons to the other world; some
taken from their _shops_ and _farms_, others from their _sports_ and
_pleasures_, these at _suits at law_, those at _gaming-tables_, some
on the _road_, others at their own _fire-sides_, and all seized at an
hour when they thought not of it; frighted at the approach of death,
confounded at the vanity of all their labours, designs and projects,
astonished at the folly of their past lives, and not knowing which way
to turn their thoughts, to find any comfort; their consciences flying
in their faces, bringing all their sins to remembrance, presenting
them with the sight of the angry Judge, the worm that never dies, the
fire that is never quenched, the gates of hell, the powers of darkness,
and the bitter pains of eternal death.

Oh my friends! bless God that you are not of this number, that you
have time and strength so to employ yourselves, as may bring you peace
at the last.


13. You, perhaps when you consider that I have lived free from scandal
and debauchery, and in the communion of the church, wonder to see me
so full of remorse and self-condemnation at the approach of death.

It is true, I have lived in the communion of the church, and
frequented its service on _Sundays_, when I was not too _idle_, or
otherwise disposed of by my _business_ and _pleasures_: but then, my
conformity to the public worship has been rather a thing of course,
than from any real intention of glorifying God; had it been so, I had
been more devout when there, and more fearful of ever neglecting it.


14. But the thing that now surprizes me above all wonders, is this,
that I never had so much as a _general intention_ of living up to the
piety of the gospel. This never so much as entered into my heart. I
never once in my life considered, whether my way of life was such as
would procure me the mercy of God at this hour.

How easy a thing would salvation be, if it could fall into my careless
hands, who have never had so much serious thought ♦about it, as about
any one common bargain that I have made?

  ♦ duplicate word removed ‘about’

Do you think any thing can astonish and confound a dying man like
this? What pain do you think a man must feel, when his conscience
lays all this folly to his charge, when it shews him how regular,
exact, and wise he has been in small matters, that are passed away
like a dream, and how stupid and senseless he has lived without
any reflection, in things of such eternal moment, as no heart can
sufficiently conceive them?

Oh my friends! a careless life, unconcerned and inattentive to the
duties of religion, is so without all excuse, so unworthy of the mercy
of God, such a shame to the sense and reason of our minds, that I can
hardly conceive a greater punishment, than for a man to be thrown into
the state that I am in, to reflect upon it.

_Penitens_ was here going on, but had his mouth stopped by a
_convulsion_, which never suffered him to speak any more. He lay
convulsed for about twelve hours, and then gave up the ghost.




                              CHAP. IV.

    _We can please |God| in no state or employment, but by
      |intending| and |devoting| it all to his glory_.


1. HAVING already stated the general nature of devotion, and shewn,
that it implies not any _form of prayer_, but a certain form of
life, that is offered to God, not at any particular _times_ or
_places_, but every where and in every thing; I shall now descend
to some particulars, and shew how we are to devote our _labour_ and
_employment_, our _time_ and _fortunes_, to God.

As a Christian should consider every place as holy, because God is
there; so he should look upon every part of his life as a matter of
holiness, because it is to be offered to God.

The profession of a _clergyman_ is an holy profession, because it is a
ministration in _holy things_. But worldly business is to be made holy,
by being done as a service to God, and in conformity to his will.

For as all men, and all things in the world, as truly belong unto God,
as any _places_, _things_, or _persons_, that are devoted to divine
service; so all things are to be _used_, and all persons are to _act_
in their several states for the glory of God.

Men of business therefore must not look upon themselves as at liberty
to live to themselves, to sacrifice to their own _humours_ and
_tempers_, because their employment is of a worldly nature: but they
must consider, that as the world, and all worldly professions, as
truly belong to God as _persons_ and _things_ that are devoted to the
_altar_; so it is as much the duty of men in worldly business to live
wholly unto God, as ’tis the duty of those who are devoted to divine
service.


2. As the whole world is God’s; so the whole world is to act for God.
As all men have the same _relation_ to God, as all men have all their
_powers_ and _faculties_ from God; so all men are obliged to act for
God with all their _powers_ and _faculties_.

*As all things are God’s; so all things are to be used and regarded as
the things of God. For _men_ to abuse things on _earth_, and live to
themselves, is the same rebellion against God as for _angels_ to abuse
things in _heaven_; because God is just the same Lord of all on earth,
as he is of all in heaven.

_Things_ may, and must differ in their _use_: but yet they are all to
be used according to the will of God.

_Men_ may, and must differ in their _employments_; but yet they must
all act for the same ends, as dutiful servants of God, in the right
and pious performance of their several callings.


3. _Clergymen_ must live wholly to God in one _particular_ way;
that is, in the exercise of _holy offices_, in the ministration of
_prayers_ and _sacraments_, and a zealous distribution of spiritual
goods.

But men of other employments are, in their _particular_ ways, as much
obliged to act as the servants of God, and live wholly unto him in
their several callings.

This is the only difference between clergymen and people of other
callings.

*When it can be shewn, that men may be vain, covetous, sensual,
worldly-minded, or proud in the exercise of their worldly business,
then it will be allowable for _clergymen_ to indulge the same tempers
in their sacred professions. For, tho’ these tempers are most odious
and most criminal in _clergymen_, who, besides their baptismal vow,
have a second time devoted themselves to God, to be his servants, not
in the _common offices_ of life, but in the service of the most _holy_
things; and who are therefore to keep themselves as separate from the
_common_ life of other men, as a _church_ or an _altar_ is to be kept
separate from houses and tables of common use: yet as all Christians
are by their baptism _devoted_ to God, and made professors of holiness;
so are they all in their several callings to live as holy and heavenly
persons; doing everything in their _common_ life only in such a manner,
as it may be received by God, as a service done to him. For things,
spiritual and temporal, sacred and common, must, like _men_ and
_angels_, like _heaven_ and _earth_, all conspire in the glory of God.


4. *As there is but one _God_ and _Father of us all_, whose glory
gives light and life to every thing that lives, whose presence fills
all places, whose power supports all beings, whose providence ruleth
all events; so every thing that lives, whether in _heaven_ or _earth_,
whether they be _thrones_ or _principalities_, _men_ or _angels_, must
all, with one Spirit, live wholly to the praise and glory of this one
God and Father of them all. _Angels_ as _angels_, in their heavenly
ministrations, but _men_ as men, _women_ as women, _bishops_ as
bishops, _priests_ as priests, and _deacons_ as deacons; some with
things _spiritual_, and some with things _temporal_, offering to God
the daily sacrifice of a reasonable life, wise actions, purity of
heart, and heavenly affections.

This is the _common business_ of all persons in this world. It is
not left to any _women_ in the world to trifle away their time in the
follies and impertinences of a _fashionable life_, nor to any _men_
to resign themselves up to worldly _cares_ and _concerns_; it is not
left to the _rich_, to gratify their passions in the _indulgences_ and
_pride_ of life, nor to the _poor_, to vex and torment their hearts
with the _poverty_ of their state; but _men_ and women, rich and
poor, must, with _bishops_ and _priests_, walk before God in the
same wise and holy Spirit, in the same denial of all vain tempers,
and in the same discipline and care of their souls; not only because
they have all the same rational nature, and are servants of the same
God, but because they all _want_ the same holiness to make them fit
for the same happiness. It is therefore absolutely necessary for
all Christians, whether _men_ or _women_, to consider themselves as
persons that are _devoted_ to holiness, and to order their _common
ways of life_ by such rules of reason and piety as may turn it into a
_continual service_ to Almighty God.


5. As the glory of God is _one_ and the _same_ thing; so whatever we
do, suitable to it, must be done with _one_ and the _same_ Spirit.
That same temper of mind which makes our _alms_ and _devotions_
acceptable, must also make our _labour_, or _employment_, a proper
offering to God. If a man pursues his business, that he may raise
himself to _figure_ and _glory_ in the world, he is no longer serving
God in his employment; he is acting under other _masters_, and has no
more title to a reward from God, than he that gives _alms_ that he may
be _seen_ of men. For vain and earthly desires are no more allowable
in our _employments_, than in our _alms_ and _devotions_. For these
tempers of worldly pride, and vain glory, are not only evil, when
they mix with our good works; but they have the same evil nature, when
they enter into our common business. If it were allowable to indulge
_covetous_ or _vain_ passions in our worldly _employments_, it would
be allowable to be vain-glorious in our _devotions_. But as our _alms_
and _devotions_ are not an acceptable service, but when they proceed
from a heart _truly devoted_ to God; so our common employment cannot
be reckoned a service to him, but when it is performed with the same
piety of heart.


6. *Most of the employments of life are in their own nature lawful;
and all those that are so, may be made a substantial part of our duty
to God, if we engage in them only _so far_, and for such _ends_, as
are suitable to _beings_, that are to live _above_ the world, all
the time they live in the world. This is the _only measure_ of our
application to any worldly business; let it be what it will, or where
it will, it must have no more of our _hands_, our _hearts_, or our
_time_, than is consistent with an hearty, daily, careful preparation
of ourselves for another life. For as all Christians, as such, have
renounced this world, to prepare themselves by _daily_ devotion, and
_universal_ holiness, for an eternal state of quite another nature,
they must look upon worldly employments as upon _worldly wants_, and
_bodily infirmities_; things not to be desired, but only to be endured
till death and the resurrection have carried us to an eternal state of
real happiness.


7. Now he that does not look at the things of this life in this
_degree_ of littleness, cannot be said either to feel or believe the
greatest truths of Christianity. For, if he thinks any thing great or
important in human business, can he be said to feel or believe those
scriptures which represent this life, and the greatest things of life,
as _bubbles_, _vapours_, _dreams_ and _shadows_?

If he thinks _figure_, and _shew_, and worldly _glory_, to be any
_proper_ happiness of a Christian, how can he be said to feel or
believe this doctrine, _Blessed are ye when men shall hate you, and
when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach
you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man’s sake?_ For
surely, if there was any real happiness in _figure_, and _shew_, and
_worldly glory_; if these things deserved our thoughts and care, it
could not be matter of the _highest joy_, when we are torn from them
by _persecution_ and _sufferings_. If therefore a man will so live,
as to shew, that he believes the most _fundamental_ doctrines of
Christianity, he must live above the world; he must do the business
of life, and yet live _wholly_ unto God. And it is as necessary
that people live in their employments with this _temper_, as it is
necessary, that their employment itself be _lawful_.


8. *The _husbandman_ that tilleth the ground, is employed in an honest
business, that is necessary in life, and very capable of being made
an _acceptable service_ unto God: but if he labours and toils, not to
serve any reasonable ends of life, but in order to have his _plough_
made of _silver_, and to have his _horses_ harnessed in _gold_, the
honesty of his employment is lost as to him, and his labour becomes
his _folly_.

A _tradesman_ may justly think, that it is agreeable to the will of
God for him to sell such things as are _useful_ in _life_; such as
help both himself and others to a reasonable support, and enable them
to assist those that want to be assisted: but if instead of this, it
be his chief end in it to grow _rich_, that he may live in _figure_
and _indulgence_, and be able to retire from business to _idleness_
and _luxury_, his trade, as to him, loses all its _innocency_, and
is so far from being an acceptable service to God, that it is only a
more plausible course of _covetousness_, _self-love_, and _ambition_.
For such a one turns the necessities of his employment into pride and
covetousness, just as the _sot_ and _epicure_ turn the necessities of
eating and drinking into _gluttony_ and _drunkenness_. Now he that is
up early and late, that sweats and labours for those ends that he may
be some time or other rich, and live in _pleasure_ and _indulgence_,
lives no more to the glory of God than he that _plays_ and _games_
for the same ends. For though there is a great difference between
_trading_ and _gaming_; yet most of that difference is lost, when
men trade with the _same desires_ and _tempers_, and for the same
ends that others game. _Charity_ and _fine dressing_ are things very
different; but if men give _alms_ for the same reasons that others
_dress fine_, only to be _seen_ and _admired_, charity is then
but like the vanity of _fine cloaths_. In like manner, if the same
motives make some people industrious in their _trades_, which makes
others constant at _gaming_, such pains are but like the pains
of gaming.


9. *_Calidus_ has traded above thirty years in the greatest city
of the kingdom; he has been so many years constantly increasing his
_trade_ and his _fortune_. Every hour of the day is with him an hour
of business; and though he _eats_ and _drinks_ very heartily, yet
every meal seems to be in a hurry, and he would say _grace_ if he _had
time_. _Calidus_ ends every day at the _tavern_; but has not leisure
to be there till near nine o’clock. He is always forced to drink a
good _hearty glass_, to drive thoughts of business out of his head,
and make his spirits _drowsy_ enough for sleep. He does business all
the time that he is rising, and has settled several matters, before he
can get to his _compting-house_. His prayers are a short _ejaculation_
or two, which he never misses in _stormy_ weather, because he has
always something or other at _sea_. _Calidus_ will tell you with great
pleasure, that he has been in this _hurry_ for so many years, and that
it must have killed him long ago, but that it has been a _rule_ with
him, to get out of the town every _Saturday_, and make the _Sunday_ a
day of _quiet_ and good _refreshment_ in the country.

*He is now so rich that he would leave off his business, and amuse his
_old age_ with building and furnishing a fine house in the country;
but that he is afraid he should grow _melancholy_, if he was to
quit his business. He will tell you with great gravity, that it is a
dangerous thing for a man, that has been used to get money, ever to
leave it off. If thoughts of religion happen at any time to _steal_
into his head, _Calidus_ contents himself with thinking, that he never
was a friend to _heretics_ and _infidels_; that he has always been
civil to the _minister_ of his parish, and very often given something
to the _charity-schools_.


10. *Now this way of life is at such a _distance_ from all the
doctrines and discipline of Christianity, that no one can live in it
through ignorance or frailty. _Calidus_ can no more imagine, that _he
is born again of the Spirit_¹; that _he is in Christ a new creature_²;
that he lives _here as a stranger and pilgrim, setting his affections
upon things above, and laying up treasures in heaven_³. He can no more
imagine this, than he can think that he has been all his life an
_apostle_, working _miracles_, and preaching the _gospel_.

  ¹ John iii.

  ² 1 Pet. ii. 11.

  ³ Coloss. iii. 1.

It must also be owned, that the _generality_ of trading people,
especially in _great towns_, are too much like _Calidus_. You see them
all the week buried in business, unable to think of any thing else;
and then spending the _Sunday_ in _idleness_ and _refreshment_, in
wandering into the country, in such visits and jovial meetings as make
it often the worst day of the week.


11. Now they do not live thus, because they cannot support themselves
with _less care_ and application to business; but they live thus
because they want to grow _rich_ in their trades, and to maintain
their families in some such _figure_ and degree of _finery_, as
a _reasonable Christian_ has no occasion for. Take away but this
_temper_, and then people of _all trades_ will find themselves at
leisure to live every day like Christians, to be careful of every duty
of the gospel, to live in a visible course of religion, and be every
day strict observers both of private and public prayer.

Now the only way to do this, is, for people to consider their trade
as something that they are to _devote_ to the glory of God, something
that they are to do only in such a manner, as that they may make it
a duty to him. Nothing can be right in _business_, that is not under
these rules. The apostle commands servants, _to be obedient to their
masters in singleness of heart as unto Christ: not with eye-service,
as men-pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of
|God| from the heart¹. With good-will, doing service as unto the Lord,
and not unto men²._

  ¹ Ephes. vi. 5.

  ² Coloss. iii. 22, 23.

This passage sufficiently shews, that all Christians are to live
wholly unto God in every state and condition; doing the work of their
_common calling_ in such a manner, and for such ends, as to make it a
part of their _service_ to God. For if _poor slaves_ are not to comply
with their business as _men-pleasers_, if they are to look wholly unto
God in all their actions, and serve in _singleness_ of _heart_, as
unto the Lord; surely men of other conditions must be as much obliged
to go through their business with the same _singleness_ of _heart_;
not as pleasing the vanity of their own minds, not as gratifying their
own selfish, worldly passions, but as the servants of God in all that
they have to do.


12. *It is therefore absolutely certain, that no Christian is to enter
_any farther_ into business, nor for any _other ends_, than such as
he can, in _singleness_ of heart, offer unto God as a _reasonable_
service. For the Son of God having redeemed us for this _only end_,
that we should, by a life of _reason_ and _piety_, live to the glory
of God; this is the only rule and measure for every order and state
of life. Without this _rule_, the most _lawful_ employment becomes a
_sinful_ state of life.

*Take away this from the life of a _clergyman_, and his holy
profession serves only to expose him to the greater _damnation_.
Take away this from _tradesmen_, and shops are but so many houses
of greediness and filthy lucre. Take away this from _gentlemen_, and
the course of their life becomes a course of sensuality, pride, and
wantonness. Take away this rule from our _tables_, and all falls into
gluttony and drunkenness. Take away this measure from our _dress_
and _habits_, and all is turned into such _paint_, and _glitter_, and
ridiculous ornaments, as are a _real_ shame to the wearer. Take away
this from the use of our _fortunes_, and you will find people sparing
in nothing but charity. Take away this from our _diversions_, and you
will find no sports too silly, nor any entertainments too vain and
corrupt to be the pleasures of Christians.


13. If therefore we desire to live unto God, it is necessary to bring
our _whole life_ under this law, to make his glory the sole _rule_ and
_measure_ of our acting in every employment of life. For there is no
other _true devotion_, but this of living devoted to God in the common
business of our lives.

*So that men must not content themselves with the _lawfulness_ of
their employments; but must consider whether they use them, as they
are to use every thing, as strangers and pilgrims, that are baptized
into the resurrection of Jesus Christ, that are to follow him in
a _wise and heavenly_ course of life, in the mortification of all
worldly desires, and in purifying and preparing their souls for the
blessed enjoyment of God.

For to be vain, or proud, or covetous, or ambitious in the _common
course_ of our business, is as contrary to these holy tempers, as
cheating and dishonesty.

If a _glutton_ was to say, in excuse of his gluttony, that he only
eats such things as it is _lawful_ to eat, he would make as good an
excuse for himself as the greedy, covetous, ambitious tradesman, that
should say, he only deals in lawful business. For as a Christian is
not only required to be honest, but to be of a Christian _spirit_, and
make his life an exercise of _humility_, _repentance_, and _heavenly_
affection; so all tempers contrary to these, are as contrary to
Christianity, as _cheating_ is contrary to _honesty_.


14. All this is only to shew us the absolute necessity of such uniform
piety, as extends to all the actions of our common life.

That we must _eat_, and _drink_, and _dress_, and _discourse_
according to the sobriety of the Christian spirit; engage in no
employments but such as we can truly devote unto God; nor pursue them
any farther, than conduces to the reasonable ends of a holy life.

That we must be _honest_, not only on particular occasions, and in
_such_ instances as are _applauded_ in the world, easy to be performed,
and free from _danger_ or _loss_, but from such a _living principle_
of justice, as makes us love truth and integrity in _all its
instances_, follow it thro’ all dangers, and against all opposition;
as knowing that the more we pay for any truth, the better is our
_bargain_, and that then our integrity becomes a _pearl_, when we have
parted with _all_ to keep it.

That we must be _humble_, not only in such instances as are _expected_
in the world, or _suitable_ to our tempers, or confined to particular
occasions, but in such a spirit, as renders us meek and holy in the
_whole course_ of our lives, as shews itself in our _dress_, our
_person_, our _conversation_, our _enjoyment_ of the world, _patience_
under injuries, _submission_ to superiors, and condescension to those
that are below us, and in all the outward actions of our lives.

That we must not only devote _times_ and _places_ to prayer, but
be every where in the _spirit_ of devotion, with hearts always set
towards heaven, looking up to God in all our actions, and doing
every thing as servants living in the world, as in an holy temple
of God; always worshipping him, tho’ not with our lips, yet with the
_thankfulness_ of our hearts, the _holiness_ of our actions, and the
pious and charitable use of his gifts. That we must not only send up
petitions and thoughts now and then to heaven; but must go thro’ all
our worldly business, with an heavenly spirit, as members of Christ’s
mystical body, that, with new _hearts_ and new _minds_, we are to turn
an earthly life into a preparation for a life of greatness and glory
in the kingdom of heaven.


15. Enough, I hope, has been said, to shew you the necessity of thus
introducing religion into _all the actions_ of our _common life_, and
of living and acting with the same regard to God in all that you do,
as in your prayers and alms.

_Eating_ is one of the lowest actions of our lives; it is common to us
with mere _animals_: yet we see that the piety of all the ages of the
world, has turned this _ordinary_ action of the animal life, into a
_piety_ to God, by making every meal to begin and end with devotion.

*We see yet some _remains_ of this custom in most Christian families;
some such _little formality_ as shews you, that people used to call
upon God at the beginning and end of their meals. But indeed it
is generally now so performed, as to look more like a mockery upon
devotion, than any solemn application of the mind unto God. In one
house you may perhaps see the _head_ of the family just pulling off
his hat; in another half getting up from his _seat_; another shall,
it may be, proceed so far, as to make as if he said _something_: but
however, these _little attempts_ are the remains of some devotion
that was formerly used at such times, and are proofs that religion
has formerly belonged to this part of _common life_.

But to such a pass are we now come, that tho’ the custom is still
preserved, yet we can hardly bear with him, that seems to perform
it with any degree of _seriousness_, and look upon it as a sign of
a _fanatical_ temper, if a man has not done it as soon as he begins.

I would not be thought to plead for the necessity of _long prayers_
at these times; but thus much I think may be said, that if prayer is
proper at these times, we ought to use such _words_ as should shew,
that we _solemnly_ appeal to God for such graces and blessings as
are proper to the occasion; otherwise the mock-ceremony, instead of
blessing our victuals, does but accustom us to trifle with devotion,
and give us a habit of being unaffected with our prayers.


♦17. If every _head_ of a family would, at the return of every meal,
make a _solemn adoration_ of God, in such a decent manner as becomes
a devout mind, it would be very likely to teach him, that _swearing_,
_sensuality_, _gluttony_, and _loose_ discourse, were very improper at
those meals, which were to begin and end with devotion.

  ♦ Number 16 omitted in text.

And if in these days of general corruption, this part of devotion
is fallen into a _mock-ceremony_, it must be imputed to this, that
_sensuality_ and _intemperance_ have got too great power over us, to
suffer us to add any devotion to our meals. But thus much must be said,
that when we are as pious as _Jews_ and _Heathens_ of all ages have
been, we shall think it proper to pray at the beginning and end of our
meals.

I have appealed to this pious custom of all ages as a proof of the
reasonableness of the doctrine of this and the foregoing chapters;
that is, as a proof that religion is to be the _rule_ and _measure_ of
all the actions of our _ordinary_ life. For surely, if we are not to
_eat_, but under such rules of devotion, it must appear, that whatever
else we do, must, in its proper way, be done with the same regard to
the glory of God.




                               CHAP. V.

    _Persons that are free from the necessity of labour and
      employments, are to consider themselves as devoted to God
      in a higher degree._


1. GREAT part of the world are free from the necessities of labour,
and have their _time_ and _fortunes_ in their own disposal.

But as no one is to live in his _employment_ according to his own
humour, or to please his own fancy, but is to do all his business in
such a manner as to make it a service unto God; so those who have no
particular employment, are so far from being left at liberty to live
to themselves, to pursue their own humours, and spend their time and
fortune as they please, that they are under greater obligations of
living wholly unto God in all their actions.

The _freedom_ of their state lays them under a greater _necessity_ of
always chusing and doing the best things.

They are those, of whom _much will be required_, because _much is
given unto them_.

A _slave_ can only live unto God in one particular way; that is, by
religious patience and submission in his state of slavery.

But all ways of holy living, all instances, and all kinds of virtue,
lie open to those who are masters of themselves, their time, and their
fortune.

It is as much the duty, therefore, of such persons, to make a wise
use of their liberty, to devote themselves to all kinds of virtue, to
aspire after every thing that is holy and pious, and to please God in
the highest and most perfect manner, as it is the duty of a _slave_ to
be _resigned_ unto God in his state of slavery.


2. You are no _labourer_, or _tradesman_; you are neither _merchant_
nor _soldier_; consider yourself therefore as placed in a state, in
some degree like that of _good angels_, who are sent into the world as
_ministring spirits_, for the general good of mankind, to _assist_,
_protect_, and _minister_ for them who shall be heirs of salvation.

For the more you are free from the _common_ necessities of _men_, the
more you are to imitate the _higher_ perfections of _angels_.

Had you, _Serena_, been obliged to wash cloaths for your maintenance,
or to wait upon some _mistress_, that demanded all your _labour_, it
would be your duty to glorify God, by such _humility_, _obedience_,
and _faithfulness_, as might adorn that state of life.

It would then be recommended to your care, to improve that _one
talent_ to its greatest height; that when the time came for mankind to
be rewarded for their labours by the great Judge of the quick and dead,
you might be received with a _well done good and faithful servant,
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord_.

But as God has given you _five talents_, as he has placed you above
the necessities of life, as he has left you in the happy liberty of
chusing the most exalted ways of virtue; as he has left you nothing to
do, but to make the best use of variety of blessings, to make the best
of a short life, to study your own perfection, the honour of God, and
the good of your neighbour; so it is now your duty to enquire how the
most eminent saints have lived, to study all the _arts_ and _methods_
of perfection, and to set no bounds to your love and gratitude to the
bountiful author of so many blessings.


3. It is now your duty to turn your _five talents_ into five more,
and to consider how your _time_, and _leisure_, and _health_, and
_fortune_ may be made so many happy means of purifying your own soul,
improving your fellow-creatures, and of carrying you at last to the
greatest heights of eternal glory.

As you have no _mistress_ to serve, so let your own soul be the object
of your daily care and attendance.

Nourish it with _good works_, give it peace in _solitude_, get it
strength in _prayer_, make it wise with _reading_, enlighten it by
_meditation_, make it tender with _love_, sweeten it with _humility_,
enliven it with _psalms_ and _hymns_, and comfort it with frequent
_reflections_ upon future glory. Keep it in the presence of God, and
teach it to imitate those _guardian angels_; which tho’ they attend on
the lowest of mankind, yet _always behold the face of our Father which
is in heaven_.

This, _Serena_, is your profession. For as sure as God is one God,
so sure it is, that he has but one command to all mankind, whether
they be bond or free, rich or poor; and that is, to act up to the
_excellency_ of their nature, to live by _reason_, to walk in the
_light_ of religion, to glorify God in all his _gifts_, and dedicate
every condition of life to his service.

This is the _one common_ command of God to all mankind. If you have
an employment, you are to be thus reasonable, and holy in the exercise
of it; if you have time and a fortune in your own power, you are to
be thus reasonable, and holy, in the use of all your time and all your
fortune.


4. The right use of every talent, is the indispensable duty of every
being that is capable of knowing right or wrong.

For the reason why we are to do _any thing_ as unto God, and with
regard to our relation to him, is the same reason why we are to do
_every thing_ as unto God, and with regard to this relation.

That which is a reason for our being _wise_ and _holy_ in the
discharge of all our _business_, is the same reason for our being
wise and holy in the use of all our _money_.

*As we have always the _same natures_, and are every where the
servants of the same God; as every place is equally full of his
presence, and every thing is equally his gift; so we must do every
thing as the servants of God; we must live in every place, as in
his presence; we must use every thing as that ought to be used which
belongs to God.

Either this wisdom, and devotion is to go thro’ every way of life, or
it is to go through no part of life.

If we might forget _ourselves_, or forget God; if we might live by
humour or fancy in any thing, or at any time, or in any place, it
would be as lawful to do the same in every thing, and every time, and
every place.


5. If therefore some people, fancy, that they must be grave and solemn
at _church_, but may be _silly_ and _frantic_ at home; that they must
live by some rule on the _Sunday_, but may spend other days by chance;
that they must have some times of prayer, but may waste the rest of
their time as they please; that they must give some money in _charity_,
but may squander away the rest as they have a mind; such people have
not considered the nature of religion, or the true reasons of piety.
For he that, upon principles of reason, can tell why it is good to be
wise and heavenly-minded at _church_, can tell that ’tis good to have
the _same tempers_ in all other places. He that knows why he should
spend any time well, knows it is never allowable to throw any time
away. He that rightly understands the reasonableness of _charity_,
will know that it can never be excusable, to waste any of our money
in pride and folly, or in any needless expences.

For every argument that shews the wisdom of charity, proves the wisdom
of spending all our fortune well. Every argument that proves the
reasonableness of having times of prayer, shews the reasonableness of
losing none of our time.


6. *If any one can shew, that we need not _always_ act in the divine
presence, that we need not use _every thing_ as the gift of God, that
we need not _always_ live by reason, and make religion the rule of all
our actions, the same arguments would shew, that we need _never_ act
as in the presence of God, nor make religion and reason the measure of
_any_ of our actions. If therefore we are to live to God at any time,
or in any place, we are to live unto him at all times, and in all
places. If we are to use any thing as the gift of God, we are to use
every thing as his gift. If we are to do any thing by strict rules
of reason and piety, we ought to do every thing in the same manner;
because _reason_, and _wisdom_, and piety are as much the best things
at _all times_, and in _all places_, as they are the best things at
_any time_, or in _any_ place.

If it is our glory and happiness to have a _rational nature_, that
is endued with wisdom and reason, that is capable of imitating the
divine nature; then it must be our glory and happiness, to improve
our reason and wisdom, to act up to the excellency of our rational
nature, and to imitate God in all our actions. They, therefore, who
confine their religion to _times_ and _places_, and some little rules
of _retirement_, who think that it is being too strict to introduce
religion into _common life_, and make it give laws to all their
actions and ways of living; they who think thus, not only mistake,
but they mistake the _whole nature_ of religion, who can think any
part of their life is more easy, for being free from it. They may
well be said to mistake the _whole nature_ of wisdom, who don’t think
it desirable to be _always_ wise. He has not learned the _nature_ of
piety, who thinks it too much to be pious in all his actions. He does
not sufficiently understand what _reason_ is, who does not earnestly
desire to live in every thing according to it.

If we had a religion that consisted in absurd superstitions, that had
no regard to the perfection of our nature, people might well be glad
to have some part of their life excused from it: but as the religion
of the gospel is only the refinement of our best faculties, as it
only requires a life of the highest reason, as it only requires us
to use this world, as in reason it ought to be used, to live in such
_tempers_ as are the glory of intelligent beings, to walk in such
wisdom as exalts our nature, and to practise such piety as will raise
us to God; who can think it grievous, to live _always_ in the _spirit_
of such a religion, to have _every part_ of his life full of it, but
he that would think it much more grievous, to be as the angels of God
in heaven?


7. Farther, as God is one and the same being, always acting like
himself, and suitable to his own nature; so it is the duty of every
being that he has created, to live according to the nature that he has
given it, and _always_ to act like itself.

It is therefore an immutable law of God, that all rational beings
should act _reasonably_ in _all_ their actions; not at this _time_,
or in that _place_, or upon this occasion, or in the use of some
particular thing; but at _all_ times, in _all_ places, at _all_
occasions, and in the use of _all_ things.

When, therefore, any being that is endued with reason, does an
_unreasonable_ thing at any time, or in any place, or in the use of
any thing, it sins against the _great law_ of its nature, and against
God the author of that nature.

They, therefore, who plead for any _foolish_ fashions, _customs_
and _humours_, for the misuse of our _time_ or _money_, plead for a
rebellion against our nature, for a rebellion against God, who has
given us reason for no other end, than to make it the _rule_ and
_measure_ of all our ways of life.


8. When, therefore, you are guilty of any _folly_ or _extravagance_,
or indulge any _vain_ temper, don’t consider it as a small matter; but
consider it as it is, acting _contrary_ to your _nature_; and then you
will see that there is nothing _small_ that is _unreasonable_, because
all unreasonable ways are contrary to the nature of all rational
beings.

The infirmities of human life make such _food_ and _raiment_ necessary
for us as _angels_ do not want; but it is no more allowable for us to
turn these necessities into _follies_, and indulge ourselves in the
luxury of _food_, or the vanities of _dress_, than it is allowable
for _angels_ to act below the dignity of their proper state. For
a reasonable life, is as much the duty of all _men_, as it is the
duty of all _angels_. These are not _speculative_ flights, but plain
and _undeniable laws_, that are founded in the _nature_ of rational
beings, who, as such, are obliged to live by reason, and glorify God
by a continual right use of their several talents. So that tho’ men
are not _angels_; yet they may know by what rules men are to act,
by considering the state of angels. Our blessed Saviour has plainly
turned our thoughts this way, by making this petition, _Thy will be
done on earth as it is in heaven_. A plain proof, that the obedience
of _men_ is to imitate the obedience of _angels_; and that rational
beings on earth are to live unto God, as rational beings in heaven
live unto him.


9. When, therefore, you would represent to your mind how Christians
ought to live unto God, and by what degrees of wisdom and holiness
they ought to use the things of this life, you must not look at the
world; but you must look up to the society of angels, and think what
wisdom and holiness is fit to prepare you for such a state of glory.
You must look to all the _highest precepts_ of the gospel; you
must examine yourself by the _Spirit_ of Christ; you must think how
_departed souls_ would live, if they were again to act the short part
of human life; and what degrees of wisdom and holiness you will wish
for when you are leaving the world.


10. And as Christianity consecrates all _states_ and _employments_ to
God, as it requires us to aspire after universal obedience, doing and
using every thing as the servants of God; so are we more especially
obliged to observe this exactness in the use of our _estates_ and
_fortunes_.

The reason is plain, if we only consider, that our _estate_ is as much
the gift of God, as our _eyes_, or our _hands_, and is no more to be
buried, or thrown away at pleasure, than we are to pull out our eyes,
or throw away our limbs.

But besides this consideration, there are several other important
reasons why we should be exact in the use of our estates.


11. *_First_, because the manner of using our money, enters so far
into the business of every day, and makes so great a part of our
common life, that our _common life_ must be much of the same nature,
as our _common way_ of spending our estate. If reason and religion
govern us in this, then reason and religion have got great hold of us;
but if _humour_, _pride_, and _fancy_ are the measures of our spending
our estate, then humour, pride, and fancy will have the direction of
the greatest part of our life.


12. Another reason is, because our money is capable of being used to
the most excellent purposes, and is so great a means of doing good.
If we waste it, we don’t waste a trifle that signifies little; but we
waste that which might be as eyes to the _blind_, as a husband to the
_widow_, as a father to the _orphan_. If a man had _eyes_, and _hands_,
and _feet_, that he could give to those that wanted them; if he
should either lock them up in a _chest_, or please himself with some
_needless_ or _ridiculous_ use of them, instead of giving them to his
brethren that were _blind_ and _lame_, should we not justly reckon
him an inhuman wretch? If he should rather chuse to amuse himself
with _furnishing_ his house with those things, than to intitle himself
to an eternal reward, by giving them to those that wanted _eyes_ and
_hands_, might we not justly reckon him mad?

Now _money_ has much the nature of _eyes_ and _feet_: if we either
lock it up in _chests_, or waste it in _needless_ and _ridiculous_
expences whilst the poor and the distressed want it for their
necessary uses; if we consume it in the _ridiculous ornaments_ of
apparel, whilst others are starving in _nakedness_, we are not far
from the cruelty of him that chuses rather to adorn his house with
the _hands_ and _eyes_, than to give them to those that want them.
If we indulge ourselves in such expensive enjoyments, to satisfy no
_real want_, rather than to entitle ourselves to an eternal reward, by
disposing of our money well, we are guilty of his madness, that rather
chuses to lock up _eyes_ and _hands_, than to make himself for ever
blessed, by giving them to those that want them.


13. *_Thirdly_, if we waste our money, we are not only guilty of
making that useless, which is so powerful a means of doing good,
but we turn this useful talent into a powerful means of corrupting
ourselves; because so far as it is spent _wrong_, so far it is spent
in the support of some _wrong temper_, in gratifying some vain and
unreasonable desires.

*As _wit_ and _fine parts_ cannot be only lost, but expose those that
have them to greater follies, if they are not strictly devoted to
piety; so _money_, if it is not used strictly according to reason and
religion, cannot only be trifled away, but it will betray people into
_greater_ follies, and make them live a more silly and extravagant
life, than they would have done without it. If therefore you don’t
spend your money in doing good to others, you spend it to the hurt
of yourself. You will act like a man that should refuse to give a
_cordial_ to a sick friend, tho’ he could not drink it himself without
_inflaming_ his blood. For this is the case of _superfluous_ money; if
you give it to those that want it, it is a _cordial_; if you spend it
upon yourself, in something that you do not want, it only _inflames_
and disorders your mind, and makes you worse than you would be without
it.


14. Consider again the fore-mentioned comparison; if the man that
would not make a right use of spare _eyes_ and _hands_, should, by
continually trying to use them himself, spoil his own eyes and hands,
we might accuse him of still greater madness.

Now this is truly the case of riches spent upon ourselves in _vain_
and _needless_ expences: in trying to use them where they have no
real use, we only use them to our hurt, in creating unreasonable
desires, in nourishing ill tempers, in indulging our passions, and
supporting a vain turn of mind. For high _eating_ and _drinking_, fine
_cloaths_, and fine _houses_, state and equipage, gay _pleasures_ and
_diversions_, do all of them hurt and disorder our hearts; they are
the food and nourishment of all the folly and weakness of our nature,
and are certain means to make us vain and worldly in our tempers;
they are all of them the support of something that ought not to be
supported; they are contrary to that sobriety of heart which relisheth
divine things; they are like so many weights upon our mind, that
make us less able, and less inclined to raise up our thoughts and
affections to the things that are above.

So that money, thus spent, is not merely _wasted_, but spent to bad
purposes; to the corruption of our hearts, and make us less able to
live up to the doctrines of the gospel. It is like keeping money from
the poor, to buy poison for ourselves.

For so much as is spent in the vanity of _dress_, is so much laid out
to _fix_ vanity in our minds. So much as is laid out for _idleness_
and _indulgence_, is so much given to render our hearts _dull_ and
_sensual_. So much as is spent in _state_ and _equipage_, is so much
spent to _dazzle_ your own eyes, and render you the idol of your own
imagination. And so in every thing, when you go from _reasonable_
wants, you only support some unreasonable _temper_, some _turn_ of
mind, which every Christian is called upon to _renounce_.

So that, whether we consider our fortune as a trust from God, or
the _great good_ it enables us to do, or the great harm that it does
to ourselves, if idly spent; on all these accounts it is absolutely
necessary to make reason and religion the strict rule of using all our
fortune.


15. Every exhortation in scripture to satisfy only such wants as God
would have satisfied; every exhortation to be spiritual and heavenly,
pressing after a glorious change of our nature; every exhortation
to love our neighbours as ourselves, is a command to be _strictly
religious_ in the use of our money. This use of our worldly goods,
is so much the doctrine of the New Testament, that you cannot read a
chapter without being taught something of it. I shall only produce one
passage of scripture, which is sufficient to justify all that I have
said.

_When the Son of Man shall come in his glory, and all his holy angels
with him, then he shall sit upon the throne of his glory. And before
him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall separate them one from
another, as a shepherd divideth the sheep from the goats; and he shall
set the sheep on his right-hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall
the King say unto them on his right-hand, Come ye blessed of my Father,
inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
for I was hungry, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me
drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked and ye cloathed me:
I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
Then shall he say unto them on the left-hand, Depart from me ye cursed,
into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: for I
was hungry, and ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no
drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in; naked, and ye cloathed
me not; sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. These shall go
away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal._


16. I have quoted this passage at length, because if one looks at the
way of the world, one would hardly think Christians had ever read this
scripture.

Some people look upon this text only as a general recommendation of
_occasional_ works of _charity_; whereas it shews the necessity, not
only of occasional charities, but of such an _entire charitable life_,
as is a continual exercise of all such works of charity as we are able
to perform.

You own that there is no salvation but in the performance of these
good works. Who is it, therefore, that may be said to have performed
these good works? Is it he that has _sometime_ assisted a _prisoner_,
or relieved the poor or sick? This would be as absurd as to say, that
he had performed the duties of _devotion_, who had sometime said his
prayers. Is it, therefore, he that has _several times_ done these
works of charity? This can no more be said, than he can be said to be
the truly _just_ man, who had done acts of justice _several times_.
What is the rule therefore, or measure, of performing these good
works?

Now the rule is very _plain_ and _easy_, and such as is _common_ to
every other _virtue_, as well as to charity. Who is the humble, or
meek, or just, or faithful man? Is it he that has _several times_ done
acts of humility, meekness, justice, or fidelity? No; but it is he
that lives in the _habitual exercise_ of these virtues. In like manner,
he only can be said to have performed those works of charity, who
lives in the _habitual exercise_ of them to the utmost of his power.
He only has performed the duty of divine love, who loves God with all
his heart, and _mind_, and _strength_. And he only has performed the
duty of these good works, who has done them with all his heart, and
mind, and strength. For there is no other measure of our doing good,
than our power of doing it.


17. The apostle _Peter_ puts this question to our blessed Saviour,
_Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him,
till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee until
seven times, but until seventy times seven._ Not as if after this
number of offences, a man might then cease to forgive; but the
expression is to shew us, that we are not to bound our forgiveness
by _any number_ of offences, but are to _continue_ forgiving the most
repeated offences against us. If therefore a man ceases to forgive his
brother, because he has forgiven him _often_ already: if he excuses
himself from forgiving this man, because he has forgiven _several
others_, such a one breaks this law of Christ, concerning the
forgiving one’s brother.

Now the rule of _forgiving_ is also the rule of _giving_. You are not
to _give_, or do good to _seven_, but to _seventy times seven_. You
are not to cease from giving, because you have given often to the same
person, or to other persons; but must account yourself as much obliged
to continue relieving those that continue in want, as you was obliged
to relieve them once or twice. Had it not been in your power, you had
been excused from relieving any person _once_; but if it is in your
power to relieve people _often_, it is as much your duty to do it
often as it is the duty of others to do it but seldom, because they
are but seldom able.


18. And the reason of all this is plain; there is the same _necessity_
of being charitable at one time as at another. It is as much the best
use of our money, to be _always_ doing good with it, as it is the best
use of it at any _particular time_; so that that which is a reason for
a charitable _action_, is as good a reason for a charitable _life_;
for charity has nothing to recommend it to-day, but what will be the
same recommendation of it to-morrow; and you cannot neglect it at
one time, without being guilty of the same sin as if you neglected
it at another time. As sure, therefore, as these works of charity are
necessary to salvation, so sure is it that we are to do them to the
utmost of our power; not to-day, or to-morrow, but through the whole
_course_ of our life. If therefore it be our duty at any time to deny
ourselves any _needless_ expences, that we may have to give to those
that want, it is as much our duty to do so at all times, that we may
be able to do more good: for if it is at any time a sin to prefer
_needless_ expence to works of charity, it is so at all times. If it
is ever necessary to take care of these works of charity, and to see
that we make ourselves in some degree capable of doing them; it is as
necessary to take care to make ourselves as capable as we can be, of
performing them in all the parts of our life.


19. Either therefore you must say, that you need never perform any of
these good works; or you must own, that you are to perform all your
life in as high a degree as you are able. There is no middle way any
more than there is a middle way between temperance and intemperance.
If you do not strive to fulfil all charitable works, if you neglect
any of them that are in your power, let it be when it will, or where
it will, you number yourself amongst those that want Christian charity;
because it is as much your duty to do good with all that you have, as
it is your duty to be temperate in all that you eat or drink.


20. Hence appears the _necessity_ of renouncing all those _foolish_
and _unreasonable_ expences, which the folly of mankind has made so
common and fashionable in the world. For if it is necessary to do
good works as far as you are able, it must be as necessary to renounce
those needless ways of spending money, which render you unable to do
works of charity.

You must therefore no more conform to these ways of the world, than
you must conform to the vices of the world. You must no more spend
with those that idly waste their money as their own humour leads
them, than you must drink with the drunken; because a course of such
expences is no more consistent with a life of _charity_, than excess
in drinking is consistent with a _life of sobriety_. When therefore
any one tells you of the lawfulness of expensive apparel, or the
innocency of pleasing yourself with costly satisfactions, only imagine
that the same person was to tell you, that you need not do works of
charity, that Christ does not require you to do good to your poor
brethren, as unto him, and then you will see the wickedness of such
advice; for, to tell you that you may live in such expences, as make
it impossible for you to live in the exercise of good works, is the
same thing as telling you, that you need not have any care about such
good works themselves.




                              CHAP. VI.

    _How the imprudent use of an estate corrupts all the tempers,
      and fills the heart with poor and ridiculous passions;
      represented in the character of |Flavia|._


1. IT has already been observed, that a religious care is to be used
in the manner ♦of spending our _money_ or _estate_; because the manner
of spending our estate makes so great a part of our common life, and
is so much the business of every day, that, according as we are wise
or imprudent in this, the _whole course_ of our _lives_ will be wise,
or full of folly.

  ♦ duplicate word ‘of’ removed

Persons that receive instructions of piety with _pleasure_, often
wonder that they make no farther progress in that religion which they
so much _admire_.

Now the reason is this: religion lives only in their _head_, but
something else has possession of their hearts; and therefore, they
continue from _year_ to _year_ mere _admirers_ and _praisers_ of piety,
without ever coming up to its precepts.


2. If it be asked, why religion does not get possession of their
hearts? It is not because they live in _gross sins_ or _debaucheries_;
but because their _hearts_ are constantly _employed_, _perverted_, and
kept in a wrong state, by the _indiscreet use_ of such things as are
_lawful_.

The use and enjoyment of their estates is _lawful_, and therefore it
never comes into their heads to imagine any danger from that quarter.
They never reflect that there is a _vain_ and _imprudent_ use of their
estates: which, though it does nor destroy like _gross sins_, yet
so _disorders_ the heart, and supports it in such _sensuality_ and
_dullness_, as makes it incapable of receiving the life and spirit of
piety.

For our souls may be rendered incapable of all virtue, merely by the
use of _innocent_ and _lawful_ things.


3. What is more innocent than _rest_? And yet what more dangerous than
sloth and idleness? What is more lawful than _eating_ and _drinking_?
And yet what more destructive of all virtue, and fruitful of all vice,
than _sensuality_.

Now, it is for want of exactness in the use of these _innocent_ and
_lawful things_, that religion cannot get possession of our hearts:
and it is in the right management of ourselves, as to these things,
that the _art_ of holy living chiefly consists.


4. _Gross sins_ are plainly seen, and easily avoided by persons that
profess religion: but the _indiscreet_ use of innocent and lawful
things, as it does not _shock_ our consciences, so it is difficult to
make people at all sensible of the danger of it.

A _gentleman_ that expends all his estate in _sports_, and a _woman_
that lays out all her fortune upon herself, can hardly be persuaded
that the spirit of religion cannot subsist in such a way of life.

These persons may live free from debaucheries; they may be friends of
religion, so far as to _praise_ and _speak_ well of it: but it cannot
govern their hearts, and be the spirit of their actions, till they
change their way of life.

For a _woman_ that loves _dress_, that thinks no expence too great to
bestow upon the _adorning_ of her person, cannot stop there; for that
temper draws a _thousand_ other follies along with it, and will render
the whole course of her life, her _business_, her _conversation_, her
_hopes_, her _fears_, her _taste_, her _pleasures_ and _diversions_,
all suitable to it.


5. *_Flavia_ and _Miranda_ are two maiden sisters, that have each of
them _two hundred pounds_ a year: they buried their parents twenty
years ago, and have since that time spent their estate as they pleased.

*_Flavia_ has been the wonder of all her friends, for her excellent
management, in making so surprizing a figure in so moderate a fortune.
Several _ladies_ that have twice her fortune, are not able to be
always so _genteel_, and so constant at all places of _pleasure_
and _expence_. She has every thing that is in the _fashion_, and
is in every place where there is any _diversion_. _Flavia_ is very
_orthodox_; she talks warmly against _heretics_ and _schismatics_,
is generally at _church_, and often at the _sacrament_. She once
commended a _sermon_ that was against the _vanity_ of dress, and
thought it was very just against _Lucinda_, whom she takes to be a
great deal finer than she need be. If any one asks _Flavia_ to do some
thing in charity, if she likes the person that makes the proposal, or
happens to be in a right _temper_, she will toss him _half a crown_,
or a _crown_; and tell him, if he knew what a _long millener’s bill_
she had just received, he would think it a great deal for her to
give. A _quarter_ of a year after this, she hears a _sermon_ upon the
_necessity_ of charity; she thinks the man preaches well; that it is
a very _proper_ subject; that people want much to be put in mind of
it; but she applies nothing to herself, because she remembers that she
gave a _crown_ some time ago when she could so ill spare it.


6. As for _poor_ people themselves, she will admit of no complaints
from them: she is very positive they are all _cheats_ and _liars_, and
will say any thing to get relief; and therefore, it must be a sin to
encourage them in their evil ways.

You would think _Flavia_ had the tenderest conscience in the world,
if you was to see how _scrupulous_ she is of the guilt and danger of
_giving_ amiss.


7. She buys all books of _wit_ and _humour_, and has made an expensive
collection of all our _English poets_. For she says, one cannot have a
_true taste_ of any of them, without being conversant with them all.

She will sometimes read a _book_ of _piety_, if it is a short one,
if it is much commended for _stile_ and _language_, and she can tell
where to _borrow_ it.

_Flavia_ is very _idle_, and yet very fond of _fine work_. This makes
her often _sit_ working in _bed_ until _noon_, and be told many a
_long story_ before she is up; so that I need not tell you her morning
devotions are not _always_ rightly performed.

_Flavia_ would be a _miracle_ of piety, if she was but half so careful
of her soul as she is of her body. The rising of a _pimple_ in her
face, the sting of a _gnat_, will make her keep her room two or three
days; and she thinks they are very _rash_ people, that don’t take care
of things in time. This makes her so over-careful of her _health_,
that she never thinks she is well enough; and so _over-indulgent_,
that she can never be really well. So that it costs her a great deal
in _sleeping-draughts_ and _waking-draughts_, in _spirits_ for the
head, in _drops_ for the nerves, in _cordials_ for the stomach, and
in _saffron_ for her _tea_.


8. If you visit _Flavia_ on the _Sunday_ you will always meet _good
company_: you will know what is doing in the world; you will hear the
last _lampoon_, be told who wrote it, and who is meant by every name
that is in it. You will hear what _plays_ were acted that week, which
is the finest song in the _opera_, who was intolerable at the last
assembly, and what games are most in fashion. _Flavia_ thinks they are
_Atheists_ that play at _cards_ on the _Sunday_; but she will tell you
the _nicety_ of all the games, what cards she held, how she _played_
them, and the _history_ of all that happened at _play_, as soon as she
comes from _church_. If you would know who is _rude_ and _ill-natured_,
who is _vain_ and _foppish_, who lives too _high_, and who is in
_debt_; if you would know what is the quarrel at a _certain house_,
or who and who are in _love_; if you would know how late _Belinda_
comes home at night, what _cloaths_ she has bought, how she loves
_compliments_, and what a long story she told at such a place; if you
would know how cross _Lucius_ is to his _wife_, what ill-natured
things he says to her when _nobody_ hears him; if you would know how
they hate one another in their _hearts_, though they appear so kind in
public, you must visit _Flavia_ on the _Sunday_. But still she has so
great a regard for the holiness of the day, that she has turned a poor
old widow out of her house, as a _prophane wretch_, for having been
found once _mending her cloaths_ on the _Sunday_ night.

Thus lives _Flavia_; and if she lives ten years longer, she will have
spent about _fifteen hundred and sixty Sundays_ after this manner.
She will have wore about _two hundred_ different suits of cloaths.
Out of this _thirty years_ of her life, fifteen of them will have been
disposed of in _bed_; and of the remaining fifteen, about _fourteen_
of them will have been consumed in eating, drinking, dressing,
visiting, conversation, reading and hearing plays and romances; at
operas, assemblies, balls, and diversions. For you may reckon all
the time she is _up_, thus spent, except about an _hour_ and half
that is disposed of at church, most _Sundays_ in the year. With great
management, and under mighty rules of œconomy, she will have spent
_sixty hundred_ pounds upon herself, bating only some _shillings_,
_crowns_, or _half crowns_, that have gone from her in _accidental_
charities.


9. I shall not take upon me to say, that it is impossible for _Flavia_
to be saved; but thus much must be said, that her whole life is in
direct opposition to all those _tempers_ and _practices_ which the
gospel has made necessary to salvation.

*If you was to hear her say, that she had lived all her life like
_Anna_ the prophetess, _who departed not from the temple, but served
God with fastings and prayers night and day_, you would look upon her
as very extravagant; and yet this would be no greater an extravagance,
than for her to say, that she had been _striving to enter in at the
straight gate_, or making any one doctrine of the gospel a rule of her
life.

*She may as well say, that she lived with our Saviour when he was
upon earth, as that she has lived in imitation of him, or made it
any part of her care to live in such tempers, as he required of all
those that would be his disciples. She may as truly say, that she has
every day _washed the saints feet_, as that she has lived in Christian
_humility_ and _poverty_ of Spirit; and as reasonably think, that
she has taught a _charity-school_, as that she has lived in _works
of charity_. She has as much reason to think, that she has been
a _sentinel_ in an army, as that she has lived in _watching and
self-denial_. And it may as fairly be said, that she lived by the
labour of her hands, as that she had _given all diligence to make her
calling and election sure_.


10. And here it is to be well observed, that the _poor_, _vain_ turn
of mind, the _folly_ and _vanity_ of this whole life of _Flavia_,
is all owing to the manner of using her estate. It is this that has
formed her _spirit_, that has given life to every _idle temper_, that
has supported every _trifling passion_, and kept her from all thoughts
of a prudent, useful, and devout life.

When her parents died, she had no thoughts about her two hundred
pounds a year; but that she had so much money to do what she
would with, to spend upon herself, and purchase the pleasures and
gratifications of all her passions.

And it is this setting out, this false judgment, and indiscreet use of
her fortune, that has filled her whole life with the same indiscretion,
and kept her from thinking of what is _right_, and _wise_, and pious
in every thing else.

If you have seen her delighted in _plays_ and _romances_, in _scandal_
and _backbiting_, easily _flattered_, and soon _affronted_; if you
have seen her devoted to _pleasures_ and _diversions_, a slave to
every _passion_ in its turn, nice in every thing that concerned
her _body_ or _dress_, careless of every thing that might benefit
her _soul_, always wanting some new entertainment, and ready for
every _happy_ invention in _shew_ or _dress_, it was because she had
_purchased_ all these tempers with her yearly revenue.


11. She might have been _humble_, _serious_, _devout_, a lover of
_good books_, an admirer of _prayer_ and retirement, careful of her
time, diligent in _good works_, full of _charity_ and the love of
God; but that the imprudent use of her estate forced all the contrary
tempers upon her.

And it was no wonder that she should turn her _time_, her _mind_, her
_health_ and strength to the same uses that she turned her fortune. It
is owing to her being wrong in so great an _article_ of life, that you
can see nothing wise, or pious, in any other part of it.


12. And as _Flavia_ is undone by the unreasonable use of her fortune;
so the _lowness_ of most peoples virtue, the _imperfections_ of their
piety, and the disorders of their _passions_, are generally owing to
their imprudent use of lawful things.

More people are kept from a true sense of religion, by a _regular
kind_ of sensuality than by gross _drunkenness_. More men live
regardless of the great duties of piety, through too _great a concern_
for worldly goods, than through _direct injustice_.


13. This man would perhaps be devout, if he was not a _virtuoso_.
Another is deaf to all the motives to piety, by indulging an _idle_,
_slothful_ temper.

Could you cure this man of his _curiosity_ and _inquisitive_ temper,
or that of his _false_ satisfaction and thirst after _learning_, you
need do no more to make them both become men of great piety.

If this _woman_ would make _fewer visits_, or that not be _always
talking_, they would neither of them find it hard to be affected with
religion.

Would we therefore make a real progress in religion, we must not only
abhor _gross_ and _notorious_ sins; but regulate the _innocent_ and
_lawful_ parts of our behaviour, and put the common actions of life
under the rules of discretion and piety.




                              CHAP. VII.

    _How the wise and pious use of an estate carrieth us to
      all the virtues of the Christian life; represented in the
      character of |Miranda|._


1. MIRANDA (the sister of _Flavia_) is a sober, reasonable Christian.
As soon as she was mistress of her _time_ and _fortune_, it was
her first thought how she might _best fulfil_ every thing that God
required of her in the use of them, and make the best use of this
short life. She depends upon the truth of what our blessed Lord hath
said, _that there is but one thing needful_; and therefore makes her
whole life but one continual labour after it. She has but one reason
for doing, or not doing, for liking, or not liking any thing; and that
is, the _will_ of God. She is not so weak as to pretend to add, what
is called the _fine lady_, to the true Christian; _Miranda_ thinks
too well, to be taken with the sound of such silly words. She has
renounced the world, to follow Christ in the exercise of humility,
charity, devotion, abstinence, and heavenly affections; and that is
_Miranda_’s fine breeding.

Whilst she was under her _mother_, she was forced to live in
_ceremony_, to sit up late at _nights_, to be in the folly of every
_fashion_, to go loaded with _finery_ to the holy sacrament, to be in
every polite _conversation_, to hear prophaneness at the _play-house_,
and wanton songs and love-intrigues at the _opera_, to dance at public
places, that _fops_ and _rakes_ might admire the fineness of her
_shape_, and the _beauty_ of her motions. The remembrance of this way
of life, makes her exceeding careful to maintain a contrary behaviour.


2. _Miranda_ does not divide her duty between God, her neighbour, and
herself; but she considers all as due to God, and so does every thing
for his sake. This makes her consider her _fortune_ as the gift of God,
that is to be used, as every thing is that belongs to God, for the
wise and reasonable ends of a Christian life. Her fortune therefore
is divided betwixt herself and several other poor people, and she
has only her part of _relief_ from it. She thinks it the same folly
to indulge herself in needless expences, as to give to other people
to spend in the same way; therefore, as she will not give a poor man
money to go see a _puppet shew_; neither will she allow herself any
to spend in the same manner, thinking it very proper to be as _wise_
herself as she expects poor men should be. For is it a folly and a
crime in a _poor_ man, says _Miranda_, to waste what is given him
in trifles, whilst he wants _meat_, _drink_, and _cloaths_? And is
it less folly, or a less crime in me, to spend that money in silly
diversions, which might be so much better spent in _imitation_ of
the divine goodness, in works of kindness to my fellow-creatures?
If a poor man’s own necessities are a reason why he should not waste
any of his money idly, surely the necessities of the _poor_, and the
_excellency_ of charity, is a much _greater reason_ why no one should
waste any of his money. For if he does so, he does not only, like the
poor man, waste that which he wants himself; but that which is wanted
for the most noble uses, and which Christ himself is ready to receive
at his hands. And if we are angry at a _poor_ man, when he throws away
that which should buy his own bread, how must we appear in the sight
of God, if we make a _wanton_ idle use of that which would buy bread
and cloaths for our hungry and naked brethren, who are as near and
dear to God as we are, and fellow-heirs of the same glory? This is
the spirit of _Miranda_: she is only one of a certain number of poor
_people_ that are _relieved_ out of her fortune; and she only differs
from them in the _blessedness_ of giving.


3. If you was to see her, you would wonder what poor body it was, that
was so surprizingly _neat_ and _clean_. She has but one rule in her
dress, to be always _clean_, and in the _cheapest_ things. Every thing
about her resembles the purity of her soul; and she is always clean
without, because she is always pure within.

Every morning sees her _early_ at her prayers. She rejoices in the
beginning of every day, because it begins all her rules of holy living,
and brings the fresh pleasure of repeating them. She is as _guardian
angel_ to those that dwell about her, with her watchings and prayers,
blessing the place where she dwells, and making intercession with God
for those that are asleep.

Her devotions have had some intervals; before the light is suffered
to enter into her sister’s room. _Miranda_ does not know what it is
to have a dull half-day; the returns of her hours of prayer, and her
religious exercises, comes too often to let any considerable part of
time lie heavy upon her hands.


4. When you see her at _work_, you see the same wisdom that governs
all her other actions. She is either doing something that is necessary
for herself, or necessary for others who want to be assisted. There
is scarce a poor family in the neighbourhood, but wears something or
other that has had the labour of her hands. Her pious mind neither
wants the amusement, nor can bear with the folly of idle impertinent
work. When there is no _useful_ or _charitable_ work to be done,
_Miranda_ will work no more.

At her table she lives strictly by this rule of holy scripture,
_Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of
God_. This makes her begin and end every meal, as she begins and ends
every day, with acts of devotion. She eats and drinks only for the
sake of living, and with so _regular_ an abstinence, that every _meal_
is an exercise of _self-denial_. If _Miranda_ was to run a _race_
for her life, she would submit to a _diet_ that was proper for it;
but as the race which is set before her, is a race of _holiness_ and
_heavenly_ affection, which she is to finish in a disordered body of
earthly passions; so her every day diet has this one end, to make her
body fitter for this spiritual race. She does not weigh her meat in
a pair of _scales_; but she weighs it in a much better ballance: so
much as gives a proper strength to her body, and renders it able and
willing to obey the soul, to join in psalms and prayers, and lift
up eyes and hands towards heaven with greater readiness, so much is
_Miranda’s meal_. So that _Miranda_ will never have her eyes swell
with fatness, till she has _changed_ her religion.


5. The holy scriptures, especially of the New Testament, are her
daily study; these she reads with a watchful attention, constantly
casting an eye upon herself, and trying herself by every doctrine that
is there. When she has the New Testament in her hand, she supposes
herself at the feet of our Saviour and his apostles; and makes every
thing that she learns of them so many laws of her life. She receives
their words with as much attention and reverence, as if she saw their
persons, and knew that they were just come from heaven, on purpose to
teach her the way that leads to it.

She thinks that the trying herself every day by the scripture, is the
only way to be ready for her trial at the last day.

Of all human writings, the lives of pious persons, and eminent saints,
are her greatest delight. In these she searches as for hidden treasure,
hoping to find some secret of holy living, some uncommon degree of
piety, which she may make her own. By this means _Miranda_ has her
head and heart stored with all the principles of wisdom and holiness.
She is so full of the one business of life, that she finds it
difficult to converse upon any other subject; and if you are in her
company, you must be made wiser and better, whether you will or no.


6. To relate her charity, would be to relate the history of every day
for twenty years; for so long has all her fortune been spent that way.
She has set up near twenty poor tradesmen that had failed in their
business, and saved as many from failing. She has educated several
poor children, that were picked up in the streets, and put them in an
honest employment. As soon as any labourer is confined at home with
any sickness, she sends him, till he recovers, twice the value of his
wages, that he may have one part to give to his family, as usual, and
the other to provide things convenient for his sickness.

If a family seems too large to be supported by the labour of those
that can work in it, she pays their rent, and gives them something
yearly towards their cloathing. By this means there are many poor
families that live in a comfortable manner, and are from year to year
blessing her in their prayers. If there is any poor man or woman that
is more than ordinary wicked, _Miranda_ has her eye upon them: she
watches their time of adversity; and if she can discover they are in
straits or affliction, she gives them speedy relief. She has this care
for this sort of people, because she once saved a profligate person
from being carried to prison, who immediately became a true penitent.


7. There is nothing in the character of _Miranda_ more to be admired
than this temper. For this tenderness towards the most abandoned
sinners, is the highest instance of a godlike soul.

_Miranda_ once passed by a house, where the _man_ and his _wife_ were
cursing and swearing at one another in a most dreadful manner, and
three children crying about them. This sight so much affected her
compassionate mind, that she went the next day, and bought the three
children, that they might not be ruined by living with such wicked
parents. They now live with _Miranda_, are blessed with her care and
prayers, and all the good works which she can do for them. They hear
her talk, they see her live, they join with her in psalms and prayers.
The eldest of them has already converted his parents from their wicked
life, and shews a turn of mind so remarkably pious, that _Miranda_
intends him for _holy orders_; that being thus saved himself, he may
do to other miserable objects, as she has done to him.

_Miranda_ is a constant relief to poor people in their _misfortunes_
and _accidents_. There are sometimes little misfortunes that happen
to them, which of themselves they could never be able to overcome. The
death of a _cow_, or a _horse_, or some little _robbery_, would keep
them in distress all their lives. She does not suffer them to grieve
under such accidents. She immediately gives them the full value of
their loss, and makes use of it as a means of raising their minds to
God.

She has a great tenderness for _old people_ that are past their labour.
The parish allowance to such is seldom a comfortable maintenance. For
this reason they are the constant objects of her care. She adds so
much to their allowance, as somewhat exceeds the wages they got when
they were young. This she does to comfort the infirmities of their
age, that, being free from trouble, they may serve God in peace. She
has generally a large number of this kind, who, by her charities and
exhortations, spend their last days in great piety.


♦9. _Miranda_ never wants compassion, even to common beggars;
especially those that are _old_ or _sick_, or that want _eyes_ or
_limbs_. She hears their complaints with tenderness, gives them some
proof of her kindness, and never rejects them with hard or reproachful
language, for fear of adding affliction to her fellow creatures.

  ♦ Number 8 omitted in text.

If a poor traveller tells her, that he has neither _strength_, nor
_food_, nor _money_ left, she never bids him go to the place from
whence he came, or tells him, that she cannot relieve him, because he
may be a _cheat_, and she does not know him; but she relieves him for
that reason, because he is a _stranger_, and _unknown_ to her. For it
is the most noble part of charity, to be kind to those whom we never
saw before, and perhaps never may see again in this life. _I was a
stranger, and ye took me in_, saith our blessed Saviour; but who can
perform this duty, that will not relieve persons that are unknown to
him?

_Miranda_ considers, that _Lazarus_ was a common beggar; that he was
the care of angels, and carried into _Abraham_’s bosom. She considers,
that our blessed Saviour and his apostles were kind to _beggars_; that
they spoke comfortably to them, healed their diseases, and restored
eyes and limbs to the blind and lame; that _Peter_ said to the beggar
that wanted an alms from him, _Silver and gold have I none, but such
as I have, give I thee; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise
up and walk_. _Miranda_ therefore never treats beggars with disregard
and aversion; but imitates the kindness of our Saviour and his
apostles towards them; and tho’ she cannot, like them, work miracles
for their relief, yet she relieves them with that power that she hath;
and may say with the apostle, _such as I have give I thee, in the name
of Jesus Christ_.

It may be, says _Miranda_, that I may often give to those that do not
deserve it, or that will make an _ill use_ of my alms. But what then?
Is not this the very method of divine goodness? Does not God make
_his sun to rise on the evil and on the good_? Is not this the very
_goodness_ that is recommended to us in scripture, that by imitating
of it, we may be children of our Father which is in heaven, _who
sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust_? And shall I with-hold a
little _money_ or _food_ from my fellow-creature, for fear he should
not be good enough to receive it of me? Do I beg of God to deal with
me, not according to my merit, but according to his own goodness; and
shall I be so absurd, as to with-hold my charity from a poor brother,
because he may perhaps not deserve it? Shall I use a _measure_ towards
him, which I pray God never to use towards me?

Besides, where has the scripture made _merit_ the rule or measure of
charity? On the contrary, the scripture saith, _If thy enemy hunger,
feed him; if he thirst, give him drink_.

Now this plainly teaches us, that the _merit_ of persons is to be no
rule of our charity, but that we are to do acts of kindness to those
that _least_ of all deserve it. For if I am to _love_ and do good
to my worst enemies; notwithstanding all their _spite_ and _malice_,
surely _merit_ is no measure of charity. If I am not to with-hold my
charity from such bad people, surely I am not to deny alms to poor
beggars, whom I do not know to be bad people.


♦11. You will perhaps say, that by this means I encourage people to
be _beggars_. But the same thoughtless objection may be made against
_all kinds_ of charities, for they may encourage people to depend
upon them. The same may be said against _forgiving_ our enemies, for
it may _encourage_ people to do us hurt. The same may be said, even
against the goodness of God, that by pouring his blessings on the evil
and on the good, on the just and on the unjust, evil and unjust men
are _encouraged_ in their wicked ways. The same may be said against
cloathing the naked, or giving medicines to the sick, for that may
encourage people to _neglect_ themselves, and be _careless_ of their
health. But when the _love of God dwelleth in you_, and has filled you
with bowels of mercy, you will make no more such objections as these.

  ♦ Number 10 omitted in text.

When you are at any time turning away the _poor_, the _old_, the
_sick_ and _helpless_ traveller, the _lame_, or the _blind_, ask
yourself this question, Do I sincerely wish these poor creatures
may be as happy as _Lazarus_, that was carried by _angels_ into
_Abraham_’s bosom? Do I sincerely desire that God would make them
fellow-heirs with me in eternal glory? Now if you search into your
soul, you will find that there is none of these motions there, that
you are wishing nothing of this. For it is impossible for any one
heartily to wish a poor creature so _great_ a happiness, and yet
not have a heart to give him a _small_ alms. For this reason, says
_Miranda_, as far as I can, I give to _all_, because I pray to God to
forgive _all_; and I cannot refuse an alms to those whom I pray God
to bless, whom I wish to be partakers of _eternal glory_; but am glad
to shew some degree of love to such, as, I hope, will be the objects
of the infinite love of God. And if, as our Saviour has assured us,
_it be more blessed to give than to receive_, we ought to look upon
those that ask our alms, as so many _friends_ and _benefactors_ that
come to do us a greater good than they can receive; that come to be
_witnesses_ of our charity, to be _monuments_ of our love, to _appear_
for us at the day of judgment, and to help us to a blessedness greater
than our alms can bestow on them.


12. This is the spirit, and this is the life of _Miranda_; and if she
lives ten years longer, she will have spent _sixty hundred_ pounds
in charity; for that which she allows herself, may fairly be reckoned
among her _alms_.

When she dies, she must shine amongst _apostles_, and _saints_, and
_martyrs_; she must stand among the _first servants_ of God, and be
glorious among those that have fought the good fight, and finished
their course with joy.


13. Now this life of _Miranda_, however contrary to the fashion of the
world, is yet suitable to the true spirit of Christianity.

To live as she does, is as truly suitable to the gospel of Christ, as
to be _baptized_, or receive the _sacrament_.

Her spirit is that which animated the _saints_ of former ages; and
it is because they lived as she does, that we now celebrate their
memories, and praise God for their examples.

There is nothing _whimsical_, _trifling_, or _unreasonable_ in her
character; but every thing there described, is a proper instance of
solid piety.


14. It is as easy to shew, that it is _whimsical_ to go to church,
as that it is whimsical to observe any of these rules. For all
_Miranda_’s rules of living to God, of spending her _time_ and
_fortune_, of eating, working, dressing, and conversing, are as
substantial parts of an holy life, as devotion and prayer.

For there is nothing to be said for the wisdom of _devotion_, but what
is as good an argument for the wise and reasonable use of _apparel_.

If you fancy that it is your _only folly_, and that therefore there
can be no great matter in it, you are like those that think they are
only guilty of the folly of covetousness or ambition. Now though some
people may live so plausible a life, as to appear chargeable with no
other fault than covetousness or ambition; yet the case is not as it
appears, for covetousness or ambition cannot subsist in a heart that
is in other respects rightly devoted to God.

In like manner, though some may spend most that they have in needless
ornaments, and yet seem in other respects truly pious, yet it is
certainly false; for it is impossible for a mind that is in a _true
state_ of religion, to be vain in the use of cloaths. Now to convince
you of this, let us suppose that some _eminent saint_, for instance,
the _Virgin Mary_ was sent into the world for a few years, and that
you was going to her to be edified by her piety, would you expect to
find her dressed out and adorned in fine and expensive cloaths? No:
you would know in your own mind, that it was as impossible as to find
her learning to _dance_. Do but add _saint_, or _holy_, to any person,
either _man_ or _woman_, and your own mind tells you immediately,
that such a character cannot admit of the vanity of fine apparel. A
_saint_ finely dressed, is as great nonsense, as an _apostle_ in an
_embroidered suit_. Every one’s own natural sense convinces him of the
inconsistency of these things.


♦16. Now what is the reason, that when you think of a _saint_,
you cannot admit the vanity of apparel? Is it not because it is
inconsistent with such a right state of heart? And is not this a
demonstration, that where such vanity is admitted, there a right state
of heart is wanted? For as certainly as the _Virgin Mary_ could not
indulge herself, or conform to the vanity of the world in _dress_ and
_figure_; so certain is it, that none can indulge themselves in this
vanity, but those who want her piety of heart; and consequently it
must be owned, that all needless and expensive finery is the effect
of a disordered heart.

  ♦ Number 15 omitted in text.

_Covetousness_ is not a crime, because there is any harm in _gold_
or _silver_; but because it is a foolish and unreasonable state of
mind, that is fallen from its true good, and sunk into such a poor
and wretched satisfaction.

In like manner, the _expensive finery_ of dress is not a crime,
because there is any thing good or evil in cloaths, but because the
expensive ornaments of cloathing shews a _foolish_ and _unreasonable_
state of heart, that is fallen from right notions of human nature,
and turns the necessities of life into so many instances of pride and
folly.


17. This therefore is the way that you are to judge of the crime of
vain apparel: it is an offence against the _proper use_ of cloaths, as
covetousness is an offence against the proper use of money: it is an
indulgence of _proud_ and _unreasonable_ tempers, an offence against
the _humility_ and _sobriety_ of the Christian spirit: it is an
offence against all those doctrines that require you to do all to the
_glory_ of God, and an offence against all those texts of scripture,
that command you to _love_ your neighbour as yourself, to _feed_ the
hungry, to _cloath_ the naked, and do _all works_ of charity that you
are able. So that you must not deceive yourself with saying, where
can be the harm of _cloaths_? For the covetous man might as well say,
where can be the harm of _gold_ or _silver_? But you must consider,
that it is a great deal of harm to want that _wise_ and _reasonable_
state of heart, which is according to the spirit of religion, and
which no one can have in the manner that he ought to have it, who
indulges himself either in the _vanity_ of dress, or the _desire_ of
riches.


18. Some persons perhaps, who admire the life of _Miranda_, may
say, how can it be proposed as a common example? How can we that are
married, or we who are under the direction of our parents, imitate
such a life?

It is answered, just as you may imitate the life of our blessed
Saviour and his apostles. The circumstances of our Saviour’s life,
and the state and condition of his apostles, were more different from
yours than that of _Miranda_ is; and yet their life is the common
example that is proposed to all Christians.

It is their _spirit_ therefore, their piety, their love of God, that
you are to imitate, and not the particular form of their life.

Act under God as they did, direct your common actions to that end
which they did, practise such love of God, such charity to your
neighbour, such humility and self-denial, as they did; and then,
though you are only teaching your own children, and St. _Paul_ is
converting nations, yet you are following his steps, and acting after
his example.


19. Don’t think therefore, that you can’t or need not be like
_Miranda_, because you are not in her state of life: for as the same
spirit and temper would have made _Miranda_ a _saint_, tho’ she had
been forced to labour for a maintenance; so if you will aspire after
her spirit, every _condition_ of life will furnish you with sufficient
means of employing it.

_Miranda_ is what she is, because she does every thing in the name,
and with regard to her duty to God; and when you do the same, you will
be exactly like her, though you are never so different in your outward
state.

You are married, you say; therefore you have not your _time_ and
_fortune_ in your power as she has.

It is true; therefore you cannot spend _so much_ time, nor _so much_
money in the manner that she does.

But _Miranda_’s perfection does not consist in this, that she spends
_so much_ time, or _so much_ money in such a manner, but that she is
careful to make the best use of all the time and money which she has.
Do you this, and then you are like _Miranda_.

If she has _two hundred pounds_ a year, and you have only _two mites_,
have you not the more reason to be exceeding exact in the wisest use
of it? If she has a great deal of time, and you have but a little,
ought you not to be the more _watchful_ and _circumspect_, lest that
_little_ should be lost?




                             CHAP. VIII.

    _Shewing that all orders of men and women, of all ages, are
      obliged to devote themselves to God._


1. I HAVE in the foregoing chapters shewn that all the parts of our
common life, our _employments_, our _talents_ and _fortune_, are to
be made holy and acceptable unto God, by a wise and religious use of
every thing, and by directing our actions and designs to the glory of
God.

I shall now shew, that this holiness of common life, this religious
use of every thing we have, is a devotion that is the duty of all
orders of Christian people.

*_Fulvius_ has had a learned education, and taken his degrees in the
_university_; he came from thence, that he might be free from any
rules of life. He takes no employment upon him, nor enters into any
business, because he thinks that every employment or business calls
people to the just discharge of its several duties. He did not enter
into holy orders, because he looks upon it to be a state that requires
great holiness of life, and it does not suit his temper to be so good.
He will tell you that he never intends to marry, because he cannot
oblige himself to that regularity of life, which he takes to be the
duty of those that are at the head of a family. He refused to be
_godfather_ to his nephew, because he will have no _trust_ of any kind
to answer for.

_Fulvius_ thinks that he is conscientious in this conduct, and is
therefore content with the most _idle_, _impertinent_, and _careless_
life.

He has no religion, no devotion, no pretences to piety. He lives by no
rules, and thinks all is very well, because he is neither a _priest_,
nor a _father_, nor a _guardian_, nor has any _employment_ or family
to look after.


2. *But _Fulvius_, you are a rational creature, and as such, are as
much obliged to live according to _reason_, as a _priest_ is obliged
to attend at the _altar_, or a _guardian_ to be faithful to his trust;
if you live contrary to reason, you don’t commit a small crime, you
don’t break a small trust; but you break the _law_ of your nature,
you rebel against God who gave you that nature, and put yourself
among those whom the God of _reason_ will punish as _apostates_ and
_deserters_.

Though you have no employment, yet as you are baptized into the
profession of the Christian religion, you are as much obliged to
live according to the holiness of the Christian spirit, as any man is
obliged to be honest and faithful in his calling. If you abuse this
great calling, you are not false in a small matter, but you abuse
the precious blood of Christ; you crucify the Son of God afresh; you
neglect the highest instances of divine goodness; and it will be more
tolerable for _Tyre_ and _Sidon at the day of judgment than for you_.


3. It is therefore great folly for any one to think himself at liberty
to live as he pleases, because he is not in such a state of life as
some others are: for if there is any thing dreadful in the abuse of
any _trust_; if there is any thing to be feared for the neglect of any
calling, there is nothing more to be feared than the wrong use of our
_reason_, nor any thing more to be dreaded, than the neglect of our
_Christian calling_; which is not to serve the little uses of a short
life, but to redeem souls unto God, to fill heaven with saints, and
finish a kingdom of eternal glory.

No man therefore must think himself excused from the _exactness_ of
piety, because he has chosen to be _idle_ and _independent_ in the
world; for the _necessities_ of a holy life are not founded in the
several conditions of this life, but in the immutable nature of God
and the nature of man. A man is not to be reasonable and holy, because
he is a _priest_, or a _father_ of a family; but he is to be a pious
priest, and a good father, because piety and goodness are the _laws_
of human nature. Could any man please God, without living according
to _reason_ and _order_, there would be nothing displeasing to God
in an _idle_ priest or a _reprobate_ father. He therefore that abuses
his _reason_, is like him that abuses the _priesthood_; and he that
neglects the holiness of the _Christian life_, is as the man that
disregards the most _important trust_.


4. If a man was to chuse to put out his eyes, rather than enjoy the
light, and see the works of God; if he should voluntarily kill himself,
by refusing to eat and drink, every one would own that such a one was
a rebel against God, that justly deserved his highest indignation. You
would not say, that this was only sinful in a _priest_, or a _master_
of a family, but in every man as such.

Now wherein does the sinfulness of this behaviour consist? Does it
not consist in this, that he abuses his _nature_, and refuses to act
that part for which God had created him? But if this be true, then all
persons that abuse their _reason_, that act a different part from that
for which God created them, are like this man, rebels against God, and
on the same account subject to his wrath.

*Let us suppose that this man, instead of putting out his eyes, had
only employed them in looking at _ridiculous things_, or shut them up
in _sleep_; that instead of _starving_ himself to death, by not eating
at all, he should turn every meal into a _feast_, and eat and drink
like an _epicure_, could he be said to have lived more to the glory
of God? Could he any more be said to act the part for which God had
created him, than if he had put out his eyes, and starved himself to
death?

Now do but suppose a man extinguishing his _reason_, instead
of putting out his _eyes_, and living in a course of folly and
impertinence, instead of starving himself to death, and then you
have found out as _great a rebel_ against God.


♦6. *If we consider mankind as a redeemed order of _fallen spirits_,
that are baptized into a fellowship with the Son of God; to be
temples of the Holy Ghost; to live according to his holy inspirations;
to offer to God the reasonable sacrifice of an humble, pious, and
thankful life; to purify themselves from the disorders of their fall;
to make a right use of the means of grace, in order to be sons of
eternal glory: if we look at mankind in this true light, then we shall
find, that all tempers that are contrary to this holy society; all
actions that make us unlike to Christ, have every thing in them that
can make us odious to God. So that tho’ _pride_ and _sensuality_, do
not hurt civil society, as _cheating_ and _dishonesty_ do; yet they
hurt that society, and oppose those ends, which are greater and more
glorious in the eyes of God, than all the societies that relate to
this world.

  ♦ Number 5 omitted in text.


7. *Nothing therefore can be more foolish, than to imagine, that
because we are private persons who have taken upon us no charge or
employment, therefore we may live more at large, indulge our appetites,
and be less careful of holiness, for it is as good an excuse for
_cheating_ and _dishonesty_; because he that abuses his _reason_,
that indulges himself in _lust_ and _sensuality_, and neglects to act
the wise reasonable part of a Christian, has every thing in his life
to render him hateful to God, that is to be found in _cheating_ and
_dishonesty_.

If therefore you rather chuse to be an _idle epicure_, than to be
_unfaithful_; if you rather chuse to live in _lust_ and _sensuality_,
than to injure your neighbour in his goods, you have made no better a
provision for the favour of God, than he that rather chuses to rob a
_house_, than to rob a _church_.

For the abusing of our own nature, is as great a disobedience against
God, as the injuring our neighbour; and he that wants piety towards
God, has done as much to damn himself, as he that wants honesty
towards men.


8. Another argument to prove that all orders of men are obliged to
be thus holy in the common course of their lives, in the use of every
thing that they enjoy, may be taken from our obligation to _prayer_.

It is granted, that _prayer_ is a duty that belongs to all states and
conditions of men. Now, if we enquire, why no state of life is to be
excused from prayer, we shall find it as good a reason why every state
of life is to be made a state of holiness in all its parts.

For the reason why we are to pray to God, and praise him with hymns
and psalms of thanksgiving, is because we are to live wholly to God,
and glorify him in all possible ways. It is not because the praises
of _words_, or _forms_ of thanksgiving, are more particularly parts of
piety, or more the worship of God than other things; but it is because
they are possible ways of expressing our dependance, our obedience
and devotion to God. Now, if this be the reason of verbal praises and
thanksgivings, because we are to live to God in all possible ways;
then we are equally obliged to glorify God in all other actions that
can be turned into acts of piety and obedience. And as actions are of
much more significancy than words, it must be a much more acceptable
worship of God to glorify him in all the actions of our common life,
than with any little form of words at any particular times.

Thus, if God is to be worshipped with forms of thanksgiving, he that
is content and thankful in every accident of his life, because it
comes from God, praises God in a much higher manner, than he that
has some set times for singing of psalms. He that dares not say an
ill-natured word, or do an unreasonable thing, because he considers
God as every where present, performs a better devotion than he that
dares not miss the church. To live in the world as a stranger and a
pilgrim, using all its enjoyments as if we used them not, making all
our actions so many steps towards a better life, is offering a better
sacrifice to God, than any forms of holy and heavenly prayers.


9. To be humble in all our actions, to avoid every appearance of
pride and vanity, to be meek and lowly in our words, actions, dress,
behaviour, and designs, in imitation of our blessed Saviour, is
worshipping God in a higher manner, than those do who have only
_times_ to fall low on their knees. He that contents himself with
_necessaries_, that he may give the _remainder_ to those that want it;
that dares not spend any money foolishly, because he considers it as a
talent from God, which must be used according to his will, praises God
with something more glorious than songs of praise.

Prayers therefore are so far from being a sufficient devotion, that
they are the smallest parts of it. We are to praise God with words and
prayers, because it is a possible way of glorifying God. But then, as
words are but small things in themselves, as times of prayer are but
little, if compared with the rest of our lives; so that devotion which
consists in times and forms of prayer, is but a very small thing, if
compared to that devotion which is to appear in every other part and
circumstance of our lives.


10. Again, as it is an easy thing to worship God with forms of words,
and to observe times of offering them unto him, so it is the smallest
kind of piety.

And, on the other hand, as it is more difficult to worship God with
our substance, to honour him with the right use of our time, to offer
to him the continual sacrifice of self-denial and mortification; as it
requires more piety to eat and drink only for such ends as may glorify
God, to undertake no labour, nor allow of any diversion, but where we
can act in the name of God; as it is most difficult to sacrifice all
our corrupt tempers, and make piety to God the rule and measure of all
the actions of our common life; so the devotion of this kind is a much
more acceptable service to God, than those words of devotion which we
offer to him either in the _church_ or in our _closet_.

Every sober reader will easily perceive, that I don’t intend to lessen
the value of prayers, either public or private; but only to shew him,
that they are but a very slender part of devotion, when compared to a
devout life.


11. *To see this in a yet clearer light, let us suppose a person to
have appointed times for praising God with psalms and hymns, and to
be strict in the observation of them; let it be supposed also, that
in his common life he is restless and uneasy, full of murmurings and
complaints at every thing, never pleased but by chance, but murmuring
and repining at the very seasons, and having something to dislike in
every thing that happens to him. Now, can you conceive any thing more
absurd and unreasonable, than such a character as this? Is such a one
to be reckoned _thankful_ to God, because he has _forms of praise_
which he offers to him? Nay, is it not certain, that such forms of
praise must be so far from being an acceptable devotion to God, that
they must be an abomination? Now the absurdity which you see in this
instance, is the same in any other part of our life. If our _common
life_ hath any contrariety to our prayers, it is the same abomination,
as songs of thanksgiving in the mouths of murmurers.

Bended knees, whilst you are cloathed with pride: heavenly petitions,
whilst you are hoarding up treasures upon earth; holy devotions,
whilst you live in the follies of the world; prayers of meekness
and charity, whilst your heart is the seat of spite and resentment;
hours of prayer, whilst you give up days and years to idle diversions,
impertinent visits, and foolish pleasures, are as unacceptable a
service to God, as forms of thanksgiving from a person that lives in
repinings and discontent.

So that unless the common course of our lives be according to the
common spirit of our prayers, our prayers are so far from being a
sufficient degree of devotion, that they become an empty lip-labour;
or, what is worse, a notorious hypocrisy.


12. Seeing therefore we are to make the _spirit_ and _temper_ of our
prayers the _common spirit and temper_ of our lives, this may convince
us, that _all orders_ of people are to labour after the _same utmost_
perfection of the Christian life. For as all Christians are to use
the same holy and heavenly devotions, as they are all with the same
earnestness to pray for the Spirit of God; so is it a sufficient proof,
that all orders of people are, to the utmost of their power, to make
their life agreeable to that one Spirit for which they all pray.

*A _soldier_, or a _tradesman_, is not called to minister at the
_altar_, or preach the gospel; but every soldier or tradesman is as
much obliged to be devout, humble, holy, and heavenly-minded in all
the parts of his _common life_, as a _clergyman_ is obliged to be
zealous, faithful, and laborious in all parts of his profession.


13. *All men therefore, as men, have one and the same important
business, to act up to the excellency of their rational nature, and
to make _reason_ and _order_ the law of all their designs and actions.
All Christians, as Christians, have one and the same calling, to live
according to the excellency of the Christian spirit, and to make the
sublime precepts of the gospel the rule and measure of all their
tempers in common life. The one thing needful to one, is the one thing
needful to all.

*The _merchant_ is no longer to hoard up treasures upon earth; the
_soldier_ is no longer to fight for glory; the great _scholar_ is no
longer to pride himself in the depths of science; but they must all,
with one spirit, _count all things but loss, for the excellency of the
knowledge of Christ Jesus_.

*The _fine lady_, must teach her eyes to weep, and be cloathed with
humility. The _polite gentleman_ must exchange the gay thoughts
of wit and fancy, for a _broken and a contrite heart_. The man
of _quality_ must so far renounce the dignity of his birth, as to
think himself miserable till he is _born again_. _Servants_ must
consider their service as done unto God. _Masters_ must consider their
servants as their brethren in Christ, that are to be treated as their
fellow-members of the mystical body of Christ.


14. *_Young ladies_ must either devote themselves to piety, prayer,
self-denial, and all good works in a _Virgin state_ of life, or else
marry to be holy, sober, and prudent in the care of a family; bringing
up their children in piety, humility, and devotion, and abounding in
all other good works, to the utmost of their capacity. They have no
choice of any thing else; but must devote themselves to God in one of
these states. They may chuse a married, or a single life; but it is
not left to their choice, whether they will make either state, a state
of holiness, humility, and all other duties of ♦the Christian life.
It is no more left in their power, because they have fortunes, or are
born of rich parents, to divide themselves betwixt God and the world,
or take such pleasures as their fortune will afford them, than to be
sometimes chaste and modest, and sometimes not.

  ♦ ‘he’ replaced with ‘the’

*They are not to consider how much religion may secure them a _fair
character_, or how they may add devotion to an _impertinent_, _vain_,
and _giddy_ life; but must look into the _spirit_ and _temper_ of
their prayers, into the _nature_ and _end_ of ♦Christianity; and then
they will find, that whether married or unmarried, they have but one
business upon their hands; to be wise, and pious, and holy; not in
little modes and forms of worship, but in the whole turn of their
minds, in the whole form of their behaviour, and in the daily course
of their common life.

  ♦ ‘Christianiiy’ replaced with ‘Christianity’


15. *_Young gentlemen_ must consider what our blessed Saviour said to
the young gentleman in the gospel; he bid _him sell all he had, and
give to the poor_. Now, though this text does not oblige _all_ people
to sell _all_; yet it certainly obliges all kinds of people to _employ
all_ their estates in such wise and reasonable ways, as may shew, all
they have is devoted to God; and that no part of it is kept from the
poor, to be spent in needless, vain, and foolish expences.

*If therefore _young gentlemen_ propose to themselves a life of
pleasure and indulgence; if they spend their estates in high living,
in luxury and intemperance, in state and equipage, in pleasures and
diversions, in sports and gaming, and such like wanton gratifications
of their foolish passions, they have as much reason to look upon
themselves to be _angels_, as to be disciples of Christ.

*Let them be assured, that it is the one only business of a _Christian
gentleman_, to distinguish himself by good works, to be eminent in the
most sublime virtues of the gospel, to bear with the ignorance and
weakness of the vulgar, to be a friend and patron to all that dwell
about him, to live in the utmost heights of wisdom and holiness, and
shew through the whole course of his life a true religious greatness
of mind. They must aspire after such a gentility, as they might have
learnt from seeing the blessed Jesus, and shew no other spirit of a
gentleman, but such as they might have got by living with the holy
apostles. They must learn to love God with all their heart, with
all their soul, and with all their strength, and their neighbour as
themselves; and then they have all the greatness and distinction that
they can have here, and are fit for eternal happiness in heaven.


16. Thus, in all orders and conditions, either of men or women,
this is the one holiness, which is to be the _common_ life of all
Christians.

The _merchant_ is not to leave devotion to the clergyman, nor the
_clergyman_ to leave humility to the _labourer_. Women of _fortune_
are not to leave it to the poor of their sex, _to be discreet_,
_chaste_, _keepers at home_, _to adorn themselves in modest apparel_,
_shame-facedness_, and _sobriety_; nor _poor women_ to leave it to the
rich to attend at the worship of God. _Great men_ must be eminent for
true _poverty of spirit_, and people of a _low and afflicted_ state
must greatly rejoice in God.

The man of _strength_ and _power_ is to forgive and pray for his
enemies, and the _innocent sufferer_, that is chained in prison, must,
with _Paul_ and _Silas_, at midnight sing praises unto God. For God
is to be glorified, holiness is to be practised, and the spirit of
religion is to be the common spirit of every Christian in every state
and condition of life.

*For the Son of God did not come from above, to add an external form
of worship to the several ways of life that are in the world, and
so to leave people to live as they did before, in such tempers and
enjoyments as the fashion and spirit of the world approves: but as
he came down from heaven, altogether divine and heavenly in his own
nature; so it was to call mankind to a divine and heavenly life; to
the highest change of their whole nature and temper; to be born again
of the Holy Spirit; to walk in the wisdom, and light, and love of God,
and to be like him to the utmost of their power; to a mortification of
their passions; and to live in such wisdom, and holiness, as might fit
them to enjoy God to all eternity.


17. Whatever therefore is _foolish_, _vain_, or _earthly_, or
_sensual_ in the life of a Christian, is something that ought not to
be there. But if any thing of this kind runs through the _course_ of
our whole life, if we allow ourselves in things that are either vain,
foolish, or sensual, we renounce our profession.

For as sure as Jesus Christ was wisdom and holiness; as sure as he
came to make us like himself, so sure is it, that none keep to their
Christian profession, but they who, to the utmost of their power,
live a wise, and holy, and heavenly life. This, and this alone, is
Christianity; universal holiness in every part of life, a heavenly
wisdom in all our actions, not conforming to the spirit and temper of
the world, but turning all worldly enjoyments into means of piety and
devotion.


18. And if it be the happiness and glory of a _bishop_ to live in this
Spirit, full of these holy tempers, doing every thing as unto God, it
is as much the glory and happiness of all men and women, whether young
or old, to live in the same Spirit. And whoever can find any reasons
why an _ancient bishop_ should be intent upon divine things, turning
all his life into the highest exercises of piety and devotion, will
find them so many reasons why he should, to the utmost of his power,
do the same himself.

If you say that a _bishop_ must be an eminent example of Christian
holiness, because of his high and sacred calling, you say right. But
if you say, that it is more to his advantage to be exemplary, than
it is yours, you greatly mistake. For there is nothing to make the
highest degrees of holiness desirable to a bishop, but what makes them
equally desirable to every _young person_ of every family.

For an exalted piety, and the religious use of every thing, is as much
the glory and happiness of one state of life as it is of another.

*Do but fancy what a spirit of piety you would have in the _best
bishop_ in the world, how you would have him _love_ God, how you would
have him _imitate_ the life of our Saviour and his apostles, how you
would have him live _above_ the world, _shining_ in all the instances
of a _heavenly life_, and then you have found out that Spirit, which
you ought to make the spirit of your own life.

I desire every reader to dwell awhile upon this reflection, and
perhaps he will find more conviction from it than he imagines. Every
one can tell how good and pious he would have some people to be; every
one knows how wise and reasonable a thing it is in a _bishop_, to
be entirely above the world, and be an eminent example of Christian
perfection. As soon as you think of a _wise and ancient bishop_, you
fancy some exalted degree of piety, a living example of all those holy
tempers which you find described in the gospel.


19. Now if you ask yourself, what is the happiest thing for a _young
clergyman_ to do? You must be forced to answer, that nothing can be so
happy and glorious for him, as to be like that excellent, holy bishop.

*If you go on, and ask what is the happiest thing for a _young
gentleman_ or his _sisters_ to do? The answer must be the same; that
nothing can be so happy or glorious for them, as to live in such
habits of piety, in such exercises of a divine life, as this good old
bishop does. For every thing that is great and glorious in religion,
is as much the true glory of every man or woman, as it is the glory
of any bishop. If high degrees of divine love, if fervent charity,
if spotless purity, if heavenly affection, if constant mortification,
if frequent devotion, be the best and happiest way of life for any
Christian, it is so for every Christian.

And as the wisest _bishop_ in the world is he who lives in the
greatest heights of holiness, who is most exemplary in all the
exercises of a divine life; so the _wisest youth_, the _wisest woman_,
whether married or unmarried, is she that lives in the highest degrees
of Christian holiness, and all the exercises of a divine and heavenly
life.




                              CHAP. IX.

    _Shewing how great devotion fills our lives with the greatest
      peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this world._


1. SOME people will perhaps object, that this living unto God in all
that we do, is too great a _restraint_ upon human life; and that, by
depriving ourselves of so many innocent pleasures, we shall render our
lives, _dull_, _uneasy_, and _melancholy_.

*It will produce just the contrary effect. Instead of making our
lives dull and melancholy, it will render them full of content and
strong satisfactions; as by these rules we only change the childish
satisfactions of our _vain_ and _sickly_ passions, for the solid
enjoyments, and real happiness of a _sound mind_.

For as there is no true foundation for comfort in life, but in the
assurance that a wise and good God governeth the world: so the more we
find out God in every thing, the more we apply to him in every place,
the more we look up to him in all our actions, the more we conform
to his will, the more we act according to his wisdom, and imitate his
goodness, by so much the more do we enjoy God, and increase all that
is _happy_ and _comfortable_ in human life.

And it is plain, he that is endeavouring to subdue all those passions
of _pride_, _envy_, and _ambition_, which religion opposes, is
doing more to make himself happy, even in this life, than he that
is contriving means to indulge them.

*For these passions are the causes of all the disquiets of human life:
they are the _dropsies_ and _fevers_ of our minds, vexing them with
false appetites, and restless cravings after such things as we do not
want, and spoiling our taste for those things which are our proper
good.


2. *Do but imagine that you some where or other saw a man, that
proposed _reason_ as the rule of all his actions; that had no desires
but after such things as _nature_ wants, and _religion_ approves;
that was as pure from all the motions of _pride_, _envy_, and
_covetousness_, as from thoughts of _murder_; that in this freedom
from worldly passions, he had a soul full of divine love, wishing and
praying that all men may have what they want of worldly things, and be
partakers of eternal glory.

Do but fancy a man living in this manner, and your own conscience will
immediately tell you, that he is the happiest man in the world, and
that it is not in the power of the richest fancy to invent any higher
happiness in the present life.

And, on the other hand, if you suppose him to be in any degree _less
perfect_; if you suppose him but subject to one foolish fondness,
or vain passion, your own conscience will tell you, that he so far
lessens his own happiness, and robs himself of the true enjoyment of
his other virtues. So true is it, that the _more_ we live by the rules
of religion, the more peaceful and happy we are.


3. Again, as it thus appears that real happiness is only to be had
from religion; so the same truth will appear from a consideration of
_human misery_. If we look into the world, and view the troubles of
human life, we shall find that they are all owing to our irreligious
passions.

Now all trouble and uneasiness is founded in the _want_ of something
or other; would we therefore know the true cause of our troubles and
disquiets, we must find out the cause of our wants; because that which
creates and increases our wants, does in the same degree create and
increase our troubles and disquiets.

God Almighty has sent us into the world with very few wants: _meat_,
and _drink_, and _cloathing_, are the only things necessary in life;
and as these are only our present needs, so the present world is well
furnished to supply these needs.

If a man had half the world in his power, he can make no more of it
than this; as he wants it only to support an _animal_ life, so is
it unable to do any thing else for him, or to afford him any other
happiness.


4. This is the state of man, born with few wants, and into a large
world, very capable of supplying them. So that one would reasonably
suppose, men should pass their lives in content and thankfulness to
God; at least, that they should be free from violent disquiets and
vexations, as being placed in a world that has more than enough to
relieve all their wants.

But if to all this we add, that this short life, thus furnished with
all that we want in it, is only a short passage to eternal glory,
where we shall be cloathed with the brightness of _angels_, and enter
into the joys of God, we might still more reasonably expect, that
human life should be a state of peace, and joy, and delight in God.
Thus it would certainly be, if reason had its full power over us.

*But alas, though God, and nature, and reason, make human life thus
free from wants; yet our passions, in rebellion against God, against
_nature_ and _reason_, create a new world of evils, and fill human
life with imaginary wants, and vain disquiets.

*The man of _pride_ has a thousand wants, which only his own pride
has _created_; and these render him as full of trouble, as if God had
created him with a _thousand appetites_, without creating any thing
that was proper to satisfy them. _Envy_ and _ambition_ have also
their endless wants, which disquiet the souls of men, and by their
contradictory motions render them as foolishly miserable as those that
want to _fly_ and _creep_ at the same time.

Let but any complaining, disquieted man, tell you the ground of his
uneasiness, and you will plainly see that he is the author of his own
torment; that he is vexing himself at some imaginary evil, which will
cease to torment him as soon as he is content to be that which God,
and nature, and reason, require him to be.


5. *If you should see a man passing his days in disquiet, because he
could not _walk_ upon the _water_, or _catch birds_ as they fly by
him, you would readily confess that such an one might thank himself
for such uneasiness. But now, if you look into the most tormenting
disquiets of life, you will find them all thus absurd. People are only
tormented by their own folly, and vexing themselves at such things
as no more concern them, nor are any more their proper good, than
_walking_ upon the _water_, or _catching birds_.

*What can you conceive more silly and extravagant, than a man racking
his brains, and studying night and day how to fly? Wandering from his
own house and home, wearying himself with _climbing_ upon every ascent,
_cringing_ and _courting_ every body he meets, to lift him up from the
ground, bruising himself with continual falls, and at last breaking
his neck? And all this, from an imagination that it would be glorious
to have the eyes of people gazing up at him, and mighty happy to
_eat_, and _drink_, and _sleep_, at the top of the highest trees
in the kingdom. Would you not readily own that such a one was only
disquieted at his _own folly_?

If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly creatures as are
no where to be found in human life?

It may be answered, that wherever you see an _ambitious_ man, there
you see this _vain and senseless flyer_.


6. *Again, if you should see a man that had a large _pond_ of _water_,
yet living in _continual thirst_, not suffering himself to drink _half
a draught_, for fear of lessening his pond; if you should see him
wasting his time and strength, in _fetching more_ water to his pond,
always _thirsty_, yet always carrying a _bucket_ of water in his hand,
watching early and late to catch the _drops_ of rain, gaping after
every cloud, and running greedily into every _mire_ and mud, in hopes
of water, and always studying how to make every _ditch_ empty itself
into his _pond_. If you should see him grow _grey_ and _old_ in these
anxious labours, and at last end a _careful_, _thirsty_ life, by
falling into his own _pond_: would you not say, that such a one was
not only the author of his own disquiets, but was foolish enough to be
reckoned amongst _ideots_ and _madmen_? But yet foolish and absurd as
this character is, it does not represent half the follies and absurd
disquiets of the _covetous man_.

I could now easily proceed to shew the same effects of all our other
passions, and make it plainly appear, that all our miseries, vexations,
and complaints, are entirely of our own making, and that in the same
absurd manner, as in these instances of the _covetous_ and _ambitious_
man. *Look where you will, you will see all _worldly vexations_, but
like the vexation of him that was always in _mire_ and _mud_ in search
of water to drink, when he had more at home than was sufficient for an
_hundred horses_.


7. *_Cælia_ is always telling you how _provoked_ she is, what
_intolerable shocking_ things happen to her, what _monstrous_ usage
she suffers, and what _vexations_ she meets with every where. She
tells you that her patience is quite worn out, and there is no bearing
the behaviour of people. Every _assembly_ that she is at, sends her
home provoked; something or other has been said or done, that no
reasonable, well bred person ought to bear. _Poor people_ that want
her charity, are sent away with hasty answers; not because she has not
a heart to part with any money, but because she is _too full_ of some
trouble of her own, to attend to the complaints of others. _Cælia_ has
no business upon her hands, but to receive the income of a plentiful
fortune: but yet by the doleful turn of her mind, you would be apt to
think that she had neither _food_ nor _lodging_. If you see her look
more pale than ordinary, if her lips tremble when she speaks to you,
it is because she is just come from a _visit_, where _Lupus_ took no
notice at all of her, but talked all the time to _Lucinda_, who has
not half her fortune. When cross accidents have so disordered her
spirits, that she is forced to send for the _doctor_ to make her able
to eat; she tells him, in great anger at providence, that she never
was well since she was born, and that she envies every beggar that she
sees in health.

This is the unquiet life of _Cælia_, who has nothing to torment her
but her own _spirit_.

If you could inspire her with _Christian humility_, you need do no
more to make her happy. This virtue would make her thankful to God for
half so much health as she has had, and help her to enjoy more for the
time to come. This would keep off _tremblings_ and _loss_ of appetite,
and her blood would need nothing else to sweeten it.


8. I have just touched upon these absurd characters, to convince you
in the plainest manner, that religion is so far from rendering a life
_dull_, _anxious_, and _uncomfortable_, that on the contrary, all
the miseries, vexations, and complaints that are in the world, are
owing to the want of religion; being directly caused by those absurd
passions, which religion teaches us to deny.


9. Most people indeed confess, that religion preserves us from
many evils, and helps us in many respects to a more happy enjoyment
of ourselves; but then, they imagine, this is only true of such a
_moderate share_ of religion, as restrains us from the excesses of
our passions. They suppose that the _strict rules_ of piety must make
our lives _dull_ and _uncomfortable_.

This objection supposes, that religion, _moderately_ practised, adds
to our happiness; but that heights of religion have a contrary effect.

*It supposes therefore, that it is happy to be kept from the
_excesses_ of envy, but unhappy to be kept from _other_ degrees of
_envy_; that it is happy to be delivered from a _boundless_ ambition,
but unhappy to be without a _moderate_ ambition. It supposes also,
that the happiness of life consists in a _mixture_ of virtue and vice,
of ambition and humility, charity and envy, heavenly affection and
covetousness. All which is as absurd, as to suppose that it is happy
to be free from excessive pains, but unhappy to be without moderate
pains; or that the happiness of _health_ consisted in being partly
sick, and partly well.

But if humility be the peace and rest of the soul, then no one has
so much happiness from humility, as he that is the most humble.
If excessive envy is a torment of the soul, he is most happy who
extinguishes every spark of envy.

Thus it is in every virtue: the more you act up to every degree of it,
the more happiness you have from it. And so of every vice: if you only
abate its excesses, you do but little for yourself; but if you reject
it in all degrees, then you feel the true ease of a _reformed_ mind.


10. And, as to those enjoyments which piety requireth us to deny
ourselves, this deprives us of no real comfort.

For, 1_st_, Piety requires us to renounce no ways of life, where we
can act _reasonably_, and offer what we do to God. All ways of life,
all enjoyments that are within these bounds, are no way denied us by
the strictest rules of piety. Whatever you can do, or enjoy, as in the
presence of God, as his servant, as his rational creature; all that
you can perform conformably to a rational nature, is allowed by the
laws of piety. And will you think that your life will be uncomfortable,
unless you may displease God, and act contrary to that reason and
wisdom which he has implanted in you?

As for those satisfactions, which we dare not offer to a holy God,
which are only invented by the folly and corruption of the world,
which inflame our passions, and sink our souls into grossness and
sensuality, and render us incapable of the divine favour either here
or hereafter, surely it can be no uncomfortable thing to be rescued by
religion from such self-murder, and to be rendered capable of eternal
happiness.


11. *Let us suppose a _person_ placed somewhere alone, in the midst of
a variety of things which he did not know how to use; that he has by
him _bread_, _wine_, _water_, _golden dust_, _iron chains_, _gravel_,
_garments_, _fire_. Let it be supposed, that he has no knowledge,
nor any directions from his _senses_, how to quench his _thirst_, or
satisfy his _hunger_, or make _any use_ of the things about him. Let
it be supposed, that in his drought he puts _golden dust_ into his
eyes; when his _eyes_ smart, he puts _wine_ into his _ears_: that
in his hunger, he puts _gravel_ in his mouth; that in pain, he loads
himself with _iron chains_; that feeling cold, he puts his feet in
the water; that being frighted at the fire, he runs away from it; that
being weary, he makes a _seat_ of his _bread_. Let it be supposed,
that thro’ his ignorance of the right use of the things that are
about him, he will vainly torment himself whilst he lives; and at last
die, _blinded_ with _dust_, _choaked_ with _gravel_, and loaded with
_irons_. Let it be supposed, that some good being came to him, and
shewed him the nature and use of all the things that were about him,
and gave him such _strict rules_ of using them, as would certainly,
if observed, make him the happier for all that he had, and deliver him
from the pains of hunger, and thirst, and cold.

Now, could you with any reason affirm, that those strict rules of
using those things that were about him, had rendered that poor man’s
life _dull_ and _uncomfortable_?


12. This is, in some measure, a representation of the _strict_ rules
of religion; they only relieve our ignorance, save us from tormenting
ourselves, and teach us to use _every thing_ about us to our advantage.

Man is placed in a world full of variety of things; his ignorance
makes him use many of them as absurdly, as the man that put _dust_ in
his _eyes_ to relieve his _thirst_, or put on chains to remove pain.

Religion therefore here comes in to his relief, and gives him _strict
rules_ of using every thing that is about him; that by so using them
suitably to his own nature and the nature of the things, he may have
always the pleasure of receiving benefit from them. It shews him
what is strictly right in meat, and drink, and cloaths; and that
he has nothing else to expect from the things of this world, but to
satisfy such wants of his own; and then to extend his assistance to
all his brethren, that, as far as he is able, he may help all his
fellow-creatures to the same benefit from the world that he hath.


13. *It tells him, that this world is incapable of giving him any
other happiness; and that all endeavours to be happy in _heaps_ of
_money_, or _acres_ of _land_, in fine _cloaths_, rich _beds_, stately
_equipage_, and _shew_ and _splendour_, are only vain endeavours,
ignorant attempts after impossibilities; these things be no more able
to give the least degree of happiness, than _dust_ in the eyes can
cure thirst, or _gravel_ in the mouth satisfy hunger; but, like dust
and gravel misapplied, will only serve to render him more unhappy by
such an ignorant misuse of them.

It tells him, altho’ this world can do no more for him, than satisfy
these wants of the body; yet there is a much greater good prepared for
man, than eating, drinking, and dressing; that it is yet invisible to
his eyes, being too glorious for the apprehension of flesh and blood;
but reserved for him to enter upon, as soon as this short life is over;
where, in a new body, formed to an angelic likeness, he shall dwell in
the light and glory of God to all eternity.

*It tells him, that this state of glory will be given to all those
that make a _right use_ of the things of this present world; who do
not blind themselves with _golden dust_, or eat _gravel_, or groan
under loads of _iron_ of their own putting on; but use _bread_,
_water_, _wine_, and _garments_ for such ends as are according to
_nature_ and _reason_; and who with faith and thankfulness worship
the kind giver of all that they enjoy here, and hope for hereafter.


14. Now can any one say, that the strictest rules of such a religion
as this, debar us of any of the comforts of life? Might it not
as justly be said of those rules, that only ♦hindered a man from
_choaking_ himself with _gravel_? For the strictness of these rules
only consists in the exactness of their rectitude.

  ♦ ‘hindred’ replaced with ‘hindered’

*Who would complain of the severe strictness of a law, that without
any exception forbad the putting of dust into our eyes? Who could
think it too rigid, that there were no abatements? Now this is the
_strictness_ of religion; it requires nothing of us strictly, or
without abatements, but where every degree of the thing is wrong,
where every indulgence does us hurt.

*If religion forbids all instances of _revenge_ without exception,
’tis because all revenge is of the nature of _poison_; and though we
don’t take so much as to put an end to life, yet if we take any at all,
it corrupts the mass of blood, and makes it difficult to be restored
to our former health.

If religion commands an _universal charity_, to love our neighbour
as ourselves, to forgive and pray for all our enemies without any
_reserve_, ’tis because all degrees of love are degrees of happiness,
that strengthen and support the divine life of the soul, and are as
necessary to its health and happiness, as proper food is necessary to
the health and happiness of the body.

*If religion has laws against _laying up treasures upon earth_, and
commands us to be content with food and raiment; ’tis because every
other use of the world is abusing it to our own vexation, and turning
its conveniences into snares and traps to destroy us. ’Tis because
this _plainness_ and _simplicity_ of life, secure us from the cares
and pains of restless pride and envy, and make it easier to keep that
strait road that will carry us to eternal life.


15. If religion requires us sometimes to _fast_ and _deny_ our natural
appetites, ’tis to lessen that struggle and war that is in our nature;
’tis to render our bodies fitter instruments of purity, and more
obedient to the good motions of divine grace; ’tis to dry up the
springs of our passions that war against the soul, to cool the flame
of our blood, and render the mind more capable of divine meditations.
So that altho’ these abstinences give some pain to the body, yet they
so lessen the power of bodily appetites and passions, and so increase
our taste of spiritual joys, that even these severities of religion,
when practised with discretion, add much to the comfort of our lives.

If religion calleth us to a life of watching and prayer, ’tis because
we live amongst a crowd of enemies, and are always in need of the
assistance of God. If we are to confess and bewail our sins, ’tis
because such confessions relieve the mind, and restore it to ease; as
_burdens_ and _weights_ taken off the shoulders, relieve the body, and
make it easier to itself. If we are to be frequent and fervent in holy
petitions, ’tis to keep us steady in the sight of our true good, and
that we may never want the happiness of a lively faith, a joyful hope,
and well-grounded trust in God. If we are to pray often, ’tis that
we may be often happy in such secret joys as only prayer can give;
in such communications of the divine presence, as will fill our minds
with all the happiness that beings not in heaven, are capable of.

If religion commands us to live _wholly_ unto God, and to _do all_
to his glory, ’tis because every other way is living _wholly_ against
ourselves, and will end in our shame and confusion of face.


16. *As every thing is _dark_, that God does not enlighten; as every
thing is _senseless_, that has not its share of knowledge from him;
as nothing _lives_ but by partaking of life from him; as nothing
_exists_, but because he commands it to be; so there is no _glory_
or _greatness_, but what is the glory or greatness of God.

We indeed may talk of _human glory_, as we may talk of _human life_ or
_human knowledge_; but as we are sure that human life implies nothing
of our _own_, but a dependent living in God, or enjoying so much life
in God; so human glory, whenever we find it, must be only so much
glory as we enjoy in the glory of God.

*This is the state of all creatures, whether men or angels; as
they make not themselves, so if they are great, they are only great
receivers of the gifts of God; their _power_ can only be so much of
the divine power acting in them; their _wisdom_ can be only so much of
the divine wisdom shining within them; and their _light_ and _glory_,
only so much of the life and glory of God shining upon them.


17. *As they are not _men_ or _angels_, because they had a mind to be
so, but because the will of God formed them to be what they are; so
they cannot enjoy this or that happiness of men or angels, because
they have a mind to it, but because it is the will of God, that such
things be the happiness of men, and such things the happiness of
angels. But now, if God be thus all in all; if his will is thus the
measure of all things and all natures; if nothing can be done, but by
his power; if nothing can be seen, but by a light from him; if we have
nothing to fear, but from his justice; if we have nothing to hope for,
but from his goodness; if this is the nature of man, thus helpless
in himself; if this is the state of all creatures, as well those in
_heaven_, as those on _earth_; if they are nothing, can do nothing,
can suffer no pain, nor feel any happiness, but so far, and in such
degrees, as the power of God does all this: if this be the state of
things, then how can we have the least glimpse of joy or comfort? How
can we have any peaceful enjoyment of ourselves, but by living wholly
unto God, using and doing every thing conformably to his will? A life
thus devoted unto God, looking wholly unto him in all our actions, and
doing all things suitable to his glory, is so far from being dull, and
uncomfortable, that it creates new comforts in every thing that we do.


18. On the contrary, would you see how _happy_ they are who live
according to their own wills, who cannot submit to the _dull_ and
_melancholy_ business of a life devoted to God? Look at the man in
the _parable_, to whom his Lord had given one talent.

He could not bear the thoughts of using his talent according to
the will of him from whom he had it, and therefore he chose to make
himself happier in another way of his own. _Lord_, says he, _I knew
thee, that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hadst not sown,
and gathering where thou hadst not strawed. And I was afraid, and went
and hid thy talent in the earth. Lo there thou hast that is thine._
Matt. xxv. 24.

Here you see how happy this man made himself by not acting _wholly_
according to his Lord’s will. It was, according to his own account,
an happiness of _murmuring_ and _discontent_; _I knew thee_, says
he, _that thou wast an hard man_: it was an happiness of _fears_ and
_apprehensions_; _I was_, says he, _afraid_: it was an happiness of
_vain labours_ and _fruitless travels_: _I went_, says he, _and hid
thy talent_; and after having been awhile the sport of foolish passion,
tormenting fears, and fruitless labours, he is rewarded with darkness,
eternal weeping and gnashing of teeth.


19. Now this is the happiness of all those, who look upon _strict_
piety, that is, a right use of their talent, to be a dull and
melancholy thing.

They may live awhile free from the restraints and directions
of religion; but instead thereof, they must be under the absurd
government of their passions: they must, like the man in the _parable_,
live in _murmurings_ and _discontents_, in _fears_ and _apprehensions_.
They may avoid the labour of doing good, of spending their time
devoutly, of laying up treasures in heaven, of cloathing the naked, of
visiting the sick; but then they must, like this man, have _labours_
and _pains_ in vain, that tend to no use or advantage, that do no good
either to themselves, or others; they must _travel_, and _labour_, and
_work_, and _dig_, to hide their talent in the earth. They must, like
him, at their Lord’s coming, be convicted out of their own mouths,
be accused by their own hearts, and have every thing that they have
said and thought of religion, be made to shew the justice of their
condemnation to eternal darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth.

This is the purchase that they make, who avoid the strictness of
religion, in order to live happily.


20. On the other hand, would you see a short description of the
happiness of a life rightly employed, wholly devoted to God, you must
look at the man in the _parable_, to whom his Lord had given five
talents. _Lord_, says he, _thou deliveredst unto five talents: behold,
I have gained besides them five talents more. His Lord said unto him,
well done thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over
a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into
the joy of thy Lord._

Here you see a life that is wholly intent upon the improvement of the
talents, that is devoted wholly unto God, is a state of happiness,
prosperous labours, and glorious success. Here are not, as in the
former case, any _uneasy passions_, _murmurings_, _vain fears_ and
_fruitless labours_. The man is not toiling, and digging in the
earth for no end or advantage; but his labours prosper in his hands,
his happiness increases upon him, the blessing of five becomes the
blessing of ten talents; and he is received with a _Well done good
and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord_.


21. Now, as the case of these men in the _parable_ left nothing else
to their choice, but either to be happy in using their gifts to the
_glory_ of their Lord, or miserable by using them according to their
_own humours_ and _fancies_; so the state of Christianity leaves us no
other choice.

*All that we have, all that we are, all that we enjoy, are only so
many talents from God: if we use them to the end of a pious and holy
life, our five talents will become ten, and our labours will carry us
into the joy of our Lord; but if we abuse them to the gratification
of our own passions, sacrificing the gifts of God to our own pride
and vanity, we shall live here in vain labours and foolish anxieties,
shunning religion as a melancholy thing, accusing our Lord as a hard
master, and then fall into everlasting misery.

We may for awhile amuse ourselves with _names_, and _sounds_, and
_shadows_ of happiness, we may talk of this or that greatness and
dignity; but if we desire real happiness, we have no other possible
way to it, but by improving our talents, by so holily and piously
using the _powers_ and _faculties_ of _men_ in this present state,
that we may be happy and glorious in the _powers_ and _faculties_ of
_angels_ in the world to come.

How ignorant therefore are they of the nature of religion, of the
nature of man, and the nature of God, who think a life of _strict
piety_ to be a _dull_ and _uncomfortable_ state, when it is so plain
and certain, that there is neither comfort nor joy to be found in any
thing else?




                               CHAP. X.

    _The happiness of a life wholly devoted unto God, farther
      proved, from the |vanity|, and the |ridiculous|, |poor|
      enjoyments which they are forced to take up with, who live
      according to their own humours. This represented in various
      characters._


1. WE may see yet more of the happiness of a life devoted to God, by
considering the poor contrivances for happiness, and the contemptible
ways of life, which they are thrown into, who are seeking after
happiness by other methods.

If one looks at their lives, who live by no rule but their own humours
and fancies; if one sees what it is, which they call _joy_, and
_greatness_, and _happiness_; if one sees how they rejoice and repent,
change and fly from one delusion to another, one shall find great
reason to rejoice, that God hath appointed a _narrow_ way that leadeth
unto life, and that we are not left to the folly of our own minds, or
forced to take up with such shadows of happiness, as the folly of the
world has invented. I say _invented_, because those things which make
up the _joy and happiness_ of the world, are mere _inventions_, which
have no foundation in nature, are no way the proper good or happiness
of man, no way perfect either his body or his mind.


2. *As, for instance, when a man proposes to be happy in ways of
_ambition_, by raising himself to some _imaginary heights_ above other
people. This is an _invention_ of happiness which has no foundation
in nature, but it is as mere a cheat of our own making, as if a man
should intend to make himself happy by _climbing_ up a _ladder_.

*If a _woman_ seeks for happiness from _fine colours_ or _spots_ upon
_her face_, from _jewels_ and _rich cloaths_, this is as merely an
_invention_ of happiness, as contrary to _nature_ and _reason_, as if
she should propose to make herself happy, by painting a _post_, and
putting the same finery upon it. It is in this respect that I call
these mere _inventions_ of happiness, because neither God, nor nature,
nor reason, hath appointed them as such; but whatever appears joyful
or happy in them, is entirely invented by the blindness and vanity of
our own minds.

And it is on these inventions of happiness, that I desire you to cast
your eye, that you may thence learn how _great a good_ religion is,
which delivers you from such a multitude of follies, and vain pursuits,
as are the torment of minds that wander from their true happiness in
God.


3. *Look at _Flatus_, and learn how miserable they are, who are left
to the folly of their own passions.

_Flatus_ is rich and in health, yet always uneasy, and always
searching after happiness. Every time you visit him, you find some
new project in his head; he is eager upon it as something that is
more worth his while, and will do more for him, than any thing that is
already past. Every new thing so seizes him, that if you was to take
him from it, he would think himself quite undone. His sanguine temper,
and strong passions, promise him so much happiness in every thing,
that he is always cheated, and is satisfied with nothing.

At his first setting out in life, _fine cloaths_ was his delight. His
enquiry was only after the best _taylors_ and _peruke-makers_; and he
had no thoughts of excelling in any thing but _dress_. He spared no
expence, but carried every nicety to its greatest height. But this
happiness not answering his expectations, he left off his _brocades_,
put on a plain coat, railed at _fops_ and _beaux_, and gave himself up
to _gaming_ with great eagerness.

This new pleasure satisfied him for some time; he envied no other way
of life. But being by the fate of _play_, drawn into a _duel_, where
he narrowly escaped his death, he left off the _dice_, and sought for
happiness no longer amongst the _gamesters_.


4. The next thing that seized his wandering imagination, was the
diversions of the _town_; and for more than a twelvemonth, you heard
him talk of nothing but _ladies_, _drawing-rooms_, _birth-nights_,
_plays_, _balls_, and _assemblies_; but growing sick of these, he
had recourse to hard _drinking_. He had now many a merry night, and
met with stronger joys than any he had felt before. And here he had
thoughts of setting up his staff, and looking out no farther; but
unluckily falling into a _fever_, he grew angry at all strong liquors,
and took his leave of the happiness of being drunk.

The next attempt after happiness carried him into the _field_. For
two or three years nothing was so happy as _hunting_. He entered upon
it with all his soul, and leaped over more _hedges_ and _ditches_
than had ever been known in so short a time. You never saw him but
in a _green coat_. He was the envy of all that blow the _horn_,
and always spoke to his dogs in great propriety of language. If you
meet him at home in a bad day, you would hear him blow his horn,
and be entertained with the surprizing accidents of the last _noble
chace_. No sooner had _Flatus_ outdone all the world in the breed
and education of his _dogs_, built new _kennels_, new _stables_, and
bought a new _hunting-seat_, but he got sight of another happiness,
hated the senseless noise and hurry of hunting, gave away his dogs,
and was for some time after deep in the _pleasures_ of _building_.


5. Now he invents new kinds of _dovecoats_, and has such contrivances
in his _barns_ and _stables_, as were never seen before. He wonders at
the dulness of the old builders, is wholly bent upon the improvement
of _architecture_, and will hardly hang a door in the ordinary way.
He tells his friends, that he never was so delighted in any thing in
his life; that he has more happiness amongst his _brick_ and _mortar_,
than ever he had at _court_: and that he is contriving how to have
some little matter to do that way as long as he lives.

After this, he was a great _student_ for one whole year. He was
up early and late at his _Italian grammar_, that he might have
the happiness of understanding the _opera_, and not be like those
_unreasonable_ people, that are pleased with they don’t know what.

_Flatus_ is very ill-natured, or otherwise, just as his affairs happen
to be when you visit him. If you find him when some project is almost
wore out, you will find a peevish, ill-bred man; but if you had seen
him just as he entered upon his _riding regimen_, or begun to excel in
sounding the horn, you had been saluted with great civility.

_Flatus_ is now at a full stand, and is doing what he never did in his
life before. He is _reasoning_ and _reflecting_ with himself. He loses
several days, in considering which of his _cast-off_ ways of life he
should try again.

But here a new project comes in to his relief. He is now living upon
_herbs_, and running about the country, to get himself in as _good
wind_ as any _running footman_ in the kingdom.


6. I have been thus circumstantial in so many foolish particulars,
because I hope that every particular folly that you here see, will
naturally turn itself into an argument for the wisdom and happiness
of a religious life.

If I could lay before you a particular account of all the
circumstances of terror and distress, that daily attend a life at
_sea_, the more particular I was in the account, the more I should
make you feel and rejoice in the happiness of living upon the _land_.

In like manner, the more I enumerate the _follies_, _anxieties_,
_delusions_, and restless desires which go thro’ every part of a life
devoted to worldly enjoyments, the more you must be affected with that
peace, and rest, and solid content, which religion gives to the souls
of men.


7. But you will perhaps say, that the ridiculous, restless life of
_Flatus_, is not the common state of those who neglect the strict
rules of religion; and that therefore it is not so great an argument
of the happiness of a religious life.

I answer, that I am afraid it is one of the most _general characters_
in life; and that few people can read it, without seeing something in
it that belongs to themselves. For where shall we find that wise and
happy man, who has not been eagerly pursuing different appearances of
happiness, sometimes thinking it was here, and sometimes there?

And if people were to divide their lives into particular stages,
and ask themselves what they were pursuing, or what it was which
they had chiefly in view, when they were _twenty_ years old, what at
_twenty-five_, what at _thirty_, what at _forty_, what at _fifty_,
and so on, till they were brought to their last bed, numbers of people
would find, that they had pursued as many different appearances of
happiness, as are to be seen in the life of _Flatus_.

And thus it must be, more or less, with all who propose any other
happiness, than that which arises from a strict and regular piety.


8. But, _secondly_, let it be granted, that the _generality_ of people
are not of such restless, fickle tempers as _Flatus_, the difference
is only this, _Flatus_ is continually changing and trying something
new, but others are content with some one state; they don’t leave
_gaming_, and then fall to _hunting_, but follow one or the other all
their life. Some have so much _steadiness_ in their tempers, that they
seek after no other happiness, but that of _heaping_ up riches; others
grow old in the sports of the _field_; others are content to _drink_
themselves to death, without the least enquiry after any other
happiness.

Now, is there any thing more _happy_ or _reasonable_, in such a
life as this, than in the life of _Flatus_? Is it not as wise and
happy, to be constantly changing from one thing to another, as to be
nothing else but a _gatherer_ of money, a _hunter_, a _gamester_, or
a _drunkard_, all your life?

Shall religion be looked upon as a burden, as a dull and melancholy
state, for calling men from such _happiness_ as this, to labour after
the perfection of their nature, and prepare themselves for an endless
state of joy and glory in the presence of God?


9. *But turn your eyes now another way, and let the _trifling joys_,
the _gewgaw_ happiness of _Feliciana_, teach you how wise they are,
what delusion they escape, whose hearts and hopes are fixed upon
happiness in God.

If you was to live with _Feliciana_ but one half year, you would see
all the happiness that she is to have as long as she lives. She has no
more to come, but the poor repetition of that which could never have
pleased once, but thro’ a littleness of mind, and want of thought.

She is to be again dressed fine, and keep her visiting-day. She is
again to change the colour of her _cloaths_, again to have a new
_head_. She is again to see who acts best at the _playhouse_, and
who sings finest at the _opera_. She is again to make ten visits in
a day, and be ten times in a day trying to talk artfully, easily, and
politely, about nothing.

She is to be again delighted with some new fashion, and again angry
at the change of some old one. She is to be again at cards, and gaming
at midnight, and again in bed at noon. She is to be again pleased with
hypocritical compliments, and again disturbed with imaginary affronts.
She is to be again delighted with her good luck at _gaming_, and again
tormented with the loss of her money. She is again to prepare herself
for a birth-night, and again to see the town full of good company. She
is again to hear the cabals and intrigues of the town, again to have
secret intelligence of private amours, and early notice of marriages,
quarrels and partings.

If you see her come out of her chariot more briskly than usual,
converse with more spirit, and seem fuller of joy than she was
last week, it is because there is some surprising new dress, or new
diversion just come to town.


10. These are all the _substantial_ and _regular_ parts of
_Feliciana_’s happiness; and she never knew a pleasant day in her
life, but it was owing to some one, or more, of these things.

It is for this happiness, that she has always been deaf to the
reasonings of religion, that her heart has been too gay and chearful
to consider what is _right_ or _wrong_ in regard to eternity; or to
listen to the sound of such dull words, as _wisdom_, _piety_, and
_devotion_.

It is for fear of losing some of this happiness, that she dares not
meditate on the immortality of her soul, consider her relation to God,
or turn her thoughts towards those joys, which make saints and angels
infinitely happy in the presence and glory of God.

But let it be observed, that as poor a round of happiness as this
appears, yet most women that avoid the restraints of religion for a
gay life, must be content with very small parts of it. As they have
not _Feliciana_’s fortune; so they must give away the comforts of a
pious life, for a very small part of her happiness.


11. And if you look into the world, and observe the lives of those
women, whom no arguments can persuade to live wholly unto God, you
will find most of them such, as lose all the comforts of religion
without gaining the tenth part of _Feliciana_’s happiness. They are
such as spend their times and fortunes only in mimicking the pleasures
of richer people; and rather look and long after, than enjoy those
delusions, which are not to be purchased but by considerable fortunes.

But if a woman of _high_ birth and _great_ fortune, having read the
gospel, should rather wish to be an _under servant_ in some pious
family, where wisdom, piety, and great devotion, directed all the
actions of every day; if she should rather wish this, than to live at
the top of _Feliciana_’s happiness, I should think her neither _mad_
nor _melancholy_; but that she judged as rightly of the spirit of the
gospel, as if she had rather wished to be _poor Lazarus_ at the gate,
than to be the rich man _cloathed in purple and fine linen, and faring
sumptuously every day_.

*But to proceed, would you know what an happiness it is, to be
governed by the wisdom of religion, look at the poor condition of
_Succus_, whose greatest happiness is a _good night_’s rest in bed,
and a _good meal_ when he is up. When he talks of happiness, it is
always in such expressions as shews you, that he has only his bed and
his dinner in his thoughts.

This regard to his _meals_ and _repose_, makes _Succus_ order all the
rest of his time with relation to them. He will undertake no business
that may hurry his spirits, or break in upon his hours of _eating_ and
_rest_. If he reads, it shall be only for half an hour, because that
is sufficient to amuse the spirits; and he will read something that
may make him laugh, as rendering the body fitter for its _food_ and
_rest_; or, if he has a mind at any time to indulge a grave thought,
he has recourse to a useful treatise upon the _♦ancient cookery_.
_Succus_ is an enemy to all _party matters_, having made it an
observation, that there is as good eating amongst the _whigs_ as the
_tories_.

  ♦ ‘antient’ replaced with ‘ancient’

He talks coolly and moderately upon all subjects, and is as fearful
of falling into a passion, as of catching cold; being very positive
they are both equally injurious to the _stomach_. If ever you see him
more hot than ordinary, it is upon some provoking occasion, when the
dispute about cookery runs high, or in the defence of some beloved
dish, which has often made him happy. But he has been so long upon
these subjects, is so well acquainted with all that can be said on
both sides, and has so often answered all objections, that he
generally decides the matter with great gravity.

_Succus_ is very loyal, and as soon as ever he likes any wine,
he drinks the king’s health with all his heart. Nothing could put
rebellious thoughts into his head, unless he should live to see a
proclamation against eating of _pheasant_’s _eggs_.


♦13. All the hours that are not devoted either to _repose_ or
_nourishment_, are looked upon by _Succus_ as _waste_ or _spare time_.
For this reason he lodges near a _coffee-house_ and a _tavern_, that
when he rises in the morning he may be near the _news_, and when he
parts at night, he may not have far to go to bed. In the morning you
always see him in the same place in the _coffee-room_; and if he seems
more attentively engaged than ordinary, it is because some _criminal_
is broke out of _newgate_, or some _lady_ was robbed last night, but
they can’t tell where. When he has learnt all that he can, he goes
home to settle the matter with the barber’s boy that comes to shave
him.

  ♦ Number 12 omitted in text.

The next _waste time_ that lies upon his hands, is from dinner to
supper; and if melancholy thoughts ever come into his head, it is at
this time, when he is often left to himself for an hour or more, and
that after the greatest pleasure he knows is just over. He is afraid
to sleep, because he has heard it is not healthful at that time; so
that he is forced to refuse so welcome a guest.

But here he is soon relieved by a settled method of playing at cards,
till it is time to think of some little, nice matter for supper.

After this _Succus_ takes his glass, talks of the excellency of the
_English constitution_, and praises that _minister_ the most, who
keeps the best table.

On a _Sunday_ night you may sometimes hear him condemning the iniquity
of _town rakes_; and the bitterest thing that he says against them is
this, that he verily believes, some of them are so abandoned, as not
to have a _regular meal_, or a _sound night_’s sleep, in a week.

At eleven _Succus_ bids all good night, and parts in great friendship.
He is presently in bed, and sleeps till it is time to go to the
_coffee-house_ next morning.

If you was to live with _Succus_ for a twelvemonth, this is all that
you would see in his life, except a few _curses_ and _oaths_ that he
uses as occasion offers.

And now I cannot help making this reflection:


14. That as I believe the most likely means in the world to inspire a
person with true piety, was to have seen the example of some eminent
professors of religion: so the next thing that is likely to fill us
with the same zeal, is to see the _folly_, the _baseness_, and poor
satisfactions of a life destitute of religion. As the one excites us
to love and admire the wisdom and greatness of religion; so the other
may make us fearful of living without it.

For who can help blessing God for the _means of grace_, and for the
_hope of glory_, when he sees what variety of folly they sink into,
who live without it? Who would not heartily engage in all the labours
of a pious life, when he sees what _dull_ sensuality, what _gross_
enjoyments they are left to, who seek for happiness in other ways?

So that whether we consider the greatness of religion, or the
littleness of all other things, and the meanness of all other
enjoyments, there is nothing to be found in the whole nature of things
for a thoughtful mind to rest upon, but a happiness in religion.


15. Consider now with yourself, how unreasonably, it is pretended
that a life of strict piety must be a _dull_ and _anxious_ state?
For, can it with any reason be said that the duties of religion render
our lives heavy and melancholy, when they only deprive us of such
happiness as has been here laid before you?

Must it be tedious to live in the continual exercise of charity and
temperance, to act wisely and virtuously, to do good to the utmost of
your power, to imitate the divine perfections, and prepare yourself
for the enjoyment of God? Must it be dull and tiresome to improve in
holiness, to feel the comforts of conscience in all your actions, to
know that God is your friend, that all must work for your good; that
neither life nor death, neither men nor devils can do you any harm;
but that all your sufferings and doings, are in a short time to be
rewarded with everlasting glory: must such a state be _dull_ and
_tiresome_, for want of such happiness as _Flatus_ or _Feliciana_
enjoys?

Now, if this cannot be said, then there is no happiness lost, by being
strictly pious; nor has the devout man any thing to envy in any other
state of life. For all the art and contrivances in the world, without
religion, cannot make more of human life, or carry its happiness to
any greater height, than _Flatus_ or _Feliciana_ has done.

The finest _wit_, the greatest _genius_ upon earth, if not governed by
religion, must be as _foolish_, and _low_, and _vain_, in his method
of happiness, as the _poor Succus_.


16. *If you was to see a man dully endeavouring all his life to
satisfy his thirst, by holding up one and the same _empty cup_ to
his mouth, you would certainly despise his ignorance.

*But, if you should see others, of _brighter parts_, and _finer
understandings_, ridiculing the dull satisfaction of _one cup_, and
thinking to satisfy their own thirst by variety of gilt and _golden
empty cups_; would you think that these were ever the _wiser_, or
_happier_, or _better_ employed, for their _finer parts_?

*Now, this is all the difference that you can see in the happiness of
this life.

The _dull_ and _heavy_ soul may be content with one _empty appearance_
of happiness, and be continually trying to hold the _same empty cup_
to his mouth all his life. But let the _wit_, the _deep scholar_, the
_fine genius_, the great _statesman_, the polite _gentleman_, lay all
their heads together, and they can only shew you _more_ and _various_,
_empty appearances_ of happiness; give them all the world into their
hands, let them cut and carve as they please, they can only make a
greater variety of _empty cups_.

*So that if you don’t think it hard to be deprived of the pleasures of
_gluttony_, for the sake of religion, you have no reason to think it
hard to be restrained from any worldly pleasure. For search as deep,
and look as far as you will, there is nothing here to be found, that
is _nobler_, or _greater_, than _high eating_ and _drinking_, unless
you look for it in the wisdom of religion.

And if all that is in the world, are only so many _empty cups_, what
does it signify which you take, or how many?


17. If you would but use yourself to such meditations as these, to
reflect upon the vanity of _all orders_ of life without piety, to
consider how all the ways of the world, are only so many different
ways of error, blindness, and mistake; these meditations would awaken
your soul into a zealous desire of that solid happiness which is only
to be found in recourse to God.


18. To meditate upon the perfection of the divine attributes, to
contemplate the glories of heaven, to consider the joys of saints
and angels living for ever in the brightness and glory of the divine
presence; these are the meditations of souls advanced in piety, and
not suited to every capacity.

But to see and consider the _emptiness_ and error of all worldly
happiness, to see the _grossness_ of _sensuality_, the _poorness_ of
pride, the _stupidity_ of covetousness, the _vanity_ of dress, the
_blindness_ of our passions, the _uncertainty_ of our lives, and the
_shortness_ of all worldly projects; these are meditations that are
suited to all capacities. They require no depth of thought, or sublime
speculation; but are forced upon us by all our senses, and taught by
almost every thing that we see and hear.

This is that _Wisdom that crieth, and putteth forth her voice in
the streets_, Prov. viii. 1. that standeth at all our doors, that
appealeth to all our senses, teaching us in every thing and every
where, by all that we see, and all that we hear, by births ♦and
burials, by sickness and health, by life and death, by pains and
poverty, by misery and vanity, and by all the changes of life; that
there is nothing else for man to look after, no other end in nature
for him to drive at, but a happiness in religion.

  ♦ duplicate word removed ‘and’




                              CHAP. XI.

    _That not only a life of |vanity|, or |sensuality|, but even
      the |most regular| kind of life, that is not governed by
      great devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries, its wants
      and emptiness to the eyes of all the world. This
      represented in various characters._


1. *_OCTAVIUS_ is a learned, ingenious man, well versed in most parts
of literature, and no stranger to any kingdom in _Europe_. The other
day, being just recovered from a lingering _fever_ he took upon him to
talk thus to his friends.

“My _glass_, says he, is almost run out; and your eyes see how many
marks of _age_ and _death_ I bear about me: but I plainly feel myself
sinking away faster than any standers-by imagine. I fully believe,
that one year more will conclude my reckoning.”

The attention of his friends was much raised by such a declaration,
expecting to hear something truly excellent from so learned a man,
who had but a year longer to live; when _Octavius_ proceeded in this
manner, “For these reasons, says he, my friends, I have left off all
_taverns_; the wine of those places is not good enough for me in this
decay of nature. I must now be _nice_ in what I drink. I can’t pretend
to do as I have done; and therefore I am resolved to furnish my own
_cellar_ with a little of the very best, tho’ it cost me ever so much.”


2. A few days after _Octavius_ had made this declaration to his
friends, he relapsed into his former illness, was committed to _a
nurse_, who closed his eyes before his fresh parcel of wine came in.

Young _Eugenius_ who was present at this discourse went home a new man.

I never, says _Eugenius_, was so deeply affected with the wisdom and
importance of religion, as when I saw how _poorly_ and _meanly_ the
learned _Octavius_ was to leave the world, thro’ the want of it.


3. *Was _all_ to die with our _bodies_, there might be some pretence
for those _different sorts_ of happiness, that are now so much talked
of: but since _our all_ begins at the death of our bodies; since all
men are to be immortal, either in misery or happiness, in a world
entirely different from this; since they are all hastening thence
at all uncertainties, as fast as death can cut them down; some in
_sickness_, some in _health_, some _sleeping_, some _waking_, some
at _midnight_, others at _cock-crowing_, and at all hours they know
not of; is it not certain, that no man can exceed another in joy and
happiness, but so far as he exceeds him in those virtues which fit him
for a happy death?

*_Cognatus_ is a sober, regular _clergyman_, of good repute in the
world, and well esteemed in his parish. All his parishioners say he is
an _honest_ man, and very notable at making a _bargain_. The farmers
listen to him with great attention, when he talks of the properest
time of selling corn.

He has been for twenty years a diligent observer of _markets_, and has
raised a considerable fortune by good management.

_Cognatus_ is very _orthodox_, and full of _esteem_ for our _English_
liturgy; and if he has not prayers on _Wednesdays_ and _Fridays_, ’tis
because his _predecessor_ had not used the parish to any such custom.
As he cannot serve both his livings himself; so he makes it matter
of _conscience_ to keep a _sober curate_ upon one of them, whom he
_hires_ to take care of all the souls in the parish, at as _cheap_
a rate as a sober man can be procured.

_Cognatus_ has been very prosperous all his time; but still he has
had the uneasiness and vexations that they have, who are deep in
worldly business. _Taxes_, _losses_, _crosses_, _bad mortgages_, _bad
tenants_, and the hardness of the times, are frequent subjects of his
conversation, and a good or a bad _season_ has a great effect upon his
spirits.

_Cognatus_ has no other end in growing rich, but that he may leave
a considerable fortune to a _niece_, whom he has _politely_ educated
in expensive finery, by what he has saved out of the tythes of _two
livings_.

The neighbours look upon _Cognatus_ as an happy clergyman, because
they see him (as they call it) in _good circumstances_; and some of
them intend to dedicate their own sons to the church, because they
see how well it has succeeded with _Cognatus_, whose father was but
an _ordinary man_.


♦5. *But now if _Cognatus_, when he first entered into holy orders,
had perceived how absurd a thing it is to grow _rich_ by the gospel;
if he had proposed to himself the example of some _primitive father_;
if, instead of twenty years care to lay up treasures upon earth, he
had distributed the income of every year in the most Christian acts
of charity.

  ♦ Number 4 omitted in text.

If instead of tempting his _niece_ to be proud, and providing her with
such ornaments as the _apostle_ forbids, he had cloathed, comforted,
and relieved numbers of _widows_ and _orphans_, who were all to appear
for him at the last day:

*If instead of the cares and anxieties of _bad bonds_, _troublesome
mortgages_, and _ill bargains_, he had had the constant comfort of
knowing, that his treasure was securely laid up, where neither moth
corrupteth, nor thieves break thro’ and steal; could it with any
reason be said, that he had mistaken the spirit and dignity of his
order, or lessened any of that happiness, which is to be found in his
sacred employment?

If instead of rejoicing in the happiness of a second _living_, he had
thought it unbecoming the office of a clergyman to traffick for gain
in _holy things_, as to open a shop.

*If he had thought it better to recommend some _honest labour_ to his
_niece_, than to support her in _idleness_ by the labour of a _curate_;
better that she should want _fine cloaths_, and a _rich husband_, than
that cures of souls should be farmed out, and brother clergymen not
suffered to live by those altars at which they serve. If this had been
the spirit of _Cognatus_, could it with any reason be said, that these
rules of religion, this strictness of piety, had robbed _Cognatus_ of
any real happiness? Could it be said, that a life thus governed by the
spirit of the gospel, must be _dull_ and _melancholy_, if compared to
that of raising a fortune for a _niece_?


6. Look now at that condition of life which draws the envy of all.

*_Negotius_ is a temperate, honest man. He served his time under
a master of great trade; but has, by his own management, made it a
more considerable business than ever it was before. For thirty years
last past, he has been corresponding with all parts of _Europe_. The
general good of trade seems to _Negotius_ to be the general good of
life; whatever he commends or condemns, either in church or state, is
commended, or condemned, with regard to trade.

As money is continually pouring in upon him; so he often lets it go
in various kinds of expence and generosity, and sometimes in ways of
charity.

_Negotius_ is always ready to join in any public contribution. If a
_purse_ is making at any place where he happens to be, whether it be
to buy a plate for a horse-race, or to redeem a _prisoner_ out of gaol,
you are always sure of having something from him.

He has given a fine _ring of bells_ to a church in the country; and
there is much expectation that he will some time or other make a more
beautiful _front_ to the _market-house_, than has yet been seen in any
place: for it is the generous spirit of _Negotius_, to do nothing in a
mean way.


7. If you ask what it is that has secured _Negotius_ from all
_scandalous vices_, it is the same thing that has kept him from all
_strictness of devotion_, it is his great business. He has always
had too many important things in his head: his thoughts are too much
employed, to suffer him to fall either into a course of _rakery_, or
to feel the necessity of an _inward, solid_ piety.

For this reason he hears of the pleasures of debauchery, and the
pleasures of piety with the ♦same indifferency; and has no more
desire of living in the one than in the other, because neither of them
consists with that turn of mind, and multiplicity of business, which
are his happiness.

  ♦ inserted omitted word ‘same’

*If _Negotius_ was asked, what it is which he drives at in life? He
would be as much at a loss for an answer, as if he was asked, what any
other person was thinking of. For though he always seems to himself to
know what he is doing, and has many things in his head, which are the
motives of his actions; yet he cannot tell you of any _one general
end_ of life that he has chosen with deliberation, as being truly
worthy of all his labour and pains.

He has several confused notions in his head, which have been a long
time there: such as these; that it is _something great_ to have more
business than other people, to have more dealings upon his hands
than a hundred of the same profession, to grow continually richer and
richer, and to raise an immense fortune before he dies. The thing that
seems to give _Negotius_ the greatest life and spirit, and to be most
in his thoughts, is an expectation that he shall die richer than any
of his business ever did.


8. The generality of people when they think of happiness, think upon
_Negotius_; in whose life every instance of happiness is supposed to
meet, sober, prudent, rich, prosperous, generous and charitable.

Let us now look at this condition in another, but truer light.

*Let it be supposed, that this same _Negotius_ was a painful,
laborious man, very deep in variety of affairs; that he neither drank,
nor debauched, but was sober and regular in his business. Let it be
supposed, that he grew old in this course of trading, and that the
_end_ and _design_ of all his labour, and care, and application to
business, was only this, that he might die possessed of more than an
hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_.

Let it be supposed that the sober part of the world say of him when
he ♦is dead, that he was a great and happy man, a thorough master of
business, and had acquired an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and
_spurs_ when he died.

  ♦ ‘his’ replaced with ‘is’


9. *Now if this was really the case, I believe that it would
be readily granted that a life of such business was as poor and
ridiculous as any that can be invented. But it would puzzle any one to
shew, that a man that has spent all his time and thoughts in business
and hurry, that he might die, as it is said, worth an hundred thousand
pounds, is any whit wiser than he, who has taken the same pains to
have as many pairs of _boots_ and _spurs_ when he leaves the world.

*For if the _state_ of our souls be our _whole state_, if the only end
of life be to die as _free_ from sin, and as _exalted_ in virtue as
we can; if naked as we came, so naked are we to return, and to stand
a trial before Christ and his holy angels, for everlasting happiness
or misery, what can it possibly signify, what a man had, or had not,
in this world? What can it signify what you call these things that a
man left behind him; whether you call him _his_, or any _one’s_ else;
whether you _call_ them _trees_ or _fields_, or birds and feathers;
whether you _call_ them an hundred _thousand pounds_, or an hundred
thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_? I say _call_ them; for the
_things_ signify no more to him than the _names_.

Now ’tis easy to see the folly of a life thus spent, to furnish a
man with such a number of _boots_ and _spurs_. But yet there needs no
better faculty of seeing, no finer understanding, to see the folly of
a life spent in making a man possessor of _ten towns_ before he dies.

*For if, when he has got all his _towns_, or all his _boots_, his
soul is to go into his _own place_ amongst separate spirits, and his
body to be laid by in a _coffin_, till the last trumpet calls him to
judgment; where the enquiry will be, how _humbly_, how _devoutly_, how
_meekly_, how _piously_, how _charitably_, we have _spoke_, _thought_,
and _acted_, whilst we were in the body? How can we say, that he
who has wore out his life in raising an _hundred thousand pounds_,
has acted wiser for himself, than he who has had the same _care_ to
procure an hundred thousand of _any thing_ else?


10. *But farther, let it now be supposed, that _Negotius_, when
he first entered into business, happening to read the gospel with
_attention_, found he had a much greater business upon his hands, than
that to which he had served an apprenticeship: that there were things
which belong to man, of much more importance than all that our eyes
can see; so glorious, as to deserve all our thoughts; so dangerous, as
to need all our care; and so certain, as never to deceive the faithful
labourer.

Let it be supposed, that by reading this book, he had discovered
that his soul was more to him than his body: that it was better to
grow in the virtues of the soul, than to have a large body, or a
full purse; that it was better to be fit for heaven, than to have a
variety of fine houses upon the earth; that it was better to secure
an everlasting happiness, than to have plenty of things which he
cannot keep; better to live in habits of humility, piety, charity, and
self-denial, than to die unprepared for judgment; better to be most
like our Saviour, than to excel all the tradesmen in the world, in
business and bulk of fortune.

Let it be supposed, that _Negotius_, believing these things to be true,
entirely devoted himself to God at his first setting out in the world,
resolving to pursue his _business_ no farther than was consistent with
great devotion, humility, and self-denial; and for no other ends, but
to provide himself with a sober subsistence, and to do all the good he
could, to the souls and bodies of his fellow creatures.

Let it therefore be supposed, that instead of the continual hurry of
business, he was frequent in his retirements; that instead of restless
desires after more riches, his soul had been full of the love of God
and heavenly affection, constantly watching against worldly tempers,
and always aspiring after divine grace; that instead of worldly cares
and contrivances, he had been busy in fortifying his soul against
all approaches of sin; that instead of costly shew, and the expensive
generosity of a splendid life, he had loved and exercised all
instances of humility and lowliness; that instead of great treats and
full tables, his house had only furnished a sober refreshment to those
that wanted it.

Let it be supposed, that his contentment kept him free from all kinds
of envy: that his piety made him thankful to God in all crosses and
disappointments: that his charity kept him from being rich, by a
continual distribution to all objects of compassion.


♦12. Now, had this been the Christian spirit of _Negotius_, can
any one say, that he had lost the true happiness of life, by thus
conforming to the Spirit, and living up to the hope of the gospel?

  ♦ Number 11 omitted in text.

*Can it be said, that a life made exemplary by such virtues as these,
which keep heaven always in our sight, which both delight and exalt
the soul here, and prepare it for the presence of God hereafter, must
be _poor_ and _dull_, if compared to that of heaping up riches, which
can neither stay with us, nor we with them?

It would be endless to multiply examples of this kind, to shew you how
little is lost, and how much is gained, by introducing a strict and
exact piety into every condition of human life.

I shall now therefore leave it to your own meditation, to carry this
way of thinking farther, hoping that enough is said, to convince
yourself, that an exalted piety is so far from rendering any life dull
and tiresome, that it is the only joy and happiness of any condition
in the world.


13. *Imagine to yourself some person in a _consumption_, or any other
_lingering distemper_ that was _incurable_.

If you was to see such a man wholly intent upon doing every thing in
the spirit of religion, making the wisest use of all his time, fortune,
and abilities. If he was for carrying every duty of piety to its
greatest height, and striving to have all the advantage that could be
had in the remainder of his life: if he avoided all business, but such
as was necessary; if he was averse to all the follies and vanities
of the world, had no taste for _finery_ and _shew_, but sought for
all his comfort in the hopes and expeditions of religion, you would
certainly commend his prudence; you would say, that he had taken the
right method to make himself as joyful and happy, as any one can be in
a state of such infirmity.

*On the other hand, if you should see the same person, with
_trembling_ hands, short breath, _thin_ jaws, and _hollow_ eyes,
wholly intent upon business and bargains, as long as he could speak:
if you should see him pleased with _fine cloaths_, when he could
scarce stand to be dressed, and laying out his money in _horses_ and
_dogs_, rather than purchase the prayers of the poor for his soul,
which was so soon to be separated from his body, you would certainly
condemn him, as a weak, silly man.


14. Now, as it is easy to see the reasonableness, the wisdom and
happiness of a religious spirit in a _consumptive man_; so, if you
pursue the same way of thinking, you will as easily perceive the same
wisdom and happiness of a pious temper in every other state of life.

For how soon will any man that is in _health_, be in the state of
him that is in a _consumption_? How soon will he want all the same
comforts of religion, which every dying man wants?

*And if it be wise and happy to live piously, because we have not
above a year to live, is it not being more wise, and making ourselves
more happy, to live piously, because we may have more years to come?
If one year of piety before we die, is so desirable, are not more
years of piety much more desirable?


15. If a man had _five fixed_ years to live, he could not possibly
think at all, without intending to make the best use of them _all_.
When he saw his stay so short in this world, he must needs think
that this was not a world for him; and when he saw how near he was to
another world, that was eternal, he must surely think it necessary to
be very diligent in preparing for it.

Now as reasonable as piety appears in such a circumstance of life,
it is yet more reasonable in every circumstance of life, to every
thinking man.

For who but a madman can recount that he has _five_ years _certain_ to
come?

*And if it be reasonable and necessary to deny our worldly tempers,
and live wholly unto God, because we are _certain_ that we are to die
at the end of _five years_; surely it must be much more reasonable
and necessary for us to live in the same spirit, because we have no
_certainty_ that we shall live _five weeks_.


16. *Again, if we are to add _twenty_ years to the _five_, which is,
in all probability, more than will be added to the lives of many
people, who are at man’s estate; what a poor thing it is! How small
a difference is there between five, and twenty-five years?

It is said, that a _day_ is with God as a _thousand years_, and a
thousand years as one day; because, in regard to his eternity, this
difference is as nothing.

*Now, as we are created to be _eternal_, to live an endless succession
of ages upon ages, where _thousands_, and _millions of thousands_ of
years will have no proportion to our everlasting life in God; so with
regard to his eternal state, which is our real state, twenty-five
_years_ is as poor a pittance as twenty-five _days_.

We can never make any true judgment of time as it relates to us,
without considering the true state of our _duration_. If we are
_temporary_ beings, then a little time may justly be called a great
deal in relation to us; but if we are _eternal_ beings, then the
difference of a few years is as nothing.


17. If we were to suppose _three_ different _sorts_ of rational
beings, all of _different_, but _fixed_ duration; one sort that lived
_certainly_ only a _month_, the other a _year_, and the third an
_hundred years_.

If these beings were to meet together, and talk about time, they must
talk in a very different language. _Half_ an _hour_ to those who were
to live but a _month_, must be a very different thing, to what it is
to those, who are to live an _hundred years_.

As therefore time is thus a different thing, with regard to the
_state_ of those who enjoy it; so if we would know what time is with
regard to ourselves, we must consider our state.

Now since our eternal state, is as certainly ours, as our present
state; since we are as certainly to live for ever, as we are now
to live at all; it is plain, that we cannot judge of the value of
any particular time, as to us, but by comparing it to that eternal
duration for which we are created.

If you would know what _five years_ signify to a being that was to
live an _hundred_, you must compare _five_ to a _hundred_, and see
what proportion it bears to it, and then you would judge right.

*So if you would know, what _twenty_ years signify to a son of _Adam_,
you must compare it, not to a _million_ of ages, but to an _eternal
duration_, to which no number of millions bears any proportion; and
then you will judge right, by finding it _nothing_.


18. Consider therefore this; how would you condemn the folly of a man,
that should lose his share of future glory, for the sake of being
_rich_, or _great_, or _praised_, or delighted in _any enjoyment_,
only _one poor_ day before he was to die!

But if the time will come, when a number of years will seem less to
every one than a day does now; what a condemnation must it then be,
if eternal happiness should be lost, for something less than the
enjoyment of a day!

Why does a day seem a trifle to us now? It is because we have years
to set against it. It is the duration of years that makes it seem as
nothing.

*What a _trifle_ therefore must the years of a _man_’s _age_ appear,
when they are forced to be set against _eternity_, when there shall be
nothing but eternity to compare them with!

*And this will be the case of every man, as soon as he is out of the
body; he will be forced to forget the distinction of days and years,
and to measure time, not by the course of the sun, but by setting it
against eternity.

As the _fixed stars_, by reason of our being placed at such distance
from them, appear but as so many _points_; so when we, placed in
eternity, shall look back upon _all time_, it will appear but as a
_moment_.

*Then, a _luxury_, an _indulgence_, a _prosperity_, a _greatness_ of
_fifty_ years, will seem to every one that looks back upon it, as the
same _poor short_ enjoyment, as if he had been snatched away in his
_first sin_.

These few reflections upon _time_, are only to shew how poorly they
think, how miserably they judge, who are less careful of an eternal
state, because they _may_ be at some _years_ distance from it, than
they would be, if they knew they were within a few _weeks of it_.




                              CHAP. XII.

    _Concerning that part of devotion which relates to |times|
      and |hours| of |prayer|. Of daily |early| prayer in the
      morning. How we may improve our |forms| of prayer, and
      increase the |spirit| of devotion._


1. HAVING in the foregoing chapters shewn the necessity of a devout
spirit, in every part of our common life, in the discharge of all our
business, in the use of all the gifts of God: I come now to consider
that part of devotion, which relates to _times_ and _hours_ of prayer.

*I take it for granted, that every Christian, that is in health, is
up _early_ in the morning; for it is much more reasonable to suppose
a person up _early_, because he is a _Christian_, than because he is
a _labourer_, or a _tradesman_, or a _servant_, or has business that
wants him.

*We naturally conceive some abhorrence of a man that is in _bed_, when
he should be at his _labour_, or in his _shop_. We can’t tell how to
think any thing good of him, who is such a slave to drowsiness, as to
neglect his business for it.

*Let this therefore teach us to conceive, how odious we must appear
in the sight of heaven, if we are in _bed_, shut up in _sleep_, when
we should be praising God; and are such slaves to drowsiness, as to
neglect our devotions for it.

For if he is to be blamed as a _slothful drone_, that rather chuses
the lazy indulgence of sleep, than to perform his proper worldly
business, how much more is he to be reproached, that had rather lie
folded up in a bed, than be raising up his heart to God in acts of
praise and adoration.


2. Prayer is the nearest approach to God, and the highest enjoyment of
him, that we are capable of in this life.

It is the noblest exercise of the soul, the most exalted use of our
best faculties, and the highest imitation of the blessed inhabitants
of heaven.

When our hearts are full of God, sending up holy desires to the throne
of grace, we are then in our highest state, we are upon the utmost
height of human greatness; we are not before _kings_ and _princes_,
but in the presence of the _Lord_ of all the world, and can be no
higher till death is swallowed up in glory.

On the other hand, _sleep_ is the _poorest_, _dullest_ refreshment of
the body; that is so far from being intended as an _enjoyment_, that
we are forced to receive it either in a state of _insensibility_, or
in the folly of _dreams_.

*_Sleep_, is such a _dull_, _stupid_ state of existence, than even
amongst _mere animals_, we despise them most which are most drowsy.
He therefore that chuses to enlarge the slothful indolence of sleep,
rather than be early at his devotions to God; chuses the dullest
refreshment of the body, before the highest, noblest enjoyment of the
soul; he chuses that state, which is a reproach to _mere animals_,
rather than that exercise, which is the glory of _angels_.


3. *Besides, he that cannot deny himself this drowsy indulgence, but
must pass away good part of the morning in it, is no more prepared
for prayer when he is up, than he is prepared for _fasting_, or any
other _self-denial_. He may, indeed, more easily read over a _form_ of
prayer, than he can perform those duties; but he is no more disposed
for the _true spirit_ of prayer, than he is disposed for _fasting_.
For sleep, thus indulged, gives a _softness_ and _idleness_ to all our
tempers, and makes us unable to relish any thing, but what suits with
an _idle state_ of mind, and gratifies our natural tempers, as sleep
does. So that a person that is a slave to this idleness, is in the
same temper when he is up; and tho’ he is not asleep, yet he is under
the effects of it: and every thing that is _idle_, _indulgent_, or
_sensual_, pleases him for the same reason that sleep pleases him:
on the other hand, every thing that requires _care_, _trouble_, or
_self-denial_, is hateful to him for the same reason that he hates to
rise.


4. It is not possible in nature for an _epicure_ to be truly devout;
he must renounce his sensuality, before he can relish the happiness of
devotion.

Now, he that turns sleep into an _idle indulgence_, does as much to
corrupt his soul, to make it a slave to bodily appetites, as he that
turns the necessity of eating into a course of indulgence.

A person that eats and drinks too much, does not feel such effects
from it as those do, who live in _notorious_ gluttony and intemperance;
but yet his course of indulgence, tho’ it be not _scandalous_ in
the eyes of the world, nor such as _torments_ his own conscience,
is a great and constant hindrance to his improvement in virtue: it
gives him _eyes that see not_, and _ears that hear not_; it creates
a sensuality in the soul, increases the power of bodily passions, and
makes him incapable of entering into the true spirit of religion.

And this is the case of those who waste their time in sleep; it
does not _disorder_ their lives, or _wound_ their consciences, as
_notorious acts_ of intemperance do; but, like any other more moderate
course of indulgence, it silently, and by smaller degrees, wears away
the spirit of religion, and sinks the soul into a state of dulness and
sensuality.


5. If you consider devotion only as a _time_ of so much prayer, you
may perhaps perform it, tho’ you live in this daily indulgence; but
if you consider it as a _state_ of the heart, that is deeply affected
with a sense of its own misery and infirmities, and desires the Spirit
of God more than all things in the world, you will find the spirit
of indulgence, and the spirit of prayer, cannot subsist together.
Self-denial, of _all kinds_, is the very life and soul of piety; but
he that has not so small a degree of it, as to be able to be early
at his prayers, can have no reason to think that he has taken up his
cross, and is following Christ.

*What conquest has he got over himself? What right-hand has he cut
off? What trials is he prepared for? What sacrifice is he ready to
offer to God, who cannot be so cruel to himself, as to rise to prayer
at such a time, as the drudging part of the world are content to rise
to their labour?


6. *Some people will not scruple to tell you, that they indulge
themselves in sleep, because they have nothing to do: and that if they
had either _business_ or _pleasure_ to rise to, they would not lose so
much of their time in sleep. But such people must be told, that they
mistake the matter; that they have a great deal of business to do;
they have a _hardened heart_ to change; they have the _whole spirit_
of religion to get. For surely, he that thinks devotion to be of
less moment than business or pleasure; or that he has nothing to do,
because nothing but his prayers want him, may be justly said to have
the whole spirit of religion to seek.

You must not therefore consider how small a crime it is to _rise late_;
but you must consider how great a misery it is to want the _spirit_
of religion; to have a heart not rightly affected with prayer, and to
live in such softness and idleness, as makes you incapable of the most
fundamental duties of a Christian life.

When you read the scriptures, you see a religion that is all _life_,
and _spirit_, and _joy_ in God; that supposes our souls risen from
earthly desires and bodily indulgences, to prepare for another body,
another world, and other enjoyments. You see Christians represented as
temples of the Holy Ghost, as children of the day, as candidates for
an eternal crown, as watchful virgins, that have their lamps always
burning in expectation of the bridegroom. But can he be thought to
have this joy in God, this care of eternity, this watchful spirit, who
has not zeal enough to rise to his prayers?


7. If I was to desire you not to study the gratification of your
_palate_, in the niceties of meats and drinks, I would not insist
upon the crime of wasting your money in such a way, tho’ it be a great
one; but I would desire you to renounce such a way of life, because it
supports you in such a state of sensuality and indulgence, as renders
you incapable of relishing the most essential doctrines of religion.

For the same reason, I don’t insist much upon the crime of wasting
your time in sleep, tho’ it be a great one; but I desire you to
renounce this indulgence, because it gives a softness and idleness to
your soul, and is so contrary to that _lively_, _zealous_, _watchful_,
_self-denying_ spirit, which was not only the Spirit of Christ and his
apostles, and the spirit of all the saints and martyrs which have ever
been among men, but must be the spirit of those who would not sink in
the common corruption of the world.

*Here therefore we must fix our charge against this practice; we must
blame it not as having this or that particular evil, but as a _general
habit_, that extends itself thro’ our whole spirit, and supports a
state of mind that is wholly wrong.

It is contrary to piety; not as accidental slips and mistakes in life
are contrary to it, but in such a manner, as an ill habit of body is
contrary to health.

On the other hand, if you was to rise early every morning, as an
instance of self-denial, as a method of renouncing indulgence, as
a means of redeeming your time, and fitting your spirit for prayer,
you would find mighty advantages from it. This method, tho’ it seems
such a small circumstance, would in all probability, be a means of
great piety. It would keep it constantly in your head, that softness
and idleness were to be avoided; that self-denial was a part of
Christianity. It would teach you to exercise power over yourself, and
make you able to renounce other pleasures and tempers that war against
the soul.

But above all, what is so planted and watered, will certainly have an
increase from God. You will then speak from your heart, your soul will
be awake, your prayers will refresh you like meat and drink, you will
feel what you say, and begin to know what saints and holy men have
meant by fervour in devotion.


8. Hoping therefore that you are now convinced of the necessity of
rising early to your prayers, I shall proceed to lay before you a
method of daily prayer.

I don’t take upon me to prescribe to you the use of any _particular
forms_ of prayer, but you will here find some helps, how to furnish
yourself with such as may be useful. And if your heart is ready to
pray in its own language, I press no necessity of borrowed forms.

For tho’ I think a form of prayer very _necessary_ to _public_ worship,
yet if any one can find a better way of raising his heart unto God in
private, I have nothing to object against it; my design being only to
assist and direct such as stand in need of this assistance.

It seems right for such an one to begin with a _form_ of prayer; and
if, in the midst of it he finds his heart ready to break forth into
other words, he may leave his _form_, and follow those fervours of his
heart, till it again want the assistance of his usual petitions.

*This seems to be the _true liberty_ of _private_ devotion: it may
be under the direction of some _form_; yet not so tied down to it,
but that it may be free to take such new expressions as its present
fervours furnish it with, which sometimes carry the soul more
powerfully to God, than any expressions that were ever used before.


9. Most people are changeable in regard to devotion. Sometimes our
hearts have such _strong_ apprehensions of the divine presence, and
are so full of compunction, that we cannot speak in any language but
that of _tears_.

Sometimes the light of God’s countenance shines so bright, we see so
far into the invisible world, we are so affected with the wonders of
the goodness of God, that our hearts worship in a language higher than
that of words, and we feel transports of devotion, which only can be
felt.

On the other hand, sometimes we are so sunk into our bodies, so _dull_
and _unaffected_ with that which concerns our souls, that we cannot
keep pace with our _forms_ of confession, or feel half of that in
our hearts, which we have in our mouths; we thank and praise God with
forms of words, but our hearts have little or no share in them.

We may provide against this _inconstancy_ of our hearts, by having at
hand such _forms_ of prayer, as may best suit us when our hearts are
in their _best_ state, and also be most likely to stir them up, when
they are _sunk_ into _dulness_.


10. The first thing you are to do, when you are upon your knees, is,
with a short _silence_, let your soul place itself in the presence
of God; use this, or some other method, to separate yourself from all
common thoughts, and make your heart as sensible as you can of the
divine presence.

Now, if this recollection of spirit is necessary, as who can say it is
not? How poorly must they perform their devotions, who are always in a
_hurry_; who begin them in haste, and hardly allow themselves time to
repeat their very _form_, with attention? Theirs is properly _saying_
prayers, instead of _praying_.

If you was to use yourself, as far as you can, to pray always in the
same place; if you was to reserve that place for devotion, and not
allow yourself to do any thing common in it; if you was never to be
there yourself, but in times of devotion; if any _little room_, or, if
that cannot be, if any particular _part_ of a room was thus used, this
kind of consecration of it, as a place _holy_ unto God, would much
assist your devotion.


11. It may be of use to you to observe this farther rule: when at any
time, either in reading the _scripture_, or any book of _piety_, you
meet with a passage, that more than ordinarily affects your mind, turn
it into the _form_ of a petition, and give it a place in your prayers.

At all the _stated hours_ of prayer, it may be of benefit to you, to
have something _fixed_, and something at _liberty_, in your devotions.

You may have some _fixed_ subject to be the chief matter of your
prayer at that particular time; and yet have liberty to add such
_other petitions_, as your condition may then require.

For instance; as the _morning_ is to you the beginning of a new
life; as God has then given you a new enjoyment of yourself, and a
fresh entrance into the world, it is highly proper that your _first_
devotions should be _praise_ and thanksgiving to God, as for a new
creation; and that you should devote _body_ and _soul_, all you _are_,
and all you _have_, to his service and glory.

Receive therefore every day, as a _resurrection_ from death, as a new
enjoyment of life; meet every _rising sun_ with such sentiments of
God’s goodness, as if you had seen it, and all things, _new created_
upon your account; and under the sense of so great a blessing, let
your heart praise and magnify so good and glorious a Creator.

Therefore _praise_ and _thanksgiving_, and _oblation_ of yourself to
God, may be the _fixed_ subject of your _first_ prayers in the morning;
and then take the liberty of adding such other devotions, as the
_accidental_ difference of your state, or the accidental difference of
your heart, shall direct.


12. *One of the greatest benefits of _private_ devotion, consists
in adapting our prayers to the difference of our _state_, and the
difference of our hearts.

*By the difference of our _state_, is meant the difference of our
_external state_, as of _sickness_, _health_, _pains_, _losses_,
_disappointments_, _troubles_, particular _mercies_ or _judgments_
from God, and all sorts of _kindnesses_, _injuries_, or _reproaches_
from other people.

Now, as these are great parts of our state of life, as they make
great difference in it, by continually changing; so our devotion
will be made doubly beneficial to us, when it watches to receive and
sanctify all these _changes_ of our state, and turns them all into
so many occasions of a more particular application to God, of such
thanksgivings, such resignation, such petitions, as our present state
more especially requires.

*And he that makes every change in his state, a reason of presenting
unto God some particular petitions suitable to that change, will soon
find, that he has taken an excellent means, not only of _praying_ with
fervour, but of _living_ as he prays.


13. *We are likewise always to adapt some part of our prayers to
the _difference_ of our _hearts_; by which is meant the different
tempers of our hearts, as of _love_, _joy_, _peace_, _tranquility_,
_dulness_ and _dryness_ of _spirit_, _anxiety_, _discontent_,
_motions_ of _envy_ and _ambition_, _dark_ and _disconsolate thoughts_,
_resentments_, _fretfulness_, and _peevish tempers_.

If we are in the delightful calm of sweet and easy passions, of _love_
and _joy_ in God, we should then offer the tribute of thanksgiving.

If, on the other hand, we feel ourselves laden with _heavy_ passions,
with _dulness_ of spirit, _anxiety_ and _uneasiness_, we must then
look up to God in acts of humility, confessing our unworthiness,
opening our troubles to him, beseeching him in his good time to lessen
our infirmities, and to deliver us from these passions.

By this wise application of our prayers, we shall get all the relief
from them that is possible; and the very _changeableness_ of our
hearts, will prove a means of exercising a greater variety of holy
tempers.

You will perceive by this, that persons ought to have a great share in
composing their own devotions.

As to that part of their prayers, which is always fixed, they may use
forms composed by other persons; but in that part which they are to
suit to the present _state_ of their _life_, and the _present_ state
of their _heart_, they must let the sense of their own condition help
them to such kinds of _petition_, _thanksgiving_, or _resignation_, as
their present state requires.


14. But it is amazing to see how ♦eagerly men employ their _parts_,
their _study_, _application_, and _exercise_; how all helps are called
to their assistance, when any thing is intended in worldly matters;
and how little they use their _parts_, _sagacity_, and abilities, to
raise and increase their devotion.

  ♦ ‘eargerly’ replaced with ‘eagerly’

*_Mandanus_ is a man of excellent parts, and clear apprehension.
He is well advanced in age, and has made a great figure in his
business. Every part of _trade_ that has fallen in his way, has had
some improvement from him; and he is always contriving to carry every
method of doing any thing well to its greatest height. _Mandanus_
aims at the greatest perfection in every thing. The _strength_ of his
mind, and his just way of thinking, make him intent upon removing all
imperfections.

He can tell you all the defects and errors in all the common methods,
whether of _trade_, _building_, or improving _land_ or _manufactures_.
The clearness and strength of his understanding, which he is
constantly improving, by continual exercise in these matters, by
often digesting his thoughts in writing, and trying every thing every
way, has rendered him a great master in most concerns in human life.

Thus has _Mandanus_ gone on, increasing his _knowledge_ and _judgment_,
as fast as his years came upon him.

The one thing which has not fallen under his improvement, nor received
any benefit from his judicious mind, is his _devotion_: this is just
in the same _poor_ state it was, when he was only six years of age;
and the _old man_ prays now in that little form of words which his
mother used to hear him repeat night and morning.

This _Mandanus_, that hardly ever saw the poorest _utensil_, or ever
took the meanest _trifle_ into his hand, without considering how
it might be _made_, or _used_ to better advantage, has gone all his
life-long praying in the same manner as when he was a child; without
ever considering how much _better_ or _oftner_ he might pray.

If _Mandanus_ sees a book of _devotion_, he passes it by, as he does
a _spelling-book_; because he remembers that he learned to _pray_ so
many years ago under his _mother_, when he learnt to _spell_.

Now, how poor and pitiable is the conduct of this man of sense, who
has so much judgment in every thing, but that which is the _whole
wisdom_ of man?

And how miserably do many people, more or less, imitate this conduct?


15. *_Classicus_ is a man of learning, and well versed in all the best
authors of antiquity. He has read them so much, that he has entered
into their spirit, and can imitate the manner of any of them. All
their thoughts are his thoughts, and he can express himself in their
language. He is so great a friend to this improvement of the mind,
that if he lights on a young scholar, he never fails to advise him
concerning his studies.

_Classicus_ tells his young man, he must not think he has done
enough, when he has only learnt _languages_; but that he must be daily
conversant with the best authors, read them again and again, catch
their spirit by living with them; and that there is no other way
of becoming like them, or of making himself a man of _taste_ and
_judgment_.

How wise might _Classicus_ have been, if he had but thought as
_justly_ of _devotion_, as he does of _learning_?

He never, indeed, says any thing _shocking_ or _offensive_ about
_devotion_, because he never _thinks_ or _talks_ about it. It suffers
nothing from him, but neglect and disregard.

The two testaments would not have had so much as a place amongst his
books, but that they are both to be had in _Greek_.


16. _Classicus_ thinks, he sufficiently shews his regard for the holy
scripture, when he tells you, that he has no other books of piety
besides them.

It is very well, _Classicus_, that you prefer the bible to all other
books of piety; he has no judgment, that is not thus far of your
opinion.

But if you will have no other book of piety besides the _bible_,
because it is the best, how comes it, _Classicus_, that you don’t
content yourself with _one_ of the _best_ books among the _Greeks_ and
_Romans_? How comes it that you are so eager after _all_ of them? How
comes it that you think the knowledge of one is a necessary help to
the knowledge of the other? How comes it that you are so earnest, so
laborious, so expensive of your time and money, to restore _broken
periods_, and _scraps_ of the ancients?

How comes it that you tell your _young scholar_, he must not content
himself with barely understanding his authors, but must be continually
reading them _all_, as the only means of entering into their spirit,
and forming his own judgment according to them?

Why then must the bible lie alone in your study? Is not the spirit of
the saints, the piety of the holy followers of Jesus Christ, as good
and necessary a means of entering into the spirit and _taste_ of the
gospel, as the reading of the ancients is of entering into the spirit
of antiquity?

Is your young poet to search after _every line_, that may give new
wings to his fancy, or direct his imagination? And is it not as
reasonable for him, who desires to improve in the divine life, to
search after every strain of devotion, that may move, kindle, and
inflame the holy ardour of his soul?

Do you advise your _orator_ to translate the best orations, to commit
much of them to memory, to be frequently exercising his talent in this
manner, that habits of thinking and speaking justly may be formed in
his mind? And is there not the same advantage to be made by books of
devotion? Should not a man use them in the same way, that habits of
devotion, and aspiring to God in holy thoughts, may be well formed in
his soul?

Now the reason why _Classicus_ does not _think_ and judge thus
reasonably of devotion, is owing to his never thinking of it in any
other manner, than as the repeating a _form_ of _words_. It never in
his life entered into his head, to think of devotion as a _state of
the heart_, as a _temper_ that is to _grow_ and _increase_ like our
_reason_ and _judgment_, and to be formed in us by such a diligent use
of proper means, as are necessary to form any other wise habit of mind.

And it is for want of this, that he has been content all his life with
the _bare letter_ of prayer, and eagerly bent upon entering into the
_spirit_ of _Heathen poets_ and _orators_.

And it is much to be lamented, that numbers of _scholars_ are
_more_ or _less_ chargeable with this excessive folly; so negligent
of improving their devotion, and so desirous of other poor
accomplishments, as if they thought it a nobler talent, to be able
to write an _epigram_ in the _turn_ of _Martial_, than to _live_, and
_think_, and _pray_ to God, in the spirit of St. _Austin_.

And yet if you was to ask _Mandanus_ and _Classicus_, or any man of
business or learning, whether _piety_ is not the highest perfection
of man, or _devotion_ the greatest attainment in the world, they must
both be forced to answer in the affirmative, or else give up the truth
of the gospel.


17. Devotion is nothing else but _right apprehensions_ and _right
affections_ towards God.

All practices therefore that improve our true apprehensions of
God, all ways of life that tend to _nourish_, _raise_, and fix our
affections upon him, are to be reckoned so many helps and means of
devotion.

As _prayer_ is the proper fuel of this holy flame, so we must use all
our care to give prayer its full power; as by _alms_, _self-denial_,
frequent _retirements_, and _holy readings_, composing _forms_
for ourselves, or using the _best_ we can get, adding _length_ of
time, and observing _hours_ of prayer; _changing_, _improving_, and
_suiting_ our devotions to the condition of our lives, and the state
of our hearts.

Those who have most leisure, seem more especially called to a more
eminent observance of this; and they, who by the necessity of their
state, have but little time to employ thus, must make the best use of
that little they have.


18. There is one thing more I would advise; and that is, to begin your
prayers with a _psalm_.

I don’t mean, that you should _read_ over a psalm, but that you should
_chant_ or _sing_ one.

The difference between singing and reading a psalm, will be easily
understood, if you consider the difference between reading and singing
a _common song_ that you like. Whilst you only read it, you only
_like_ it; but as soon as you _sing_ it, you feel the _same spirit_
within you, that there seems to be in the words.

You will perhaps say, you cannot sing.

This objection might be of weight, if you was desired to sing to
entertain other people; but it is not to be admitted in the present
case, where you are only advised to sing the praises of God in private.

Do but so live, that your heart may truly rejoice in God, that it may
feel itself affected with the praises of God; and then you will find,
that this state of your heart will neither want a voice, nor ear, to
find a tune for a psalm.


19. *The union of soul and body, is not a mixture of their substances,
as we see bodies united and mixed together, but consists solely in the
mutual power that they have of acting upon one another.

*If two persons were in such a state of dependance upon one another,
that neither of them could act, or move, or think, or feel, or suffer,
or desire any thing, without putting the other into the same condition,
one might properly say, that they were in a state of strict union,
altho’ their substances were not united together.

*Now this is the union of the soul and body; the substance of the one
cannot be mixed or united with the other; but they are held together
in such a state of union, that all the actions and sufferings of the
one, are at the same time the actions and sufferings of the other. The
soul has no thought or passion, but the body is concerned in it; the
body has no action or motion, but what, in some degree, affects the
soul.

Now, as it is the sole will of God, that is the _cause_ of all the
powers and effects which you see in the world; as the _sun_ gives
light and heat, not because it has any natural power of so doing;
as it is fixed in a certain place, and other bodies moving about it;
not because it is in the nature of the sun to stand still, and in
the nature of other bodies to move about it; but merely because it is
the _will_ of God, that they should be in such a state: as the _eye_
is the organ, or instrument of seeing, not because the _skins_, and
_coats_, and _humours_ of the eye, have a natural power of giving
sight: as the ears are the organs, or instruments of hearing, not
because the _make_ of the ear has any natural power over sounds, but
merely because it is the will of God, that _seeing_ and _hearing_
should be thus received; so it is the sole will of God, that is the
cause of this union betwixt the soul and the body.


20. If you rightly apprehend this short account of the union of the
soul and body, you will see a great deal into the reason of all the
outward parts of religion.

This union of our souls and bodies, is the reason both why we have
so little and so much power over ourselves. It is owing to this, that
we have so little power over our souls: for as we cannot prevent the
effects of external objects upon our bodies; as we cannot command
outward causes; so we cannot always command the inward state of our
minds; because, as outward objects act upon our bodies without our
leave, so our bodies act upon our minds by the laws of the union vital.
And thus you see it is owing to this union, that we have so _little_
power over ourselves.

On the other hand, it is owing to this union, that we have so _much_
power over ourselves. For as our souls in a great measure depend
upon our bodies; and as we have great power over these; as we can
mortify our bodies, and remove ourselves from objects that inflame
our passions; so we have a great power over the _inward_ state of our
souls. Again, as the outward acts of reading, praying, singing, and
the like, have an effect upon the soul; so by being masters of these
outward, bodily actions, we have great power over the inward state of
the heart.

And thus it is owing to this union, that we have so much power over
ourselves.

Now from this you may see the benefit of singing psalms, and of all
the outward acts of religion; for if the body has so much power over
the soul, all such bodily actions as affect the soul, are of great
weight in religion, because they are proper to support that _spirit_,
which is the true worship of God.


21. This doctrine may be easily carried too far; for by calling in too
many outward means of worship, it may degenerate into superstition.
But some have fallen into the contrary extreme. Because religion is
justly placed in the heart, they renounce vocal prayer, and other
outward acts of worship, and resolve all religion into a _quietism_,
or _mystic_ intercourse with God in silence.

But since we are neither _all soul_, nor _all body_; seeing none of
our actions are either separately of the soul, or separately of the
body; if we would truly prostrate ourselves before God, we must use
our bodies to postures of lowliness. If we desire true fervours of
devotion, we must make prayer the frequent labour of our lips. If we
would feel inward joy and delight in God, we must practise all the
outward acts of it, and make our voices call upon our hearts.

Now therefore, you may plainly see the reason of _singing of psalms_;
it is because outward actions are necessary to support inward tempers.


22. I have been the longer upon this head, because of its importance
to true religion. For there is no state of mind so excellent, as
that of _thankfulness_ to God; and consequently, nothing is of more
importance than that which exercises and improves this habit of mind.

*An _uneasy_, _complaining_ spirit, which is sometimes the spirit of
those that seem careful of religion, is yet of all tempers the most
contrary to religion; for it disowns that God which it pretends to
adore. For he sufficiently disowns God, who does not adore him as a
being of infinite goodness.

*If a man does not believe that all the world is as God’s family,
where nothing happens by chance, but all is guided and directed by
the care and providence of a being that is all love and goodness to
all his creatures; if a man does not believe this from his heart, he
cannot be said to believe in God. And yet he that has this faith, has
faith enough to be always thankful to God. For he that believes every
thing happens to him for the _best_, cannot complain for the want of
something that is _better_.

If therefore you live in murmurings and complaints, it is not because
you are a weak, infirm creature, but it is because you want the first
principle of religion, a right belief in God. For as thankfulness
is an express acknowledgement of the goodness of God towards you; so
repinings and complaints are as plain accusations of God’s want of
goodness towards you.

*On the other hand, would you know who is the greatest saint in the
world? It is not he who _prays_ most, or _fasts_ most; it is not he
who gives most _alms_, or is most eminent for temperance, chastity,
or justice; but it is he who is _always thankful_ to God, who _wills_
every thing that God _willeth_, who receives every thing as an
instance of God’s goodness, and has a heart always ready to praise God
for it.

All prayer and devotion, fastings and repentance, meditation and
retirement, all sacraments and ordinances, are but so many means to
render the soul thus conformable to the will of God, and to fill it
with thankfulness and praise for every thing that comes from God. This
is the perfection of all virtues; and all virtues that do not tend to
it, or proceed from it, are but so many false ornaments of a soul not
converted unto God.


23. If any one would tell you the shortest, surest way to all
happiness, he must tell you to _thank and praise God for every thing
that happens to you_. For whatever seeming calamity happens, if you
thank and praise God for it, you turn it into a blessing. Could you
therefore work miracles, you could not do more for yourself, than by
this _thankful spirit_; for it _heals_ with a word speaking, and turns
all that it touches into happiness.

If therefore you would be so true to your interest, as to propose
this _thankfulness_ as the end of all your religion; if you would but
settle it in your mind, that this was the state that you was to aim at
by all your devotions, you would then have something plain and visible
to walk by, and might judge of your improvement in piety. For so far
as you renounce all motions of your own will, and seek for no other
happiness, but in the thankful reception of every thing that happens
to you, so far you have advanced in piety.

And altho’ this be the highest temper that you can aim at; yet it is
not tied to any _time_, or _place_, or _great_ occasion, but is always
in your power, and may be the exercise of every day. For the _common
events_ of every day are sufficient to discover and exercise this
temper, and may plainly shew you how far you are governed in all your
actions by this thankful spirit.


24. It may perhaps be objected, that tho’ the benefit of this practice
is apparent; yet it seems not so fit for _private_ devotions, since it
can hardly be performed without making our devotions public.

It is answered, _first_, that great numbers of people have it in their
power to be as private as they please; such persons therefore are
excluded from this excuse.

_Secondly_, Numbers of people are by the _necessity_ of their state,
as _servants_, _apprentices_, _prisoners_, and _families_ in small
houses, forced to be continually in the presence of somebody or other.

Now are such persons to neglect their prayers, because they cannot
pray without being seen? Are they not rather obliged to be more exact
in them, that others may not be witnesses of their neglect, and so
corrupted by their example?

And what is here said of devotion, may surely be said of _singing a
psalm_.

The rule is this: Don’t pray that you _may be seen_ of men; but if
your _confinement_ obliges you to be always in the sight of others,
be more afraid of being seen to _neglect_, than of being seen to have
_recourse_ to prayer.

_Thirdly_, Either people can use such privacy in this practice, as
to have no hearers, or they cannot. If they can, then this objection
vanishes as to them; and if they cannot, they should consider
their _confinement_, and the _necessities_ of their state, as the
confinement of a _prison_; and then have an excellent _pattern_ to
follow: they may imitate St. _Paul_ and _Silas_, who _sang praises to
God in prison_, tho’ we are expresly told, that the _prisoners heard
them_. They did not refrain this kind of devotion, for fear of being
heard by others. If therefore any one is in the same necessity, either
in _prison_ or out of prison, what can he do better, than to follow
this example?

_Fourthly_, The _privacy_ of our prayers is not _destroyed_ by our
_having_, but by our _seeking_ witnesses of them.

If therefore nobody hears you but those you cannot separate yourself
from, you are as much in _secret_, and _your Father who seeth in
secret_, will as truly reward your secrecy, as if you was seen by him
alone.




                             CHAP. XIII.

    _Recommending devotions at nine o’clock in the morning, called
      in scripture, the |third hour| of the day. The subject of
      these prayers may be |humility|._


I AM now come to another hour of prayer, which in scripture is called
the _third hour_ of the day; but according to our way of numbering the
hours, it is called the ninth hour of the morning.

But if the practice of the saints in all ages, if the customs of the
pious _Jews_ and primitive Christians be of any force with us, we have
authority enough to persuade us, to make this hour a constant season
of devotion.

I have in the last chapter laid before you the excellency of _praise_
and _thanksgiving_, and recommended that as the subject of your first
devotions in the morning.

And because humility is the _life_ and _soul_ of piety, the _ground_
and _security_ of all holy affections, this may be the subject of your
devotions at this _hour_.

This virtue is so essential to the _right state_ of our souls, that
there is no pretending to a _reasonable_ or _pious_ life without it.
We may as well think to see without _eyes_, or live without _breath_,
as to live in the spirit of religion, without the spirit of _humility_.

But altho’ it is the _soul_ and _essence_ of all religious duties;
yet is it, generally speaking, the least _understood_, the least
_regarded_, the least _intended_, the least _desired_, and _sought_
after, of all other virtues.

*No people have more occasion to be afraid of the approaches of pride,
than those who have made _some advances_ in a pious life. For pride
can grow as well upon our _virtues_ as our _vices_, and steal upon us
on all occasions.

Every good thought we have, every good action we do, lays us open to
pride.

*It is not only the beauty of our persons, the gifts of fortune,
our natural talents, and the distinctions of life; but even our
_devotions_ and _alms_, our _fastings_ and _humiliations_, expose
us to fresh temptations of this evil spirit.

And it is for this reason, I so earnestly advise every _devout_ person
to the exercise of humility, that he may not fall a sacrifice to
his own progress in those virtues, which are to save mankind from
destruction.

As all virtue is founded in truth; so humility is a _true_ sense of
our _weakness_, _misery_, and _sin_.

*The _weakness_ of our state appears from our inability to do any
thing of ourselves. In our natural state we are entirely without _any
power_; we are indeed active beings, but can only act by a power, that
is every _moment_ lent us from God.

We have no more power of our own to move a _hand_, or stir a _foot_,
than to move the _sun_, or stop the _clouds_.

*When we _speak_ a word, we feel no more power in ourselves to do it,
than we feel ourselves able to raise the _dead_. For we act no more
within our _own power_, or by our own strength, when we _speak_ a word,
or make a _sound_, than the _apostles_ acted within their own power,
or by their own strength, when a _word_ from their mouth cast out
_devils_, and cured _diseases_.

As it was solely the power of God that enabled them to speak to _such
purposes_, so it is solely the power of God that enables us to speak
_at all_.

This is the dependent, helpless poverty of our state, which is a great
reason for humility. For since we neither are, nor can do any thing of
ourselves; to be proud of any thing that we are, or of any thing that
we can do, and to ascribe glory to ourselves for these things, has the
guilt both of _stealing_ and _lying_. It has the guilt of stealing,
as it gives to ourselves those things which only belong to God. It
has the guilt of lying, as it is denying the truth of our state, and
pretending to be something that we are not.


♦3. The misery of our condition appears in this, that we use these
_borrowed_ powers of our nature, to the _torment_ and _vexation_ of
ourselves, and our fellow creatures.

  ♦ Numbers 1. and 2. omitted in text.

*God has entrusted us with reason, and we use it to the disorder and
corruption of our nature. We reason ourselves into all kinds of folly
and misery, and make our lives the sport of foolish and extravagant
passions: seeking after imaginary happiness in all kinds, creating to
ourselves a thousand wants, amusing our hearts with false hopes and
fears, using the world worse than irrational animals, envying, vexing,
and tormenting one another with restless passions, and unreasonable
contentions.

Let any man but look back upon his own life, and see what use he has
made of his reason. What foolish _passions_, what vain _thoughts_,
what needless _labours_, what extravagant _projects_, have taken up
the greatest part of his life: how foolish he has been in his _words_
and _conversation_; how seldom he has been able to _please_ himself,
and how often he has _displeased_ others; how often he has changed his
counsels, hated what he loved, and loved what he hated; how often he
has been enraged and transported at _trifles_, pleased and displeased
with the very _same things_, and constantly changing from one vanity
to another. Let a man but take this view of his own life, and he will
see cause enough to confess, _that pride was not made for man_.

*Let him but consider, that if the world knew all that of him, which
he knows of himself; if they saw what _vanity_ and _passions_ govern
his inside, and what secret _tempers_ sully and corrupt his best
actions, he would have no more pretence to be honoured and admired for
his _goodness_ and _wisdom_, than a _rotten_ and _distempered_ body to
be loved and admired for its _health_ and _comeliness_.


4. This is so true, and so known to the hearts of almost all people,
that nothing would appear more dreadful to them, than to have their
hearts thus fully discovered to the eyes of all beholders.

And perhaps there are very few people in the world, who would not
rather chuse to die, than to have all their _secret_ follies, the
vanity of their minds, the frequency of their _vain_ and disorderly
_passions_, their _uneasiness_, _hatreds_, _envies_, and _vexations_,
made known unto the world.

And shall pride be entertained in a heart thus _conscious_ of its own
_miserable behaviour_?

*Shall a creature in such a condition, that he could not support
himself under the shame of being known to the world in his _real
state_; shall such a creature, because his shame is only known to
God, to holy angels, and his own conscience; shall he, in the sight
of God and holy angels, dare to be _vain_ and _proud_ of himself?


5. If to this we add the _shame_ and _guilt_ of sin, we shall find
still a greater reason for humility.

No creature that had lived in innocence, would have thereby got any
pretence for pride; because, as a creature, all that it _is_, or _has_,
or _does_, is from God, and therefore the honour of all that belongs
to it is only due to God.

But if a creature that is a _sinner_, deserving nothing but pains and
punishments for the _shameful_ abuse of his powers; if such a creature
pretends to glory for any thing that he is, or does, he can only be
said to glory in his shame.

Now, how _monstrous_ and _shameful_ the nature of sin is, is
sufficiently apparent from that _great atonement_ that is necessary
to cleanse us from the guilt of it.

Nothing less has been required to take away the guilt of our sins,
than the sufferings and death of the Son of God. Had he not taken our
nature upon him, our nature had been for ever separated from God, and
incapable of ever appearing before him.

And is there any room for _pride_, whilst we are partakers of _such a
nature_ as this?

*Have our sins rendered us so abominable ♦to him that made us, that he
could not so much as _receive_ our prayers, or _admit_ our repentance,
till the Son of God made himself man, and became a suffering advocate
for our whole race; and can we, in _this state_, pretend to high
thoughts of ourselves? Shall we presume to take delight in our _own
worth_, who are not worthy so much as to _ask pardon_ for our sins,
without the mediation and intercession of the Son of God?

  ♦ duplicate word removed ‘to’

Thus deep is the foundation of humility laid, in these deplorable
circumstances of our condition; which shew, that it is as great an
offence against truth for a man, to lay claim to any degrees of glory,
as to pretend to the honour of creating himself. If man will boast
of any thing as his own, he must boast of his _misery_ and _sin_; for
there is nothing else but this, that is his own property.


6. Turn your eyes towards heaven, and fancy that you saw what is doing
there; that you saw _cherubim_ and _seraphim_, and all the glorious
_inhabitants_ of that place, all united in one work; not seeking
_glory_ from one another, not labouring their own _advancement_, not
contemplating their own _perfections_, not singing their own _praises_,
not valuing _themselves_, and despising _others_, but all employed
in one and the same work, all happy in one and the same joy; _casting
down their crowns before the throne of God, giving glory, and honour,
and power to him alone_. Rev. iv. 10, 11.

Then turn your eyes to the _fallen world_, and consider how
unreasonable and odious it must be, for such poor _worms_, such
miserable _sinners_, to take delight in their own _fancied glories_,
whilst the highest and most glorious sons of heaven seek for no other
greatness and honour, but that of ascribing all honour and greatness,
and glory to God alone?

*Pride is only the disorder of the _fallen world_, it has no place
amongst other beings; it can only subsist where _ignorance_ and
_sensuality_, _lies_ and _falshood_, _lusts_ and _impurity_ reign.

Let a man, when he is most delighted with his own _figure_,
contemplate our blessed Lord _stretched_ out, and _nailed_ upon a
_cross_: and then let him consider how absurd it must be, for a heart
full of _pride_ and _vanity_, to pray to God, through the sufferings
of a _crucified_ Saviour?

These are the reflections you are often to meditate upon, that you may
walk before God in such a spirit of humility, as becomes the _meak_,
_miserable_, and _sinful_ state of all that are descended from fallen
_Adam_.


7. But you must not content yourself with this, as if you was
therefore humble, because you acknowledge the reasonableness of
humility, and declare against pride.

You would not imagine yourself to be devout, because in your judgment
you approved of prayers, and often declared your mind in favour of
devotion. Yet how many people imagine themselves humble enough, for
no other reason, but because they often commend humility, and make
vehement declarations against pride?

_Cæcus_ is a rich man, of good birth, and very fine parts; is very
full of every thing that he says or does, and never imagines it
possible for such a judgment as his to be mistaken. He can bear no
contradiction, and discovers the weakness of your understanding, as
soon as ever you oppose him. _Cæcus_ would have been very religious,
but that he always thought he was so.

There is nothing so odious to _Cæcus_ as a proud man; and the
misfortune is, that in this he is so very quicksighted, that he
discovers in almost everybody, some _strokes_ of vanity.

On the other hand, he is exceeding fond of humble and modest persons.
Humility, says he, is so amiable a quality, that it forces our esteem
wherever we meet with it. There is no possibility of despising the
_meanest_ person that has it, or of esteeming the _greatest_ man that
wants it.

_Cæcus_ no more suspects himself to be proud, than he suspects his
want of sense. And the reason of it is, because he always finds
himself so in love with humility, and so enraged at pride.

It is very true, _Cæcus_, you speak _sincerely_ when you say you
love humility, and abhor pride. You are no _hypocrite_, you speak the
_true_ sentiments of your mind; but then take this along with you, you
only love humility, and hate pride, in _other people_. You never once
in your life thought of any other humility, or of any other pride,
than that which you have seen in _other people_.


8. The case of _Cæcus_ is a common case: many people live in all the
instances of pride, and yet never suspect themselves, because they
dislike proud people, and are pleased with humility and modesty,
wherever they find them.

All their speeches in favour of humility, and all their railings
against pride, are looked upon as effects of their own humble spirit.

Whereas in truth, these are so far from being proofs of humility, that
they are great arguments of the want of it.

*For the fuller of pride any one is himself, the more impatient will
he be at the smallest instances of it in other people. And the less
humility any one has in his own mind, the more will he demand it in
other people.

*You must therefore act by a quite contrary measure, and reckon
yourself only so far humble, as you impose _every instance_ of
humility upon yourself, and _never_ call for it in other people. So
far an enemy to pride, as you never _spare_ it in yourself, nor ever
_censure_ it in other persons.

The loving humility is of no benefit to you, but so far as all your
own thoughts, words, and actions are governed by it. And the hating of
pride does you no good, but so far as you hate to harbour any degree
of it in your own heart.

Now in order to set out in the practice of humility, you must take it
for granted, that you are _proud_, that you have been so all your life.

You should believe also, that it is your _greatest_ weakness, that
your heart is most _subject_ to it; that it is so _constantly_
stealing upon you, you have reason to suspect its approaches in all
your actions.

For there is no one vice that is more deeply rooted in our nature, or
that receives such constant nourishment from almost every thing that
we think or do; there being hardly any thing in the world that we
_want_ or _use_, or any _action_ or _duty_ of life, but pride finds
some means or other to take hold of it. So that at what time soever we
begin to offer ourselves to God, we can hardly be surer of any thing,
than that we have a great deal of pride to repent of.

If therefore you find it disagreeable to entertain this opinion of
yourself, and that you cannot put yourself amongst those that want to
be cured of pride, you may be as sure, as if an _angel_ from heaven
had told you, that you have not only much, but all your humility to
seek.

*For you can have no greater sign of a confirmed pride, than when you
think that you are humble enough. He that thinks he loves God enough,
shews himself to be an entire stranger to that holy passion; so he
that thinks he has humility enough, shews that he is not so much as
a beginner in the practice of true humility.


9. Every person, therefore, when he first applies himself to the
exercise of humility, must consider himself as a _learner_, who is, to
learn something that is contrary to all his former tempers and habits
of mind.

He has not only much to learn; but he has also a great deal to
_unlearn_: he is to forget, and lay aside his own spirit, which has
been a long while fixing and forming itself; he must forget and depart
from abundance of passions and opinions, which the _fashion_, and
_vogue_, and spirit of the world, have made natural to him.

He must lay aside the opinions and passions which he has received from
the world; because the vogue and fashion of the world, by which we
have been carried away, as in a _torrent_, before we could pass right
judgments of the value of things, is utterly contrary to _humility_.

The devil is called, in scripture, the prince of this world; because
he has great power in it, because many of its rules and principles are
invented by this evil spirit, to separate us from God, and prevent our
return to happiness.

Now, according to the _spirit_ of this world, whose corrupt air we
have all breathed, there are many things that pass for _great_, and
_honourable_, and _desirable_, which yet are so far from being so,
that the _true greatness_ and honour of our nature consists in the not
desiring them.

To abound in wealth, to have fine houses and rich cloaths, to be
attended with splendour and equipage, to be beautiful in our persons,
to have titles of dignity, to be above our fellow creatures, to
command the bows and obeisance of other people, to be looked on with
admiration, to subdue all that oppose us, to set out ourselves in as
much splendour as we can, to live highly and magnificently, to eat
and drink, and delight ourselves in the most costly manner, these are
the _great_, the _honourable_, the _desirable_ things, to which the
_spirit_ of the world turns the eyes of all people. And many a man is
afraid of not engaging in the pursuit of them, lest the world should
take him for a _fool_.


10. The history of the gospel, is chiefly the history of Christ’s
_conquest_ over this _spirit_ of the world. And the number of true
Christians, is only the number of those who, following the _Spirit_
of Christ, have lived _contrary_ to the spirit of the world.

_If any man hath not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his._ Again,
_Whosoever is born of God, overcometh the world. Set your affections
on things above, and not on things of the earth; for ye are dead,
and your life is hid with Christ in God._ This is the language of the
whole New Testament. This is the _mark_ of Christianity; you are to be
_dead_, that is, dead to the _spirit_ and _temper_ of the world, and
live a new life in the _Spirit_ of Jesus Christ.

But notwithstanding the plainness of these doctrines, most Christians
live and die slaves to the _customs_ and _tempers_ of the world.

How many people swell with _pride_ and _vanity_, for such things
as they would not value at all, but that they are admired in the
world?

Would a man take _ten years_ more drudgery in business, to add _two
horses_ more to his coach, but that he knows that the world admires a
_coach_ and _six_? How fearful are many people of having their houses
poorly furnished, or themselves meanly cloathed, for this only reason,
lest the world should place them amongst _low_ and _mean_ people?

Many a man would drop a _resentment_, and forgive an _affront_, but
that he is afraid, if he should, the world would not forgive him.

How many would practise Christian _temperance_ and sobriety, were it
not for the censure which the world passes upon such a life?

Others have frequent intentions of living up to the _rules_ of
Christian perfection; but they are frighted, by considering what the
world would say of them?


11. Thus they dare not attempt to be _eminent_ in the sight of God,
for fear of being little in the eyes of the world.

From this quarter arises the greatest difficulty of humility, because
it cannot subsist in any mind, but so far as it is dead to the world.

You can make no _stand_ against the assaults of pride, humility can
have no place in your soul, ’till you stop the power of the world over
you, and resolve against a _blind obedience_ to its laws.

For indeed, as great as the power of the world is, it is all built
upon a _blind obedience_.

Ask who you will, _learned_ or _unlearned_, every one seems to know
and confess, that the general temper and spirit of the world, is
nothing else but _humour_, _folly_, and _extravagance_.

Who will not own, that the wisdom of _philosophy_, the piety of
_religion_, was always confined to a small number? And is not this
expresly owning, that the _common spirit_ and _temper_ of the world,
is neither according to the wisdom of _philosophy_, nor the piety of
_religion_?

Therefore you should not think it a _hard saying_, that in order to be
_humble_, you must withdraw your obedience from that _vulgar spirit_
which gives laws to _fops_ and _coquets_, and form your judgments
according to the wisdom of _philosophy_, and the piety of _religion_.


12. *Again, to lessen your regard to the opinion of the world, think
how soon the world will disregard you, and have no more thought or
concern about you, than about the _poorest animal_ that died in a
_ditch_.

*Your friends, if they can, may bury you with some distinction, and
set up a monument to let posterity see that your _dust_ lies under
such a _stone_; and when that is done, all is done. Your place is
filled up by another; the world is just in the same state it was; you
are blotted out of its sight, and as much forgotten by the world as if
you had never belonged to it.

*Think upon the _rich_, the _great_, and the _learned_ persons, that
have made great figures, and been high in the esteem of the world;
many of them died in your time, and yet they are sunk, and lost, and
gone, and as much disregarded by the world, as if they had been only
so many _bubbles of water_.

Think again, how many poor souls see heaven lost, and lie now
expecting a miserable eternity, for their homage to a world, that
thinks itself every whit as well without them, and is just as merry
as it was when they were in it.

Is it therefore worth your while to lose the _smallest degree_ of
virtue, for the sake of pleasing so _bad a master_, and so _false a
friend_ as the world is?

Is it worth your while to bow the knee to such an _idol_ as this, that
so soon will have neither _eyes_, nor _ears_, nor a _heart_ to regard
you, instead of serving that great, and holy, and mighty God, that
will make all his servants partakers of his own eternity?

Will you let the fear of a false world, that has no love for you, keep
you from the fear of that God, who has only created you, that he may
love and bless you to all eternity?


13. Consider our blessed Lord’s words, _They are not of this world,
as I am not of this world_. This is the state of Christianity, with
regard to this world. If you are not thus out of, and contrary to the
world, you want the distinguishing mark of Christianity; you don’t
belong to Christ, but by being out of the world as he was out of it.

We may deceive ourselves, if we please, with softening comments
upon these words; but they are and will be understood in their first
simplicity and plainness, by every one that reads them in the same
spirit that our blessed Lord spoke them. And to understand them in any
lower meaning, is to let carnal wisdom explain away that doctrine, by
which itself was to be destroyed.

Christianity has placed us out of, and above the world; and we fall
from our calling, as soon as we fall into the tempers of the world.

Now as it was the spirit of the world that nailed our blessed Lord to
the cross; so every man that has the Spirit of Christ, that opposes
the world as he did, will certainly be crucified by the world some way
or other.

For Christianity still lives in the same world that Christ did; and
these two will be utter enemies, till the kingdom of darkness is
entirely at an end.

Had you lived with our Saviour as his true disciple, you had then been
hated as he was; and if you now live in his Spirit, the world will be
the same enemy to you now, that it was to him then.


14. _If ye were of the world_, saith our blessed Lord, _the world
would love its own; but because ye are not of the world, but I have
chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you_. John
xv. 19.

We are apt to lose the true meaning of these words, by considering
them only as an _historical description_ of something that was the
state of our Saviour and his disciples at that time. But this is
reading the scripture as a _dead letter_: for they as exactly describe
the state of true Christians at this, and all other times, to the end
of the world.

For as _true Christianity_ is nothing else but the Spirit of Christ;
so whether that Spirit appear in the person of Christ himself, or his
apostles, or followers in any age, it is the same thing; whoever hath
his Spirit, will be hated, despised, and condemned by the world, as he
was.

For the world will always love its own, and none but its own: this is
as certain and unchangeable, as the contrariety betwixt _light_ and
_darkness_.


15. You will perhaps say, that the world is now become Christian, at
least that part of it where we live; and therefore the world is not
now to be considered in that state of opposition to Christianity, as
when it was _Heathen_.

*It is granted, the world now professeth Christianity. But will any
one say, that this Christian world is of the Spirit of Christ? Are its
general tempers the tempers of Christ? Are the passions of sensuality,
self-love, pride, covetousness, ambition, and vain-glory, less
contrary to the spirit of the gospel, now they are among Christians,
than when they were among Heathens? Or, will you say, that the tempers
and passions of the Heathen world are lost and gone?


16. And indeed the world, by professing Christianity, is so far
from being a less dangerous enemy than it was before, that it has by
its favours destroyed more Christians, than ever it did by the most
violent persecution.

We must therefore be so far from considering the world as in a state
of less enmity and opposition to Christianity, than it was in the
first times of the gospel, that we must guard against it as a more
dangerous enemy now, than it was in those times.

It is a greater enemy, because it has greater power over Christians by
its favours, riches, honours, rewards, and protections, than it had by
the fire and fury of its persecutions.

It is a more dangerous enemy, by having lost its appearance of enmity.
Its outward profession of Christianity makes it no longer considered
as an enemy; and therefore the generality of people are easily
persuaded to resign themselves up to be governed and directed by it.

How many consciences are kept at quiet, upon no other foundation, but
because they sin under the authority of the Christian world?

How many directions of the gospel lye by unregarded? And how
unconcernedly do particular persons read them, for no other reason,
but because they seem unregarded by the Christian world?

How many compliances do people make to the Christian world, without
any hesitation, or remorse; which, if they had been required of them
only by Heathens, would have been refused, as contrary to the holiness
of Christianity?

Who could be content with seeing how contrary his life is to the
_gospel_, but because he sees that he lives as the Christian world
doth?


17. There is nothing therefore, that a Christian ought more constantly
to guard against, than the authority of the _Christian world_.

And all the passages of scripture, which represent the world as
contrary to Christianity, which require our separation from it, as
from a monster of iniquity, are to be taken in the _strict sense_,
in relation to the present world.

For the change that the world has undergone, has only altered its
methods, but not lessened its power of destroying religion.

Whilst _pride_, _sensuality_, _covetousness_, and _ambition_, had only
the authority of the _Heathen world_, Christians were thereby made
more intent upon the contrary virtues. But when pride, sensuality,
covetousness and ambition, have the authority of the Christian world,
then private Christians are in the utmost danger, not only of being
shamed out of the practice, but of losing the very notion of the piety
of the gospel.

There is therefore hardly any possibility of saving yourself from the
present world, but by considering it as the same _enemy_ to all true
holiness, as it is represented in the scriptures; and by assuring
yourself, that it is as dangerous to conform to its _tempers_ and
_passions_, now it is Christian, as when it was Heathen.

Need a man do more to make his soul unfit for the mercy of God, than
by being _greedy_ and _ambitious_ of honour? Yet how can you renounce
this temper, without renouncing the spirit and temper of the world, in
which you now live?

How can a man be made more incapable of the Spirit of Christ, than
by a _wrong value_ for money; and yet how can he be more wrong in his
value of it, than by following the authority of the Christian world?

*Nay, in every _order_ and _station_ of life, whether of _learning_
or _business_, either in church or state, you cannot act up to the
spirit of religion, without renouncing the most _general temper_
and _behaviour_ of those, who are of the same order and business as
yourself.

*And though _human prudence_ seems to talk mighty wisely about the
necessity of avoiding _particularities_, yet he that dares not be so
_weak_ as to be particular, will be obliged to avoid the most
substantial duties of Christian piety.

These reflections, will, I hope, help you to break through those
difficulties, and resist those temptations, which the authority and
fashion of the world hath raised against the practice of _Christian
humility_.




                              CHAP. XIV.

    _Shewing how the education which men generally receive, makes
      the doctrines of humility difficult to be practised. The
      spirit of a better education represented in the character
      of |Paternus|._


1. ANOTHER difficulty in the practice of humility, arises from our
education. We are corruptly educated, and then committed to take our
course in a corrupt world; so that it is no wonder, if examples of
great piety are so seldom seen.

Great part of the world are undone, by being born and bred in families
that have no religion.

But this is not the thing I now mean; the education that I here intend,
is such as children generally receive from virtuous _parents_, and
learned _tutors_ and governors.

*Had we continued perfect, as God created the first man, perhaps the
perfection of our nature had been a sufficient _self-instruction_ for
every one. But as _sickness_ and _diseases_ have created the necessity
of _medicines_ and _physicians_, so the disorder of our rational
nature has introduced the necessity of _education_ and _tutors_.

*And as the only end of the physician is, to restore nature to its
own state; so the only end of education is, to restore our rational
nature to its proper state. Education therefore is to be considered
as _reason_ borrowed at _second hand_, which is, as far as it can,
to supply the loss of _original_ perfection. And as physic may justly
be called the _art_ of restoring health, so education should be
considered in no other light, than as the art of recovering to man
the use of his reason.


2. Now as the instruction of every _art_ or _science_ is founded upon
the _wisdom_, _experience_, and _maxims_ of the several great men that
have laboured in it; so that _right use_ of our reason, which young
people should be called to by their education, is nothing but the
_best experience_, and _finest reasonings_ of men, that have devoted
themselves to the improvement of human nature.

All therefore that _great saints_ and _dying_ men, when the fullest
light and conviction, and after the highest improvement of their
reason, have said of the necessity of _piety_, of the excellency of
_virtue_, of the emptiness of _riches_, of the vanity of the _world_;
all the _sentences_, _judgments_, _reasonings_ and _maxims_ of the
wisest philosophers, when in their highest state of wisdom, should
constitute the _common lessons_ of instruction for youthful minds.

This is the only way to make the _young_ and _ignorant_ part of the
world the better for the _wisdom_ and _knowledge_ of the wise and
ancient.


3. *The youths that attended upon _Pythagoras_, _Socrates_, _Plato_,
and _Epictetus_, were thus educated. Their every day lessons and
instructions were so many lectures upon the nature of man, his true
_end_, and the right use of his faculties; upon the immortality of the
soul, its relation to God, the beauty of virtue, and its agreeableness
to the divine nature; upon the necessity of temperance, fortitude, and
generosity, and the shame and folly of indulging our passions.

*Now as Christianity has, as it were, new-created the _moral_ and
_religious_ world, and set every thing that is reasonable, wise,
holy and desirable, in its true point of light: so one would expect,
that the education of youth should be as much bettered and amended by
Christianity, as the _doctrines_ of religion are amended by it.

*As it has introduced a _new_ state of things, and so fully informed
us of the _nature_ of man, and the _end_ of his creation; as it has
fixed all our _goods_ and _evils_, taught us the means of purifying
our souls, pleasing God, and becoming eternally happy; one might
naturally suppose, that every Christian country abounded with
_schools_, not only for teaching a few questions and answers of a
_catechism_, but for the forming, training and practising youths in
such a course of life, as the _highest_ precepts, the _strictest_
rules, and the _sublimest_ doctrines of Christianity require.


4. *An education under _Pythagoras_, or _Socrates_, had no other end,
but to teach youth to _think_, _judge_, and _act_ as _Pythagoras_ and
_Socrates_ used.

And is it not as reasonable to suppose, that a Christian education
should have no other end, but to teach youth how to think, and judge,
and act according to the _strictest laws_ of Christianity?

At least one would suppose, that in all Christian schools, the
teaching youth to begin their lives in the _spirit_ of Christianity,
in such _severity_ of behaviour, such _abstinence_, _sobriety_,
_humility_, and _devotion_, as Christianity requires, should not only
be _more_, but an _hundred times_ more regarded, than any, or all
things else.

For our educators should imitate our _guardian angels_, suggest
nothing to our minds but what is _wise_ and _holy_; help us to
discover and subdue every _vain passion_ of our hearts, and every
_false judgment_ of our minds.

And it is as reasonable to expect and require all this benefit of a
Christian education, as to require that physic should strengthen all
that is right in our nature, and remove that which is _sickly_ and
_diseased_.


5. But alas, our modern education is not of this kind.

*The _first temper_ that we try to awaken in children, is _pride_;
as dangerous a passion as that of _lust_. We stir them up to vain
thoughts of themselves, and do every thing we can, to puff up their
minds with a sense of their own abilities.

*Whatever way of life we intend them for, we apply to the _fire_ and
_vanity_ of their minds, and exhort them to every thing from corrupt
motives: we stir them up to action from principles of _strife_ and
_ambition_, from _glory_, _envy_, and a desire of distinction, that
they may excel others, and shine in the eyes of the world.

And when we have taught them to scorn to be outdone by any, to bear no
_rival_, to thirst after _every instance_ of applause, to be content
with nothing but the highest distinctions; then we begin to take
comfort in them, and promise the world some mighty things from youths
of such a glorious spirit.

If children are intended for _holy orders_, we set before them some
eminent _oratory_ whose _fine_ preaching has made him the _admiration_
of the age, and carried him through all the _dignities_ and
_preferments_ of the church.

We encourage them to have these _honours_ in their eye, and to expect
the reward of their studies from them.

If the youth is intended for a _trade_, we bid him look at the rich
men in the _same trade_, and consider how many now are carried in
their _stately coaches_, who began in the same low degree as he now
does. We awaken his ambition, and endeavour to give his mind a _right
turn_, by often telling him how rich such and such a tradesman died.

If he is to be a lawyer, then we set great _counsellors_, _lords_,
_judges_, and _chancellors_, before his eyes. We tell him what great
fees, and great _applause_ attend fine pleading. We exhort him to take
fire at these things to raise a spirit of emulation in himself, and to
be content with nothing less than the highest honours of the _long
robe_.


6. That this is the nature of our _best education_, is too plain to
need any proof; and I believe there are few parents, but would be glad
to see these instructions daily given to their children.

And after all this, we complain of the effects of pride; we wonder
to see _grown men_ acted and governed by _ambition_, _envy_, _scorn_,
and a desire of glory; not considering that they were all the time of
their youth called upon to form all their action and industry upon the
same principles.

You teach a child to _scorn_ to be outdone, to thirst for
_distinction_ and _applause_; and is it any wonder that he continues
to act all his life in the same manner?

*Now if a youth is ever to be so far a Christian, as to govern his
heart by the _doctrines_ of humility, I would fain know at _what time_
he is to begin it; or, if he is _ever_ to begin it at all, why we
train him up in tempers quite contrary to it?

How _dry_ and _poor_ must the doctrine of humility sound to a youth,
that has been spurred up to all his industry by _ambition_, _envy_,
_emulation_, and a desire of _glory_ and _distinction_? And if he is
not to act by these _principles_ when he is a _man_, why do we call
him to act by them in his _youth_?

_Envy_ is acknowledged by all people to be the most _ungenerous_,
_base_ and _wicked_ passion, that can enter into the heart of man.

And is this the temper to be instilled, nourished and established in
the minds of young people?


7. I know it is said, that it is not _envy_, but _emulation_, that is
intended to be awakened in the minds of young men.

*But this is vainly said. For when children are taught to bear no
_rival_, and to _scorn_ to be outdone by any of their age, they are
plainly and directly taught to be _envious_. For it is impossible
for any one to have this _scorn_ to be outdone, this contention with
_rivals_, without burning with _envy_ against all those that seem to
excel him, or get any distinction from him. So that what children are
taught, is _rank envy_, and only covered with a name of a less odious
sound.

*_Secondly_, If _envy_ is thus confessedly bad, and it be only
_emulation_ that is endeavoured to be awakened in children, surely
there ought to be _great_ care taken, that children may know the one
from the other; that they may abominate one as a great _crime_, whilst
they give the other admission into their minds.

But if this were to be attempted, the _fineness_ of the distinction
betwixt envy and emulation, would shew that it was easier to divide
them in words, than to separate them in action.

For _emulation_, when it is defined in its best manner, is nothing
else but a _refinement_ upon envy, or rather the most _plausible part_
of that black and venomous passion.

And though it is easy to separate them in the _notion_, yet the most
_acute philosopher_, that understands the art of distinguishing ever
so well, if he gives himself up to _emulation_, will certainly find
himself _deep_ in _envy_.


8. It is said also, that ambition, and a desire of glory, are
necessary to excite young people to industry; and that if we were to
press upon them the doctrines of humility, we should deject the minds,
and sink them into _dullness_ and _idleness_.

But these people who say this, don’t consider, that this reason, if it
has any strength, is full as strong against pressing the doctrines of
humility upon _grown men_, lest we should deject their minds, and sink
them into dullness and idleness.

This reason therefore that is given, why children should not be
trained up in the principles of true humility, is as good a reason why
the same humility should never be required of grown men.

Again, let those people, who think that children would be spoiled, if
they were not thus educated, consider this.

*Could they think, that if any children had been educated by our
blessed Lord, or his holy apostles, their minds would have been sunk
into dullness and idleness?

*Or could they think, that such children would not have been trained
up in the profoundest principles of humility? Can they say that our
blessed Lord, who was the humblest man that ever was on earth, was
hindered by his humility from being the greatest example of worthy and
glorious actions, that ever were done by man?

Can they say that his apostles, who lived in the humble spirit
of their Master, did therefore cease to be laborious and active
instruments of doing good to all the world?

A few such reflections as these, are sufficient to expose all the poor
pretences for an education in pride and ambition.


9. *_Paternus_ lived about _two hundred_ years ago; he had but one
son, whom he educated himself in his own house. As they were sitting
together in the garden, when the child was _ten years_ old, _Paternus_
thus began to him.

The little time that you have been in the world, my child, you have
spent wholly with me: and my love and tenderness to you, has made
you look upon me as your only friend and benefactor, and the cause of
all the comfort and pleasure you enjoy: your heart, I know, would be
ready to break with grief, if you thought this was the last day that
I should live with you.

But, my child, tho’ you now think yourself mighty happy, because you
have hold of my hand, you are now in the hands, and under the tender
care of a much greater father and friend than I am, whose love to you
is far greater than mine, and from whom you receive such blessings as
no mortal can give.

That God whom you have seen me daily worship; whom I daily call upon
to bless both you and me, and all mankind; whose wondrous acts are
recorded in those scriptures which you constantly read. That God who
created the heavens and the earth; who brought a flood upon the old
world; who saved _Noah_ in the ark; who was the God of _Abraham_,
_Isaac_, and _Jacob_; whom _Job_ blessed and praised in the greatest
afflictions; who delivered the _Israelites_ out of the hands of the
_Egyptians_; who was the protector of righteous _Joseph_, _Moses_,
_Joshua_, and holy _Daniel_; who sent so many prophets into the world;
who sent his Son Jesus Christ to redeem mankind. This God, who has
done all these great things; who has created so many millions of men;
who lived and died before you was born, with whom the spirits of good
men that are departed this life, now live; whom infinite numbers of
angels now worship in heaven. This great God, who is the Creator of
worlds, of angels, and men, is your loving Father and Friend, your
good Creator and Nourisher, from whom, and not from me, you received
your being ten years ago, at the time that I planted that little,
tender _elm_ which you there see.


10. I myself am not half the age of this _shady oak_, under which we
sit; many of our fathers have sat under its boughs; we have all of us
called it ours in our turn, though it stands, and drops its _masters_,
as it drops its _leaves_.

You see, my son, this wide and large _firmament_ over our heads, where
the _sun_ and _moon_, and all the _stars_ appear in their turns. If
you was to be carried up to any of these bodies at this vast distance
from us, you would still discover others as much above you, as the
_stars_ that you see here are above the _earth_. Were you to go up or
down, _east_ or _west_, _north_ or _south_, you would find the same
height without any _top_, and the same depth without any _bottom_.

And yet, my child, so great is God, that all these bodies added
together, are but as a _grain_ of sand in his sight. And yet you are
as much the care of this great God, and Father of all _worlds_, and
all _spirits_, as if he had no son but you, or there were no creature
for him to love and protect but you alone. He numbers the _hairs_ of
your head, watches over you sleeping and waking, and has preserved you
from a thousand dangers, which neither you nor I know ♦any thing of.

  ♦ duplicate word ‘any’ removed


11. How poor my power is, and how little I am able to do for you, you
have often seen. Your late _sickness_ has shewn you how little I could
do for you in that state; and the frequent pains of your head, are
plain proofs, that I have no power to remove them.

I can bring you _food_ and _medicines_, but have no power to turn them
into your relief and nourishment; it is God alone that can do this for
you.

Therefore, my child, fear, and worship, and love God. Your eyes indeed
cannot yet see him, but every thing you see, are so many marks of his
power and presence, and he is nearer to you than any thing that you
can see.

Take him for your _Lord_, and _Father_, and _Friend_; look up unto
him as the fountain and cause of all the good that you have received
through my hands; and reverence me only as the _bearer_ and _minister_
of God’s good things unto you; and he that blessed my Father before I
was born, will bless you when I am dead.

Your youth and little mind is only yet acquainted with my family, and
therefore you think there is no happiness out of it.

But, my child, you belong to a greater family than mine; you are a
younger member of the family of this Almighty Father of all nations,
who has created infinite orders of angels, and numberless generations
of men, to be fellow-members of one and the same society in heaven.


12. You do well to reverence my authority, because God has given me
power over you, to bring you up in his fear, and to do for you, as the
holy fathers recorded in scripture did for their children, who are now
in rest and peace with God.

I shall in a short time die, and leave you to God and yourself; and
if God forgiveth my sins, I shall go to his Son Jesus Christ, and live
amongst patriarchs and prophets, saints and martyrs, where I shall
pray for you, and hope for your safe arrival at the same place.

Therefore, my child, meditate on these great things, and let your
thoughts often leave these _gardens_, these _fields_ and _farms_, to
contemplate God and heaven, to consider angels, and the spirits of
good men living in light and glory.

As you have been used to look to me in all your actions, and have been
afraid to do any thing, unless you first knew my will; so let it now
be your rule to look up to God in all your actions, to do every thing
in his fear, and to abstain from every thing that is not according to
his will.

Bear him always in your mind; teach your thoughts to reverence him in
every place; for there is no place where he is not.


13. God keepeth a _book_ of life, wherein all the actions of all men
are written; your name is there, my child; and when you die, this book
will be laid open before men and angels; and according as your actions
are there found, you will either be received to the happiness of those
holy men who have died before you, or be turned away among wicked
spirits, that are never to see God any more.

Never forget this book, my son; for it is written, it must be opened,
you must see it, and you must be tried by it. Strive therefore to fill
it with your good deeds, that the hand-writing of God may not appear
against you.

God, my child, is all _love_ and _wisdom_, and _goodness_; and every
thing that he has made, and every action that he does, is the effect
of them all. Therefore you cannot please God, but so far as you
strive to walk in love, wisdom and goodness. As all wisdom, love, and
goodness proceeds from God; so nothing but love, wisdom, and goodness
can lead to God.

When you love that which God loves, you act with him, you join
yourself to him; and when you love what he dislikes, then you oppose
him, and separate yourself from him. This is the true and the right
way; think what God loves, and do you love it with all your heart.


14. First of all, my child, worship and adore God, think of him
magnificently, speak of him reverently, magnify his providence, adore
his power, frequent his service, and pray unto him constantly.

Next to this, love your neighbour, which is all mankind, with such
tenderness and affection as you love yourself. Think how God loves
all mankind, how merciful he is to them, how tender he is of them, how
carefully he preserves them, and then strive to love the world as God
loves it.

God would have all men to be happy, therefore do you _will_ and desire
the same. All men are great instances of divine love, therefore let
all men be instances of your love.

But above all, my son, mark this: never do any thing through strife,
or envy, or emulation, or vain-glory. Never do any thing in order to
excel other people, but in order to please God, and because it is his
will, that you should do every thing in the best manner that you can.

For if it is once a pleasure to you to excel other people, it will
by degrees be a pleasure to you, to see other people not so good as
yourself.

Banish therefore every thought of _pride_ and _distinction_,
and accustom yourself to rejoice in all the excellencies of your
fellow-creatures, and be as glad to see any of their good actions as
your own.

For as God is well pleased with their well-doings, as with yours; so
you ought to desire, that every thing that is wise, and holy, and good,
may be performed in as high a manner by other people, as by yourself.


15. Let this therefore be your only motive to all good actions, to do
every thing in as perfect a manner as you can; for this only reason,
because it is pleasing to God, who writes all your actions in a book.
When I am dead, my son, you will be master of all my estate, which
will be a great deal more than the necessities of one family require.
Therefore, as you are to be charitable to the souls of men, and wish
them the same happiness with you in heaven; so be charitable to their
bodies, and endeavour to make them as happy as you upon earth.

As God has created all things for the common good of all men; so let
that part of them, which is fallen to your share, be employed, as God
would have all employed, for the common good of all.

Do good, my son, first of all to those that most deserve it, but
remember to do good to all. The greatest sinners receive daily
instances of God’s goodness towards them; he nourishes and preserves
them, that they may repent, and return to him; do you therefore
imitate God, and think no one too bad to receive your relief and
kindness, when you see that he wants it.


16. I am teaching you _Latin_ and _Greek_, not that you should desire
to be a great _critic_, a fine _poet_, or an eloquent _orator_. I
would not have your heart feel any of these desires; for the desire of
these accomplishments is vanity, and the masters of them are generally
vain men.

But I teach you these languages, that at proper times you may
look into the history of past ages, and learn the methods of God’s
providence over the world: that reading the writings ♦of the ancient
sages, you may see how wisdom and virtue have been the praise of great
men of all ages.

  ♦ duplicate word removed ‘of’

Let truth and plainness be the only ornament of your language, and
study nothing but how to think of all things as they deserve, to chuse
every thing that is best, to live according to reason, and to act in
every part of your life in conformity to the will of God.

Study how to fill your heart full of the love of God, and the love
of your neighbour, and then be content to be no deeper a scholar, no
finer a gentleman, than these tempers will make you. As true religion
is nothing else but simple nature governed by right reason; so it
loves and requires great plainness and simplicity of life. Therefore
avoid all superfluous shews, finery, and equipage, and let your house
be plainly furnished with moderate conveniences. Don’t consider what
your estate can afford, but what right reason requires.


17. Let your _dress_ be sober, clean, and modest; not to set out the
beauty of your person, but to declare the sobriety of your mind, that
your outward garb may resemble the plainness of your heart. For it is
highly reasonable, that you should be _one man_, all of a piece, and
appear outwardly such as you are inwardly.

As to your _meat_ and _drink_, in them observe the _highest rules_
of Christian temperance and sobriety: consider your body only as the
servant of your soul; and only so nourish it, that it may perform an
humble and obedient service to it.

But, my son, observe this as a principal thing, which I shall remember
you of as long as I live.

Hate and despise all _human glory_, for it is nothing else but human
folly. It is the greatest _snare_, and the greatest _betrayer_ that
you can possibly admit into your heart.

Let every day therefore be a day of humility; condescend to all the
infirmities of your fellow-creatures, cover their frailties, love
their excellencies, encourage their virtues, relieve their wants,
rejoice in their prosperities, compassionate their distress, receive
their friendship, overlook their unkindness, forgive their malice,
be a servant of servants, and condescend to do the lowest offices to
the lowest of mankind.


18. *Aspire after nothing but your own purity and perfection, and have
no ambition but to do every thing in so religious a manner, that you
may be glad God is every where present, and sees all your actions. The
greatest trial of humility, is an humble behaviour towards your equals
in _age_, _estate_, and _condition_. Therefore be careful of all the
motions of your heart towards these people. Let all your behaviour
towards them be governed by unfeigned love. Have no desire to put
any of your equals below you, nor any anger at those that would put
themselves above you, if they are proud, they are ill of a very bad
distemper; let them therefore have your tender pity, and perhaps your
meekness may prove an occasion of their cure; but if your humility
should do them no good, it will however be the greatest good to
yourself.

Remember that there is but one man in the world, with whom you are to
have perpetual contention, and be always striving to excel him, and
that is yourself.

The time of practising these precepts, my child, will soon be over
with you; the world will soon slip thro’ your hands, or rather you
will soon slip thro’ it; it seems but the other day since I received
these instructions from my dear father, that I am now leaving with you.
And the God that gave me ears to hear, and a heart to receive what my
father said unto me, will, I hope, give you grace to love and follow
the same instructions.




                               CHAP XV.

    _Shewing how the method of educating |daughters,| makes it
      difficult for them to enter into the spirit of Christian
      humility. How miserably they are injured and abused by such
      an education. The spirit of a better education, represented
      in the character of |Eusebia|._


1. THAT turn of mind which is taught and encouraged in the education
of _daughters_, makes it exceeding difficult for them to enter into
such a sense and practice of humility, as the spirit of Christianity
requireth.

*The right education of this _sex_ is of the utmost importance. For
tho’ _women_ don’t carry on the _trade_ and _business_ of the world;
yet as they are _mothers_ and _mistresses_ of families, that have
for some time the care of the education of their children, they are
entrusted with that which is of the greatest consequence to human life.
For this reason, _good_ or _bad_ women are likely to do as much good
or harm in the world, as good or bad men in the greatest business.

*For as the _health_ and _strength_, or _weakness_ of our bodies, is
much owing to _their methods_ of treating us when we were young; so
the _soundness_ or _folly_ of our minds is not less owing to these
_first tempers_ and ways of thinking, which we eagerly received from
the _love_, _tenderness_, _authority_, and constant _conversation_ of
our mothers.

*As we call our first language our _mother-tongue_, so we may as
justly call our first tempers our _mother-tempers_; and perhaps it
may be found more easy to forget the _language_, than to part entirely
with those _tempers_ which we learnt in the _nursery_.


2. It is therefore much to be lamented, that this _sex_, who have the
first forming both of our _bodies_ and _minds_, are not only educated
in _pride_, but in the _silliest_ and most _contemptible_ part of it.

*They are not indeed suffered to dispute with us the proud _prizes_ of
_arts_ and _sciences_; but we turn them over to the study of _beauty_
and _dress_, and the whole world conspires to make them think of
nothing else. _Fathers_ and _mothers_, _friends_ and _relations_, seem
to have no other wish towards the _little girl_, but that she may have
a _fair skin_, _a fine shape_, _dress well_, and _dance_ to admiration.

Now if a fondness for our _persons_, a desire of _beauty_, a love of
_dress_, be a part of pride (as surely it is a most contemptible part
of it) the first step towards a _woman’s humility_, seems to require a
_repentance_ of her education.

For it must be owned, that, generally speaking, good parents are never
more fond of their daughters, than when they see them _too fond_ of
themselves, and _dressed_ in such a manner, as is a great reproach to
the gravity and sobriety of the Christian life.


3. The _church_ has formerly had _eminent saints_ in that sex; and it
may reasonably be thought, that it is purely owing to their _poor_ and
_vain_ education, that this honour of their sex is for the _most part_
confined to _former_ ages.

*The corruption of the world indulges them in great vanity, and
mankind seem to consider them in no other view, than as so many
_painted idols_, that are to allure and gratify their passions; so
that if many women are _vain_, _light_, _gewgaw_ creatures, they
have this to excuse themselves, that they are not only such as their
_education_ has made them, but such as the _generality_ the world
_allows_ them to be.

*But then they should consider, that the _friends_ to their _vanity_
are no friends of theirs; that they are to live for _themselves_;
that they have as great a share in the _rational nature_ as men have;
that they have as much _reason_ to pretend, and as much _necessity_ to
aspire after the _highest accomplishments_ of Christian virtue, as the
_gravest_ and _wisest_ among Christian _philosophers_.

*They should consider, that they are _abused_, and _injured_, and
_betrayed_ from their _only perfection_, whenever they are taught,
that any thing is an _ornament_ in them, that is not an ornament in
the _wisest_ among mankind.


4. *It is generally said, that _women_ are naturally of _little_ and
_vain minds_; but this I look upon to be as _false_, as to say, that
_butchers_ are naturally _cruel_: for as their cruelty is not owing to
their _nature_, but to their _way_ of life; so whatever _littleness_
and _vanity_ is in the minds of women, it is like the cruelty of
_butchers_, a temper that is wrought into them by that life which they
are _taught_ and _accustomed_ to lead.

And if it were true, that they were thus naturally vain and light,
then how much more blameable is that education, which seems contrived
to _strengthen_ and _increase_ this folly and weakness of their
minds?

For if it were a virtue in a woman to be proud and vain of herself,
we could hardly take better means to raise this passion in her, than
those that are now used in their education.


5. *_Matilda_ is a fine woman, of good _breeding_, and great _sense_.
She has three daughters that are educated by herself. She will not
trust them with any one else, or at any _school_, for fear they should
learn any thing ill. She stays with the _dancing-master_ all the time
he is with them, because she will hear every thing that is said to
them. She has heard them read the scriptures so often, that they can
repeat great part of it without book: and there is scarce a good book
of _devotion_, but you may find it in their _closets_.

Had _Matilda_ lived in the first ages of Christianity, she had in all
probability been one of the greatest saints. But as she was born in
corrupt times, where she hardly ever saw a piety higher than her own;
so she has many defects, and communicates them all to her daughters.


6. _Matilda_ never was _meanly_ dressed in her life; and nothing
pleases her in _dress_, but that which is very _rich_, and _beautiful_
to the eye.

Her daughters see her great zeal for religion, but then they see
an equal earnestness for all sorts of _finery_. They see she is not
negligent of her _devotion_; but then they see her more careful to
preserve her _complexion_, and to prevent those changes which time
and age threaten her with.

They are afraid to meet her, if they have missed the _church_; but
then they are more afraid to see her, if they are not _laced_ as
_straight_ as they can possibly be.

She often shews them her _own picture_, which was taken when their
father fell in love with her. She tells them how _distracted_ he was
with passion at the _first sight_ of her; and that she had never had
so _fine_ a _complexion_, but for the diligence of her good mother,
who took exceeding care of it.

The children see so plainly _the temper_ of their mother, that they
affect to be _more pleased_ with dress, than they really are.

They saw their eldest sister once brought to her _tears_, and her
_perverseness_ severely reprimanded, for presuming to say, that she
thought it was better to cover the _neck_, than to go so _far naked_
as the modern dress requires.


7. She stints them in their _meals_, and is very scrupulous of what
they eat and drink, and tells them how many _fine shapes_ she has seen
spoiled in her time for want of such care.

Whenever they begin to look _sanguine_ and _healthful_, she calls in
the assistance of the _doctor_; and if _physic_, or _issues_, will
keep the complexion from inclining to _coarse_ or _ruddy_, she thinks
them well employed.

By this means they are _poor_, _pale_, _sickly_, _infirm_ creatures,
_vapoured_ through want of spirits, _crying_ at the smallest accidents,
_swooning_ away at any thing that frights them, and hardly able to
bear the _weight_ of their best cloaths.

The eldest daughter lived as long as she could under this discipline,
and died in the twentieth year of her age.

When her body was opened, it appeared that her _ribs_ had grown into
her _liver_, and that her other _entrails_ were much hurt, by being
_crushed_ together with her _stays_; which her mother had ordered to
be twitched so strait, that it has often brought tears into her eyes,
whilst the maid was dressing her.

Her youngest daughter is run away with a _gamester_, a man of great
beauty, who in _dressing_ and _dancing_ has no superior.

_Matilda_ says, she should die with grief at this accident, but that
her _conscience_ tells her, she has contributed nothing to it herself.
She appeals to their _closets_, to their books of devotion, to testify
what care she has taken to establish her children in piety.


8. Now, tho’ I don’t intend to say, that no daughters are brought
up in a _better way_ than this; yet thus much may be said, that the
greater part of them are not brought up so well, or accustomed to so
much religion.

Their minds are turned as much to the care of their beauty and dress,
without having such rules of devotion to stand against it. So that if
_solid_ piety is much wanted in that sex, it is the plain consequence
of a corrupt education.

And if they are often ready to receive the first _fops_, _beaux_, and
fine _dancers_, for their husbands, ’tis no wonder that they should
like that in men, which they have been taught to admire in themselves.

Some people will perhaps say, that I am exercising too great a
severity against the sex.

But reasonable persons will observe, that I spare the _sex_, and only
arraign their _education_; that I not only spare them, but plead their
_interest_, assert their _honour_, and only condemn that _education_
which is so _injurious_ thereto.

Their education I cannot spare; but the only reason is, because it
is their _greatest enemy_, because it deprives the world of so many
_blessings_, and the church of so many _saints_.

If it should here be said, that I even charge _too high_ upon their
_education_, and that they are not so _much_ hurt by it, as I imagine.

It may be answered, that tho’ I don’t pretend to state the _exact
degree_ of mischief that is done by it, yet its plain and natural
tendency to do harm, is sufficient to justify the most _absolute_
condemnation of it.


9. But how possible it is to bring up daughters in a more excellent
way, let the following character declare.

*_Eusebia_ is a pious widow, well born, and well bred, and has a good
estate for five daughters, whom she brings up as one entrusted by
God, to fit five virgins for the kingdom of heaven. Her family has
the same regulation as a _religious house_, and all its orders tend
to the support of a constant regular devotion.

She loves them as her spiritual children, and they reverence her
as their spiritual mother, with an affection far above that of the
fondest friends.

She has divided part of her estate among them, that every one may be
charitable out of their own stock, and each of them take it in their
turns to provide for the _poor_ and _sick_ of the parish.

_Eusebia_ brings them up to all kinds of labour that are proper
for women, as _sewing_, _knitting_, _spinning_, and all other parts
of _housewifery_; not for their _amusement_, but that they may
be serviceable to themselves and others, and be saved from those
temptations which attend an idle life.

She tells them, she had rather see them reduced to the necessity
of maintaining themselves by their own work, than to have riches to
excuse themselves from labour. For tho’, says she, you may be able to
assist the poor without your labour, yet by your labour you will be
able to assist them more.


10. If _Eusebia_ has lived as free from sin as it is possible for
human nature, it is because she is always watching and guarding
against _all instances_ of pride. And if her virtues are stronger and
higher than other peoples, ’tis because they are all founded in a deep
_humility_.

My children, says she, when your father died, I was much pitied by my
friends, as having all the care of a family, and the management of an
estate fallen upon me.

But my own grief was founded upon another principle: I was grieved to
see myself deprived of so faithful a friend; and that such an eminent
example of Christian virtues should be taken from the eyes of his
children, before they were of an age to love and follow it.

But as to worldly cares, which my friends thought so heavy upon me,
they are most of them of our own making, and fall away as soon as we
_know ourselves_.

If a person in a _dream_ is disturbed with strange appearances, his
trouble is over as soon as he is _awake_, and sees that it was a dream.

Now, when a right knowledge of ourselves enters into our minds, it
makes as great a change in all our thoughts and apprehensions, as when
we _awake_ from the _wandrings_ of a dream.

We acknowledge a man to be _mad_ or _melancholy_, who fancies himself
to be _glass_, and so is afraid of stirring; or taking himself to be
_wax_, dares not let the _sun_ shine upon him.

But, my children, there are things in the world which pass for
_wisdom_, _politeness_, _grandeur_, _happiness_, and _fine breeding_,
which shew as great _ignorance_ of ourselves, and might as justly pass
for _thorough madness_, as when a man fancies himself to be _glass_ or
_ice_.

A woman that dares not appear in the world without _fine cloaths_,
that thinks it is a happiness to have a face _finely coloured_, to
have a skin _delicately fair_, that had rather die than be reduced to
poverty, and be forced to work for a maintenance, is as ignorant of
herself to the full, as he that fancies himself to be _glass_.


11. For this reason, all my discourse with you, has been to acquaint
you with yourselves, and to accustom you to such books, as might best
instruct you in this greatest of all knowledge.

You would think it hard, not to know the family into which you was
born, what ancestors you were descended from, and what estate was to
come to you; but, my children, you may know all this with exactness,
and yet be as ignorant of yourselves, as he that takes himself to be
_wax_.

For tho’ you were all of you born of my body, and bear your father’s
name, yet you are all of you _pure spirits_. I don’t mean that you
have not bodies; ♦but that _all_ which deserves to be called _you_,
is nothing else but _spirit_. A being spiritual and rational in its
nature; that is as contrary to all corporeal beings, as _life_ is
contrary to _death_; that is made in the image of God, to live for
ever, never to cease any more, but to enjoy _life_, and _reason_, and
_knowledge_, and _happiness_ in the presence of God, and the society
of angels, and glorious spirits, to all eternity.

  ♦ ‘hut’ replaced with ‘but’

Every thing that you call yours, besides this spirit, is but like your
_cloathing_; something that is only to be used for awhile, and then to
end, and die, and wear away, and to signify no more to you than the
_cloathing_ and _bodies_ of other people.


12. But, my children, you are not only in this manner _spirits_,
but you are _fallen_ spirits, that began your life in a state of
corruption and disorder, full of tempers and passions, that blind
and darken your reason, and incline you to that which is hurtful.

Your bodies are not only poor and perishing like your cloaths, but
they are like ill _infected cloaths_, that fill you with ill diseases,
which oppress the soul with sickly appetites, and vain cravings.

So that all of us are like two beings, that have, as it were, two
hearts within us; with the one we see, and taste, and admire reason,
and holiness; with the other we incline to pride, and vanity, and
sensual delights.

If you would know the one thing necessary to all the world, it is this,
to preserve and perfect all that is _rational_, _holy_, and _divine_
in our nature, and to mortify, remove, and destroy all _vanity_,
_pride_, and _sensuality_.

Could you think, my children, when you look at the world, and see
what _customs_, and _fashions_, and _pleasures_, and _troubles_, and
_projects_, employ the hearts and time of mankind, that things were
thus?

But don’t you be affected at these things; the world is in a great
_dream_, and but few people are awake in it.

We fancy that we fall into darkness, when we die; but alas, we are
most of us in the dark till then; and the eyes of our souls only then
begin to see, when our bodily eyes are closing.


13. You see then your state, my children; you are to improve and
perfect the spirit that is within you; you are to prepare it for the
kingdom of heaven, to nourish it with the love of God, to adorn it
with good works, and to make it as holy and heavenly as you can. You
are to preserve it from the errors and vanities of the world; to save
it from the corruptions of the body, from those false delights and
sensual tempers which the body tempts it with.

You are to nourish your spirits with pious readings, and holy
meditations, with watchings, fastings, and prayers, that you may
relish that eternal state which is to begin when this life ends.

As to your bodies, you are to consider them as _poor_, _perishing_
things, that are corrupt at present, and will soon drop into common
dust; you are to watch over them as _enemies_, that are always trying
to betray you, and so never follow their counsel; you are to consider
them as the _place_ and _habitation_ of your souls, and so keep
them _clean_, and _decent_; you are to consider them as the servants
and instruments of action, and so give them _food_, and _rest_, and
_raiment_, that they may be strong and healthful to do the duties of
a charitable, useful, pious life.

Whilst you live thus, you live like yourselves; and whenever you have
less regard to your souls, or more regard to your bodies; whenever you
are more intent upon adorning your persons, than upon perfecting your
souls, you are much more beside yourselves, than he that had rather
have a _laced coat_, than an healthful body.


14. For this reason, my children, I have taught you nothing that was
dangerous for you to learn: I have kept you from every thing that
might betray you into _weakness_ and _folly_; or make you think any
thing fine, but a _fine mind_; any thing happy, but the favour of God;
or any thing desirable, but to do all the good you possibly can.

Instead of the vain, immodest entertainment of _plays_ and _operas_,
I have taught you to delight in visiting the _sick_ and _poor_. What
♦_music_, and _dancing_, and _diversions_ are to many in the world,
that prayers and devotions, and psalms are to you. Your hands have not
been employed in plaiting the hair, and adorning your persons; but in
making cloaths for the naked. You have not wasted your fortunes upon
yourselves; but have added your labour to them, to do more good to
other people.

  ♦ ‘musick’ replaced with ‘music’

Instead of forced _shapes_, _genteel airs_, and _affected motions_,
I have taught you to conceal your bodies with _modest garments_, and
let the world have nothing to view of you, but the _plainness_, and
_sincerity_, and _humility_ of all your behaviour.


15. You know, my children, the _high perfection_, and the _great
rewards_ of virginity; you know how it frees from worldly cares and
troubles, and furnishes means and opportunities of higher advancements
in the divine life. Therefore love, and esteem, and honour virginity:
bless God for all that glorious company of holy virgins, that from
the beginning of Christianity have, in the several ages of the church,
renounced the cares and pleasures of matrimony, to be perpetual
examples of contemplation and prayer.

But as every one has their proper gift from God, as I look upon you
all to be so many great blessings of a married state; so I leave to
your choice, either to do as I have done, or to aspire after higher
degrees of perfection in a virgin state.

I press nothing upon you, but to make the most of human life, and to
aspire after perfection in whatever state you chuse.

Never therefore consider yourselves as persons that are to be _seen_,
_admired_, and _courted_ by men; but as _poor sinners_, that are to
save yourselves from the vanities and follies of a miserable world.
Learn to live for your own sakes, and the service of God; and let
nothing in the world be of any value with you, but that which you can
turn into a service to God, and a means of your future happiness.


16. Whether married therefore, or unmarried, consider yourselves as
mothers and sisters, as friends and relations to all that want your
assistance; and never allow yourselves to be idle, whilst others are
in want of any thing that your hands can make for them.

This useful, charitable, humble employment of yourselves, is what I
recommend to you with great earnestness; and besides the good you will
thereby do to other people, your own heart will be improved by it.

For next to _reading_, _meditation_, and _prayer_, there is nothing
that so secures our hearts from foolish passions, as some _useful_,
_humble_ employment of ourselves.

Never therefore consider your labour as an _amusement_, that is to
get rid of your time, and so may be as trifling as you please; but
consider it as something that is to be serviceable to yourselves and
others, that is to serve some sober ends of life, to save and redeem
your time, and make it turn to your account, when the works of all
people shall be tried by fire.

If there is any good to be done by your labour, if you can possibly
employ yourselves usefully to other people, how silly is it, how
contrary to the wisdom of religion, to make that a _mere amusement_,
which might as easily be made an exercise of the _greatest
charity_?

What would you think of the wisdom of him, that should employ his time
in distilling of waters, and making liquors which no body could use,
merely to amuse himself with the variety of their colour, when, with
less labour and expence, he might satisfy the wants of those who have
nothing to drink?

Yet he would be as wisely employed, as those that are amusing
themselves with such tedious works as they neither need, nor hardly
know how to use when they are finished; when, with less labour and
expence, they might be doing as much good, as he that is _cloathing_
the naked, or _visiting_ the sick.

Be glad therefore to know the wants of the poorest people, and let
your hands be employed in making such things for them, as their
necessities require. By thus making your labour a gift and service to
the poor, your ordinary work will be changed into a holy service, and
made as acceptable to God as your devotions.

This will make you true disciples of your meek Lord and Master, who
_came into the world not to be ministered unto, but to minister_; and
tho’ he was Lord of all, and among the creatures of his own making,
yet was among them _as one that serveth_.


17. Christianity has then had its effect upon your hearts, when it has
removed pride from you, and made you delight in humbling yourselves
beneath the lowest of all your fellow creatures.

Live therefore, my children, as you have begun your lives, in humble
labour for the good of others; not in ceremonious visits and vain
acquaintances. Contract no foolish friendships, or vain fondnesses
for particular persons; but love them most, that most turn your love
towards God, and your compassion towards all the world.

But above all, avoid the conversation of _fine-bred fops_ and _beaux_,
and hate nothing more than the idle discourse, the flattery and
compliments of that sort of men; for they are the _shame_ of their
own _sex_, and ought to be the _abhorrence_ of yours.

When you go abroad, let humility, modesty, and a decent carriage, be
all the _state_ you take upon you; and let tenderness, compassion, and
good-nature, be all the _fine breeding_ you shew in any place.

If evil _speaking_, _scandal_, or _backbiting_, be the conversation
where you happen to be, be as much grieved as if you was amongst
cursing and swearing, and retire as soon as you can.

Tho’ you intend to marry, yet let the time never come, till you find
a man that has those perfections which you have been labouring after
yourselves; who is likely to be a friend to all your virtues, and with
whom it is better to live, than to want the benefit of his example.


18. Love _poverty_, and reverence _poor people_; as for many reasons,
so particularly for this, because our blessed Saviour was one of the
number.

Visit and converse with them frequently; you will often find
_simplicity_, _innocence_, _patience_, _fortitude_, and great piety
amongst them.

Rejoice at every opportunity of doing an humble action; whether it be,
as the scripture expresses it, in _washing the saints feet_, that is,
in waiting upon, and serving those that are below you, or in bearing
with the haughtiness and ill manners of those that are your equals,
or above you. For there is nothing better than humility; it is the
fruitful soil of all virtues, and every thing that is kind and good,
naturally grows from it.

Therefore, my children, pray for, and practise, humility; and reject
every thing in _dress_, or _carriage_, or _conversation_, that has any
appearance of pride.

Strive to do every thing that is praise-worthy, but do nothing in
order to be praised; nor think of any reward for your labours of love,
till Christ cometh with all his holy angels.


19. And above all, my children, have a care of vain thoughts of your
own virtues. For as soon as ever people live different from the common
way of the world, the devil represents to their minds the height of
their perfections; and is content they should excel in good works,
provided he can make them proud of them.

Therefore watch over your virtues with a jealous eye, and reject every
vain thought, as you would reject the most wicked imaginations; and
think what a loss it would be to you, to have the fruit of all your
good works devoured by the vanity of your minds.

Never therefore allow yourselves to despise those who do not follow
your rules, but love them, and pray to God for them; and let humility
be always _whispering_ in your ears, that you yourselves would fall
from those rules to-morrow, if God should leave you to your own
strength and wisdom.

When therefore you have spent days and weeks well, do not suffer your
hearts to contemplate any thing as your own, but give all the glory to
God, who has carried you thro’ such rules of holy living, as you were
not able to observe by your own strength; and take care to begin the
next day, not as proficients in virtue, that can do great matters, but
as _poor beginners_, that want the daily assistance of God to save you
from the _grossest sins_.


20. Your dear father was an humble, watchful, pious, wise man. Whilst
his sickness would suffer him to talk with me, his discourse was
chiefly about your education. He knew the benefits of humility, he saw
the ruins which pride made in our sex; and therefore he conjured me
with the tenderest expressions, to renounce the _fashionable ways_ of
educating daughters in _pride_ and _softness_, in the care of their
_beauty_ and _dress_; and to bring you all up in the _plainest_,
_simplest_ instances of an humble, holy, and industrious life.

He taught me an admirable rule of humility, which he practised all
the days of his life; which was this, to let no morning pass, without
thinking upon some _frailty_ and _infirmity_ of our own, that may
put us to _confusion_, make us _blush inwardly_, and entertain a mean
opinion of ourselves.

Think therefore, my children, that the soul of your good father, who
is now with God, speaks to you through my mouth; and let the double
desire of your father, who is gone, and me, who am with you, prevail
upon you to love God, to study your own perfection, to practise
humility, and, with innocent labour, to do all the good you can to
all your fellow creatures, till God calls you to another life.

*Thus did the pious widow educate her daughters. And a very ordinary
knowledge of the _spirit_ of _Christianity_, may convince us, that
no education can be of true advantage to young women, but that which
trains them up in _humble industry_, in _great plainness_ of life, in
_exact modesty_ of _dress_, _manners_ and _carriage_, and in _strict
devotion_. For what should a Christian woman be, but a _plain_,
_unaffected_, _modest_, _humble_ creature, averse to every thing in
her _dress_ and _carriage_, that can draw the eyes of beholders, or
gratify the passions of lewd and amorous persons?


21. *These considerations may teach you to let no day pass, without
a serious application to God, for the _whole spirit_ of humility:
fervently beseeching him to fill every part of your soul with it; to
make it the ruling, constant habit of your mind, that you may not only
feel it, but feel all your other tempers arising from it; that you
may have no thoughts, no desires, no designs, but such as are the true
fruits of an humble, meek, and lowly heart.

That you may always appear poor, and little, and mean in your own eyes,
and fully content that others should have the same opinion of you.

That the whole course of your life, your _expence_, your _house_, your
_dress_, your manner of _eating_, _drinking_, _conversing_, and doing
_every thing_, may be so many continual proofs of the humility of your
heart.

That you may look for nothing, claim nothing, resent nothing; that
you may go thro’ all the actions of life calmly and quietly, as in
the presence of God, looking wholly unto him, acting wholly for him;
neither seeking applause, nor resenting neglects, or affronts, but
doing and receiving every thing in the meek and lowly spirit of our
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.




                              CHAP. XVI.

    _Recommending devotion at twelve o’clock, called, in scripture,
      the |sixth hour| of the day. This frequency of devotion,
      equally desirable by all orders of people. |Universal love|
      is recommended to be the subject of prayer at this hour. Of
      intercession, as an act of universal love._


1. IT will, perhaps, be thought by some, that these hours of prayer
come _too thick_, and are only fit for _monasteries_, or such people
as have no more to do in the world than they have.

To this it is answered, this method of devotion is not pressed upon
any as _absolutely necessary_, but recommended to all people, as the
_best_ and the _happiest_ way of life.

And if exemplary devotion is as much the happiness and perfection of a
_merchant_, a _soldier_, or a man of _quality_, as it is the happiness
and perfection of the most _retired_, _contemplative_ life, then it is
as proper to recommend it without any _abatements_ to one order of men
as to another.

Here is therefore no excuse for men of _business_ and _figure_.
_First_, Because it would be to excuse them from that which is the
end of living, to make them _less beneficial_ to themselves, and _less
serviceable_ to God and the world.

*_Secondly_, Because most men of business and figure engage _too far_
in worldly matters; much farther than the reasons of human life, or
the necessities of the world require.

*_Merchants_ and _tradesmen_, for instance, are generally ten times
farther engaged in business than they need; which is so far from being
a reasonable _excuse_ for their want of time for devotion, that it
is their _crime_, and must be censured as a blameable instance of
covetousness and ambition.

_Gentry_, and people of _figure_, either give themselves up to
_state-employments_, or to the gratifications of their _passions_,
in a life of _gaity_ and _debauchery_. And if these things might
be admitted as allowable avocations from devotion, devotion must be
reckoned a poor circumstance of life.

Unless _gentlemen_ can shew, that they have another God, than the
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; another nature, than that which is
derived from _Adam_; another religion than the Christian, it is in
vain to plead their state, and dignity, as reasons for not preparing
their souls for God, by a _strict_ and _regular_ devotion.


2. If a _merchant_, having forbore too great business, that he might
quietly attend on the service of God, should die worth _twenty_,
instead _fifty_ thousand pounds, could any one say, he had mistaken
his _calling_, or gone a _loser_ out of the world?

If a _gentleman_ should have killed _fewer foxes_, been less frequent
at _balls_, _gaming_, and _merry meetings_, because stated parts
of his time had been given to _retirement_, to _meditation_, and
_devotion_, could it be thought, that when he left the world, he would
regret the loss of those hours that he had given to the improvement of
his soul?

If a _tradesman_, by aspiring after Christian perfection, and retiring
often from business, should, instead of leaving his children fortunes
to spend in _luxury_ and _idleness_, leave them to live by their own
honest labour; could it be said that he had made a _wrong use_ of the
world, because he had more regard to that which is eternal, than to
this which is so soon to be at an end?

Since therefore devotion is not only the best and most desirable
practice in a _cloyster_, but in _every state_ of life, they that
desire to be excused from it, because they are men of _figure_, and
_estates_, and _business_, are no wiser than those that should desire
to be excused from _health_ and _happiness_, because they were men of
_figure_ and _estates_.


3. I can’t see why every _gentleman_, _merchant_, or _soldier_, should
not put these questions seriously to himself;

_What is the best thing for me to aim at in all my actions? How shall
I do to make the most of human life? What ways shall I wish that I had
taken, when I am leaving the world?_

Now, to be thus wise, seems but a _small_ and _necessary_ piece of
wisdom. For how can we pretend to sense and judgment, if we dare not
seriously consider, and govern our lives by that which such questions
require of us?

Shall a _nobleman_ think his birth too high, to condescend to such
questions as these? Or a _tradesman_ think his business too great, to
take any care about himself?

Now, here is desired no more devotion in any one’s life, than the
answering these _few questions_ requires.

Any devotion that is not to the greater advantage of him that uses
it, than any thing he can do in the _room_ of it; any devotion that
does not procure an _infinitely greater_ good, than can be got by
neglecting it, is yielded up.

But if people will live in so _much ignorance_, as never to put these
questions to themselves, but push on a blind life at all chances, in
quest of they don’t know what, or why; without ever considering the
worth, or value, or tendency of their actions; without considering
what God, _reason_, _eternity_, and their own happiness requires of
them: it is for the honour of devotion that none can neglect it, but
those who are thus inconsiderate, who dare not enquire after that
which is the best and most worthy of their choice.


4. *It is true, _Claudius_, you are a man of _figure_ and _estate_,
and are to act the part of such a station in life; you are not called,
as _Elijah_ was, to be a prophet, or as St. _Paul_, to be an apostle.

But will you therefore not love yourself? Will you not seek and study
your own happiness?

You would think it very absurd for a man not to value his own _health_,
because he was not a ♦_physician_; or the preservation of his _limbs_,
because he was not a _bone-setter_: yet it is more absurd for you,
_Claudius_, to neglect the improvement of your soul, because you are
not an apostle, or a bishop.

  ♦ ‘physycian’ replaced with ‘physician’

*Consider, _we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ,
that every one may receive the things done in his body, according
to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad_, 2 Cor. v. 10.
Now, if your _estate_ would excuse you from appearing before this
judgment-seat; if your _figure_ could protect you from receiving
according to your works, there would be some pretence for your leaving
devotion to other people: but if you, who are now thus distinguished,
must then appear _naked_ amongst _common souls_, without any other
distinction from others, but such as your virtues or sins give you,
does it not as much concern you, as any _prophet_, or _apostle_, to
make the best provision for that great day?

Consider the words of St. _Peter_, _As he which hath called you is
holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation_, 1 Pet. i. 15.

If therefore, _Claudius_, you are one of those here called, you see
what it is that you are called to. It is not to have so much religion
as suits with your temper, your business, or your pleasures; it is not
a particular sort of piety, that may be sufficient for gentlemen of
figure and estates; but it is, _first_, to be _holy_, _as he which
hath called you is holy_; _secondly_, it is to be _thus holy_ in all
manner of conversation; that is, to carry this spirit and degree of
holiness into every part, and through the whole form of your life.

And the reason the apostle immediately gives, why this spirit of
holiness must be the common spirit of Christians, as such, is very
affecting, and such as equally calls upon all sorts of Christians.
_Forasmuch as ye know, that ye were not redeemed with corruptible
things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation,――but with
the precious blood of Christ._

As if he had said, forasmuch as ye know ye were made capable of
this state of holiness, entered into a society with Christ, and made
heirs of his glory, not by any human means, but by such a mysterious
instance of love, as infinitely exceeds every thing that can be
thought of in this world; since God has redeemed you to himself, and
your own happiness, at so _great a price_, how base and shameful must
it be, if you don’t henceforth devote yourselves wholly to the glory
of God, and become holy as he who hath called you is holy?


5. Again, the apostle saith, _Know ye not, that your body is the
temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, 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_, 1 Cor. vi. 19, 20.

How poorly therefore, _Claudius_, have you read the scripture? How
little do you know of Christianity, if you can talk of your _estate_
and _condition_, as a pretence for a freer kind of life?

Are you any more _your own_, than he that has no estate or dignity in
the world? Must _mean_ and _little_ people preserve their bodies as
temples of the Holy Ghost, by _watching_, _fasting_, and _prayer_;
but may you indulge yours in _idleness_, in _lust_, and _sensuality_,
because you have so much _rent_, or such a _title_ of distinction?

And you must either think thus, or else acknowledge that the holiness
of _saints_, _prophets_, and _apostles_, is the holiness that you are
to labour after with all diligence and care.

And if you leave it to others, to live in such piety and devotion, in
such self-denial, humility, and temperance, as may render them able to
glorify God in their body, and in their spirit; you must leave it to
them also, to have the benefit of the blood of Christ.


6. Thus much being said to shew, that _great devotion_ is not to be
left to any particular sort of people, but to be the _common spirit_
of all Christians; I now proceed to consider the nature of _universal
love_, which is here recommended to be the subject of your devotion at
this hour.

By intercession is meant a praying to God, in behalf of our
fellow-creatures.

Our blessed Lord hath recommended his love to us, as the pattern
of our love to one another. As therefore he is continually making
intercession for us all, so ought we to intercede for one another.

_A new commandment_, saith he, _I give unto you, that ye love one
another, as I have loved you. By this shall all men know that ye are
my disciples, if ye love one another._

The newness of this precept did not consist in this, that men were
commanded to love one another; for this was an old precept, both of
the law of _Moses_, and of nature. But it was new in this respect,
that it was to imitate a new, and, till then, unheard-of example of
love; it was to love one another, as Christ had loved us.

And if men are to know that we are disciples of Christ, by our loving
one another, according to his example; then, if we are void of this
love, we make it plainly known we are none of his disciples.


7. There is no principle more acceptable to God, than an _universal_
fervent love to all mankind, _wishing_ and _praying_ for their
happiness; because there is no principle that makes us more like
God, who is love and goodness itself, and created all beings for the
enjoyment of happiness.

The greatest _idea_ that we can frame of God is, a being of infinite
love and goodness; using infinite wisdom and power for the common good
and happiness of all his creatures.

The highest notion therefore that we can form of man is, when we
conceive him as like God in this respect as he can be; using all his
finite faculties, whether of wisdom, power, or prayers, for the common
good of all his fellow-creatures: heartily desiring they may have all
the happiness they are capable of, and as many assistances from him,
as his condition in the world will permit him to give them.

And, on the other hand, what a _baseness_ and _iniquity_ is there
in all instances of _hatred_, _envy_, _spite_ and _ill will_;
if we consider, that every instance of them, is so far acting in
_opposition_ to God, and intending _mischief_ and _harm_ to those
creatures, which God _favours_, and _protects_, and _preserves_, in
order to their happiness? An _ill-natured_ man amongst God’s creatures,
is the most _perverse_ creature in the world, acting contrary to that
_love_, by which himself _subsists_, and which alone gives subsistence
to all that variety of beings, that enjoy life in any part of the
creation.


8. _Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do unto
them._

Now, though this is a doctrine of _strict justice_, yet it is only an
_universal love_ that can comply with it.

As we have no degrees of spite or ill-will to ourselves, so we cannot
be disposed towards others as we are towards ourselves, till we
_universally_ renounce all instances of spite and ill-will, even in
the _smallest_ degrees.

If we had any imperfection in our _eyes_, that made us see _any one_
thing wrong, for the same reason they would shew us an hundred things
wrong.

So if we have any temper of our hearts, that makes us spiteful,
or ill-natured towards _any one_ man, the same temper will make us
envious, and spiteful, and ill-natured towards a great many more.

If therefore we desire this love, we must exercise our hearts in the
love of _all_, because it is not _Christian_ love, till it is the love
of _all_.

If a man could keep this whole law of love, and yet offend in _one
point_, he would be guilty of all. For as one allowed instance of
injustice destroys the justice of all our other actions; so one
allowed instance of envy, spite, or ill-will, renders all our other
acts of affection nothing worth.

Acts of love, that proceed not from a principle of _universal love_,
are but like acts of justice, that proceed from a heart not disposed
to _universal justice_.


9. Now, the noblest motive to universal tenderness is this, _God is
love, and he that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God_.

Who therefore, whose heart has any tendency towards God, would not
aspire after this divine temper.

How should we rejoice in the exercise of this love, which, is an
assurance to us, that we act according to his Spirit, who is love
itself?

God willeth the happiness of all beings, though it is no happiness to
himself; therefore we must desire the happiness of all beings, tho’ no
happiness cometh to us from it.

God equally delighteth in the perfections of all his creatures;
therefore we should rejoice in those perfections wherever we see them,
and be as glad to have other people perfect as ourselves.


10. *God, besides his own great example of love, which ought to draw
all his creatures after it, has so provided for us, and made our
happiness so _common_ to us all, that we have no occasion to envy or
hate one another.

For we cannot stand in one another’s way; or by enjoying our true good,
keep another from his full share of it.

As we cannot be happy, but in the enjoyment of God; so we cannot rob
one another of this happiness.

And as to other things, the _enjoyments_ of this life, they are so
little in themselves, so foreign to our happiness; and generally
speaking, so _contrary_ to that which they appear to be, that they
are no foundation for envy, or hatred.

How silly would it be to envy a man, that was drinking poison out of a
_golden_ cup? And yet who can say, that he is acting wiser than thus,
when he is envying any instance of worldly greatness?


11. *How many _saints_ has adversity sent to heaven? And how many
sinners has prosperity plunged into everlasting misery? A man seems to
be in the most glorious state, when he has conquered, disgraced, and
humbled his enemy; though it may be, that same conquest has saved his
adversary, and undone himself.

_This_ man had perhaps never been debauched, but for his _fortune_ and
_advancement_; _that_ had never been pious, but thro’ his _poverty_
and _disgrace_.

She that is envied for her beauty, may, perchance, owe all her
_misery_ to it; and another may be for ever happy, for having had no
admirers of her _person_.

_One_ man succeeds in every thing, and so loses all: _another_ meets
with nothing but crosses and disappointments, and thereby gains more
than all the world is worth.

This _clergyman_ may be undone by his being made a _bishop_; and
_that_ may save both himself and others by being fixed to his _poor
vicarage_.

How envied was _Alexander_, when conquering the world, he built
_towns_, set up his _statues_, and left marks of his glory in so many
kingdoms!

And how despised was the poor preacher St. _Paul_ when he was _beaten
with rods_! And yet how strangely was the world mistaken in their
judgment! How much to be envied was St. _Paul_! How much to be pitied
was _Alexander_!

These few reflections shew, that the different conditions of this life
have nothing in them to excite our uneasy passions, nothing that can
reasonably interrupt our love and affection to one another.


12. To proceed now to another motive to this _universal_ love.

Our power of doing _external acts_ of love, is often very narrow
and restrained. There are, it may be, but few people to whom we can
contribute any worldly relief.

But tho’ our outward means of doing good are often thus limited, yet,
if our hearts are full of love, we get, as it were, an infinite power;
because God will attribute to us those good works, which we would have
performed, had it been in our power.

You cannot heal all the _sick_, relieve all the _poor_; you cannot
comfort all in distress, nor be a father to all the fatherless. You
cannot, it may be, deliver many from their misfortunes, or teach them
to find comfort in God.

*But if there is a love in your heart, that _excites_ you to do _all_
that you can; if your love has _no bounds_, but continually _wishes_
and _prays_ for the relief of all that are in distress, you will be
received by God as a benefactor to those, who had nothing from you but
your _good-will_, and tender affections.

You cannot build _hospitals_ for the _incurable_; but if you join
in your heart with those that do; if you are a friend to these great
friends to mankind, and rejoice in their eminent virtues, you will be
received by God as a sharer of such good works, as tho’ they had none
of your _hands_, yet had _all_ your _heart_.

This consideration surely is sufficient to make us watch over our
hearts with all diligence: and aspire after the height of a loving,
charitable, and benevolent mind.


13. And, on the other hand, we may hence learn the great evil of
_envy_, _spite_, _hatred_, and _ill-will_. For if the goodness of our
hearts will intitle us to the reward of good actions, which we never
performed; it is certain that the badness of our hearts, will bring us
under the guilt of actions that we have never committed.

*As he that lusteth after a woman shall be reckoned an adulterer,
tho’ he has only committed the crime in his heart; so the malicious,
spiteful, ill-natured man, that only _secretly_ rejoices at evil,
shall be reckoned a _murderer_, tho’ he has shed no blood.

*Since therefore our hearts, which are always naked and open to the
eyes of God, give such an exceeding extent and increase, either to our
virtues or vices, it is our _greatest_ business to govern the motions
of our hearts, to correct and improve the inward state of our souls.


14. Now there is nothing that so much exalts our souls, as this
heavenly love; it cleanses and purifies like a holy fire, and all
ill tempers fall away before it. By love, I don’t mean any _natural
tenderness_, which is more or less in people, according to their
constitutions; but a _larger principle_ of the soul, which makes us
kind to all our fellow-creatures, as creatures of God, and for his
sake.

It is this love that loves all things in God, as his creatures, as the
images of his power, as the creatures of his goodness, as parts of his
family, as members of his society, that becomes a holy principle of
all great and good actions.

These reasons sufficiently shew, that no love is _holy_, or
_religious_, till it becomes _universal_.

For if religion requires me to love all persons, as God’s creatures,
that belong to him, that bear his image, enjoy his protection, and
make parts of his family and houshold; if these are the great reasons
why I should live in love with any one man in the world, they are
the same great reasons why I should live in love with every man in
the world; and consequently, I offend against _all these reasons_,
whenever I want love towards any one man. The sin therefore of hating
or despising any one man, is like the sin of hating all God’s creation;
and the necessity of loving any one man, is the same necessity of
loving every man in the world. And tho’ many people may appear to us
ever so sinful, odious, or extravagant in their conduct, we must never
look upon that as the least motive for any contempt or disregard of
them; but look upon them with the greater compassion, as being in the
most pitiable condition that can be.


15. *As it was the sins of the world, that made the Son of God become
a compassionate suffering Advocate for all mankind; so no one is of
the Spirit of Christ, but he that has the _utmost compassion_ for
sinners. And you have never less reason to be pleased with yourself,
than when you find yourself most offended at the behaviour of others.
All sin is certainly to be hated; but then, we must set ourselves
against sin, as we do against _sickness_ and _diseases_, by shewing
ourselves tender and compassionate to the _sick_ and _diseased_.

*All other hatred of sin, which does not fill the heart with the
_softest_, _tenderest_ affections towards persons miserable in it, it
is the servant of sin at the same time that it seems to be hating it.

And there is no temper which even good men ought more carefully to
guard against than this. For it is a temper that lurks under the cover
of many virtues, and by being unsuspected does the more mischief.

A man naturally fancies, that it is his own love of virtue that makes
him not able to bear with those that want it; and when he _abhors_
one man, _despises_ another, and can’t bear the _name_ of a third, he
supposes it all to be a proof of his own _high sense_ of virtue, and
_just hatred_ of sin.

And yet one would think that a man needed no other cure for this
temper, than this one reflection:

That if this had been the _spirit_ of the Son of God, if he had hated
sin in _this manner_, there had been no redemption of the world: if
God had hated sinners in this manner, the world itself had ceased long
ago.

This therefore we may take for a certain rule, that the more we
partake of the divine nature, and the higher our sense of virtue
is, the more we shall compassionate those that want it. The sight of
such people will then, instead of raising in us a haughty contempt,
or peevish indignation towards them, fill us with such bowels of
compassion, as when we see the miseries of an _hospital_.


16. That the follies therefore, and ill-behaviour of our fellow
creatures, may not lessen that love which we are to have for all
mankind, we should often consider the reasons on which this duty of
love is founded.

Now we are to love our neighbour, that is, all mankind, not because
they are wise, holy or virtuous; for all mankind never was, nor ever
will be so.

Again, if their goodness were the reason of our being obliged to love
people, we should have no _rule_ to proceed by; because tho’ some
people’s virtues or vices are notorious, yet, generally speaking, we
are but ill judges of the virtue of other people.

_Thirdly_, We are sure that the virtue of persons, is not the reason
of our being obliged to love them, because we are commanded to pay
the highest instances of love to our worst enemies; we are to love,
and bless, and pray for those that most injuriously treat us. This
therefore is demonstration, that the merit of persons is not the
reason on which our obligation to love them is founded.

Let us farther consider what that love is which we owe to our
neighbour; it is to love him as ourselves, that is, to wish him every
thing that we may lawfully wish to ourselves; to be glad of every good,
and sorry for every evil that happens to him: and to be ready to do
him all such acts of kindness, as we are always ready to do ourselves.

This love therefore, you see, is nothing but a love of _benevolence_;
it requires nothing of us, but good _wishes_, _tender affections_, and
such acts of kindness, as we shew to ourselves.


17. Now we are obliged to this love, in imitation of God’s goodness,
that we may be children of our Father which is in heaven, who willeth
the happiness of all his creatures, and maketh his sun to rise on the
evil and on the good.

Again, our redemption, by Jesus Christ, calleth us to the exercise of
this love, who came from heaven, and laid down his life, out of love,
to the whole sinful world.

_Lastly_, Our Lord and Saviour has required us to love one another, as
he loved us.

These are the great, perpetual reasons, on which our obligation to
love all mankind as ourselves is founded.

These reasons never vary; they always continue in their full force;
and therefore equally oblige at all times, and in regard to all
persons.

God loves us, not because we are wise, and good, and holy, but in pity
to us, because we want this happiness. He loves us, in order to make
us good. Our love therefore must take this course; not looking for, or
requiring the merit of our brethren, but pitying their disorders, and
wishing them all the good that they want, and are capable of receiving.


18. You will perhaps ask, if you are not to have a _particular esteem_
for good men? Yes; but this _esteem_ is very different from that love
of _benevolence_ which we owe to our neighbour.

The distinction betwixt love of benevolence, and esteem, is plain and
obvious.

No man is to have a _high esteem_ for his own accomplishments or
behaviour; yet every man is to love himself, that is, to wish well to
himself; therefore this distinction betwixt love and esteem, is not
only plain, but very necessary to be observed.

Again, if you think it hardly possible to dislike the actions of
unreasonable men, and yet have a true love for them, consider this
with relation to yourself.

It is very possible, for you not only to dislike, but to _detest_ and
_abhor_ a great many of your own past actions. But do you then lose
any of those tender sentiments towards yourself, which you used to
have? Do you then cease to wish well to yourself? Is not the love of
yourself as strong then as at any other time?

Now what is thus possible with relation to ourselves, is possible with
relation to others. We may have the highest good wishes towards them,
desiring for them every good that we desire for ourselves, and yet at
the same time dislike their way of life.


19. To conclude, all that love which we may justly have for ourselves,
we are in _strict justice_ obliged to exercise towards all other
men; and we offend against the great law of our nature, when our
tempers towards others are different from those which we have towards
ourselves.

Now that _self-love_ which is _just_ and _reasonable_, keeps us
constantly _tender_, _compassionate_, and _well-affected_ towards
ourselves. If therefore you don’t feel these kind dispositions towards
all other people, you may be assured, that you are not in that state
of charity, which is the very life and soul of Christian piety.

You know how it hurts you, to be made the _jest_ and _ridicule_ of
other people; how it grieves you to be _robbed_ of your reputation:
if therefore you expose others to _scorn_ and _contempt_ in _any_
degree; if it pleases you to see or hear of their _frailties_ and
_infirmities_; or if you are only _loth_ to conceal their faults,
you are so far from loving such people as yourself, that you may be
justly supposed to have as much hatred for them, as you have love for
yourself. For such tempers are as truly the proper fruits of hatred,
as the contrary tempers are the proper fruits of love.

And as it is a certain sign that you love yourself, because you are
tender of every thing that concerns you; so it is as certain a sign
that you hate your neighbour, when you are pleased with any thing that
hurts him.




                             CHAP. XVII.

    _Of the necessity and benefit of |intercession|, considered
      as an exercise of universal love. How all orders of men are
      to interceed with God for one another. How such
      intercession amends and reforms the heart._


1. THAT intercession is a great and necessary part of Christian
devotion, is very evident from scripture.

The first followers of Christ seem to support all their love, by
prayers for one another.

St. _Paul_, whether he writes to churches, or particular persons,
shews that they are the constant subject of his prayers.

Thus to the _Philippians_, _I thank my God upon every remembrance of
you: always in every prayer of mine for you all, making request with
joy_, Phil. i. 4, 5.

His devotion had also the same care for particular persons, as appears
by the following passage: _I thank my God, whom I serve from my
forefathers, with a pure conscience, that, without ceasing, I have
remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day_, 2 Tim. i. 3. How
holy an acquaintance and friendship was this, how worthy of persons
that were raised above the world, and related to one another, as new
members of a kingdom of heaven!


2. Apostles and great saints did not only thus bless particular
churches, and private persons; but they themselves also received
graces from God by the prayers of others. Thus saith St. _Paul_ to the
_Corinthians_, _You also helping together by prayer for us, that for
the gift bestowed upon us by the means of many persons, thanks may be
given by many on our behalf_, 2 Cor. i. 11.

This was the _ancient friendship_ of Christians, uniting and cementing
their hearts, not by worldly considerations, or human passions, but
by the mutual communication of spiritual blessings, by prayers and
thanksgivings to God for one another.

It was this holy intercession that raised Christians to such a state
of mutual love, as far exceeded all that had been admired in human
friendship. And when the same spirit of intercession is again in the
world, this holy friendship will be again in fashion, and Christians
will be again the wonder of the world, for that exceeding love which
they bear to one another.

For a _frequent_ intercession with God, earnestly beseeching him to
forgive the sins of all mankind, to bless them with his providence,
enlighten them with his Spirit, and bring them to everlasting
happiness, is the divinest exercise that the heart of man can be
engaged in.


3. Be daily therefore on your knees in a solemn, deliberate
performance of this devotion, praying for others with such _length_,
_importunity_, and _earnestness_, as you use for yourself; and you
will find all _little_, _ill-natured_ passions die away; and your
heart will delight in the common happiness of others, as you used only
to delight in your own.

For it is hardly possible for you to beseech God to make any one happy
in his glory to all eternity, and yet be troubled to see him enjoy the
much smaller gifts of God in this life.

But the greatest benefits of intercession are then received, when it
descends to such _particular_ instances as our _state_ and _condition_
in life more particularly require of us.

Tho’ we are to treat all mankind as _neighbour_ and _brethren_, as
occasion offers; yet as we can only live in the actual society of
a few, and are more particularly _related_ to some than others; so
when our intercession is made an exercise of love and care for those
amongst whom our _lot_ is fallen, or who belong to us in a _nearer
relation_, it then becomes the greatest benefit to ourselves.

If therefore you should always alter your intercessions, according as
the _needs_ of your _neighbours_ or _acquaintance_ require; beseeching
God to deliver them from such or such particular evils, or to grant
them this or that particular gift, or blessing; such intercessions,
besides the great charity of them, would have a mighty effect upon
your own heart.


4. This would make it pleasant to you to be _courteous_, _civil_, and
_condescending_ to all about you, and make you unable to say or do a
rude or hard thing to those for whom you had used yourself to be so
kind and compassionate in your prayers.

*For there is nothing that makes us love a man so much, as praying
for him; and when you can once do this sincerely for any man, you have
fitted your soul for the performance of every thing that is kind and
civil towards him. This will fill your heart with a generosity and
tenderness, that will give you a better and sweeter behaviour, than
any thing that is called _fine breeding_ and _good manners_.

By considering yourself as an advocate with God for your neighbours
and acquaintance, you would never find it hard to be at peace with
them yourself. It would be easy to you to bear with, and forgive those,
for whom you particularly implored the divine mercy and forgiveness.

Such prayers as these amongst _neighbours_ and _acquaintance_,
would unite them to one another in the strongest bonds of love and
tenderness. It would teach them to consider one another in a higher
state, as members of a _spiritual society_, that are created for the
enjoyment of the common blessings of God, and fellow heirs of the same
glory.

And by being thus desirous that every one should have their full share
of the favours of God, they would be glad to see one another happy in
the little enjoyments of this life.


5. *_Ouranius_ is a holy priest, full of the spirit of the gospel,
watching, labouring, and praying for a poor _country village_. Every
soul in it is as dear to him as himself; and he loves them all, as he
loves himself, because he _prays_ for them all, as often as he prays
for himself.

If his whole life is one continual exercise of great zeal and labour,
hardly ever satisfied with any degrees of care and watchfulness, ’tis
because he has learned the great value of souls, by so often appearing
before God as an _intercessor_ for them.

He never thinks he can love, or do enough for his flock; because he
never considers them in any other view, than as so many persons, that,
by receiving the gifts and graces of God, are to become his _hope_,
his _joy_, and his _crown of rejoicing_.

He goes about his parish, and visits every body in it; but visits in
the same spirit of piety that he preaches to them: he visits them to
encourage their virtues, to assist them with his advice, to discover
their manner of life, and to know the state of their souls, that he
may _interceed_ with God for them, according to their _particular
necessities_.


6. When _Ouranius_ first entered into holy orders, he had a
_haughtiness_ in his temper, a great _contempt_ for all foolish and
unreasonable people: but he has _prayed away_ this spirit, and has now
the greatest tenderness for the most obstinate sinners; because he is
always hoping, that God will sooner or later hear those _prayers_ that
he makes for their repentance.

The _rudeness_, _ill-nature_, or _perverse_ behaviour of any of his
flock, used at first to betray him into impatience; but it now raises
no other passion in him, than a desire of being upon his knees in
prayer to God for them.

Thus have his _prayers_ for others _altered_ and _amended_ the state
of his own heart.

It would delight you to see with what _spirit_ he converses, with
what _tenderness_ he reproves, with what _affection_ he exhorts, and
with what _vigour_ he preaches; and ’tis all owing to this, because he
reproves, exhorts, and preaches to those, for whom he first _prays_ to
God.

This devotion softens his heart, enlightens his mind, sweetens his
temper, and makes every thing that comes from him, instructive,
amiable and affecting.


7. At his first coming to this little _village_, it was as
disagreeable to him as a _prison_, and every day seemed too tedious
to be endured in so retired a place. He thought his parish was too
full of _poor_ and _mean_ people, that were none of them fit for the
conversation of a _gentleman_.

This put him upon a close application to his studies. He kept much at
home, writ _notes_ upon _Homer_ and _Plautus_, and sometimes thought
it hard to be called to pray by any poor body, when he was just in the
midst of one of _Homer’s battles_.

This was his _polite_, or I may rather say, _poor, ignorant_ turn of
mind, before devotion had got the government of his heart.

But now his days are so far from being tedious, or his parish too
great a retirement, that he only wants more time to do that variety of
good which his soul thirsts after. The solitude of his little parish
is become matter of great comfort to him, because he hopes that God
has placed him and his flock there, to make it their way to heaven.

He can now not only converse with, but gladly _wait_ upon the poorest
kind of people. He is now daily watching over the _weak_, humbling
himself to perverse, rude, ignorant people, wherever he can find them;
and is so far from desiring to be considered as a _gentleman_, that
he desires to be used as the _servant_ of all; and in the Spirit of
his Lord and Master _girds himself_, and is glad to _kneel down_ and
_wash_ any of their _feet_.

He now thinks the poorest creature in his parish good enough, and
great enough, to deserve the humblest attendances, the kindest
friendships, the tenderest offices, he can possibly shew them.

He is so far now from wanting agreeable company, that he thinks there
is no better conversation in the world, than to be talking with _poor_
and _mean_ people about the kingdom of heaven.

All these noble thoughts and divine sentiments are the effects of
his great devotion; he presents every one so often before God in his
prayers, that he never thinks he can _esteem_, or serve those enough,
for whom he implores so many mercies from God.


8. _Ouranius_ is mightily affected with this passage of holy scripture,
_The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much_,
James v. 16.

This makes him practise all the arts of holy living, and aspire after
every instance of piety, that his prayers for his flock may have their
full force, and avail much with God.

For this reason he has sold a small estate that he had, and has
erected a charitable retirement for ancient, poor people, to live in
prayer and piety; that his prayers, being assisted by such good works,
may _pierce the clouds_, and bring down blessings upon those souls
committed to his care.


9. _Ouranius_ reads how God himself said unto _Abimelech_ concerning
_Abraham_: _He is a prophet; he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt
live_, Gen. xx. 7.

And again, how he said of _Job_: _And my servant Job shall pray for
you; for him will I accept_, Job xlii. 8.

From these passages _Ouranius_ justly concludes, that the prayers of
men eminent for holiness, have an extraordinary power with God; that
he grants to other people such blessings, through their prayers, as
would not be granted to men of less piety. This makes _Ouranius_
exceeding studious of Christian perfection, searching after every
grace and holy temper, fearful of every error and defect in his life,
lest his prayers for his flock should be less availing with God.

This makes him careful of every _temper_ of his heart, give _alms_
of all that he hath, _watch_, and _fast_, and _mortify_, and live
according to the strictest rules of _temperance_, _meekness_ and
_humility_, that he may be in some degree like an _Abraham_, or a
_Job_, in his parish, and make such prayers for them as God will hear
and accept.

These are the happy effects which a _devout intercession_ hath
produced in the life of _Ouranius_.

And if other people in their several stations, were to imitate his
example, in such a manner as suited their particular state of life,
they would certainly find the same happy effects from it.


10. *If _masters_, for instance, were to remember their _servants_
in their prayers, beseeching God to bless them, and suiting their
petitions to the particular wants of their servants; letting no day
pass, without a _full performance_ of this part of devotion; the
benefit would be as great to themselves as to their servants.

No way so likely as this, to inspire them with a true sense of that
power which they have in their hands, to make them delight in doing
good, and become exemplary in all the parts of a wise and good master.

*The presenting their servants so often before God, as equally
related to God, and intitled to the same heaven as themselves,
would incline them to treat them not only with such _humanity_
as became _fellow-creatures_, but with such _tenderness_, _care_,
and _generosity_, as became _fellow-heirs_ of the same glory. This
devotion would make masters inclined to every thing that was good
towards their servants; be watchful of their behaviour, and as ready
to require of them an exact observance of the duties of Christianity
as of the duties of their service.

*This would teach them to consider their servants as God’s servants,
to desire their perfection, to do nothing before them that might
corrupt their minds, to impose no business upon them that should
lessen their sense of religion, or hinder them from their full
share of devotion, both public and private. This praying for them,
would make them as glad to see their servants eminent in piety as
themselves, and contrive that they should have all opportunities
and encouragements, both to know and perform all the duties of the
Christian life.


11. How natural would it be for such a master, to perform every part
of family devotion; to have constant prayers; to excuse no one’s
absence from them; to have the scriptures, and books of piety, often
read among his servants; take all opportunities of instructing them,
of raising their minds to God, and teaching them to do all their
business, as a service to God, and upon the hopes and expectations
of another life?

*How natural would it be for such a one to pity their weakness and
ignorance, to bear with the dulness of their understandings, or the
perverseness of their tempers; to reprove them with tenderness, exhort
them with affection, as hoping that God would hear his prayers for
them?

How impossible would it be for a master, that thus interceeded with
God for his servants, to use any unkind threatenings towards them, to
damn and curse them as _dogs_ and scoundrels, and treat them only as
dregs of the creation?

This devotion would give them another spirit, and make them consider
how to make proper returns of care, kindness, and protection to those,
who had spent their strength and time in service and attendance upon
them.


12. Now if _gentlemen_ think it too low an employment to exercise such
a devotion as this for their _servants_, let them consider how far
they are from the spirit of Christ, who made himself not only an
intercessor, but a sacrifice for the whole race of sinful mankind?

Let them consider how miserable their greatness would be, if the Son
of God should think it as much below him to pray for them, as they do
to pray for their fellow-creatures?

Let them consider how far they are from that spirit, which prays for
its most unjust enemies, if they have not kindness enough to pray for
those, by whose labours and service they live in ease themselves.


13. Again: If parents should thus make themselves _advocates_ and
_intercessors_ with God for their children, constantly applying to
heaven in behalf of them, nothing would be more likely, not only
to bless their children, but also to dispose their own minds to the
performance of every thing that was excellent and praise-worthy.

I don’t suppose, but that the generality of parents remember their
children in their prayers. *But the thing here intended is not a
general remembrance of them, but a _regular method_ of recommending
all their _particular needs_ unto God; and of praying for every
such particular _grace_ and _virtue_ for them as their _state_ and
_condition_ of life shall seem to require.

The state of parents is a holy state, in some degree like that of the
priesthood, and calls upon them to bless their children with their
prayers and sacrifices to God. Thus it was that holy _Job_ watched
over, and blessed his children, he _sanctified them, he rose up early
in the morning, and offered burnt-offerings, according to the number
of them all_, Job i. 5.

If parents therefore, considering themselves in this light, should be
daily calling upon God in a _solemn, deliberate_ manner, _altering_
and _extending_ their intercessions, as the _state_ and _growth_ of
their children required, such devotion would have a mighty influence
upon the rest of their lives; it would make them very circumspect
in the government of themselves; prudent and careful of every thing
they said or did, lest their example should hinder that which they so
constantly desired in their prayers.


14. If a father was daily making particular prayers to God, that
he would please to inspire his children with _true piety_, _great
humility_, and _strict temperance_, what could be more likely to make
the father himself become exemplary in these virtues? How naturally
would he grow ashamed of wanting such virtues as he thought necessary
for his children? So that his prayers for their piety, would be a
certain means of exalting his own.

If a father thus considered himself as an intercessor with God for his
children, to bless them with his prayers, how would such thoughts make
him avoid every thing that was displeasing to God, lest when he prayed
for his children, God should reject his prayers?

*How tenderly, how religiously would such a father converse with his
children, whom he considered as his little spiritual flock, whose
virtues he was to form by his example, encourage by his authority,
nourish by his counsel, and prosper by his prayers to God for them?

*How fearful would he be of all unjust ways of raising their fortune,
of bringing them up in pride and indulgence, or of making them too
fond of the world, lest he should thereby render them incapable of
those graces which he was so often beseeching God to grant them?


15. _Lastly_, If all people, when they feel the first approaches of
_resentment_, _envy_, or _contempt_, towards others; or if in all
little disagreements and misunderstandings whatever, they should,
instead of indulging their minds with little, low reflections, have
recourse to a more particular intercession with God, for such persons
as had raised their envy, resentment, or discontent; this would be a
certain way to prevent the growth of all uncharitable tempers.

If you was always to form your prayer at that time to the greatest
degree of _contrariety_ to that temper which you was then in, it would
be an excellent means of mending your heart.

As for instance: when at any time you find in your heart motions of
_envy_ towards any person, whether on account of his _riches_, _power_,
_reputation_, _learning_, or _advancement_, if you should immediately
pray to God to bless and prosper him in that _very thing_ which raised
your envy; if you should repeat your petitions in the strongest terms,
beseeching God to grant him all the happiness from the enjoyment of it
that can possibly be received, you would soon find it to be the best
antidote in the world, to expel the venom of that passion.

*_Again_: If in any little difference or misunderstandings that you
happened to have at any time with a _relation_, a _neighbour_, or
any one else, you should then pray for them in a more _extraordinary
manner_ than you ever did before, beseeching God to give them
every grace and blessing you can think of, you would take the
speediest method of reconciling all differences, and clearing up
all misunderstandings. You would then think nothing too great to be
forgiven, stay for no condescensions, need no mediation of a third
person, but be glad to testify your love and good-will to him, who
had so high a place in your secret prayers.

This would remove all peevish passions, soften your heart into the
most tender condescensions, and be the best arbitrator of all
differences that happened betwixt you and any of your acquaintance.


16. Hence we may also learn the odious nature of all _spite_, _hatred_,
_contempt_, and _angry passions_. They are not to be considered as
defects in _good-nature_, not as failings in _civility_ or _good
breeding_, but as such _base tempers_ as are entirely inconsistent
with the _charity_ of intercession.

You think it a small matter to be _peevish_ or _ill-natured_ to such
or such a man; but you should consider, whether it be a small matter
to do that which you could not do, if you had but so much charity as
to be able to recommend him to God in your prayers.

You think it a small matter to _ridicule_ one man, and _despise_
another; but you should consider, whether it be a small matter to want
that charity towards these people which Christians are not allowed to
want towards their most inveterate enemies.

For, be but as charitable to these men, do but _bless_ and _pray_ for
them, as you are obliged to bless and pray for your _enemies_, and
then you will find that you have charity enough, to make it impossible
for you to treat them with any degree of scorn or contempt.

For you cannot possibly despise and ridicule that man, whom your
_private prayers_ recommend to the love and favour of God.

When you despise and ridicule a man, it is with no other end but to
make him ridiculous and contemptible in the eyes of other men. How
therefore can it be possible for you sincerely to beseech God to bless
that man with the _honour_ of his love and favour, whom you desire men
to treat as worthy of their contempt.

Could you, out of love to a neighbour, desire your _prince_ to honour
him with his esteem and favour, and yet at the same time expose him to
the scorn and derision of your own servants.

Yet this is as possible, as to expose that man to the scorn and
contempt of your fellow-creatures, whom you recommend to the favour
of God in your secret prayers.


17. You cannot despise a brother, without despising him that stands
in a _high relation_ to God, to his Son Jesus Christ, and to the Holy
Trinity.

You would certainly think it a mighty impiety to treat a _writing_
with contempt, that had been written by the _finger_ of God; and can
you think it a less impiety to contemn a brother, who is not only the
_workmanship_, but the _image_ of God?

You would justly think it great prophaneness to condemn and trample
upon an _altar_, because it was appropriated to holy uses, and had
had the body of Christ so often placed upon it; and can you suppose
it to be less prophaneness to scorn and trample upon a brother, who so
belongs to God, that his very body is the _temple of the Holy Ghost_,
1 Cor. vi. 15.


18. *But to return: _Intercession_ is not only the best arbitrator of
all differences, the best promoter of true friendship, the best cure
and preservative against all unkind tempers, all angry and haughty
passions, but is also of great use to discover to us the true state
of our own hearts.

There are many tempers which we think _lawful_ and _innocent_, which
we never suspect of any harm; which, if they were to be tried by this
devotion, would soon shew us how we have deceived ourselves.

*_Susurrus_ is a pious, temperate man, remarkable for abundance of
excellent qualities. No one more constant at the service of the church.
His charity is so great, that he almost starves himself, to be able to
give greater alms to the poor.


19. Yet _Susurrus_ had a prodigious failing along with these great
virtues.

He had a mighty inclination to hear and discover all the defects and
infirmities of all about him. You was welcome to tell him any thing of
any body, provided that you did not do it in the _stile_ of an enemy.
He never disliked an _evil-speaker_, but when his language was _rough_
and _passionate_. If you would but whisper any thing gently, tho’ it
was ever so bad, _Susurrus_ was ready to receive it.

When he visits, you generally hear him relating, how sorry he is for
the failings of such a neighbour. He is always letting you know how
tender he is of the reputation of his neighbour; how loth to say that
which he is forced to say; and how gladly he would conceal it, if it
could be concealed.

_Susurrus_ had such a tender, compassionate manner of relating things
the most prejudicial to his neighbour, that he even seemed, both to
himself and others, to be exercising a Christian charity, at the same
time that he was indulging a whispering, evil-speaking temper.

_Susurrus_ once whispered to a particular friend in great secrecy,
something too bad to be spoke of publickly. He ended with saying, how
glad he was, that he had some hopes it might not be true, tho’ the
suspicions were very strong. His friend made him this reply:

You say, _Susurrus_, that you are glad it has not yet taken wind;
and that you have some hopes it may not prove true. Go home therefore
to your _closet_, and pray to God for this man, in such a manner,
and with such earnestness as you would pray for yourself on the like
occasion.

Beseech God to interpose in his favour, to save him from false
accusers, and bring all those to shame, who, by _uncharitable
whispers_, and _secret stories_, wound him, like those that stab in
the dark. And when you have made this prayer, then you may, if you
please, go tell the same secret to some other friend, that you have
told to me.


20. _Susurrus_ was exceedingly affected with this rebuke, and felt the
force of it upon his conscience in as lively a manner, as if he had
seen the _books opened_ at the day of judgment.

All other arguments might have been resisted; but it was impossible
for _Susurrus_ either to reject, or follow this advice, without being
equally self-condemned in the highest degree.

From that time to this, he has constantly used himself to this method
of intercession; and his heart is so ♦entirely changed by it, that
he can now no more privately whisper any thing to the prejudice of
another, than he can openly pray to God to do people hurt.

  ♦ ‘intirely’ replaced with ‘entirely’

Whisperings and evil-speakings now hurt his ears, like oaths and
curses; and he has appointed one day in the week, to be a day of
penance as long as he lives, to humble himself before God, in the
sorrowful confession of his former guilt.

It may be well wondered, how a man of so much piety as _Susurrus_,
could be so deceived in himself, as to live in such a state of
_scandal_ and _evil-speaking_, without suspecting himself to be
guilty of it. But it was the _tenderness_ and seeming _compassion_
with which he heard and related every thing, that deceived both
himself and others.

This was a falseness of heart, which was fully discovered, by the true
charity of _intercession_.

And if people of virtue, who think as little harm of themselves,
as _Susurrus_ did, were often to try their spirit by such an
_intercession_, they would often find themselves to be such, as they
least of all suspected.


                    The End of the _Fifth_ Volume.