b'RELIGION WITHOUT CANT: \n\n\n\nO R, \n\n\n\nA PRESERVATIVE \n\n\n\nAGAINST \n\n\n\nLUKEWARMNESS AND INTOLERANCE; \n\n\n\nFANATICISM, SUPERSTITION, AND IMPIETY. \n\n\n\nBy ROBERT FELLOWES, A. M. \n\nOF ST. MARY HALL, OXFORD, \nAtfthor of A Pifture of Chriftian Philofophy, &c. &c \n\n\n\n\n(t Haec confcius mihl fum non dicere me cujufquam odlo, fed, in tanto et \ntarn praefenti periculo, neminem arbitror effe debere ceffatorem." \n\nGrot. vot. pro Pac. \n\n" Hoftis non fum, nifl eorum dogmatum, quae credo noxia aut pietati aut \nfocietati humanae." Ibid. \n\n" That is not truth that loves changes; and the new-nothings of fchifmaticai \npreachers are infinitely far from the bleflings of truth." \n\nJer. Taylor, Supplem. Serm. \n\n\n\nLONDON: \n\nFRINTED FOR J. WHITE, FLEET-STREET. \n\n1801. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n<f \n\n\n\n\xc2\xab; \n\n\n\nIf the caufe of politic affairs cannot, in any good fort, go \nforward without fit Inftruments, and that which fitteth \nthem be their Virtues, let Polity acknowledge itfelf in- \ndebted to Religion j Godlinefs being the chiefefl top and \nwellrfpring of all true virtues, even as God is of all good \nthings. So natural is the union of Religion with Juftice, \nthat we may boldly deem there is neither where both are \nnot. For how fhould they be unfeignedly juft whom Reli- \ngion doth not caufe to be fuch j or they religious, which are \nnot found fuch by the proof of their juft actions?" \n\nHooker Eccl. Pol. B. v, \nSuperftition neither knoweth the right kind, nor obferveth \nthe due meafare of actions belonging to the Service of God, \nbut is always joined with a wrong opinion touching things \ndivine." Ibid, \n\n\n\nT. Benfley, Printer, Bolt Court, Fleet Street, London* \n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n\nEvery friend to genuine Chriftianity muft \nlament the errors in which it is bewildered, \nand the corruptions by which it is oppreffed. \nThe beft gifts of heaven are capable of the \ngreateft abufe ; and they are often the mofl \nabufed. Reafon was given us to diftinguifh \nright from wrong; to be the rule of a\xc2\xa3tioii \nand the guide of life : yet, by fome, this glo- \nrious faculty is hardly exercifed at all ; and, \nby others, it is employed only to do mifchief. \nSome ufe it rather to perplex than to unravel \ntruth ; and to make that intricate which God \nmade plain. Revelation, which was defigned \nas a beneficent auxiliary to human reafon, and \nto afford full and fatisfadtory information on \nthe dark and doubtful queftion of a future \n\na 2 \n\n\n\n( * ) \n\nlife, \xe2\x80\x94 a topic of inquiry, on which the ut- \nmoft ftretch of the intelle&ual powers of man \ncould not advance beyond fome faint analogy \nor fome plaufible conje\xc2\xa3ture, has, by the \nfceptical, been deemed an enemy to reafon ; \nand fome of the faithful have fuppofed \nreafon an enemy to it. Thus while fome \nhave imagined that a beleif in revelation fet- \ntered the free ufe of the rational faculties, \nothers have thought that the free ufe of the \nrational faculties was inimical to the interefts \nof revelation. \n\nThere is a fort of fpurious Chriftianity, a \nftrange mixture of credulity and impofture, \nof ignorance that moves comoaffion, and of \nhypocrify that excites abhorrence, in which \nfaith is commended more than goodnefs, and \ncommon fenfe is loft fight of in the purfuit \nof myftery ; which has feldom wanted advo- \ncates in the Chriftian world ; and which has \nlately found numerous admirers in our own \ncountry. This undefigning perverfion or \n\n\n\n( v ) \n\nfyftematic depravation of the Chriftian doc- \ntrine it is, in a great meafure, the defign of \nthe prefent work to counteract ; and, if pof- \nlible, to refcue the religion of the bleffed \nJeius from a multitude of corruptions by \nwhich its ufefulnefs is diminifhed and its \n\nglory is obfcured. What are called the \n\ndoclrines of Chriftianity have been wilfully \nperverted and grofsly mifunderflood. Con- \nftru\xc2\xa3tions have been put upon them, which \nare not more contrary to reafon than to fcrip- \nture ; and equally adverfe to the honour of \nGod and to the happinefs of mankind. Of \nthofe doflrines, which relate to the fall 9 \nfaith, the new birth , divine grace, and which \nhave often been made fubfervient to the word \nof purpofes, I have endeavoured to give a \nplain, a fcriptural and rational explanation. \nOf that abfurd and unfcriptural fiftion called \n" Original Sin," which, fince the time of St. \nAuftin, has been reprefented by vifionaries, \nfanatics, and impoftors, as the moft important \nand falutary conftituent of vital Chriflianity, \n\na 3 \n\n\n\n( vi ) \n\nI have fpared no pains to refute the error and \nto expofe the abfurdity ; and I have employed \nthe mere time on this fubje\xc2\xa3t, becaufe I am \nconvinced that it will be found the root of \nnumberlefs corruptions. If, in fpeaking on \nthis dodrine, I have ufed warmer language \nthan men of a colder temperament may ap- \nprove, my only apology is. that fuch language \nis the language of my heart. I could not \nwell have employed different expreffions, \nwithout doing violence to my confeience as \nwell as to my feelings ; to my reverence for \nGod and to my love for mankind. When \nthe obligations of truth, of juflice and of \nmercy are openly reviled or infidioufly under- \nmined, I mould be totally unworthy of the \nprofeffion which I have embraced, if I did \nnot ftand forth their ftrenuous and fearlefs \nadvocate. Their interests are the interefts \nof men at all times and in all places ; and, \nin proportion as the general refpedt for \nthem is relaxed, mifery will overfpread the \nworld. \n\n\n\n. \n\n\n\n( viI ) \n\nMany are the caufes, which, at the prefent \nday, confpire to favour the increafe of vice \nand to promote the decay of virtue. Moral \nprinciple is not entirely, but is, in fome degree, \nthe offspring of favourable circumftances ; and \ncertain it is that all circumftances are not \nequally propitious to its culture or its growth. \nIn fome, it may be reared with lefs labour \nthan in others ; but the depreffion of extreme \nwant feems to oppofe almoft infuperable ob- \nstacles to its production *. \n\n* The poffeflion of property generates ideas very conge- \nnial to the obligations of juftice. It ftrengthens the fenfe \nof their importance by the weighty perfuafions of felf in- \ntereft. The moment we become proprietors of any thing, \nwe begin to experience fome diftincvt fenfations of the right \nof mine and thine ; fome definite notions of what is due to \nourfelves and to others ; and what is juftice but a practical \nregard for the rights of others? The fenfe of juftice feems \nftrongeft in thofe, who, having property, know that its \nfecurity depends on the fame fenfe of juftice in others. \nWhen we have no property to protect, we have little need \nof a fenfe of juftice in others ; and our own fenfe of juftice \nbecomes proportionally faint. To thofe, in whom we \nwifti to excite a vigorous fenfe of juftice, we ought to com- \nmunicate property, which makes them feel a direct and \npalpable intereft in the obligations of honefty. In propor^ \n\na 4 \n\n\n\n( viii ) \n\nDifficult, indeed, will it be found to pro- \nmote religions truft and moral integrity \namong thofe, who, going out every morning \nto their work and returning home at night \n\ntion as property gets into fewer hands, and a greater num- \nber, from being deprived of its pofTeflion or precluded from \nits attainment, feel no perfonal intereft in the prefei vation \nof its rights, it is probable that integrity will decline and \nroguery increafe. \n\nThe fpirit of the poor is broken and made abjeiSr. when \nthey are deprived of the means of bettering their condition. \nThey then look on induftry as vain, and frugality as hope- \nlefs ; and they become idle, if not from a fenfe of intereft, \nat leaft, often from feelings of fpite and revenge, of which \nthe gratification in vulgar minds often pafles for intereft. \nThey fee themfelves prevented from rifmg above the. level \nof their condition ; and they aimoft fpontaneouily labour \nto fall as low in the fink ot penury as poflible, in order to \nprefs with the greateft prilible weight on their rich fupe- \nriors. They coniider the great monopolizing tenants of \nthe foil as their natural enemies ; they regard them with \nrancour ; and, as far as they have the power, they purfue \nthem with hoftility. They feel their circumftances aimoft \nas defperate as if they were in a ftate of vaffalage ; and \nthey endeavour to make others as well as themfelves feel \nthe mileries of their dependance. In. this ftate of moral \ndegradation and of phyfical fuffenng, their fentiments be- \ncome depraved and their hearts unfeeling. Every fympa- \nthy, which could difpofe them to benevolence, becomes \ngradually extinguished ; and they grow weak in intellect \nand favage in difpoiitioir. \n\n\n\n( m ) \n\nweary with toil, find that all their induftry \ncan furmfh only a fcanty meal for themfelves, \ntheir wives and their little ones ; a meal quite \ninadequate to the demands of exhaufted na- \nture, and barely fufficient to maintain the \ndreary vacuity of exiftence ! Difficult indeed \nwill it be found to perfuade fuch perfons that \nthey can have any intereft in a conftant ad- \nherence to the obligations of truth, of juftice, \nand of mercy ! Great phyfical want, whofe \nforce on the mind is ftronger than any argu- \nments which you can apply, or any perfua- \nfions which you can uie, will fruftrate all \nyour endeavours ; and render all your in- \nftru\xc2\xa3tions as vain as addrefles to the winds \nor to the waves. . You, perhaps, fpeak to \none, whofe hungry ftomach, whofe w 7 an and \nfaded countenance, whofe emaciated and fee- \nble frame tell him, that he has no fenfible, \nno immediate intereft in the pra&ice of thofe \nvirtues, which it is moil: the duty of the \npreacher to inculcate ; and though you may \nremind him of a day of retribution and a fu- \nture life, yet he will fay, and, if he fay not, * \n\n\n\n( X ) \n\nhe will think, that that day is remote and \nthat life uncertain ! How few, how very- \nfew are thofe, who do not live more by fight \nthan by faith ! and the poor, whofe rational \nfaculties have been little cultivated and who \ncannot meafure intereft by a calculation of \nprobabilities, are always governed more by \nfenfation than by reafon. To combat fenfa- \ntion, and, particularly, the fenfation of hun- \nger and thirft, of cold and nakednefs, by \nabftract reafoning or barren generalities ; to \nprove the fitnefs of what is by the probable \nbut uncertain flatement of what will be ; \nmud:, in mod cafes, be found an unavailing \nand fruitlefs talk. Thofe perfons, therefore, \nwho are anxious to bring about a moral reform \namong the poor, fhould endeavour to lay the \nfoundation of it in a phyfical alleviation of \ntheir wants, and in a fenfible diminution of \ntheir fufFerings *. \n\n* May I hope that, during the adminiftration of Mr. \nAddington, who appears to poffefs no {mail portion of goocj \nfenfe and a very large one of benevolence, fome falutaiy \nplan for the relief of the poor will not; only be debated bu$ \ncarried into efFedt ! \n\n\n\n( xi ) \' \n\nReligion ufually flourifhes moil: where \nthere is the ftrongeft difpofition to thankful- \nnefs ; but great want certainly takes away \nthe motive and leffens the willingnefs to be \nthankful. Gratitude will not live long with- \nout aliment. Can any religious man, who \nknows himfelf, and is fuperior to diffimula- \ntion, affert that he does not feel a ftronger \ninclination to be thankful, to love God and tp \ndo good to his fellow-creatures after a refrefh- \ning meal than on an hungry ftomach ? We \nnaturally love to communicate our feelings to \nothers ; in happinefs and in mifery we want \nfympathy : it increafes our blifs and dimi- \nnifhes our fuffering. When we are in pain, \nour affliction is foothed by any artlefs expref- \nfions of forrow, which we can trace in the \nmanner or the features of thofe around us, \nA fort of calm but bland and fweet affe&ion \ngets pofleffion of our bofoms ; and which \nfufpends the adlion or leflbns the preffure of \npur woe. Again, when our own feelings are \npkafurable, when our nerves thrill with joy \n\n\n\n( xii ) \n\nand our hearts beat with gladnefs, we are \nufually confcious of a ftronger defire to im- \npart good than in a colder or lefs agreeable \nftate of the fenfations. \n\nThough the prefent increafing luxury in \none part of the community, with the iri- \ncreafed and increafing diftrefs in another, do \ngreatly favour the corruption of public mo- \nrals, . I think that another very vigorous and \nadtive caufe of the declenfion of virtue and \nthe increafe of vice will be found in thofe \npolluted, unreafonable, and abfurd reprefenta- \ntions of the Chriilian religion, which have, of \nlate years, been with too little confideration \npatronifed by the great, and with too much \nfacility liftened to by the populace. Of thofe \nperfons, who ever think ferioufly of going to \nheaven, the majority would fain travel thither \nin company with that guide who requires \nthe feweft facrifices at their hands ; who \norders the leaft felf- denial and permits the \ngreatefl felf-indulgence. Thus they are pre- \n\n\n\n( xiii ) \n\ndifpofed to lend a willing ear to the inftruo \ntions of any religious juggler who endeavours \nto perfuade them, that faith without holinefs, \ngrace without exertion, or righteoufnefs by \nimputation will fuperfede the neeefiity of \nperftnal goodnefs, and exempt the favoured \nconvert from the painful toils of practical \nmorality. Such admonitions, coloured over \nwith a great deal of cant, in order to difguife \nthe rottennefs of the ingredients and the un- \nwholefomenefs of the mixture, have been \ncalled " Evangelical Preaching?\' and, at \nother times, emphatically " Preaching the \nGo/pel ;" and the great and everlafting prin- \nciples of moral duty have been fhamelefsly \nlibelled, and moll induftrioufly lowered m \nthe public eftimation, by men profeffing to \nteach the holy do&rine of the holy Jefus. \n\nThe attempts which have been made, of late \nyears, to bring what has been too contemptu- \noufly termed " moral preaching" into difre- \npute, are too notorious to be forgotten, and \n\n\n\n( xiv ) \n\ntoo deftru&ive of national virtue not to be \nmentioned with abhorrence. That kind of \npreaching which has been called moral, and \nwhich confiders Chriftianity more as a rule of \nlife than a bone of contention, prevailed al- \nmoft univerfally among the clergy in this \ncountry from the restoration, till beyond the \nmiddle of that century which we have lately \nfeen brought to a conclufion ; and I fhould \nbe happy to learn from the prefent numerous \nvenders of what is called Evangelical Chrif- \ntianity, in what period of this country, truth, \njuftice, and charity, were more refpected by \nthe great mafs of the people, or when the \nmoral principle operated with more ftrength \nand more fuccefs than when this mode of \nreligious inftru&ion, which it is now the \nfafliion to decry, was fo generally approved ? \nTo difcourage moral preaching is to blaf- \npheme morality. It is to make truth, juftice, \nand mercy, appear bafe and worthlefs. It is \nto degrade them ill the opinions of mankind. \nIt is, befides, to deny Chrift ; it is to vilify his \n\n\n\n( ** ) \n\nauthority, and to deride his inftru&ions ; for, \nwhat did Chrift inculcate more than pradtical \ngoodnefs ? more than pure and genuine and \nunfophifticated morality ? If Chrift himfelf, \nwho ought to be unto the minifters of his \nreligion not more a pattern for the lives which \nthey lead than for the doctrines which they \nteach, preached nothing more than practical \ngoodnefs, or the doing of good, what did he in- \nculcate more than moral duty ? For, is it not \nthe perfection of moral duty to be zealous in \ndoing good ? Thofe perfons, therefore, who \nfeoff at moral preaching, and vilify meral \npreachers , are enemies to goodnefs, and to \nthofe who labour to promote the doing of \ngood. All preaching, which does not gravi- \ntate towards moral duty, which does not \nmake the diminution of moral evil and the \nincreafe of moral good its obje\xc2\xa3t and its end, \nits primary and its ultimate confederation, is \nunchriftian, unfcriptural, and profane. It is \ndiametrically oppofite to the dodlrine of Chrift \nand to the genius of Chriftianity, The reli- \n\n\n\n( xvi ) \n\ngious, or rather the irreligious temper of the \ntimes, and the mifchievous and abfurd opi- \nnions that are afloat in the world, require \nthat I fhould deliver my fentiments plainly \nand fearlelsiy on this important fubjedh It \nis full time that I fhould defend myfelf and \nmany others, my friends and fellow-labourers \nin the church of England, from the flanderous \nafperfions with which we have been affailed \nby wicked men, who are marring rational \nChriftianity by their irrational glofles, while \nthey are endeavouring to opprefs its advocates \nby the moft malicious calumnies. Surprifed \nI am that fo many of the Anti-Calviniftic and \nAnti-Methodiftic part of the Englifh clergy \nhave fo long been filent under the heavy \ncharges which have been adduced a\xc2\xb0;ainft \nthem of not preaching the gofpel ; becaufe \nthey ufually felecl for the topics of religious \ninftrudtion thofe everlafling moral duties \nwhich the gofpel inculcates more than any \nthing elfe. I truft that thofe perfons, who, \nunder the pompous title of Evangelical \n\n3 \n\n\n\n( xv *i ) \n\nPreachers, are decrying moral duties, fubfti- \ntuting myftic rhapfodies for common fenfe, \nand an adulterate for genuine piety, are fo far \nfrom deferving the high praife which they \nclaim of preaching the gofpel of Chrift, that \nthey rather deferve to be reprobated as the \nfervants of unrighteoufnefs. For my own \npart, no referve fhall ever withhold me from \nfaying that I abhor fuch preaching, and that I \ncan never efteem fuch preachers ; for con- \nscious I am that no fmall part of the moral \ncorruption at prefent exifting among us, and \nwhich every one, who loves his country, \nmuft contemplate with difmay, muft be at- \ntributed to the practice which is at prefent \ntoo general among Chriftian teachers of rant- \ning with obftreperous violence about the doc- \ntrines, while they obferve an inviolable filence \nabout the duties of Chriftianity *. \n\n* The prefent times, which teem with great events and \nawful changes, demand an increafed vigilance and activity \non the part of the minifters of the eftablifhment. A man \nthat is at eafe ufually lies (till and fleeps found, while an- \nother that is in pain keeps turning from fide to fide and \n\nb \n\n\n\n( xviii ) \n\nOn the motives to and the criterion of moral \na&ion, which I have occafionally mentioned in \nthe progrefs of this work, I may, perhaps, differ \nfrom fome writers of great celebrity. Utility \nis by many confidered as the only criterion of \nvirtue. Now, though an heathen or an in- \nfidel may, in the blindnefs of their minds or \nin the hardnefs of their hearts, confider utility \nas the fole teft of virtuous action ; I think \nthat a Ghriftian may appreciate virtue by a \nted, which is lefs fallible and precarious, lefs \nliable to be productive of error or of mifery. \nBy a believer in Chriftianity the will of God \nas. declared in .the layings of Chrift ought to \n\nfinds no reir. In efiablifhmcnts which may for the moil \npart be confidered as bodies at eafe, there is at fome periods \na certain \' c vis inertise ;" a gravitating tendency to quief- \ncence, but which roufes in their opponents all the energies \nof action. The activity of thofe who are inimical to our \nreligious institutions is flimulated by intereited expectation, \nand all the malevolent paffions rufti in to increafe the flame. \nBut, whatever may be the zeal of their enemies, it mud \nbe confeffed that many, very many of the clergy have, of \nlate, difplayed no ordinary vigour and ability in the defence \nof Christianity againlt unbelievers and of the eftabliihment \nagain ft Sectaries. \n\n\n\n( xix ) \n\nbe considered as the fovereign criterion of \nmoral a6tion ; for, if he adopt any other, he \nwill often be in danger of violating- the will \nof God, as it has been proclaimed in the \n\xe2\x80\xa2Chriftian revelation. \n\nIf we confider utility, or, as an elaborate \nwriter, whofe paradoxes have often excited \nfo much furprife and afforded fuch ample \nmaterials for controverfy and for ridicule, has \ncalled it in other words a preponderance of \ngeneral good and an overbalance of pleafur- \nable Jenfation^ to be the only teft of virtue, \nwhat reftraint do we lay on the fecret \nthoughts and intentions of the heart, which \nare as fufceptible of the relations of vice and \nvirtue as our outward adtions ? How is uti- \nlity violated by indulging a fecret wi(h to \nfeduce your friend\'s daughter or to fleep with \nyour neighbour\'s wife ? Yet there is no \ndoubt that, confidering the true criterion of \nvirtue to be a conformity of the inward \nthoughts as well as the outward actions to \n\nb 2 \n\n\n\n( \xe2\x84\xa2 ) \n\nthe will of God, fuch wifhes are heinous \nviolations of morality. Indeed cafes might \nbe adduced, in which the moft nefarious ads \nof falfehood and injuftice, in which the com- \nmiflion of adultery and even murder, might \nbe quite confonant to the principle of utility ; \nor, in which thefe crimes might produce a \ngeneral overbalance of pleafurable fenfation ; \nand, confequently, every enormity, at the \nvery thought of which our nature fhudders \nand our blood runs cold, might thus, in par- \n. ticular inftances, be reputed virtuous. Such \nare the errors into which we might be led by \nadopting this very unfafe and very unfcriptural \ncriterion of morality. Obedience to the will \nof God, which, according to my notions as a \nChriftian philofopher, is the only genuine \ncriterion of virtue, may, in particular cafes, \nbe productive of an overbalance of prefent \nevil to the individual and perhaps to fociety ; \nbut prefent good or prefent evil, which are \ninconfiderable in quantity and fhort in dura- \ntion, are not fo much to be confidered as that \n\n\n\n( xxi ) \n\ngreater future good which is to be revealed. \nThe Chriftian feels the force of this queftion; \n" what Jhall it profit a man to gain the whole \nworld and lofe his own foul V \n\nIf we make utility or " a general over- \nbalance of pleafurable fenfation" the only teft \nof virtue, we (hall foon denominate many \nadtions to be virtuous which are contrary, \nand many to be vicious which are agreeable \nto, the will of God. There can be no doubt \nbut that, in the majority of inftances, virtue \nis productive of a preponderance of prefent \ngood and prefent pleafure to the individual \nand to fociety; but there are many particular \ncafes in which, as Chriftians, we are exprefsly \ncommanded to facriflce the good which is \nprefent for that which is future, to forego \npleafurable fenfation in this world for glory \nand happinefs in the next. To his fir ft fol~ \nlowers, Jefus faid, " Whofoever he be, that \nforfaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be \nmy difciple." To his followers in all coun- \n\nb 3 \n\n\n\n( xxii ) \n\ntries and all ages he exclaims, " He that \nloveth father or mother better than me, is not \nworthy of me." " If thy right eye caufe \nthee to offend, pluck it out, and caft it from \nthee ; for it is better for thee, that one of thy \nmembers perifh, than that thy whole body \nfhould be caft into hell." \n\nIf moral aftion were, in all cafes, produc- \ntive of an overbalance of temporal good or \npleafurable fenfation, who would be fo unwife \nas to offend ? What influences the conduct \nof men fo much as prejent good or prefent \npleafure * ? But Chriftianity never makes \neither prefent good or prefent pleafure the \n\nright motive to or the right criterion of Vir- \nes o \n\ntuous action ; but, without the leaft allure- \nment of any good or pleafure to be expe- \nrienced in this world, it uniformly and in- \n\n* When I ufe the words prefent good or prefent pleafure \nin this preface, I do not always mean that good or that \npleafure which may be immediately confequent on any ac- \ntion, but any good or pleafure, which are confined within \nand not extended beyond the boundaries of this mortal life. \n\n\n\n( xxiii ) \n\nflexibly enjoins obedience to the will of him, \nwhofe fervants we are, whofe fayings we are \nto obferve, and whofe example we are to imi- \ntate, I do not, indeed, fay that in all cafes \na Chriflian will refufe to aft before he confi- \nders what is the will of God, for, in the buftle \nof the world, time will not always be found \nfufficient for fuch deliberation ; nor, in the \ncommon affairs of life, will fuch deliberation \nbe often neceffary ; for, when the love of \nGod or the fpirit of Chriftian charity, which \nis the perfection of Chriftian virtue, has ac- \nquired a due afcendancy in the foul^ a man\'s \ngeneral conduft in the little detail as well as \nthe great tranfaftions of life, cannot but be \nconformable to the will of God; and what- \never may be the complexity of human mo- \ntives, all virtuous action muft, at laft, be re- \nfolved into conformity to the will of God. \nChriftianity allows no other criterion of vir- \ntue ; and thofe who profefs themfelves Chris- \ntians, only labour in vain to difcover any other \nin fome barren abftra&ion or forae vague and \n\nb 4 \n\n\n\n( xxiv ) \n\nindeterminate principle, when they have a \nvery plain and definite rule of right placed \nbefore them in the fayings of Chrift ; to \nwhich all the wifdom of the greateft among \nantient or modern fages will be found but vain \nbabble and fruitlefs fpeculation. \n\nAn eafy and fafe and praftical rule of vir^ \ntue, which individuals may readily confult \nwith refpecT: to their condudt towards others, \nis that recommended by our Saviour; " whatr \nfoever ye would that men fhould do to you \ndo ye even fo to them." He who, on any \nparticular occafion, feels that he has done to \nanother, what he could not reafouably judge \nright to be done to himfelf in the like circum- \nftances, may be convinced, that he has a\xc2\xa3led \nwrong, and done what is not virtuous. Let \nany individual apply this rule as a ftandard for \nany part of his behaviour towards his fellovv- \ncreatures and he will find it invariably juft. \nIf I have told a lie to my neighbour, if I have \ndefrauded him in any matter, I cannot cer- \n\n\n\n( xxv ) \n\ntainly compare my conduct with this rule \nwithout condemning myfelf. With refpe\xc2\xa3t, \ntherefore, to the judgments which we ought \nreafonably to pafs on our own conduit towards \nothers, this faying of the Chriftian lawgiver, \n" whatfoever ye would, &c." will, I think, \nconftitute an uniformly and perfectly juft cri- \nterion of virtue ; but, perhaps, we cannot fo \ninvariably apply it to appreciate the conduct \nof others towards ourfelves ; for ignorance of \ntheir circumftances and of the intentions in \ntheir hearts, may caufe their conduct to be. \ndifferently modified towards us than we may \nthink that it ought to have been, or than we \nfeel that this maxim " whatfoever, &c." will \napprove. \n\nIf we do that to others, which we mould \nthink it unfair and unreafonable that others \nmould do to us in the like circumftances, we \ncondemn ourfelves; we wilfully commit a \nvicious aftion. But, others may poffibly do \nto us what we mould condemn ourfelves for \n\n\n\n( >*vi ) \n\ndoing to them, and yet not offend againit this \ncriterion of virtue; for many little circum- \nftances which do not come under our cog^ni- \nzance, or the contemplation of things under \ndifferent relations from what we do, may \ncaufe their fenfations of rectitude in this par- \nticular cafe to be different from our own ; \nand may thus induce them to approve what \nwe condemn. In judging the conduct of \nothers we cannot fafely decide on their merit \nor demerit, by the varying teft of our own \nfenfations. \n\nBut though this teft of virtue " whatfo- \never ye would, &c." may fometimes prove \nerroneous in its application to the conduct of \nothers, it would be found ftrictly true and \njuft in all cafes, if we could reciprocally ex- \nchange lituations and fenfations. Thus, if a \nperfon in need a(k me for a loaf of bread, \nwhich I may have it in my power to give, \nhe may deem the refufal of his requeft a vio- \nlation of this rule, " whatfoever ye would, \n\n7 \n\n\n\n( xxvii ) \n\n&c ;" but it may happen, that I could not \ncomply with the petition, without doing an \ninjury to thofe more near to me or more dear \nto me ; and who have a reafonable claim to \npreference in my regard. I may not, for in- \nftance, be able to fatisfy this perfon\'s hunger, \nwithout caufing hunger in my own family. \nIn theTe circumftances let the perfon, who \nfolicits the benefa&ion and he of whom it is \nfolicited for a moment change places ; and \nthen the former may not only fee but feel \nthat I do not offend asrainft the great Chrif- \ntian law by not granting his petition. Thus \nif people would for a moment reciprocally \nendeavour to identify themfelves as it were \nwith each other\'s circumftances and fenfa- \ntions, this rule might become a very jufl: \ncriterion *, by which to eftimate not only \n\n* I cannot help, in this place, intruding on the atten- \ntion of the reader a remark, which forcibly flrikes me at \nthis moment, that this rule of doing to others whatfoever \nwe would that they mould do to us, which our Lord fo \nfolemnly enjoins and fo forcibly applauds, as containing \nthe fubftance of the law and the prophets, proves in a moil; \n\n\n\n( xxviii ) \n\ntheir own goodnefs but the goodnefs of their \nfellow-creatures. \n\n\n\nAs man is made for immortality, and as the \ngreateft good which he can enjoy in this life \nis fo fmall in degree and fo fhort in duration, \n\nfatisfactory manner, that he did not aflent to the modern \ndo&rine of the original and radical corruption of human \nnature ; for the precept itfelf could not be correct and \nwould not ferve as a rule of action, nor would fo much \nflrefs have been laid on it, if our feelings themfelves did \nnot atteji the obligations and ratify the prafticc of morality, \nJefus, therefore, evidently fuppofes our frame to contain in \niome meafure within itfelf the rule of virtuous action ; our \nfenfations to bear teftimony to moral rectitude, and to \nargue forcibly in favour of truth, juftice, and mercy. By \nthus fuppofing a rule of virtuous action in the human con- \nftitution, he evidently intimates that the principle of virtue \nis a predominant ingredient in the nature of man, and that \nvirtue itfelf is enthroned by the appointment of God, not \nonly in the outer courts but in the inmoft fancluary of the \nheart. This inference may to fome appear far-fetched ; \nbut thofe, who, not contented with a fuperficial view of \nthings, have a capacity for profound inveftigation, will, J \ntruft, agree with me that this injunction of our Lord, \nwhatfocver, &c includes the flrongeit, the mod rational, \nand to agehuine Chriftian the mod convincing arguments \nthat can be adduced againft the dodtrine of original fin ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe fource of fo much abfurdity, fo much vice, and fqi \nmuch mifcry ! \n\n\n\n( xxix ) \n\nthat it is nothing when compared with the \neternal good which is to be revealed, it is \nplain that Chriftians who believe that an \neternal reward is referved for the righteous, \nought to regulate their condudl more by the \nconfiderations of the future than of the pre- \nfent. The injunctions of Chrift and his apof- \ntles evidently tend to deter us from fin by the \nfear of future torments ; and they incite us \nto righteoufnefs by the affurance of an eternal \nrecompenfe. They threaten the finner with \nthe outer darknefs, where there is weeping \nand gnajhing of teeth ; and they animate the \njuft by the promife of an eternal weight of \nglory. Chriftianity therefore certainly de- \nrives our primary motives to virtuous action \nfrom the interefts of eternity. Virtuous ac- \ntion will, indeed, in the majority of cafes, be \nfound productive of prefent good * ; but cafes \nmay and fometimes will occur, in which it \nmay be productive of prefent evil. On thefe \n\n* My ufe of the word prefent has been already noticed \nabove, \n\n\n\n( XXX ) \n\noccafions, if a man were virtuous only from \nthe hope of, or with a view to prefent <nx)d, \nor in the expectation of an overbalance of \npleafure to accrue to himfelf or to others in \nthis mortal life, he might perhaps, at laft, \nfind virtue, like Brutus, unfatisfactory ; and, \nin the emotions of his impatience, be ready to \narraign the moral government of God. \n\nIf we confider virtuous conduct as relative \nto our future good, virtue will, when beheld \nunder this afpect, be found in all cafes our \ngreater! poffible good ; and, as in the majority \nof cafes, our real prefent and our eternal hap- \npinefs will be found clofely connected, and, \nas the fame virtue, which always tends to the \nacquisition of the laft will be found, in mofi \ninflances, to promote the firft, virtue oil be \ndeemed our greateft good viewed only in its \nrelations to this fliort life; and, in thofe cafes, \nin which the rigid performance of our duty \nmay expofe us to any temporal inconvenience \nor diftrefs, that inconvenience and diftrefs \n\n\n\n( xxxi ) \n\nwill be endured with patierice by him> who \nplaces his truft in the promifes of Chriftianity. \n\nThe great perfection of Chriftian virtue is \nto keep the fayings of Chrift, to be temperate, \njuft, beneficent, in oppofition to our prefent \nprofit or prefent pleafure. We are placed in \ncircumftances, in which fuch a dereli\xc2\xa3tion of \nprefent for future good will be occafionally \ndemanded of us. If temporal pleafure or pro- \nfit were the conjlant concomitant of virtuous \naction, the obligations of virtue would be \nperformed with as little difficulty as any of \nthe animal .functions:- We (hou Id follow after \ntruth, juftice, and -charity, with as little re- \nluctance as we eat when we are hungry or \ndrink when we are dry. But the primary mo- \ntive to virtuous a\xc2\xa3tion, which Chriftianity ap- \nproves, is the defire of and the truft in that \neverlafting good which Chrift has promifed \nto thofe who keep his fayings; and we may \nfind fecondary motives in that prefent good, \nthat fatisfaftion and felf- complacency, that \n\n\n\n( xxxii ) \n\npeace of confcience and joy of heart, of which \nperfeverance in virtuous a&ion feldom fails to \nbe produ&ive. We are to feek Jirfl the king- \ndom of God and his righteoufnefs ; and then, \nhumbly to hope, that if we ufe our beft en- \ndeavours to acquire a moral fitnefs for the \npoffeffion, our heavenly Father will not fail \nto give us a competent fhare of thofe other \ngood things which are fuited to our nature ; \nwhich we have faculties to ufe and a capacity \nto enjoy. \n\nIt has been fajd, that the general conduit \neven of Chriitians is very little influenced by \nthe rewards and punishments of another life. \nThe general conducl of men is, indeed, the \nrefult of habit ; but what is habit but a repe- \ntition of the fame fenfations and defires, the \nfame thoughts and actions ? When, there- \nfore, a man praftifes any particular duty of \ntemperance, truth, juftice, or charity, his \nconduit may, in this particular inftance, be \nthe refult of fome paft affociation of ideas, \n\n\n\n( xxxiii ) \n\nand not impelled by any motives, taken im- \nmediately from the interefts of eternity. \nThis is very true; but, then, the habit of \ntemperance, of truth, or juftice, or charity, \nbeing only the aggregate of many fucceffive \nindividual acts of temperance, truth, juftice* \nor charity, if the actions which conftituted \nthe firft link in the chain of habit originated \nin religious motives, the motives which laid \nthe foundation of the habit, may be reputed \nthe caufe of the fubfequent conduct ; and as \nthey produced the actions in the firft link of \nthe chain, they may be fuppofed operative in \nthofe which conftitute the laft. But I am \ninclined to think, that the more Chriftians \nreflect on the nature of the good which is \nabout to be revealed, and the greatnefs of the \nreward which is laid up for the righteous, \nthe more firm pofleffion will the happinefs of \nanother life take of their thoughts and fenfa*- \ntions, their minds and affections ; the more it \nwill engrofs their attention ; the more it will \ninfluence their conduct: ; and, confequeatly, \n\nc \n\n\n\n( xxxiv ) \n\nthe more thofe individual acts which confti- \ntute the habit of temperance, of truth, of \njuftice, or charity are repeated, the more \nthey will be influenced by thofe motives \nwhich are taken from the interefts of eter- \nnity. Every fucceeding action will not only \nborrow force from the preceding, but will be \nmore vigoroufly influenced by the motive \nwhich produced the act that went before it. \nThus the ftrongeft motive to virtue, by \nwhich a true follower of Chrift will be di- \nrected, is his greateft pofiible good ; and that \nconjidered more with a view to the future than \nthe prejent) to eternity than to time. \n\nIf we adopt that criterion of virtue which \nI have defended, becaufe it appears to me \nmoft accordant with the genius of Chrif- \ntianity and with the fandtions of its heavenly \nfounder, we (hall not try the morality of \nactions by the degree of their utility, or by any \ngeneral overbalance of pie of ur able jcnfaiion, \naccruing to the agent or to fociety, but by \ni \n\n\n\n( XXXV ) \n\nthe degree of their conformity to the will of \nGod, as it has been made known to us in the \nChriftiau difpenfation. Chnftians are, in ge- \nneral, too lax in their notions of moral obli-^ \ngation. They direct the attention to a falfe \nteft of moral duty. They do not adhere with \nfufficient conftancy to this all-important doc* \ntrine that 7noral aclion is a Jlrit~l conformity of \nthe heart and mind, of the thoughts, the affec- \ntions, and the whole conduSi to the will of God. \n\nMorality may be proved to be the will of \nGod by various inductions of reafon, and to \nwhich recourfe may be had in order to eluci- \ndate or to fhengthen the authoritative in- \njunctions of revelation. It may be proved to \nbe the will of God, by the order of the moral \nworld, in which phyfical is made the correc- \ntive of moral evil ; by the nice and curious \nadaptation which there is in good nets to pro- \nduce happinefs ; by the fitnefs which there \nis in temperance, truth, juftice, and charity, \nto promote the good of the individual and the \n\nc % \n\n\n\n( xxxvi ) \n\nwell-being of fociety -, by the wonderful and \nuniverfal congruity which there is between \ntruth and juftice, and the natural unvitiated \nfentiments of mankind ; by the prefent unea- \nfinefs and the trembling apprehenfion of thofe \nwho do evil ; and by the prefent fatisfadtion \nand the joyful hope of thofe who do good ; \neven in countries where revelation is un- \nknown. Thefe confiderations, which natu- \nral reafon will fuggeft, may be adduced to \nprove that morality is the will of God ; but a \nChriftian is not fo much to inculcate moral \naction becaufe it is required by the fitnefs of \nthings, becaufe it is agreeable to the natural \nfentiments, to the common fenfe and the \ncommon feelings of mankind, as becaufe it \nis confonant to the will of God, and com- \nmanded in the gofpel of his Son ; without \nobedience to which we fhall perifli ever- \nlaftingly. On this as well as other points \nI have without any equivocation or difguife \nlaid before the reader the fober conviction of \nmy reafon and the warm perfuafion of my \n\n\n\n( xxxvii ) \n\nheart ; and though I hope that I have never \ntreated with fcorn, I truft that I have never \ncopied with fervility, the opinions of any \nwriter, whether antient or modern, whether \namong the living or the dead. \n\nChriftian divines often miftake through \nignorance, or miftate through prejudice, the \ntrue meafures of Chriftian piety. They do \nnot fufficiently call the attention of tf\\e \nyoung, of the old, and the middle-aged to \nthe eternal importance of praftical fobernefs,\' \nrighteoufnefs, and godlinefs. \xe2\x80\x94 Finding the \ngreat indifference of Chriftians in general to \nthefe moft interefting topics, finding fome \nfeparating religion from morals, or morals \nfrom religion, making the gofpel of Jefus \ncontemptible or ridiculous, polluting it with \ncant, or perplexing it with fophifms, lower- \ning its fublimity by their frivolous and un- \nworthy gloffes, or burying its (implicity \nunder an abyfs of dark and doubtful difputa- \nitions, I have endeavoured in this work, aa \n\nc ? \n\n\n\n( xxxviii ) \n\nwell as in my Picture of Chriftian Phtlofo- \nphy *, to warm the hearts of men with the \nfpirit of true right eoufnefs, and to lead them \ninto a right track of thinking; on the doctrines \nand the duties, on the true character and \ngenius of Christianity, \n\nROBERT FELLOWES, \n\nCurate of Uarbury i near Stouthatn, War^v\'ickjliir?* \n\nUarbury, \njiugujl 3, 1801. \n\n* My own feelings would convict, me of ingratitude, if, \non this occafion, I did not otler my public thanks to my \nmuch revered and much loved friend Dr. Pair, for the \nearned, the energetic, and affectionate manner in which he \nhas vindicated the Picture of Chriftian Philofophy from the \nmifreprefentations of the Britijh critics ; and, perhaps, I \nought, at the fame time, to return my thanks to thole gen- \ntlemen for having been the occafion of my receiving fo \nmuch elegance of praife from one, who is equally diftin- \nguifhed by the vigor of his intellect, and the fervor of his \nbenevolence; who is a philofopher without degmatifm, a \ncritic without bitternels, and a priefl without intolerance \nand without guile. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nTEXT. \n\n\n\nPACES \n\nI HE fanatics unma/ked ; fome of their mlf- \nchicvous tenets examined \', illujlrated and refuted \\ \nwith various praclical objervations. I \xe2\x80\x94 $2 \n\nFalfe teachers; how known, 1,2.* Their \ndoctrines productive of immorality, 3 \xe2\x80\x94 5. \nGrace of the fanatics; their notions on, com- \nbated ; the conditions of obtaining, 6 \xe2\x80\x94 8. \nSenfation no teft of grace, 9. Falfe confi- \ndence reprobated , our continual dependance \nupon God, 10. Gradual increafe in holi- \nnefs; difficulties in the way of falvation, 11. \nFanatics, their perverfion of fcripture, parti- \ncularly of St Paul\'s epiffcles, 12 \xe2\x80\x94 14. Their \nalmoft exclufive worfliip of the Son ; bar- \nren obfcurity of their inftrucYions, 15, 16, \nAlarming decay of morality ; promoted by \nthe mifchievous doctrines of the fanatics, \n17 \xe2\x80\x94 23. Effect of better inftruclions, 24. \n\n* Thefe figures refer to the paragraphs. \n\nc 4 \n\n\n\n( xl ) \n\n?AGEt \n\nNatural capacity of man to do good or evil, \n25, 26. The fanatical reprefentations of ori- \nginal fin deftroy the moral government of \nGod; defpoil him of his attributes of good- \nnefs and juftice, 27 \xe2\x80\x94 30. Preference of God; \nthe motives to it j the objects of it, 31, 32. \nThe righteoufnefs and unrighteoufnefs of in- \ndividuals not the fpecial appointment of God ; \nthe fuppofition irrational and abfurd ; piety \nand impiety matters of free election, 33 \xe2\x80\x94 35. \nDoctrines of the fanatics popular becaufc \nunfavourable to practical virtue ; the nature \nand effects of their inftructions contrafted \nwith thofe of the fober miniflers of the \neftablifhed church, 36 \n\nMan was a free agents accountable for his actions \n\nbefore the fall, and has continued fo cycrjince, 53 \xe2\x80\x94 78 \n\nMan an accountable being, 1, 2. Moral capa- \ncity of man, 3; freedom of its exercife, 4; \nthe contrary fuppohtion refuted, 5, 6. Mo- \nral capacity of man not taken away bv the \nfall ; examination of that event ; the proba- \ntionary ftate of our firft parents ; the nature \nof their trial, 7\xe2\x80\x9412; how they were over- \ncome, 13, 14. The moral powers of Adam \nnot ftronger than thofe of his defcendants ; \noriginal righteoufnefs a fiction ; arguments \nagainit it, 15 \xe2\x80\x94 17. Man remains as upright \nas he was created ; natural integrity how \nloft, 18. Our prefent ftate of trial; con- \ntrafted with that of Adam, 19, 20. Moral \ncorruption not included in the fentence of \n\n\n\n( xli ) \n\nPACES \n\ncondemnation pafTe<! on our firft parents, 21. \nThe punifhment of Adam \xe2\x80\xa2 our prefent flate \nof difeipline more favourable to moral im- \nprovement, 22 \xe2\x80\x94 24. Through Adam we \nbecome liable to fin, 25. Difference between \nthe condition of Adam and his defcendants, 26 \n\n\n\n^he do Urine of faith, fpecidative and practical, \nphilosophical, theological) and moral, \n\nIN THREE PARTS. \n\nPart I. 79 \xe2\x80\x94 96 \n\nDifferent kinds and degrees of aflent, r, 2. \nPractical illustrations, 3, 4. Actual and mo- \nral certainty diftinguifhed, 5. Truth of reve- \nlation a moral certainty, 6 ; faith in it an \naflent to a highly probable truth ; inftanced in \nthe fact of the refurrccYion, 7, 8. Unwife \nin religious, as in other concerns, not to a\xc2\xa3t \non the evidence of probability, 9 \xe2\x80\x94 13. Re- \nligious belief infeparable from fome degree of \ndoubt and fome moments of diftruft, 14 \xe2\x80\x94 16. \nDiftruft to be refitted ; doubts not to be \ncherifhed, 17. The lefs doubts and diftruft \nprevail, the more vigorous and operative reli- \ngious belief, 18. Goodnefs increafes with \nthe increafe of faith, 19. Religious intereft \nexceeds every other ; its reality not dimi- \nnifhed by diftance ; only more fuited to our \nftate of moral agency,. 20 \xe2\x80\x94 22 \n\n\n\n( xlii > \n\n\n\nPAGES \n\n\n\nThe doctrine of faith. \n\nPart II. 97 \xe2\x80\x94 115 \n\nThe fanatical doctrine of faith defcribed and \nTefuted, 1 \xe2\x80\x94 7. Many errors re(ped\\\\ng faith \noriginate in the ignorance or mifapplication \nof the term, 8; its feveral fcriptural figniri- \ncations, 9 \xe2\x80\x94 14. Some degree and kind of \nreligious belief univerfal, 15. The heathen \ncapable of difcovering the true God, 16, 17. \nAcquisition of religious knowledge favoured \nby the conftitution of nature and of man, 1 8. \nThe mind, daikened by the paffions, becomes \nthe Have of fin, 19. The moral corruption \nand intellectual darknefs of the heathen \nworld, 20. Several manifestations of the will \nof God, anterior to the Chriftian, 21 \xe2\x80\x94 26. \nJefus the Chrift, the principal object of \nChriftian faith ; neceflary to falvation, 27. \nTrue Chriftian faith infeparable from prac- \ntical righteoufnefs, 28, 29 \n\nThe doclrine of faith. \n\nPart III. 116 \xe2\x80\x94 149 \n\nSaving faith defcribed ; connected with mora- \nlity ; the genius of Chriftian morality, I \xe2\x80\x94 8. \nThe fenfations, not the proper feat of faith, \n9, 10. Real faith requires ftronger proof \nthan outward profeffion, 1 1, 12; the genuine \nproof of it, 13\xe2\x80\x94 15. True faith, the united \nproduct of the reaibn and affections, 16. \nSpeculative belief, with practical irreligion ; \nand practical piety without rational convic- \n\n\n\n( xliti ) \n\nPAGES \n\ntlon, 17, 18. Tnflability of faith, which is \nnot the product of reafon, 19 \xe2\x80\x94 at. The \nfaith mod fuited to the nature of man and \nmoil acceptable to God, 22. Different fa no- \ntions of the affections and the reafon in reli- \ngious belief, 23, 24. Rational faith not \neafily (haken, 25. In this country, the \nmeans o^ rational conviction widely diftufed, \n26 Mrong popu ar arguments in favour of \nthe truth of revealed religion, fuited to all \ncapacities, 27. Reafonable conviction to be \nafTociated with practical righteoufnefs, 28. \nIn what fenfe, faith neLcJJ\'arily productive of \nrighteous faefs, 29 in the conveifion of \nAtheills and Deifts, no pains to he fpared to \npromote the growth of practical p:ety, 30. \nConviction of the mind blended with the \nperfuafion of the heart, 31 \xe2\x80\x94 33 EfTentials \nand non-efftntials of religious belief, 34, 35. \nAgreement in ejjentials ought to be produc- \ntive of harmonv, 6. Points of doctrine not \neflential to godlinefs debated with too much \nbitternefs, retained with too much obftinacy, \n37. Why people are bewildered in religious \nerror, 38. Scoffing reprobated ; the fober \ninfidel not to be rafhly condemned or con- \ntemptuoufly reviled, 39. Diffuafion from \nintolerance, 40 \n\nThe doftrine of regeneration, rational, fcriptural, \n\nand ptafticaL 1 50 \xe2\x80\x94 180 \n\nRegeneration, the favourite doctrine of the fa- \nnatics, i. They fuppofe it a change wrought \n\n\n\n( xliv ) \n\nwithout the concurrence of the reafon or the \nwill, 2. Sinfulnefs not innate; innocence \nof little children ; confolation to parents ; \nperfonality of guilt, 3 \xe2\x80\x94 8. How fin prevails, \n9. Regeneration when neceflary, 10 \xe2\x80\x94 13. \nNature of the change required, 14, 15. \nPerfons, in whom repentance is not required; \nthe exemption belongs to few, 16, 17. \nPower of habit, 18. Progreffive converfion \nof the finner, 19 \xe2\x80\x94 24. Genuine token of \nconverfion ; fruitful in different degrees; not \nexempted from occafional offences, 25 \xe2\x80\x94 30. \nSinlefs perfection not demanded of us ; \nto drive after a continual increafe in good- \nnefs, 31 \xe2\x80\x94 34. Danger of making moral \ncomparifons in our own favour ; the true \nflandard of excellence, 35. NecerTity and \nimportance of moral exertion, 36,37. The \npower of fin ; how fubdued by the penitent, \n38, 39. Cautions againfl: falfe judgments \non, or the fupcrflcial practice of repentance, \n40 \xe2\x80\x94 43. Pure religion, 44 \n\n1\'he doctrine of grace fcriptural, rational, and \n\npraclical. 1 \xc2\xa3 i \xe2\x80\x94 2 1 $ \n\nGrace ; its mode of operation and means of \nobtaining, 1 \xe2\x80\x94 17. Grace of the fanatics ; \ntheir errors refuted, 18 \xe2\x80\x94 26. Genuine fruits \nof grace contraftcd with the counterfeit, \n27 \xe2\x80\x94 29. Grace does not fuperfede moral \nexertion ; or annihilate the freedom of the \nwill, 30 \xe2\x80\x94 36. Not an exemption from mo- \nral obligations, 37\xe2\x80\x94 -40. The. Jaw and the \n\n\n\n< Xl7 ) \n\npage\xc2\xa3< \ngofpel compared, 41,42. A ftate of, grace \' \n\nincompatible with a ftate of fin, 43-^-45 ; \nCompatible with occafional offences, 46 \xe2\x80\x94 48. \nThe difficulties of our trial ; practical re- \nflections, 49 \xe2\x80\x94 60 \n\n*Tke practice of repentance plainly and affec- \ntionately recommended. 2 1 9 \xe2\x80\x94 230 \n\nSelf-deception ! 1, 2. Repentance when ne- \nceflary ; practical remarks, 3 \xe2\x80\x94 6. Late re- \npentance, 7 \xe2\x80\x94 9 ; of the thief upon the crofs \nno encouragement to finners, 10. Repent- \nance not fudden ; progreffive ; arguments \nagainft deferring it, ir \xe2\x80\x94 17 \n\nTemptations ; how to combat , and how to conquer. 231 \xe2\x80\x94 243 \n\nHow temptations operate, 1 ; to be refilled by \nreafon and eonfeience, 2. Temptations not \nirrefiftible, 3 \xe2\x80\x94 5. Vigilance and precautions \nagainft temptations neceffary, 6, 7. Efficacy \nof prayer, 8. We tempt ourfelves ; how ; \nrieceflity of reftraining the luxuriance of the \nimagination ; importunity in prayer recom- \njmended, 9 \xe2\x80\x94 \\% \n\nCaufes of religious error and unbelief 244 \xe2\x80\x94 267 \n\nCaufes of religious error and unbelief, r. Our \nLord\'s cautions againft intellectual darknefs ; \nbenefits of a well regulated underftanding, 2. \nEarly acquifition of religious knowledge, 3. \nReligious principles to be inftilled into chil- \ndren ; cautions to be obferved ; force of reh- \n\n\n\n( xlvi ) \n\nPAGI3 \n\ngious prejudices, 4. Freedom of religious \ninquiry, checked bv cowardice, 5 Religious \nprejudices, pernicious diftinguiflied from ufe- \nful, 6. Nature of prejudices exemplified, 7,8. \nPrejudices of Chriftian fe\xc2\xa3ts, 9. The fpirit \nof perfecution not extinguifhed, 10. Conii- \nderations tending to ahate intolerance, 1 1 \xe2\x80\x94 1 6. \nSuperftition defcrihed, 17. Superflitions of \nthe Pharifees ; of Chriftians, 18,19. Some \ncaufes by which fuperftition is engendered, \nremarks tending to counteract it, 20 \xe2\x80\x94 22. \nMoral corruption a frequent caufe of infi- \ndelity, 23 \xe2\x80\x94 25 \n\nEvils of dijfcnfion. Temperate fuggeflions. Eccle- \nfaflical union. The juji medium between indif- \nference and intolerance in \xe2\x96\xa0particular diverjities \nof opinion. 2 6 8 \xe2\x80\x94 3 1 4 \n\nMiferies of a contentious fpirit ; European wars ; \npolitical difTenfions ; conciliatory remarks, \nI \xe2\x80\x94 7. Religious factions, contrafted with \npolitical; abfurdity of religious antipathy and \nintolerance, 8. Agreement in the eflentials \nof found do6lrine fhould prevent frivolous \ndifputes, 9. EfTential articles cf belief con- \nnected with practical goodnefs ; to be vigor- \noufly defended, 10. Unbelief in the being \nof a God, its pernicious effects on the con- \nduel: ; an atheifl not an objedl of fympathy, \n11. Fundamental principle of the Chriflian \nreligion ; no cordial efteem between a be- \nliever and an unbeliever, 12. The regard \ndue to the whole fpecies of man ; the ties, \n\n\n\n( xlvii ) \n\nwhich individuate and ftrengthen it, 13. \nParticular attachments increafed by moral ap- \nprobation ; moral qualities a ground of pre- \nference, 14, 15. Communion in religious \ntenets ftreno-thens individual attachments, i&. \nParticular differences of opinion which can \nreafonably neither increafe nor di minim in- \ndividual regard ; diminifhed by tenets, which \ncaufe moral difapprobation, 17 \xe2\x80\x94 19. Reli- \ngious peace ; fin of Schifm, 20. Reafons, \nwhich juftify feceffion, not applicable to the \nfeceders from the church of England, 21. \nLiturgy of the Engliih church, eulogy on; \narguments for conformity, 22, 23. Multi- \nplication of fedlaries ; confideration tending \nto eftablilh religious harmony, 24. Perfe- \nction reprobated, 25. Effeivials of pure \nChrifYianity ; the only reafonable grounds of \nreligious (eparation, 26, 27. Peace not to \nbe preferved with any church authoriling \nmoral corruption, 28. The bed imerefts of \nreligion and virtue promoted by the church \nof England ; moderation and unanimitv re- \ncommended, 29. Occalions in which a di- \nverfity of opinions may juftify a diminution \nof benevolent regard, 30,31. Men\'s prac- \ntice in mod cafes conformable to their opi- \nnions, 32. Force of public opinion, falutary \ntendency of, 33 \xe2\x80\x94 35. Self-approbation con- \nnected with the approbation of others; con- \nclufion, 36, 37 \n\n\n\nPAGES \n\n\n\n( 1 ) \n\nderation, 1 6. Favour of God, means of \nobtaining, 17. Will of God, extreme dan- \nger of deviating from, 18. Religious obe- \ndience, occaiional deflections from ; habitual ; \npoflibility of the finners return to righteouf- \nnefs ; difficulty of it, 19. Small tranfgref- \nfions, neceffity of abftaining from, 20. In- \ncreafe in goodnefs an increafe in happinefs ; \nendlefs progreffion of, 21 \xe2\x80\x94 23. The will of \nGod, the image of his perfections ; the mo- \nral law the effect of it ; moral improvement \ndepends on obeying it, 24, 25. Perfections \nof God ; imperfections of man ; duty of zeal \nin moral improvement, 26, 27. Obedience \nto the divine will our greateil good; objec- \ntion anfwered, 28. Immutable difference \nbetween moral good and evil, 29. Compa- \nrifon between moral and fenfual pleafures, 30. \nMoral good, an inflinctive propenfity to ; \nnatural approbation of, independant of affo- \nciated circumftances, 31 \xe2\x80\x94 o ) o ) . Pleafures of \nfm counteracted bv moral diffatisfaction ; \nbenefit of conftancy in moral action, 34. \nChriftianity proves moral good the greateft \ngood ; future happinefs proportionate to the \nmeafure of our obedience, 35. Righteous \nhabits the aggregate effect of particular acts \nof righteoufnefs; practical application, 36 \xe2\x80\x94 \n39. The recompence of the righteous rela- \ntive to the degree of their righteoufnefs, af- \nfectionate exhortation, 40. Perfection o\xc2\xa3 \nthe will of God contrafted with the imperfec- \ntion of that of man, 41. Obedience to the \nmoral law not compulfory ; clofe connection \n\n7 \n\n\n\nPAGti \n\n\n\n( r. ) \n\nbetween virtue and happinefs here, indiffolu- \nble hereafter, 42, 43. Morality the perfec- \ntion of natural and revealed religion, 44. \nImaginary model of moral excellence formed \nby reafon ; the real model exhibited by \nChriftianity, 45. Divine perfections incom- \nprehenfible ; in the perfon of Chrift reduced \nto the level of our comprehenfion, 46, 47. \nPerfection of Chrifl\'s character, 48. Hif- \ntorical form of the Chriftian revelation, bene- \nfit of; unifon between the precepts and the \ncharacter, 49. Good effect of imitating a \nvirtuous character, efpecially of imitating \nChriiVs ; his perfections imitable, 50,51- \nGoodnefs of God, evidences of, in the natural \nworld, checquered with apparent evil, 52. \nThe wife mixture of good and evil in the \nworld juft fuch as to excite the cheering ex- \npectation of a happier life, 53. A greater \nportion of temporal good would increafe \nworklly-mindednefs, 54. Chrift a corporeal \nrefemblance of the Divine Goodnefs ; imita- \ntion of his character ; its tendency to make \nus happy; to conciliate the affections of our \nfellow-creatures, 55 \xe2\x80\x94 58. Chriflian morals, \ntendency of to promote individual and gene- \nral good, 59, 60. Principle of gratitude; its \noperations; its production favoured by the \nChriflian virtues, 61 \xe2\x80\x94 64. Chriltian virtues, \ntheir intimate connection with our future \nhappinefs ; goodnefs qualifies for admiflion \ninto the pretence of God ; the only recom- \nmendation to his favour, 65 \xe2\x80\x94 69 \n\nd 2 \n\n\n\nPAGES \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nNOTES. \n\n\n\nPAGE \n\n\n\nFanatics among the Methodifts. Two divi- \nftons of Methodifts. Methodifts in the church \nof England ; duty of the unvitiated mini- \nfters of the eftablimment, 2, 3 \n\nCalvin plans and executes the deftruclion of \nServetus ; judicious refle&ion of Grotius. \nCalvin juftiriesperfecution. Atrocious maxim \nof the Calvinifts. The Jingular urbanity of \nCalvin\'s ftyle 5 he refolves to alter it; and \ndoes alter it, for the worfe, 4 \xe2\x80\x94 6 \n\nState of the foul fitting it for the infufion of \n\ngrace, 7\xe2\x80\x94 $ \n\nThe caufe of falvation ; the conditions of, 9 \n\nObfcurity of St. Paul\'s epiftles noted by St. \nPeter; caufes of that obfcurity briefly fug \ngefted; St. James endeavours to correct the \nmiftakes which they had occaiioned. Dod- \nvvell and Whitby remark St. Paul\'s alluiions \nto the heathen philofophy, 12 \xe2\x80\x94 14 \n\n. Paul wont to fpeak in the perfon of another, 14 \n\n\n\n( lis ) \n\n\n\nPAGES \n\n\n\nWide difFufion and rapid increafe of moral cor- \nruption, extracts relative to, from Colquhoun, 17 \xe2\x80\x94 19 \n\nThe new morality ! Corruptions of the fanatics \nand philofophifts compared. Cruelty and \nluft characterife fanatics antient and modern. \nConfequences in the dark ages of prohibiting \nmatrimony to the Romifh clergy. The \nRomifh bifhops filled their coffers by grant- \ning licences to their clergy to keep concu- \nbines ; fuch licences compulfory ! ! ! Great \nwant of chaftity in the monafteries and among \nthe Rom i ill priefthood. Tender mercies of \nfanaticifm ! Structure of the inquifitorial \nprifons ; the accumulated fufferings of the \nprifoners ; the atrocities of the inquifitors ; \nthe place of torture ; the mode of torture \\\\\\ %o \xe2\x80\x94 29 \n\nMachinations of the Methodifls, 30 \n\nSunday fchools inftruments of evil in the hands \nof the fanatics, 31 \n\nJeremy Taylor quoted ; the doctrine of original \nfin encourages perfonal depravity. Original \ncorruption not the doctrine of the church of \nEngland. What conftitutes the church of \nEngland. The doctrine of the clergy the \ndoctrine of the church. The right of pri- \nvate judgment not taken away by fubfcrip- \ntion to the articles ; allowed by the articles \nthemfelves. Religious knowledge progref- \nfive. The clergy to exercife their reafon in \nthe ftudy and explanation of the fcriptures. \nPrejudices of the framers of the articles ; diffi- \nculties they had to contend with ; the pru- \ndence and moderation of their conduct. \nLaws abolifhed without beino; formallv re- \n\nd 3 \n\n\n\nPAGEa \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xab\xe2\x99\xa6 ) \n\npealed ; eflablimed without being formally \nenacted. General practice. The greateft \ndivines of the church of England have directly \nor indirectly oppofed the doctrine of the arti- \ncles. Inference from their practice and the \npractice of the majority of the clergy. The \noath of fubfcription cannot always be taken \nin the fenfe in which it is adminiftered ; the \nabfurdity of the contrary fuppofition. No \nfalfehood where no intention to deceive and \nnobody deceived. The whole body of the \nclergy can never agree in opinion on thirty- \nnine complex proportions. Opinions of the \nfame individual, liable to variations at different \nperiods of his life. Such variations impoffible \nto be prevented. Opinions of a clergyman \nmay change without any change in his inte- \ngrity. The real ufes and ends of an eltablifh- \nment ; not impaired by any latitude of con- \nftruction allowed in the oath of fubfcription. \nThe author\'s defign in thefe reflections ; his \nregard for the eftabiifhed church, 32 \xe2\x80\x94 42 \n\nHiftory of the creation, figurative exprefTions \n\nin \xc2\xbb 5 6 > 57 \n\nWhitby reprobates the doctrine of imputed \n\nrighteoufnefs and unrighteoufnefs, 62, 63 \n\nAverfion to religious cant, proof of a genuine \n\nregard for religion, 63 \n\nExtracts from Sir Matthew Hale and Bifhop \nButler on the moral conftitution of man. \nOriginal fin declared by Jeremy Taylor con- \ntrary to the doctrine of antiquity. Whitby \neducated a Calvinift, his opinion on the fub- \nject. Mifs H. More commended and cen- \n\n\n\nPACES \n\n\n\n( Iv ) \n\nfared. Slanders on the fair fex by St. Auftin. \nVindication of the ladies by the author. St. \nJerom and Chryfoftom not friendly to wo- \nmankind, 64 \xe2\x80\x94 73 \nHooker quoted ; fuppofed an advocate for ori- \nginal corruption ; his authority oppofed by \nthat of Jeremy Taylor. The latter repre- \nfents the moral ttate of man improved by the \nfall. Men made finners not by nature but \nby habit, 88 \xe2\x80\x94 90 \nPractical influence of faith defeated by perverfe \n\nnotions on j unification, &c. 0/3, 94, \n\nEvidence of Chriftianity fufiicient for convic- \ntion, 98, 99 \nFaith jujTifies, IOl \nCeremonial and moral purity, 117 \nPopifh corruption the primary caufe of French \natheifm ; mifchievous effects attributed to \nthat atheifm ; favoured by the circumstances \nof the revolution. Fanaticifm and atheifm \ncompared, 125-^131 \nExtract from Epifcopius in favour of religious \n\ntoleration, 148 \n\nSenfelefs jargon of the fanatics, 150, 15 1 \n\nPfalm li. 5. remarks on, by Jeremy Taylor ; \nby John Taylor ; by Grotius ; by Le Clerc ; \nJob xiv. 4. commented on by John Taylor j \nthe reading of the Septuagint, 153 \xe2\x80\x94 1<^ \n\nLe Clerc on Prov. xxii. 6. 139 \n\nInftructions, what moft necefTary at the prefent \n\njuncture, 180 \n\nCheerfulnefs an indication of \xe2\x80\xa2 goodnefs ; dejec- \n\ntion of the Methodifh ; their long graces, 196\xe2\x80\x94 I \n\n\n\nPACES \n\nCharacter of the fanatics in the time of Epif- \n\ncopius, 198, 1 99 \n\nArchbifhop Newcomers tranflation of the new \n\ncovenant, 201 \n\nDr. S. Clarke\'s paraphrafe on Luke xxiii. \n\n39\xe2\x80\x9443, 225, 226 \n\nExtract from Jofephus on the fruits of Sodom, 237 \nBehaviour of Jefus to the Canaanitifh woman, \nMatt. xv. 21 \xe2\x80\x94 28. Efficacy of prayer fcrip- \nturally and philofophically defcribed, 240 \xe2\x80\x94 243 \n\nGrotius and Rofenmuller on Luke xi. 35, 244 \n\nKoecher on Matt. vi. 22, 23, 245 \n\nMifchievous tendency of cowardice, 248, 249 \n\nObftinacy of prejudice defcribed by Degerando, 249, 250 \nWholcfome prejudices commended; cautions, 250 \n\nSome truly wife reflections of Grotius recom- \nmended to the attention of Dr. Prieftley, 256 \nMoral corruption of the Jews the principal \n\ncaufe of their rejecting Jefus, 266, 267 \n\nTruth more often the fruit than the occafion of \n\nthe difputcs of mankind, 270 \n\nAtheifts ; whence their zeal in making pro- \n\nfelytes, 278 \n\nCicero\'s fentiments on the importance of reli- \ngious impreffions. Locke defends intolerance \ntowards atheifts. Cafes, in which pernicious \nopinions may be objects of penal reitraint. \nTwo defcriptions of atheifts ; a remedy pro- \npofed, 279 \xe2\x80\x94 282 \n\nQuotation from Dr. Pair\'s Spital fermon. \nSlight differences of opinion between the \nauthor and Dr. Parr. Dr. Parr\'s erudition, \n&c. his %le, 286, 3S7 \n\n\n\n( Ivii ) \n\nPAGES \n\nEcclefiaflical divifions condemned by Clemens \n\nRomanus ; chanty extolled, 289, 29P \n\nDuty of governments to watch over the moral \nculture of the people. Clofe connection be- \ntween moral and phyfical good ; changes in the \nmoral aflbciated with analogous changes in \nthe natural world. Senfe of moral duty in- \nvigorated by religion. Different effects of \npenal law and religious perfuafion. Import- \nance of religious inftrudtion. Necefiitv of \nan eftablifhed miniftry; Error of the French \nlegiflators. Beneficial alliance between church \nand flate ; an eflabliflied church favourable \nto civil liberty, 292 \xe2\x80\x94 299 \n\nDr. S. Clarke\'s defcription of true religion. \nJeremy Taylor\'s definition of Chriflianity. \nCave\'s primitive Chriflianity, recommended \nby the bifhop of Lichfield. A work entitled \n" The Defign of Chmlianity," \xe2\x80\xa2 299, 300 \n\nGenuine piety, 303 \n\nFrivolous pretexts for religious feparation, 3\xc2\xb03> 3^4 \n\nSingular in fiance of.popifh ini piety, 304 \n\nDanger to be apprehended from fanatics and \n\nfanaticifm, 306, 307 \n\nComparative evil of bad maxims and bad exam- \nples. Pernicious tendency of the new mora- \nlity. Falfe theories of religion and morals to \nbe oppofed by reafon. The principles of \nmorals and the truth of religion cannot be \ninvalidated by difcuffion, 308 \xe2\x80\x94 310 \n\nThe ftate of public morals, means of afcer- \ntaining, 312 \n\nThe moral law the true bafis of civil policy, 342 \n\n\n\nPAGES \n\n\n345> \n\n\n34^ \n\n\n349> \n\n\n35o \n\n\n35 r \n\n\n\n\n355 \n\n\n\n\n355 \n\n\n\n\n358, \n\n\n359 \n\n\n360 \n\n\n\n\n\n( toii ) \n\nPractical wifdom taught by fenfation, \n\nEternity of future\' punishments ! \n\nImportance of religious imprefiions made in \nearly life, \n\nMoral perfeclioning of man, \n\nMan progreffive in a future life, \n\nMoral improvement genuine fpiritunl joy, \n\nMoral good happinefs ; moral evil mifery, \n\nNatural relifh for virtue impaired by bad habit, 360, 361 \n\nPropenfity to behold fights of mifery ; opera- \ntions of fympathy ; its beneficial tendency ; \naflive and pajjive habits, finking difference \nremarked in ; how the cruel character is \nformed, 361 \xe2\x80\x94 363 \n\nArgument againft innate corruption, 365 \n\nHabits of righteoufnefs relative to the time al- \nlowed for the acquiiition, .369 \n\nThe character of Chrift the ftrongefl proof of \nthe truth of Chriflianity. Wakefield\'s evi- \ndences of Chriftianity, 375*37^ \n\nThe perfections of the Godhead refident in \nJefus of Nazareth. Difficulty of the Trini- \ntarian controverfy ; charity recommended, 376 \n\nPractical more important than fpeculative theo- \nlogy, quoted from Epifcopius, 377 \n\nPre-eminent excellence of the Chrifbian theo- \nry* 37$ \n\nPain and mifery, whv mingled in the conftitu- \n\ntion of the world ; how a finite being is to \n\nbe made mod happy, 384 \xe2\x80\x94 385 \n\nThe refurrecTion of Chrift the moft convincing \nproof of a future life, 387 \n\nThe precepts of the gofpel philofophically juft, 389 \n\n\n\n( K* ) \n\nPAGES \n\nThe love of God, the root of genuine benevo- \nlence -, no true benevolence in an atheift ; \naddrefs to Mr. Godwin ; fymptoms of his \nconverfion ; prayer for its confummation. \nIvlifs Seward of Lichfield, eulogy on, 390 \xe2\x80\x94 392 \n\nUniverfal propensity to thankfulnefs on receiv- \ning favours, 395, 396 \n\nDirect and indirect, action of mors! canfes, 397 \n\nThe effential conllituents of true politcncfs re- \ncommended in the fermon Oil the mount, 398 \n\nMalevolence incompatible with the love of \n\nGod, 399, 400 \n\nAdditions, 401 \xe2\x80\x94 404 \n\nNotions of the Calvimfts on faith and juftiflca- \ntion, leading to the commiffion of the fouleft \ncrimes, 401 \n\nProfound reflections of Jeremy Taj lor on the \n\ndoctrine of the Holy Trinity, 4c? \xe2\x80\x94 4C4 \n\n\n\nERRATA. \n\nPage 2, line 7, not?, for Anti-Calih.ijis read Attic \xe2\x96\xa0hiniji. P. 5, 1. 13, \nnote, after Ed. r. 1679. P. 5, 1. 28, note, for forem r. loncm. Ibid, for \nCoror.bcrtium r. Cornbertium. Ibid, for nebulorcm r. neb.lonem. P. 5, 1. 29, \nnote, for rem r. \xc2\xbb\xc2\xa3\xc2\xab. P. 6, 1. 10. for cum que r. cumque. P, 6, 1. 13, note, for \nabeo r. ab eo. P. 14, 1. 3, note, for ermente r. ex mints. P. 21, 1. 23, note, \nfor fuppatatione r. Jupputatione. P. 21, 1. 30, no;e, for Sefellerunt r. \nSipelierukt. P. 22, I. 27, note, for tahs r. r^A;. P. 23, 1. 23, note, \nfor Juor.ja. P. 23, !. 4, note, for unaquaqua r. una^uaque. P. 23, J. j<j, \nnote, for per annos v. per annos. P. 24,1. 28, ::ote, for retir.endus ve r. ret\'men- \ndufve. P. 28, 1. 22, for utrnmque r. utramque. P. 35, I. 3, note, dele fallible. \nP. 65, ). 1, for Jim x. fin. P. 73, 1. T, dele 18, and conhder the paragraph as \nunited with the preceding. P. 89, note, I have, unwittingly, conceded to \nthe advocates for the dodlrine of original Jin the hign fandtion of the \nimmortal Hooker; but, on a more j < sntive j rufal of the whole works \nof this glorious defender of the Engl\'uTi proteftant eftablifhment, I am con- \nvinced that he gave no more credit to the doctrne of hereditary guilt and \nimputed fin, than Jeremy Taylor of Down and Connor, the go^d and wife \nchurchman, or than John Taylor of Norwich, the honeft and artlefs Prefby- \nterian. P. 147, 1. 13, for 40 r. 39. P. 149, 1. 3, for 4T r. 40. P. 155, \n1. 6, note, for quit us. r. quibus. P. 174, 1. 8, dele 35 and confider the para- \ngraph as united with the preceding. P. 20c, 1. I, note, for fpir\'u r. jpirits. \nP. 273, 1. I, for the r. they. P. 295, 1. 17, note, dele united. P. 205, 1. 10, \nnote, fox a negative not a pojiti\'vz quantity r. negatively not pojitively, P. 303, \n1. 12, for of t be r. or the. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nThe Fanatics unmafked y fome of their mifchievous tenets \nexamined, illuftrated, and refuted-, with various \'prac- \ntical enervations. \n\n\n\nt. What our Lord faid of the falfe teachers of his \ntime, " by their fruits ye fh all know them" may, with \ngreat propriety, be recommended as a teft, by which \nto difcover the falfe teachers of the prefent age; who, \nwithout any capacity to inftruct, or any authority to \npreach, are rufhing into the Chriftian church, fubfti- \ntuting the combinations of fraud for the truths of in- \nfpiration, or making the abfurdities of fancy the bafis \nof religion. \n\na. " By their fruits ye fhall know them." Wc \nneed no other teft by which to prove the falfehood \nof thofe dark and complex, thofe fanciful and bewil- \ndering do&rines, which the brawling votaries of Fa- \n\nB \n\n\n\n( * ) \n\nnaticifm * are fprcading abroad, inftead of the plain \nand reafonable religion of the gofpel. The malignity \n\n* Where I ufe the word Fanatic and Fanaticifm, the reader \nmay, if he pleafes, in mojl places, fubftitute the words Methodift \nand Methodifm. Fanatics are very numerous among that \nmads of people, who are called Methodifts, and who are di- \nvided into two great factions, denominated, \xe2\x80\x94 the Calviniftic \nand the Arminian Methodifts ; but who differ, as I have inti- \nmated in the preface to the Anti-Calvinifts, little in the nature \nof their doctrine, and nothing in the ?niJchicfof its tendency. \nBoth are furious fupporters of the destructive doctrine of innate \nand hereditary depravity. \xe2\x80\x94 But in the ftrict fenfe of the word, \nall \'Fanatics are not Methodifts \\ nor are all Methodifts Fanatics ; \nand, for this reafon, I have ufed, in the following pages, a \nterm of a larger iignification than the term Methodifts or Me- \nthodifm, and not circumfcribed within the pale of any par- \nticular feet of Chriftians. Moft of the pernicious tenets, how- \never, which I have expofed and refuted in this work, if they \nbe not exclujively profefTed by the Methodifts, are yet more \ngenerally embraced, and more ftrenuouily defended by them, \nthan by any other Chriftians in this country. \xe2\x80\x94 Perhaps I \nmight add, that there are many Methodifts in the church as \nwell as out of it. Thofe clergymen, who aflume the fplendid \ntitle of Evangelical preachers, are, for the moft part, Me- \nthodifts, in the prefent acceptation of that word; and are united \nin an pffenfive and defensive league with the ftationary and \nthe itinerant champions of Methodifm; preaching the fame \ndo6trine, and employing both art and i/uluftry to establish the \nfame impojlure. \xe2\x80\x94 Let the fober and ferious part of the Clergy, \nwho hold faith in a good confeience, who are friends to ge- \nnuine and reafonablo Chriftianity, exert all their diligence, and \nall their zeal, to defeat the machinations, and to fruftrate the \n<-;mpts of thefe Anti-Chriftian teachers. Let them endca- \n. of to banifli the deftroyiog Demon of Fanaticifm from th<- \n\n\n\n( 3 ) \n\nof Fanaticifm, in order to be detected, and when de\xc2\xbb \ntected, to be abhorrred, requires only to be obferved \nin its effecls on the conduct of thofe, in whofe hearts \nits baleful genius has fixed its dwelling, annulling the \nfanctity of their promifes, imparting a fpirit of extor* \ntion to their dealings, and fpreadirig the canker of \ncovetoufnefs over their affections $ for it feems as \nimpoflible to gather figs on thirties, or grapes on \nthorns, as it is to find the obligations of truth, juftice, \nand charity, refpected by thofe, whofe doctrine, whkh \nis diametrically oppofite to the belief of their necessity, \nneceffarily and uniformly relaxes their hold on the \nconfeience, and deftroys their influence on the life. \n\n3. When the great moral duties, the weighty \nmatters of the law, which our Lord fo forcibly incul- \ncated, and fo uniformly practifed, are affirmed not \nto belong to the covenant of falvation, and when the \noppofite tranfgreffions are maintained to be the in- \nherent propenfities of our nature, fuch doctrines \nmud, unavoidably, caufe vice to flourifh, and virtue \nto decay. \xe2\x80\x94 When iniquity is openly defended under \nthe banner of religion, and the fanctions of heaven are \nforged to abet the lulls of fin, who can wonder that \nthe everlafling principles of truth, and juftice, anci \nmercy, are delpifed ? \n\n\n\nbofom of the Church of England ; and purfae it with the \nunrelenting warfare, not of artilkry, but of argumtM, to tb# \nvery ends of the earth. \n\nB 2, \n\n\n\n( 4 ) \n\n4- Religion affords the only folid bads on which \nto raife a fuperftructure of practical goodnefs; but \nthe Fanatics make even religion itfelf the foun- \ndation of unrighteoufnefs. They fubftitute what \nthey call faith and grace; of which they entertain \nthe mod ftrange, confufed, and unfcriptural notions, \nfor the fanctity of moral obligation. They do not \nconfider grace as a help to goodnefs; but a certain \ninvifible fomething, which fuperfedes its neceflity. \nIt is rapturous fcnfation, not fober reafon, which efla- \nblifhes their faith. They do not reprefent their con- \nverfion as fpringing from the conviction of the mind, \nand the perfuafion of the heart, working a flow and \ngradual change in the date of their affections, and in \nthe habits of their conduct:;\xe2\x80\x94 they rather imagine it, \nlike the converfion of St. Paul, miraculous, fudden, \nand inftantaneous. They pretend to know the very \nhour when it took place; and thofe among them \nwho have not yet experienced this magic operation \non their nerves, are continually waiting for its arri- \nval; till impatient expectation, working on the fancy, \nand fermenting in the brain, at laft, in fome more \naufpicious hour, produces a thrill in their feelings * \n\n* Calvin, no doubt, felt the fame rapturous vibrations at \nhis heart, when he fent Servetus to the flake. The great hu~ \nmanity which the fiery zealot difplayed on that occafion, may \nbe learned from the following extrad from Grotius. V* Cal- \nvinu8j qui antequam Servetus (i.s autem ipfius judicium fuper \nierij)ti ; fuis expetiverat) veniret Genevum, fcripfit (exfiat ipfius \nLutetias manus) nd Farellum jiqutd fun valeret auftoritA \n\n\n\n( 5 ) \n\nmore delicious or more violent than ufual, which \nthey afcribe to the agency, or miftake for the defcen: \n\neffeflurum ne vivus abiret. Stetit pollicitis; nam coquo fun \naccufatore fubmiffo (de quo ipfe in epiftolis editis fe jactat; qua \nerat au3oritate facile ejfccit ut zwvus ureretur Servetus, exemplo \nvaldc periculofo et facile in fuos auctores recafuro." On this \nbloody tragedy Grotius makes the following very judicious \nremarks. At de Trinitate non per omnia bene fenlit Ser- \nvetUS : fieri poteft; facilis ejiim lapfus in rebus adeo fupra hu- \nmanwn captum pojitis . At Scrvcti exujior an ijio in argumento \nfatisfecit omnibus ? Nihil minus. Sorbonici plures hereticarum \nopinionum, Luther ani prope omncs Arianifmi eum accujant. Unn \xe2\x80\xa2 \ndus ergo fuit, Ji in judices incidijfet, apud quos tanta erat Sorbo- \nnicorum aut Lutheranorum, quanta ipfius erat apud Allobroges \naucloritas. Grot. op. Ed. Tom. iii, p. 503. \n\nCalvin not only felt no remorfe on this occafion, but avert- \ned, " Non mode liberum cjjh magijl rati bus pcenas fume re de ccelef- \ntis do&rince corruptoribus , Jed, quod Wis Iicere nolunt imperiti, \nDivi:nitus esse mandatum. Grot. Tom. iii, p. 655. No \ndoubt Calvin was vifited with what his modern followers \nwould term an experience of Grace, zvhen he deliberated on the \nmurder, when he fuborncd the acaifer, and fetfre to the faggot. \nk was a maxim with the Calvinifts in the time of Grotius, \nand which they, no doubt, bequeathed to their pious defcend- \nants, that " non auferreflatum gratice aduheria et homicidial \n\nCalvin was as celebrated for the urbanity of hisjiyle, and the \ngentlenefs of his rebuke, at leaf, as much as he ivasfor the tender- \nnefs of his heart, and the purity of his condufi. For inftance, \nwhen Caftellio oppofed his notions of prcdeftination, " nebu- \nlorem et Satanam vocat : Coronhertinm et nebnlorem et ca- \nrem : Scriptorem de officio pii viri in hoc religioHis diffidio, \nqui erat Caflander, ipii autem putabatur elfe Balduinus., np- \npellat frontis ferreae hominem, pietatis expertem, profanum, \nimpudentem, impoflorem, oltt^^/q-j {Jine naturali affeciuj pe- \n\nB3 \n\n\n\n( 6 ) \n\n6f the Holy Ghoft. When they have once felt this \ntranfporting glow of devotional lunacy, or, as they \nmay term it, cc experience of grace, " they fancy them- \nfelves new creatures, purged from the lees of the old \nAdam; and delivered from the manacles of the fiefh. \nThey then, for the moft part, think their falvation \nfure. " The change," fay they," " has taken place; \nand new light dawns on the darknefs of our hearts*" \n\n5. Thefedelufionsof the Fanatics produce, as might \nbe expected, an extreme carelefihefs about the mo- \n\ntulantise deditum. Ei fcripto cum fe oppofuiffet Balduinus, \nvocat eum hominem nihili, obfeaenum canem, improbum fal- \nfarium, multa fcelefte ac nequiter cogitantem, et confpirantem \ncum improbis nebulonibus, cynicum, fcurram, perfidum, \nfatuum, belluina rabie, Satanae addictum. Caftandrum dv^xo-/) \n(Jibif>lacentem) morofum, lamiam, larvam, ferpentem, peftem, \ncarnificem." Grot. op. Tom. iii, p. 655. Grotius continues, \nrt hanc maledicendi libidinem Calvinus in epiftola ad Bu- \ncerum xar, \xc2\xa3v(pYjiu(r^ov (per emoUitionem) impatientiam vocat: \ncum que ea magnam fibi ait eiTe lu6tam : et nonnihil fe pro- \nficere, fed nondum id confecutum ut belluam domuerit." \xe2\x80\x94 \nOn this penitent confeffion of the fanguinary bigot, Grotius \nmakes this fhrewd remark: <l Si quis poll id abeo fcripta \nleget, inveniet eum profeciffe fed in pejus: adeo ei illud place- \nbat, Quod non volo, facio." This, " quod non vo/o,facio" \nis a favourite fentiment in the mouth of his admirers of the \nprefent century; and I leave the reader to imagine to what \nfurpofes it is coynmonly applied. \xe2\x80\x94 I (hall conclude this note in \nthe words of Grotius : <( Haecnon adfero quod mini cum mor- \ntuis libeat luctari, fed, auiA video ita plekumgue evenire, \n\nUT QU1SQUE MORES 1MITETUR EJUS, ftUEM SI\xc2\xa3I SUMSIT \n\nmasistrum. Grot. op. Tom. iii, p. 656. \n\n\n\n( 7 ) \n\nrality of their conducts a contemptuous neglect of \nthe practical duties of religion. Making holinefs to \nconfift more in turbulence of fenfation than in recti- \ntude of action; and meafuring the will of God by the \nfalfe and varying flandard of their feelings: it is no \nwonder that they think themfelves privileged from \nthe obfervance of truth, of juftice, and all the endear- \ning charities of life. \n\n6. The grace of the Fanatics,* to which they \nafcribe fuch marvellous effects, operates on the fen- \ntiments, without the concurring agency of the reafon, \nand changes the character without the confent of the \nwill. With them, grace invalidates the ufe of reli- \ngious inquiry, and fuperfedes the neceffity of moral \nexertion. \xe2\x80\x94 Who can calculate the mifchief of fuch \nopinions ? \n\n7* By the new covenant of falvation, and, pro* \nbably, according to fixed and general laws, to which \nthe divine will may have made the fpiritual helps, \npromifed in that covenant, fubfervient, good endea- \nvours |, on the part of man, feem the conditions to \n\n\n\n* The do&rine of grace is only fligbtly touched on here: \nthe reader will find it more fully difcuffed in that part of this \nwork which is entitled, The Doctrine of Grace. \n\n+ In the parable of the Tower we read that none of the Ce^d \nbrought forth fruit but that which was fown in good ground \n\nB 4 \n\n\n\n( 8 ) \n\nwhich grace is appended on the part of God. They \nappear introductory to its infufion, and the medium \nof its agency. Good endeavours are affociated with \nthe free gift of grace ; and grace increafes their \nflrength, and facilitates their execution. Wherever \nthere is an earned driving after moral righteoufnefs, \na third of the affections, and a labour of the will to \nperform the law that is impreffcd on the confcience, \nand infcribed on the heart (as in the cafe of Corne- \nlius, whofe prayers and alms had gone up as a me- \nmorial before God), the grace or favour of God is \nfried upon the fcul. \n\n8. Grace is not only a bleffng on the actual exer- \ntions of man to do the will of God, but a power given \nus to do it more effectually. When grace is thus \nufed, it produces more grace j and the right and rea- \nfonable application of the increafed and increafing \nportions of grace, which the righteous receive, gra- \n\n\n\nGood feed is no more fruitful than bad, unlefs there be, at the \nfame time, goodnefs in the ground in which it is fown; and \nthe better the foil, the more prolific the feed, and the more \nabundant the harveft. Grace is never operative and fruitful \nin any but a good and honeji heart. The foil of the heart muft \nbe prepared to receive it: and what preparation of the heart \ndoes God require, as fitting the individual for the infufion of \nhis favour, but the love of truth, of juftice, and of mercy; \nand honeft endeavours, according to the utmoft of our natural \nability, to practice the duties of truth, of juftice, and of mercy? \n\n\n\n( 9 ) \n\ndually promotes the growth, and matures the ftrength \nof thofe habits of hoiinefs which lead to immortality. \n\n9. If fenfation, according to the fanciful hypothecs \nof the Fanatics, were the only channel through which \nthe communications of grace were made to flow, and \nto which its experience were confined; then it would \nbe rather a pleaiure to be enjoyed, than a power to be \nexercifed ; it would rather be an appeal to our animal, \nthan our rational nature -, rather an agreeable impulfe \non the flefh, than a purifying afpiration on the foul. \nBut if moral goodnefs be the covenanted condition \nto which grace belongs, not of right, but by the mercy \ncf God*, and if an increafed defire of improving in \nrighteoufnefs, and an increafed aclivity in doing t\\\\Q \nwill of God, be the only true fcriptural ted of its pof- \nfeffion, then grace muft, certainly, be not fo much \nan ecftafy to ravifh, as a talent to employ; and it \nappears, from various intimations in fcripture, and \nfrom many analogies in the natural world, that grace \nmud be ufed if we wifh it to be increafed j and that \nit will not be increafed if it be not ufed. \n\n-\\ 10. The more continually we labour to do good, A" \nthe greater averfion we (hall feel to do evil. \xe2\x80\x94 Many \n\n\n\n* In the Chriftian covenant the caufe of our falvation is the \nJove and mercy of God; and the conditions are our obedience to \nhis lavus,Jincere, though imp erf e 3 ; our hone/i, though iveah. en- \ndeavours\', our upright, though, fometimes } not Jinlefs lives. \n\n\n\n( go ) \n\n, a penitent, of whofe return to righteoufnefs there hay \nf been the happieft promife and the faireft hope, has \n. relapfed into fin, from indulging afalfe confidence, and \nfuppofing that becaufe he had recovered from the \n, pad, he was fafe for the future. When a man\'s vigi- \nlance againft temptation relaxes, he is almoft fure \nof falling into a fnare. \xe2\x80\x94 It is dangerous to rely entirely \n( on our own ftrength. He, who does it, thinks the \nt help of God fuperftuouo, and the temerity of this \n, vain imagination caufes that help not to be had, when \n! it is wanted; and not to be found, when it is fought. \n\' Man muft, indeed, ftrenuoufiy exert, and feduloufly \nftrengthen his fenfe of right and wrong; he muft op- \nf pofe his natural power to do good to his wayward \n. inclinations to do evil, before God will afiift him \nrwith fuccour from above. But he, who labours to \n\xe2\x99\xa6 do good, ought always to remember with humility, \nrthat he will labour in vain without divine co-opera- \ni tion. He mould work ; but he mould work without \nf pride; and drive without prefumption. He mould \ni be animated with zeal, but his zeal mould be temper- \nI ed with caution ; and he mould be refolute, but his \nf refolution mould be moderated by a godly fear. Let \n(us never be unmindful of him who dvvelleth on high; \n, and without whofe favour all our thoughts are but as \nj air, and all our exertions only vanity. As we are to- \ni tally dependant, every moment of our lives, on the \nI will of him who made us, it is our duty in all that we \n1 do, in all that we plan, or all that we attempt, to im* \n, plore him to work together with us, and to direcl: \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xbb ) \n\nour Heps in that way in which it is beft for us* \nto go.-* \n\nn. The growth of hoiinefs into a habit, or into \na fettled, undeviating difpofition to beneficence, is \nnot the effect of fome momentary glow of devotion, \nor of fome tranfient longing after God; \xe2\x80\x94 it is, and \nmuft be, a work of time; and thofe who know them- \nfelves, and thofe who have fearched into the hearts, \nand furveyed the conduct of others, know that many \nrelapfes and convalefcences, many deliverances from \nfin, and many returns to unrighteoufnefs, ufuaiiy \nhappen before the good feed of the word is tho- \nroughly rooted in the heart, and made fruitful in the \nlife. \xe2\x80\x94 Salvation in the way in which 1 confider the \nnature of the covenant to which it is attached, is a \nwork of more difficulty and danger than is commonly \nimagined; bacaufe it depends, conditionally, on the \nhabits of goodnefs which we form in this mortal life; \nand which, amid the temptations by which we are \nfurrounded, and to whofe influence we are almofl \nevery hour expofed, feem difficult to acquire ; and \nmore eafy to lofe than to retain. \xe2\x80\x94 But if thofe no- \ntions which the Fanatics propagate, be genuine \ntruths inftead of vain delufions, then the idle may \nobtain admiffion into heaven, and the crown of glory \nmay be worn by the worthlefs, who can breathe the \nftream of felf-love upon their nerves, till they feem \nto thrill with joys which feraphs feel. \n\ni a. To the fcoffer it may be amufing, but to the \n\n\n\n( 12 ) \n\ngenuine Chriftian it muft be afflicting to obferve, how \nthe Fanatics garble the gofpel to promote their own \ninterefted ends. Whatever may be the meafure of \ntheir understanding, they certainly do not want in- \ngenuity in perverting the fcriptures to fupport their \nprejudices, and in making them utter a found in tune \nwith their whims. Neglecting thole parts of the cove- \nnant of falvation, on which no clouds and darknefs \nreft, they pay an almoft exclufive attention to the \nmoft obfeure and myfterious pafliges in the epifties \nof St. Paul. By the help of what they call inward \nlight, which they think communicated exclufively to \ntheir own feet, they deem themfelves qualified to \ninterpret the abftrufeft doctrines without thofe aids \nof erudition which more fober people think necef- \nfary for the purpofe. The inward light of the Fa- \nnatics enables them to dive into the profoundeft \ndepths of theology, and to unfold its darkeft myf- \nteries: \xe2\x80\x94 As in the writings of the Evangelifts, they \nmeet with truths, little congenial to their unhallowed \nspeculations, \xe2\x80\x94 truths eafy to be underftood, and con- \nsequently difficult to be perverted; they cull mod of \nthe hard fayings, with which they puzzle the ig- \nnorant, and entrap the unwary, from the epifties of \nthe apoftle to the Gentiles. \n\n13. Abufing the writings of St. Paul*, as fome \n\n\n\n* KaQw; y.cci dyccn\'r j \'fog iju,o>v d$s\\(po$ Udu/.oc xxrocryv autuj \n\n\n\n( i3 ) \n\nunlearned and unfteady perfons feem to have done \nin the apoftolic age, they wrefl them to their own \n\n\n\nXolXiov sv dvrais tz\xc2\xa3\xc2\xa71 rs-toov, sy oCtg s<m dv<rvoYjra, Tivcc, a 01 d^d- \nQei; kva acrrygiKroi (rrgEfixScriv w$ y.ai rocg \\onrct$yocc(pa,$, vago; fyv \nifooLv oivrtjjv drftoXsictv. 2 Ep. Pet. iii. 15, 1(5. \xe2\x80\x94 In this paifage, \nI know that the majority of editors and commentators read, \nsv oiV, inflead of zv aXs, but fuppofing sv 61$ to be the true \nreading, which is by no means certain, then ol\xc2\xa7 mufr. refer to \nTsrajv; and the meaning will be, that, in the epiftles of Paul, \nthere are many topics difcufTed which are difficult to be un- \nderftoodj and which had been fatally perverted by fome, who \nwanted knowledge, and by others, who wanted principle. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhether St. Peter allude to the obfcurity of the manner, or \nto the obfcurity of the matter, is not very necefTary to in- \nquire \\ but at prefent, it is certain, that many paflages in the \nwritings of St. Paul do contain ra \xc2\xa3ycyOTjra, both on account \nof the obfcurity of the ftyle, and the obfcurity of the fubjecV \nThe ftyle is tinctured with Rabbinical idioms ; and the matter, \nperhaps, in fome degree, with the Rabbinical philofophy. \nSt Paul was brought up at the feet of Gamaliel 3 and, before \nhis conversion, he had made a great progrefs in the learn- \ning of the Jews.\xe2\x80\x94 To the fagacious, I need not repeat an \nold obfervation, "fervahit odorem Tefla diu," &c. Thofe who \nknow human nature, will immediately perceive the juftnefs \nof the remark} and I mall not wafte my time in endeavour- \ning to make it fatisfactory to thofe who do not. St. James, \nin his epiftle, 11, 14, 26, evidently intended to combat, and \nto counteract fome of thofe erroneous and mifchievous notions \non the nature and efficacy of faith which begun to prevail \nin his time, and which feem to have originated in the inno- \ncent miftake, or the wilful perverfiqn of the doctrine itfelf, \nas it is laid down in the epiftle to the Romans. In the pre- \nface to his Five Points, Whitby refers to the learned Dodwell \n\n\n\n( 1* ) \n\ndeftruction; deducing from diem doclrines which \nthey do not countenance \xe2\x80\xa2, and encouraging themfelves \nin iniquity, on the prefumed fanction of their autho- \nrity *. \n\n14. If forfie things in the epiftles of St. Paul were \nhard to be underftood in the age in which they were \nwritten, as St. Peter him felf confefTes, they muft cer- \ntainly be more obfeure after the lapfe of fo many \ncenturies, than they were in that period when the \nfac"ls, to which they alluded, were recent; when \nthe difienfions which they were intended to pacify, \nthe htrefies they were to combat, and the fophifms \nthey were to refute, Were matters of public notoriety, \n\n\n\n(Proleg. ad I. Steam de obftin. \xc2\xa7 41) as faying, * that St. Paul \nbeing bred a Pharifee, fpake there (in the 9th chapter to the \nRomans), and is to be interpreted, ermente Pharifaeorum, \naccording to the doclrinc of the Pharifee s concerning fate, ivhich \nthey had borrowed from the Stoicks." On Rom. viii. 2. Whitby \nfays, " Here the apoftle feems to fpeak according to the phi- \nlofophy of the heathens, with which the Jews began to be \nacquainted, that man was not to be denominated from his \nbody, or his fenfual and carnal part, but from his mind, his \nyac or Xoyur) foctvoix,, which, in Thilos\' phrafe, is w SKOtfQi \nqiMOV ctv Qgouiros, the man ivithin us" \n\n* It is well known that St. Paul is very wont, psrxo-yjtAali- \ngsiv, to fpeak in the pcrfon of another, whofe character he af\xc2\xbb \nfumes, and whofe fentiments he utters ; as Rom. iii. 7, and \npai -ticulaily in Rom. vii. 14 \xe2\x80\x94 25, and other places, ivhich are \nalways perverted by the Fanatics. \n\nI \n\n\n\n( t 5 ) \n\nand topics of common converfation. \xe2\x80\x94 But the fta~ \ntiortary preachers, and the itinerant heralds of Fanati- \ncifm, fome of whom can hardly read a fentence in \nEnglifh, and the majority of whom are ignorant of \nthe learned languages, think themfelves qualified, by \nthe excefs of their inward light, to make clear what \nSt. Peter pronounced dark, and to unravel what he \nthought intricate; and they pafs decrees as perem- \ntory as the determinations of a Papal bull on points \nof faith and doctrine, on which others, who are not \nfavoured with the fame miraculous penetration, think \nwith doubt, and talk with diffidence. \n\n15. Where the gofpel is moft plain and moft for- \ncibly practical, the Fanatics perplex it with fubtilties, \nor make its energy of none effedr. by their interpola- \ntions. In their devotions they pay much lefs ho- \nmage to the Father than to the Son; and, indeed, \nthey often addrefs their petitions to the one, without \nany reference to the other. They make the one \ncharacterized by the inflexible Jeverity ofjuftice-, and \nto the other they aflign, exclufivcly, the winning at- \ntribute of mercy. To the Lord\'s prayer they allow \ntittle authority; \xe2\x80\x94 they either pafs it over in fullen \nfilence, or they repeat it with unauthorized additions. \n\n16. In their inftructions, the paftors ofFanaticifm \nlabour more earneftly and more efFe&ually to de- \nprefs the fpirits, and to bewilder the minds of their \naudience, by the ravings of myfticifm, than to im- \n\n\n\n( i6 ) \n\nprefs them with thofe truths which, by coming home \nto their interefts and bofoms, may fave their fouls. \nWith fcrupulous care they overlook, or with con- \ntemptuous fcorn they deride thofe paflages in the \nfcriptures which are as clear as they are ufeful; and \nwhich relate to thofe duties, of which the practice \nwill be necefiary as long as the world endures* \nThough they pay fo great a deference, and fo exclu- \nfive a regard to the authority of St. Paul, they Jiften \nwith little fatisfaction, even to the teaching of their \nfavourite apoftle, when he extols charity above faith; \nwhen he declares love to be the bond of perfednefs, \nand the end of the commandment j when he exhorts \nChriilians to be ready unto every good work, and \ndenying iingcdlinefs and worldly lujls y to live Joberly> \nright eoiifly, and godly in this prejent world. \n\n17. That moral corruption has experienced a \ngreat and unparalleled increafe of late years is what \nno obferving man can deny, and what every good \none muft deplore. Within the period of the laft \nthirty years, the once frefh, and healthy, and vigorous \nmorality of Englifhmen has withered away s and the \nprinciples of the people have undergone a rapid \nand fatal deterioration. Almoft every tender feel- \ning is chilled \\ and almoft every generous fentiment \nhas decayed. The fancYity of truth and honefty \nfeem almoft effaced from the confeience of the peo- \nple; and I have ftrong reafons for believing that my \ncalculation is not exaggerated, when I fay, that the \n\n\n\n< 17 ) \n\npractice of thofe virtues, and the reverence for their \nimmutable obligations are, at lead, ten times lefs now \nthan they were about half a century ago ** \n\n\n\n* The following extracts from a book which prcfents many \ncurious, but afflicting details of the dying virtue of the peo- \nple, may afford fome faint idea of the prefent ftate of Englifh \nmorals. The facts themfelves are, for the moft part, confined \nto the metropolis; but they will exhibit fome data, by which \nwe may form no very imperfect guefs of the general morality \nof the country. The moral or immoral character of the people, \nwho are placed more within the vicinity of the feat of govern- \nment, exhibits an imperfect likenefs of the popular manners in \nplaces more remote. For in the prefent ftate of luxurious civil- \nization, when the communication between the metropolis and \nthe diftant provinces of the empire is fo expeditious and fo \nfrequent, corruption foon fpreads from the centre to the ex- \ntremities; and the villages become infected with the abomina- \ntions of the capital. \n\n" The numher of the receivers of Jlolen goods in the metropolis \nalone has increased within the last twenty years \nfrom 3CO to 3000."\xe2\x80\x94 Colquhouri on the Police of the Me- \ntropolis, ed. 6th, p. 12. \n\n" Scarcely a waggon leaves London, which does not carry \nboxes and parcles of bafe coin into the country; particularly \nto the fea-ports, camps, &c. \xe2\x80\x94 In the feveral public houfes, \nhawkers, pedlars, gamblers, Jews, &c. &c. are regularly fup- \nplied with counterfeit money at an advantage of near 100 per \ncent, in their favour." p. 16. \n\n" There are in the metropolis and country at leaft 120 \nprincipal dealers in, and coiners of, bafe money, beiides nume- \nrous utterers; of whom more than 650 perfons have either \nbeen profecuted or convicted, within the laft 7 years." p. J Q. \n\n<f In the courfe of 7 years, not lefs than 4262 perfons who \n\nc \n\n\n\n( i\xc2\xab ) \n\n1 8. Not many years have etapfed fince the inha- \nbitants of mod cf" our villages might go to fleep, in \n\n\n\nhad been put upon their trial by the grand jury, were let loofe \nupon the public by acquittals." p. 21. \n\n" The drivers of gentlemen\'s carriages are generally entruft- \ned to buy hay, ftraw, corn, &c. for their horfesj and they \nufually cheat their mailers of 5s. in every load of hay : of \n2s. 6d. in each load of draw; and Is. in every quarter of corn." \n\xe2\x80\x94 Middleton quoted by Colquhoun. \n\n" It has been eftimated that 20,000 bufhelsof ears of wheat, \nand other grain, are carried off every Sunday morning, in the \nneighbourhood of Loi\\don, and 10,000 more during the other \nfix days of the week, or one million and a half in a year ; \nwhich, valued at only 6d. each, would amount to \xc2\xa3.37,500." \n\xe2\x80\x94 Middleton, ut fup. \n\nMr. Middleton calculates that the depredations committed \non the landed intereft, amount to 4s. per acre per annum} or \neight millions fterlin gr. \n\n" The principal gaming houfes, at the weft end of the town, \nhave dated days on which they have luxurious dinners (parti- \ncularly Sundays), when merchants\' and bankers\' clerks, and \nother perfons, intruded with money, are invited. The ex- \npences, attendant on fuch houfes, were fuppoled to amount to \n\xc2\xa3.150,000 annually." p. 140. \n\n" The gambling and lottery iran factions of one individual \nin the metropolis, are faid to be productive of, from 10 to 15 \nfuicides annually ! ! !" p. 325. \n\n* The aggregate funis loft and won at the different gaming \nhoufes in the metropolis, in the courfe of a year, are fuppofed \nto amount to \xc2\xa3./,22<5,000," p. 143. \n\n" The amount of fraudulent infurances in the lottery are \ncalculated at \xc2\xa3.\\0,A 60,000." \n\nSuch a hiftory of accumulated and rapidly accumulating \ndepravity, as Mr. Colquhoun\'s excellent work exhibits, is well \n\n\n\n. ( *9 ) \n\nperfect fecurity, with their windows open, or their \ndoors unbarred, without any danger of moleftation, or \nthe hazard of a fingle depredation. At that time, \njuftice and truth were more revered. An oath was \nheld inviolate j the roeaneft mechanic, and the poor- \neft day labourer were imprefled with an awful Jenje \nof its importance: it was deemed an appeal to God; \nand too facred to be trifled with; but at prefent, falfe- \nhood is little more heeded, than if truth were only a \npuff of air. \n\n19. The moral principles of the people have re- \nreived a terrible (hock; they have, indeed, almoft \nundergone a total revolution in favour of vice. The \ngreat increaie of luxury, and the great preffure of \ntaxation, a great luft of fplendour on the one hand, \nand a great diminution in the means of fubfiftence \non the other, have certainly confpired to pour a rank \npollution into the national manners; and to fpread \nthe gangrene of guilt over the whole heart of the \ncommunity. But, among the other aftive and power- \nful caufesy a caufe whofe influence is vaft and con- \nftantly increafmg, is the wide diffufion of the deleterious \n\n\n\nfitted to excite the reflections of the contemplative, the forrow \nof the good, and the difmay of the provident. The genuine \nreligious principle, which was once fo operative, which once fo \npowerfully impelled to good and difTuaded from evil, feems to \nbe daily lofing its influence on the heart, and its authority over \nthe confcience : and the more that falfe and mifchievous dofirim,, \n\'which the Fanatics teach, prevails, the more luill it decline* \n\nc 2 \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xb0 ) \n\ntenets of the Fanatics ; which I am convinced, from \na diligent and difpafilonate obfervation of their effects, \nhave a direct tendency to wither every fhoot of inte- \ngrity on the confcience, and to accelerate the growth \nof the mod deflructive crimes*. \n\n\n\n* The propagation of vice is, likewife, not much impeded by \nthe diffufion of what is called the ncxv morality, which is the \nold morality (I mean the morality of Jefus Chrift, whofe au- \nthority is incon tellable, and whole origin is divine) diverted \nof its fanclions; its ftrength wafted, its glory faded; a body, \nfull of animation and beauty, turned into a mats of putrefcence \nand corruption. The principles of the Philofophifts, and the \nprinciples of the Fanatics are not \'very d\'fjimilar in their tendency \nto do mifc/iicf. The latter gravitate to the centre of hereditary \ncorruption j the former to that of perfonal depravity. With \nthe Fanatics immorality is the decree of God j with the Philo- \nfophifts morality is nothing but the whim of man. "With the \nFanatics immoiality is a matter of neceflityj with the Philofo- \nphifts morality is only a matter of human convention. The Fa- \nnatics think that the practice of truth and jufticc will have na \ninfluence on our happinefs in another life 5 the Philofophifts \nmaintain that there is no life beyond this; and,confequently, that \ntruth and juftice can have no relation to what has no exiftence. \nIn the agapas of the Fanatics defire is often indulged without \nreftraintj becaufc it is thought to contribute to the perfecting \nof the faints in love; in the fchools of the Philofophifts pro- \nmifcuous concubinage is licenfed for the general good; and \nwhich general good means the wayward appetite of every indi- \nvidual. \n\nLuft and cruelty are very common features in the picture \nof Fanatics of all ages and countries. In thefe high diftinclions, \nthe Fanatics of theprefent day have, probably, been furpafied \nby the Fanatics of old 3 but the former only want circumjlances \n\n\n\n( 21 ) \n\nio. By decrying moral duties, or talking of them with \na contemptuous fheer (as if pure morality and pure \n\n\n\nequally favourable, ignorance ainong their fellotU\'creatures equally \ndcnfe> and power in their own hands equally strong, \nto make the latter hide their diminiflied heads; and yield to them \nthe proud pre-e?ninence in cruelty and lujt. The Fanatics of old \nwere fo much attached to continence, that they thought mar- \nriage a crying fin; but hiftory teaches us that their pompous \npretentions to chaftity were a rank impofture. Speaking of \nthe intolerant bigots and hypocritical religionifts of former \ntimes, " Certum eft," fays a great writer, and one of the pureft \nfriends to pure chriftianity, " quoniam omne aeftuantis libi- \ndinis remedium cafti matrimonii ufu ipfis interdictum eft, in \nillicitam venerem, omni abje6to pudore licentiofe proruere, \nac in voluptatibus carnalibus fcede volutari. Erafmus ad no- \ntata Beddae, torn. ix. p. 401. ait : Eft apud Germanos Epif- \ncopus quidam, qui ipfe dixit in convivio, uno anno adfe delata \nundecim ?nillia facer dotu?n i palam concubinariorum* Nam tales \nfingulis annis pendunt aliquid Epifcopo. Item, in locis ple- \nrifque, Epifcopi et eorum ofBciales, non folum facerdotum \ntolerant concubinatum, dummodo certa perfolvatur pecunia : \nfed et facerdotes continentes, et qui abfque concubinis degunt, con- \ncubinatus cenfum perfolvcre cogunt, ajfersntes, Epifcopwn pecuniae \nindigum cjfe> qua folutd, licere facerdotibus, ut vel ccelibcs perma- \nneant, vel concubinas alant. Idem Erafmus in fuppatatione \nerrorum Beddae, torn. ix. p. 484. hcec habet. Quid mirum \nii aetate Auguftini dictae funt aliquot virgines fnnclimoniales \nnupfiffe, cum hoc faeculo tot dicantur e(Te monafieria, quce nihil \na Hud funt quam publica lupqnaria, plura privata ; tian in his ip/is, \nqiue maxime probatce difciplincc funt , multo plures funt quce velum \nhabeant, quam quce virginitatew, \xe2\x80\x94 Novi quofdam, qui puellas, \nquibus fuerant abufi, auo res premeretur, sepellerun.t in \nt monasteriis. \xe2\x80\x94 Magnince Bedda clarnat, afrit, abfit, ut qiuf- \n\nc 3 \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xab ) \n\nreligion could ever be divided), the bufy propagators \nof Fanaticifm caufe morality to be an object of deri- \n\n\n\nquam admittatur ad facerdotii dignitatem, qui carnis in totum \nnon contemnit illecebrasj quum hodie inveniantur, qui quin- \nquaginta habent concubinas, ne quid addam fceleratius. lb. \np. 56g, et p. 985, de interdiclo carnium ufu. Inter facerdotes \nquanta raritas eorum, qui cafte vivunt? De bis loquor qui \ndonii palara alunt concubinas uxorum loco. Necenim attin^o \nnunc fecretiorum libidinum myfteria. Tanium ca loquor, qiuc \n\xe2\x80\xa2vu/go quo que noiijfimafant. Sceleratius autem eft quod narrat \np. 1380, refpons. ad quendam febricitantem ; quendam Theo- \nlogian profefforem Dominicanum, nomine Joannem, fibi Ant- \nverpias, in aedibus Nicolai Middelburgenfis Medici, nominafte \nThcologum Lovanienfem, unde acceperat, quod quendam paf- \ntorem facrarum virginum, qui confeffus eft> fe cum ducentis \nhabuiffe ftupri cor.fuetudinem, inabfolutum dimiferit. Sed \nquid opus eft teftimonia ex autoribus fingularibus proferre? \nIpfae leges Inquifitionis, quae Sacerdotibus, non tan turn fcemi- \nnas, fed proh fcelus ! etiam pueros in facramentali confeflione \nfollicitantibus, pcenas decernunt, indicium font, crimina haec, \nin impuro ifto c<elibatu, nimis efle vulgaria et frequentia." \nVid. Limborch. Hi ft. Inquifit. Amftel. 1692, p. 33, 34. \n\nThat we may form fome faint conjecture of the tender mercies \nof Fanaticifm, let us enter the walls of the Jnquifnion, taking \nLimborch for our guide. \n\n" Carceres hi in Hifpania et Lufitania. vocantur Junta eafa \nhoc eft fancta domus. Omnia, fcilicet, in hoc officio funt \nfancta. Strucuira eorum, prout earn defcribit autor hiftorioe \nInquifitionis Goanae, talcs eft, ut pluribus captivis aficrvandis \nftt accommodata. Condant nempe variis porticibus, quorum \nftnguli in varias exigtias cameras funt diftributi, liguraj quad- \nratae; quarum latera fingula funt decern pedum, lllorum duo \nfunt ordines, quorum alter alteri fupcrftructus eft; funtque \nconftrudi opere fornicato. Superiores illnminantur per crates \n\n\n\n( n ) \n\nfion rather than of reverence in the minds of their \nconverts. They are taught that heaven may be \n\n\n\nferreos, fed fupra viri etiam proceri ftaturam elevatos. Infe- \nriores funt fubterraneae, obfcurae, fine ulla feneftra, et fuperio* \nribus anguftiores. Parietes funt craflitudinis quinque pedum. \nUnaquaequae camera duobus oftiis clauditur; interius craftum \neft et ferro obductum ; pars illius inferior confiat crate ferreoj \nin fuperiore parte exigua eft feneftella per quam captivo cibus, \nlintea, aliaque neceifaria porriguntur, clauditurque du@bus \nferreis obicibus, Exterius ottium folidum eft line ulla aper- \ntura; illud ordinarie mane ab hora fexta, ufque undecimam. \naperiri folet, ut aer carceris aliquatenus repurgetur." Limb. \nHift. Inquis. 158. " In Hilpania, ut mihi narravit Ifaacus \nOrobio nonnunquam dantur carbones, qui igne accenduntur, ut \nipfi cibum fuumcoquant; aliquando conceditur candela; fed \nqui in car cere fubterraneo detineniur, plerwnquc fedent in tcnebris } \nin iifque ferannos aliquot detineniur ; vemini cos adire aut alhqui \nlicet ; nifi folis carceris cuftodibus; idque ftatis tantum horis \nquando cibum porrigunt. Non licet ullos habere devotionis li~ \nbros 5 Jed in tcnebris et folhudine detinentur, ut tarn tetri carceris \nhorrore frangantur, illiusque tcedio ea confiteantur QU7E \nSJEPE non commiserunt." p. 159- " Nulli in carccre mutire, \nullumvc fonum cdere licet \\ fed altum in eo fert\'atur filentium. Si \nquis ejulet, aut infortunium fuum deploret, aut, clara voce, \nDeum precetur, aut cantet, five pfalmum, five hymnum fuo- \nrum, mox adfunt carceris cuftodes, qui in porticu continuas \nagunt excubiasj omnemque etiam minimum fonum, audire \npoffunt, monentque in domo bac filentium effe fervandum. Si \nnon pareat captivus, iterato eum monent cuftodes. Si nihil- \nominus pergat captivus, cuftos, aperto carcere, fufte eum egre- \ngie dedoiat ; non tantum ut ipfum caftiget, fed et deterreat \nalios; qui, quoniam camerae funt contiguse altumque fervatur \nfilentium, et ejulatum et fonitum ictuum oui infliguntur, \n\nC 4 \' \n\n\n\n( 24 ) \n\nobtained on eafier condiiions, than thofe habits of \nactual goodncis, which are (lowly acquired, and diffU \n\n\n\ncommode audire poftunt. Addam hie Darratiunculam, \nex quorundam ore habui, undequam fevere fileotium he \nfervetur, colligere licet. Captwus quidam tu, adfunl \n\nexcubitores ; monent ut tuffim omittai, quia illicitum effet in ehmfk \nhdc ullum emitter c Jonum. Ille refporidit, hoc arbitrii fui non \neife : nihilominus, cum fecundo monitus tujjim ?i r m omitterct, \nipfum dejiudatum piurihus ittibus mifere coniundwit: cum hue ra- \ntione tujjh auger etur \', aliquotics \xe2\x80\xa2verberatus fuit ; donee tandem iter- \nberum \xe2\x80\xa2vehementid mortuus fuit." p. l(5i, 1 62 The JcijtUve \nconfcienccs, and the rejined morality of the Lnquijitorial Fanatics \nwill be evident from the following relation: ** Hiipali homo \nquidam pauper ac ex fudore fuo quotidianum fibi et familiae \nvic"tum parans, cui Clericus quidam uxorem violenter abduc- \ntam detinebat, nulla, interea, neque Inquifitione neque alterius \ntribunalis autoritate atrocem injnriam vindicante. Is pauper, \ndum inter alios ejufdem conditionis homines, de purgatorio, \nforte, exoritur fermo, excepit ipfe rufiicana potius fimplicitate, \nquam certo connlio, fe fatis quidem habere purgatorii, cui \npeiiimus nebulo uxorem violenter averterit, Sec. Is fermo ad \naures boni Clerici delatus, ingemjnandi in pauperem injutiam, \npccafionem obtalit, illumque, ut male de purgatorio fentientem, \napud Inquifitores accufat. Erratum hoc pauperis fanfto tribu- \nnali dignins eft habiium in qijod autoritate inquifitorid vindicarct, \nquamfceJus Clerici. Itaque ob illud tantulum verbum mifer \ncapitur, detruditur in inquifitoriis ergaftulis biennio toto ; ac \ndemum in triumphum eductus damnatur ad geftandum San- \nbenitum per triennium, quod in private* carcere exigatj eoque \nexa6to, an dimiftendus liber, retinendus ve adhuc lit in carcere \ndominorum Inquifitorum arbitrium elio. Neque qualibufcun- \nque, pauperis alioquin hominis, fortunis eft parcitum, ut uxor \nClerico, quod vero fupererat tenuilfmvaiiun fortqnarum, poil \n\n\n\n( 25 ) \n\ncultly retained; which cannot be generated without \nlabour, and may be loft without watchfalnefs. \xe2\x80\x94 But \n\n\n\ndiuturnum ilium carcerem, inquifitorio cederet Fifco." p. 328. \nThe wanton manner in which the Inquihtorial Fanatics (lied \nthe blood of the innocent, and afterwards endeavoured to atone \nfor the moft atrocious murders by the fouleft lies, will appear \nfrom the following narrative, which no man can well perufe \nwithout horror: " Ceperunt, eodem fere tempore, in eadem \nHifpalenfj Inquifitione nobilem quandam fee mi nam Joannam \nBohorquiam, uxorem Francifci Varquii, viri imprimis clari ac \nKiguerae Domini, filiam vero Petri Garfiae Xerelii Hifpalenfis \ncivis opulentiHimi. Captivitatis caufa fuit, quod foror ipfius \nMaria Bohorquia fpeclatee pietatis virgo, quam poftea ob piam \nconfemonem igni tradiderunt, in tormentis declaralfet, fe ali- \nquoties, cum forore fua de ea. doctrina contuliffe. Quumillam \nin carcerem conjecernnt, gerebat uterum femeftrem ferme qua \nde caufa neque adeo arete earn recluferunt, neque cum ipfa \nagebant ea fasvitia, qua cum aliis vinctis folent, feetui nimirum \nconfulentes. Octavo a partu die fastum illi auferunt j quinto \ndecimo vero earn recluduntj eandemque, cum aliis vinctis \nomnibus, conditionem cogunt experirij ac caufa ipfius quo \nrigore quibufque folent artibus agitari caepta. In tanta ca- \nlamitate id tantum folatii amictae contigit, quod virgo qusedam \nvalde pia, quam ob pietatem poftea inquihtorius quoque ignis \nabfumplit tetri illius carceris forte data eft comes. Earn puel- \nlam ad torturam quadam die educlam, atque in carcerem a \ntorturis reductam, adeo quaifatam omnibufque membrorum \ncomDagibus diifolutam, ut in jnnceo le&ulo ad laborem potius \nquam ad quietem utrique concevTo, vix ac nifl magnocum cru- \nciatu volveretur, fumma animi pietate, quando externis ofhciis \nnullus, aut certe perexiguus ibi erat locus, profequuta eft. Vix \nilia caeperat a tortwras quaifatione convalefcere, quum ad eun- \ndem ludum ilia educitur; ibi tanta atrocitate in burro torque- \n\n\n\n( 26 ) \n\nthe Fanatics reprefent their it/ward light as a better \nguide to heaven, than purity of heart and holinefs \n\n\n\ntnr, ut chordis ad ipfas brachiorum, femorum ac crurura tibias \nufque penetrantibus, earceri moribunda reftitueretur, fanguine \nper os affatim e veftigio erumpente, difruptis baud dubie vif- \nceribus, octavo demum a tortura die mortua fit. Quum ad \nearn condemnandam fufticienlia teftimonia, licet omnibus in- \nquifitoriis artibus conquifita ac procurata, defecilfent, quando \naccufata eo nata foret loco, ut negotii ipfius apud plebem \nefiet omninb aliqua reddenda ratio, neque res ullo modo dif- \nfimulari poifet, in primo triumphi actu, qui ab ipfius morte \nfuit indictus, fententiam fuampronuntiari jubent in haec verba. \nQ\'uoniam haec domina in car cere abierit (fupprefiis baud dubie \ncaufis) et ejus caufa infpecta et diiigenter examinata innocens \nfuerit deprehenfa, idcirco Sanctum Tribunal earn ab omnibus \ngravaminibus, per Fifcalem illi intentatis, pronuntiare liberam, \nlicetque prorfus abfolutam in fua turn innocentia turn exifti- \nmatione reftituere jubereque bona ipfius omnia quae in Sequeilri \nrationes venerant, eis reftitui ad quos ex jure pertinerent, &:c. \nAc ita demum pojrquam cam in tormentis belluina truculcntia \nvecavcrunt, libcram pronuntiarunt" p. 319- 320. Let us now \nenter the chamber of torture in which the Fanatic Demons \nufed to feaft their eyes on the favage barbarities which they \nperpetrated. " Locus torturae in Inquiiitione Hifpana, ut \nplurimum folct effe antrum quoddam fubterraneurp, ac perob- \nfcurum, ad quo,!, muhis oitiis pra-tergrcilis, peryenituj. In \neo eft erect um tribunal, in quo Inqnintor et Provifor et Scriba \nfedent. Accenfis luisinibns et ingreffo torquendo enrnifex, \nqui alios ornnes intus jam exfpectat, inter omnes eft fpectacuio \net contemplation- <-\\\'\\ pius. Is totus eft co,-opertus nigra veiie \nex lino ad pedes longa adfiri&a undique adhaerente torpori, \ncaput habet velatum obi on go nigroque caperone, quo fac: \ntotam contceit, rclictis duobus modi parvulis ad vifum fenef- \n\n\n\nof life; and they make the delirium of fenfation a \nfubftitute for integrity of chara&er. \n\n\n\ntellis. Hsec omnia eo tendunt, ut majore terrore concutiatur \nanimo ac corpore mifellus, hac imprimis diaboli alicnjus ima- \ngine, cujus manibus torqueri debet.\'\' p. 321. <f Ratio autem \ntorquendi et tonnentorum gradus nunc in Hifpanica Inquifi- \ntione ufitati, optime cognofci poffunt, ex hiftoria Ifaaci Orobio \nJudaei Medicinae Docr.oris, qui a quodam Mauro fervo fuo, \nante hac ob furtum juifu fuo verberato, delatus fuit Inquifi- \ntioni quail Judoeusj et poll quadriennium ab alio inimico fuo \nde alio fatto, uncle judaeus agnofceretur, iterum delatus fuit? \nquique fe pertinacillime Judasum negavit. Hiftoriam tortura?, \nprout earn ex ore ipfi us habui, breviter hie adferibam. Poft- \nquam, integro triennio, in carcere Inquifitionis detentus fuit, \net aliquoties examinatus, criminaque objecta ipfi mdicata, ut \nea confiteretur,* ipfeque ea conftanter negaret, tandem ex \ncarcere fuo fuit edu6tus, etjper varios anfraftus deductus, in lo- \ncum torturae. Fuit id circa vefperam. Erat locus fubterraneus, \nfads amplus, fornice ftructus, parietes undique velamine nigri \ncoloris tecli j muro afnxa erant candelabra, totumque conclave \nilluminabant candelae iis impofitae. Ab una parte erat locus \nquidam camerae inftar, feparatus; illic menfae aifidebat Tnqui- \nfitor cum Notario; its ut locus hie ipfi vifus fuerit domiciiium \nmortis, tetro afpectu undequaque terribilis. Hie eum Inquifi- \ntor denuo monuit, ut veritatem confiteretur, antequam inchoa- \nrentur torment a iniius. Cum refponderet fe veritatem dixilTe, \nInquifitor graviter protetiatus eft. quoniam ob pertinaciam ip- \nfius ad torturam deveniendum effet, S.OfBcium innoxium fore, \nfi inter torment a fanguinem emitteret aut animam efHaret. \nfiis dictis linteum corpori ipfius obductum eft, et, ab utraque \nparte, adeo violenter conftrictum, ut tandem anhelitus ipfi prae- \ncluderetur: cum jam animo dericeret, fubito lintei extremi- \nfates funt remiiTae, et cum jam denub refpirare inciperet, maxi- \n\nI \n\n\n\n( 2\xc2\xab ) \n\n21. In whatever village the Fanatics get a footing, \ndrunken nefb and (wearing, \xe2\x80\x94 fins, which being more \n\n\n\nmam, ex fubita ilia mutatione, paffus eft animi auguftiam ac \ndolorem. Hoc tormento fuperato, eadem monitio repetita fait, \nfatere veritatem, antequam inchocntur tormenta tua; eaque \nmonitio, fuperato quovis tormento, antequam novo exponere- \ntur, femper repetita fuit. Icaque cum in negaticne perfifteret, \npollices illius funiculis exiguis arctiiiinie conttricti funt, adeo \nut membra extrema admodum intumuerint, et fanguis inter \njnncturas unguium expelleretur. Poftea muro fuit applicitus, \n\xe2\x82\xact exiguo fcabello impofitus. Muro affixae erant parvae troch- \nleas ferreae, per quas funes \xc2\xa3ucti variis in locis corpus ejus \nambiebant, praefertim brachia et crura : tortor, magna violcD- \ntia, funiculos ho fee trahens, corpus ipfius muro applicabatj \ninterim manus ac pedes, digitique manuum ac pedum aretif- \niime funiculis conftrreli fummo percellebantnr cruciatu, non \naliter ac fi flammis diiiblveretur. In mediis hifce cruciatibus \ntortor fubitb fcabellum pedibus ipfius fubtraxit ; adeo ut mifer, \nfine ullo fulcimento, pependerit fanibus undique conftrictus, \net pondere corporis funium nodos ar&ius adftringente. Mox \nnovum tormenti genus fuccedit. Jnfuumentum exiguae fcv.l.e \ninftar, duobus conilans lignis ereclis, et quinque tranfveriis \na uteri us acuminatis il!i ex adverfo oppofuit tortor, idquc, motu \nquodam accommodate, maxima vi in utrumque ejus tibiam im- \npt git, adeo ut utraque tibia, quinque icribus fimul validiiiime \npercuiTa affiigei\'etur dolore intolerabili, adeo quidem ut in ani- \nmi deliquium incident. Mox ad ie reverfo ultimum tormenti \ngenus infiictum eft. Funibus brachia ejus non procul a manu \naitricta funtj illis tortor fe implicuit, ita ut dorfo ejus corio \nmunito circumduct renturj turn fen -fupinavit, pedibus quemuro \noppofitis fumma vi fanes diftendit, donee brachiorum carneoa \nufque ad oflfa penitus perciderh j idque tormentum ter rej \ntitum eft, funibus illis duorum circiter digitorum fpatia a piioie \n\n\n\n( *9 > \n\nexpofcd to the eye of the world, would be ruinous \nto their great pretenfions to fuperior fanctity, will, \nperhaps, be found to decline ; but I am convinced, \nfrom perfonal obfervation, that lying and difhoneily, \nthat every fpecies of fraud and falfehood, \xe2\x80\x94 fins, which \nare not fo readily detected, but which feem more \n\n\n\nvulnere brachio appofitis, eademque vehementia conftrictis, \nContigit vero, cum fecundo funes conftringerentur ut in prius \nvulnus relaberentur, unde tanta violentia fanguis eiBuxit, ut \nmoriturus videretur. Mox vicino conclavi advocati funt. \nMedicus et Chirurgus, quos feraper prosfto effe oportet, ut \niimili in cafu, fententia eorum rogetur, an, abfque mortis peri- \nculo, tortura continuari poflit, ne irregulares iiant judices ecle- \niiaftici, ft forte reus in tormentis moriatur. llli Orobio minimi \ninimici, refpondent, virium fatis fupereffe, ad reliqua tormenta \nfuftinendum: et fie eum praefervaiant, ne tormenta jam fupe- \nrata denub inn* infligerentur, quia fententia fert, ut omnia ilia \ntormenta fucceflive uno tempore infliganturj ii ob morti.* \npericulum definendum lit. poftea rurfus omnia tormenta, etiani \nquae jam tolerata fuerant, fucceflive infliguntur ut fententiae \nfatis fiat. Mox veilibus fuis involutus, in priorem carcerem \n<leportatus eft 3 et feptuaginta dierum fpatio, vix a vulneribus \nfuis fanatus. Quoniam in tormentis nihil confefTus fuerat, \ncondemnatus eft non ut Judaifmi convi&us, fed fufpeclus, ad \ninfamem veftem Sanbenita, integro biennio, geftandum, eoque \nelapfoad perpetuum e regno Hifpalienfi exilium." p. 323, 324. \nI have made thefe copious extracts from Limborch, becaufe \nthe reader will, I truft, find them both curious and intereftingj \nand they will probably defcribe the genius of Fanaticifm and \nthe temper of Fanatics, better than the moft elaborate meta- \nphyfical differtation. \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xb0 ) \n\nclofely connected with worldly advantage, will be \nfound, invariably, to increafe *. \n\n2 2. Inftead of inculcating truth, juftice, brotherly \nkindnefs, charity, all the domcftic and focial virtues, \nthe Fanatics amufe their hearers with a great deal of \nwhining, unintelligible cant about their " dear fouls," \ntheir " precious fouls;" while their bodies are cover- \n\n\n\n* In feveral parities, when fome of the fenfible and incor- \nrupt minifters of the eftablifhment, have been inculcating from \nthe pulpit the great obligations of truth, juftice, and mercy, \nand enforcing their performance by every fanction which the \ngofpel fupplies, and every perfuafion with which an Eternity \nof good can operate on the heart, \xe2\x80\x94 the champions of Method- \niim, who happen to have erected their flandard in the fame \nvillage, and who ufually fend two or three fpies to the parilh \nchurch to bring them intelligence of what has been faid, make \na common practice of telling their audiences at the next meet- \ning, that difcourfes on truth, and juftice, and mercy, have \nnothing to do with Chriftianity ; that moral works, being \nonly filthy rags (a favourite exprefiion with thole enemies to \ngoodnefs), will not conduce to their fnlvation; and that they \nmult rely on Chrift\'s rigbteoufnefs, without troubling them- \nft-lves about any righteoufnefs of their own. 1 leave the reader \nto judge what effect fucb preaching, enforced by a great deal \nof cant, and often the moil confummate art, mutt have on the \nignorant and the credulous who arc plainly told that fraud and \nfalfehood are no obftructions in the way to heaven, provided \nthey only go to that meeting within whofe unhallowed walls \nthe Anti-Chriftian jugglers circumfcribe the capacity of fal- \nvation. \n\n\n\n( 3i ) \n\ned with rags, incrufted with filth, or wafting with \ndifeafe; \xe2\x80\x94 a ftate of mifery and indigence, to which \nthey are too often reduced by neglecling their proper \ncalling, and the reafonable worfnip of their forefa- \nthers, to liften to the pernicious jargon of fome jug- \ngling fiend, who, inflead of edifying them by the \nfimple truths, or cheering them by the fweet confola- \nlations of pure Chriftianity, ufually breathes the fleam \nof delufion on their minds, the blaft of diflenfion on \ntheir homes, and the anguifh of fuperftition on their \nhearts. \n\n03. To teach the fimple and the ignorant as the \nemiflaries of Fanaticifm teach them, that they come \nfrom the womb utterly difpofed to evil and indif- \npofed to good, is in fac"l, to tell them that they are \nborn with an innate propenfity to commit theft, adul- \ntery, murder, and every crime. When fuch a pre- \npofterous and mod pernicious doctrine has been \ndeeply rooted in their minds, and forcibly impreffed \nupon their hearts, it muft neceffarily exert the moil \nmifchievous influence on their cond u 61 * # \n\n\n\n* The Fanatics are very induftrious in eftablifhing Sunday \nfchools, in order to gangrene the principles of the country; \nand to give an unkind, unfocial Calviniftic complexion to \nthe manners of the people. Sunday fchools are, in many vil- \nlages, the fuccefsful medium of inftilling the poifon of Me- \ntfiodiftic immorality into the young and innocent. \n\n\n\n( 32 ) \n\n/ 24* By teaching people as the Scripture, from the \n/ beginning to the end, encourages us to teach them, \n\xe2\x80\xa2 that they are born with a faculty to difcern good \n/ from evil, and with a capacity to choofe which they \nI pleafe, by teaching them that the hrft is their happi- \nr nefsj and the laft their mifery; that the firft is their \nr glory, and the laft their fhame; by teaching them \nI that God will punifh the one, and reward the otherj \n1 and that if they will, with fincerity, exert their natural \nj power to do good, the favour of God will ajjift them \nfin the performance, we certainly are more likely to \n\\ make them (for we take a more reafonable and fcrip- \nI tural method of making them) fober, honed, and \nI true, of exciting the love of virtue, and the detefta- \nttation of vice, than by imprefTing them with a belief \nI that they bring into the world a conftitution imbued \nI with every evil, and devoid of every good propen- \n\n, \\ fity *. By the firft, we excite their endeavours to \n\n\n\n* " Sin," fays Jeremy Taylor, " creeps upon nsin our educa- \ntion fo tacitly and undifcernibly, that we miftake the caufe of \nit; and yet fo prevalently and effectually, that we judge it to be \nour very nature, and charge it upon Adam, to lcjjcn the Imputation \nupon ?is, or to incrcafc the licence or the confidence; when every \none of us is the Adam, the man of sin and the parent of our \nown impurities." Life of Chriit, fol. ed. 1O7S, p. 08. \xe2\x80\x94 Thofe \nFanatics who are the molt zealous fticklers for the doctrine of \noriginal (in, are always mod remarkable for perfonal depravity. \nRejoicing in the toothing vanity of imputed righteoufnefs, or \npatiently enduring the wounds and bruifes and putrefying \n\n\n\n( 33 ) \n\ndo good, by the laft we increafe their inclination to \' \ndo evils by the firft we animate the conference toj \n\n\n\nfores of imputed guilt, they feel themfelves liberated from all \nthe reftraints of truth in their words, and all the reftraints of \nhonefty in their actions. \n\nThe doctrine of original corruption is, indeed, infome degree, \nfanctioned by the ninth article ; but that article admits of aa \nexplanation, that will entirely do away the rniichievoufnefs of \nthe doctrine; and it muft be remarked that the doctrine itfelf \nis not at prefent, and never has been fince the reftoration, the \nbelief of the great majority, and particularly of the moft learn- \ned and upright members of the Church of England. And \nthough the doctrine mould be more exprefsly authorized by the \narticles than it appears to me to be, yet it cannot well be called \nthe doctrine of the Church of England, when it is not the doc- \ntrine of the majority of the members, who compofe that church. \nFor we muft remember that the Church of England is not \na non -entity, or an immaterial abftraction, but a vinble, palpa- \nble, corporeal reality. It is not a dead but a living body. \nWhen therefore we with to afcertain the true doctrine and \nbelief of the Church of England, we are not to inquire fo much \nwhat ivas the doctrine and belief of its clergy in pad ages, as \nwhat is the do&rine and the belief of the clergy, or the church, \nat the prefent day. That which ivas the doctrine and belief \nof the clergy in paft ages, was the doctrine and belief of the \nchurch in their time j and that which is the doctrine and belief \nof the clergy in this age, is the doctrine and belief of the church \nin our time: for a church is not only a mafs of brick and mor- \ntar, or of ftone and fand, but a collection of faithful men, warm \nwith animation and life, inculcating the duties of the gofpel, \nand iuftructing the people in the way of vighteoufnefs. The \nfermons of a clergyman of the prefent day may not entirely \naccord with the tenets of the majority of the Clergy who lived \n\nD \n\n\n\n( 34 ) \n\n\'ftruggle againfl. iniquity, by the lad, we only deprcii \n1 the fpirics, and make the natural frame of man, \n\n\n\ntwo hundred years ago, and Co far may differ from the doctrintf \nof the Church of England two hundred years ago; and yet \nthey may not differ from the preaching of the great majority \nof the clergy in his own time; and therefore may be conform- \nable to the doctrine of the church in his own time ; for as the \nmajority of the living members, and particularly the moft \nlearned, upright, and judicious members of the Church of Eng- \nland, conftitute the Church of England, they may, without \nformally repealing any of the articles, put any conftruction \nupon them which they think bell; and that conftruction is \nthe legal doctrine of the church in their time; and, in that \nfenfe, and according to that conftruction, the articles may and \nought to be fubferibed; and he, who thus fubferibes them, \nmaintains what it is fonecelTary to maintain, an unity of doctrine \nwith the majority of his brethren ; and is, confcquenlly, a better \nfriend to the Church of England, than he is ivho ?nay fubferibe \nthe articles in a fenfe more agreeable to the letter, but more adverfe \nto the general conf ruction of the clergy ; and confcquenlly to the \nreceived doctrine of the Church. As the Church of England is \nnot an union of dead men but of living, an unity of doctrine \nmuft mean not an accord of opinions with the dead fo much \nas an accord of opinions among the living; and as the en \nof the Church of England ought not to be coofidertd in any \nother light than the general creed of its living teachers, thole \nwho oppofe that creed, though they may maintain opinions \nmore congenial to the articles, yet, as the opinions which tl \nmaintain, are holtilc to thofe of the great corporate body of \nthe eftabliihment, they muft be confidered rather as foes than \nas friends to the real interells of the church to which they \nlong. Confider this, ye Evangelical pre sad take fcO \n\n\n\n( 35 ) \n\nWhich muft be the work of God, an invincible argu- f \nment for the practice of unrighteoufnefs.; \n\n\n\nyourfelves the reproaches with which ye are fo eager to opprefs \nthe reputation of others. \n\nAs the framers of the articles were fallible men, they were \nliable to err 5 and as it is probable that, in fome few inftances, \nthey have erred through ignorance or prejudice, they cannot \nbe deemed infallible expofitors of fcripture, We are not to \ninterpret the fcripture by the articles ; but the articles by the v \nfcripture. Subfcription to the articles, by no means divefis \nany minifter of the Church of England of all right of private \njudgment ; but every clergyman would be dripped of this ina- \nlienable right, if he were compelled to make the articles the \nexcluftve interpreters of tbeChriftian doctrines, the ftandard of \ntheir purity, and the meafure of their truth. In this cafe, we \nhad better throw the whole mafs of commentators, and fcholi- \nafts, and critics into the fire"; and even, inflead of ftudying the \nfcriptures themfeives, fludy nothing but the articles; to whofe \ndogmas we mould bow our heads and bend our knees. We \nmuft either furrender ourfelves pafiive flaves to the verdict of \nthe articles 5 or we muft allow thofe, who fubferibe them, the \nright of private judgment 3 and, if private judgment be allow- \ned, we muft concede to individuals the privilege of differing \nfrom the articles on any topics, in which thofe articles appear \nto them to differ from the fcripture. The articles themfelves \ndo not appear to me to deny any one this right ; for the iixth \narticle fays, " Holy fcripture containeth all things necerTary to \niaivation ;fo thai \'whatfo&oer is not read therein, nor may he proved \nthereby, is nut required of any man, that it Ihould be believed as \nan article of the faith, or be thought requifite or neceffary tofal- \nvation." Here the framers of the articles undoubtedly intended \' \nto- give a tacit permiiTiun to the exercife of private judgment; \nand to that freedom of inquiry which is fubfervient to the belt \n\nD 2 \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xab ) \n\n25. That man does poflcfs a capacity either to do \ngood or evil, and which the fall did not deftroy, may \n\n\n\ninterefts of religion. In the twenty-fir ft article, the framers \nfilently confefs their own fallibility, when they fay, that general \ncouncils may err, and fo?nelh?ies have erred, in things pertaining t* \nGod. \n\nReligious knowledge, like knowledge of other kinds, is cer- \ntainly progreflive; and its progrefs has been very rapid of late \nyears. The ancient languages are better understood, the man- \nners and cuftoms of the eaft have been more accurately invef- \ntigated, and, above all, a more juft, and liberal, and Chriftian \nmode of thinking has taken place. Controverfy is conducted \nwith more moderation ; and animated by a more enlightened \ncriticifm. The framers of the articles were wife and enlieht- \nened men for the age in which they lived; but they did not \npoffefs fagacity to anticipate the difcoveries and improvements \nof future ages ; nor ought we to fuffer their decifions to render \nthofe difcoveries fruitlefs, or thofe improvements vain. \n\nThe fcriptures cannot be properly interpreted without the \nexercife of our rational powers; and we are exprefsly enjoined \nto ftudy the fcriptures ourfelves, and not be contented with let- \nting others ftudy them for us. We are not to embrace a doc- \ntrine, merely becaufe other fallible men, like ourfelves, have \nembraced it before us ; but becaufe we, on mature inquiry, be- \nlieve it to be a fcriptural do<5crine. Chrift only is the mafter \nof our confeience upon earth; and we are to call no man mafter \nbut Chrift. We are not to abandon our private judgment in \nreligious matters; but are impartially and diligently to fearch \nthe fcriptures. This is the fovereign duty of every man who \nundertakes to inftruct others in the way of righteoufnefs ; and \nno fubfeription to any articles upon earth can invalidate the \nobligation or fuperfede the practice. We are to pay all juft \nand reafonable deference to the articles; and to the authority \nof thofe great and good men who framed them 3 but their de- \n\n\n\n( 37 ) \n\nbe proved by the plain and incontrovertible autho- \nrity of Scripture, which no mutilated or perverted \n\n\n\nci lions are no mcafure for our confciences 5 and their autho- \nrity is to be lefs valued than that of Chrift. \n\nThe framers ; of the articles lived at a period when mankind \nwere j uft emerging from ages of the grofteft ignorance, and \nthe moft oppreflive fuperftition. They had befides, for the \nmolt part, been nurtured in Popifh prejudices j and though \nthofe prejudices had undergone a violent revolution ; yet fome \nportion of their influence feems to have remained ; and which \nprobably operated filenlly and imperceptibly on the conclu- \nfions which they drew, and the doctrines which they taught. \nThe impreflions of youth are fcldom, perhaps never, entirely \neffaced. We muft alfo confider that the framers of the arti- \ncles living in a period when the human mind, difcerning the \nimpofture which the court of Home had pradtifed on it for fo \nmany ages, began to throw off the chains of fuperftition, and \nwhen, as might be expected, the moft diflbnant opinions pre- \nvailed on the moft important doctrines, had a moft difficult \ntafk to execute, in order to fteer clear of all extremes; and it \nmuft be confeflfed that they finiihed their work with lingular \nability and moderation. Though they yielded, as prudent men \nwill always yield, to the fpirit and genius of the times in which \nthey lived, yet comprehenfion and charity are very remarkable \nin their decifions. But though, when I compare the exem- \nplary moderation and good fenfe which the fathers of the Eng- \nlifh Proteftant Eftabliinment difplayed in the formation of \nthe articles, with the darknefs and intolerance of the age in \nwhich they lived, I am ready to pafs the higheft encomiums \nen their wifdom and their mildnefs5 yet I am far from think- \ning that their notions jn theology ought or were intended to \nbind their fucceflbrs to the end of time. This would be to \nfufFer them to eftablifh that dominion over the minds and con- \n\nD3 \n\n\n\n( 33 ) \n\ntexts that Fanaticifm can adduce, or fophiftry c \ncombine, can fet afide. \n\n\n\nfciences of the minifters of the gofpel, from which they had \nrefolutely attempted, and happily accompliihed their own \nemancipation. \n\nThere is a general ufage in matters ecciefiaiiical as well as \ncivil, which abolifhes fome laws, without formally repealing \nthem, and eflablimes others, without formally enacting them. \nA law,- like many in the Englffh ftatutes, is often furTered to \ndie a peaceful death. The power of enforcing it is not taken \naway ; but general difufe fufpends its operations; and it be- \ncomes as if it did not exilt. None of the articles of the Church \nof England have been formally repealed ; but it is very certain, \nthat the literal fenie of foraie of them has been, in a great mea- \nfure, explained away by the conftructions, and, if I may fo \nexprefs it, abrogated by the unanimous confent of the moft \nilluitrious divines. In the writings of Jeremy Taylor, Barrow, \nTillotfon, Clark, Whitby, Jeffery, Butler, Warburton, Balguy, \nand other ornaments of the Church of England, we meet with \nmany paflages, which indirectly attack the fpirit, and with \nothers which are cirectly contrary to the plain fenie and letter \nof the articles. \n\nNow, the practice of the greateft divines gives to other \nmembers of the Church of England the privilege of diflenting \nand a right to diiTent from thofe articles which they oppofed; \nand which the majority of the living Clergy, whofe animated \nbodies conftitute the corporate legal reality, and whofe avowed \nopinions conflitute the attual doctrine of the church, do not \napprove. A literal repeal of any of the articles might, per- \nhaps, in the prefent temper of the times, be productive of more \nevil than good ; but a filent repeal of them, luch as has taken \nplace, is calculated to produce great advantage without any \nmaterial inconvenience. \n\n\n\n( 39 ) \n\ns6. In Genefis iv. y 3 the Lord is reprefented as \nfaying to Cain, whofe jealoufy was provoked by the \n\n\n\nIt will be faid, that oaths are to be taken in the fenfe in \nwhich they are adminiftered. This is certainly true in moft: \ncafes ; but it will not hold good in cafes where oaths are ad- \nminiftered in terms, an which very different covjiruclions 7/iay \neonfcientioujly befut; and are ufually confcientiotifly put by \nthe different perfons whom they are adminiftered. Thus, if, \nfor inftance, every clergyman were obliged to fubfcribe to \nthe articles in the fenfe in which the oath of fubfcription is \nadminiftered to him, the conftruction of the fame articles by \nthe fame perfon, might be made to change feveral times in his \nlife, in order that it might tally with the contraction of the \ndifferent parties, before whom the oath of fubfcription might \nbe taken. Thus, if a perfon were to be ordained deacon by a \nCalviniftic bithop, he mull fubfcribe the articles in one fenfe, \nand. if ordained prieft by an Arminian bifhop (fuch as a great \nmajority of the Englifh bifhops are), he muft fubfcribe them \nin a different. Before the firft he muft fwear to believe in \nthe doctrine of abfolute perfonal election and reprobation, \n&c. &c. and before the laft he muft fwear that he does not \nbelieve any fuch things. To avoid thefe embarraffments, and \nthis impiety, it feems right that the articles thould be fub- \nfcribed, not in that fpecific fenfe in which they are underftood \nand believed by the perfon who adminifters the oath of fub- \nfcription, but either in that particular fenfe which is moft \nagreeable to the confcience of the individual who fubfcribes, \nor in that general fenfe which is to be collected from the \nwritings of the moft learned and judicious members of the \nChurch of England who are dead, and its moft learned and \njudicious members who are living. No falfehood can be prac- \ntifed where there is no intention to deceive on the one handy and \nwhere nobody is deceived on the other. Thofe who are fo for- \n\nD 4 \n\n\n\n( 4\xc2\xb0 ) \n\ndiftinguifhing marks of the divine favour, \'which \nAbel had received, " If thou doeft zvell, Jhalt thou not \n\n\n\nward to caft the raoft flanderous imputations on the veracity \nof the Clergy, would do well to confider this obfervation : \n\nIt is not to be fuppofed, that the minifters of the Church of \nEngland mould ever agree in the conftru&ion, or unite in the \nbelief of thirty-nine proportions, fome of which relate to quef- \ntions the moll dark and difficult in the whole compafs of hu\xc2\xab \nman inquiry; queftions, too, which agitate the hopes and the \nfears of men; their deareft interefts and their fondeft expecta- \ntions; queftions, in the difcuflion of which, the wifeft may be \nperplexed, and the fearlefs be difmayed. On many abftrufe \nand intricate topics in theology, men of the fevereft probity, \nthe greateft penetration, of profound refearch, and various eru- \ndition, have often differed from each other, and have as often \ndiffered from themfelves at different periods of their lives. \nAny man may give an affurance of what his belief has been \nfor the paft; but, on any matters of uncertain fpeculation, no \nman can fafely or confcientioufly ftipulate what his belief fhall \nbe for the future. If any man mould undertake to think on \nany doubtful queftion ten years hence in precifely the fame \nmanner that he does at prefent, he undertakes more than he \ncan perform; and no one is bound to impofiible conditions. \n\nA man\'s prefent belief, as far as it is rational and fincere, \nmuft be always determined by the weight of evidence ; and it \nwill vary as the evidence varies; it will grow ftronger as the \nevidence grows more convincing ; and it will become weaker \nas the evidence decreafes; or as the probabilities in favour of \na contrary opinion are increafed. On any doubtful queftions, \nwhich admit of degrees of proof, or of probability, an honed \nand rational man will embrace that fide of the queftion, in fa- \nvour of which the proofs are the ftrongeft ; or the probabilities \npreponderate. Thus a degree of evidence, which at one period \n\n\n\n( 41 .) \n\nfa accepted-, and if thou dceft net well,Jhi lieth at the \ndoor" Here God himfelf, not long after the fall, \n\n\n\nof life feems fufficient to determine the choice and to fix \nthe aflent may appear inefficient at another. No man can \nbind over his confeience to believe, or his reafon to fupport \nwhat he now believes, all the reft of his life ; and no power on \nearth can give him the capacity to do it ; or take from him the \nright of not doing it. The attempt would be as vain and \nfruitlefs, not to fay as impious, as an attempt to fetter the \nwinds, or to ftill the waves. \n\nThe knowledge of every man who reads and thinks, as every \nclergyman ought to read and to think, is and muft be in a \n\xe2\x80\xa2ftate of continual progreflionj and of courfe his opinions on \nmany matters of doubtful speculation may undergo many \nchanges, without any change taking place in the purity of his \nconfeience, or the integrity of his heart 5 without any diminu- \ntion of his regard for the church of which he is a member; \nor any deduction from his ufefulnefs as one of its minifters.\xe2\x80\x94 \nTo diffufe a fpirit of good will between man and man, to con- \nciliate the affections of the people to the government, and to \nawaken in the government an attention to the interefts of the \npeople} to promote the growth of all the domeftic and all the \nfocial virtues, to melt the obdurate and to confirm the peni- \ntent, to raife the weak hands and to ftrengthen the feeble \nknees, to animate the righteous and to direct the eyes of the \nwretched to the realms of immortality;\xe2\x80\x94 -thefe are the great, \nand noble, and worthy ends, and ufes of an eftablifhed church; \nand thefe ends may be obtained, and this good may be pro- \nduced, where there is not an uniformity of opinions among its \nminifters on topics of doubtful inquiry; or where fomeof them \nfubferibe the thirty-nine articles in their plain literal fenfe, \nand others in one that is totally different. \n\nIn thefe remarks, in which I have fpoken my mind clearly \n\n\n\n( 42 ) \n\nexprefily intimates that Cain had a power to choofc \ncither good or evil; and that his happinefs depended \non the choice which he mould make. In conformity \nto this pafiage: St. John fays, i Ep. iii. 12, thatCain\'s \nworks were evil; andthoje of his brother\'s righteous. But \nhad the fall To far vitiated the nature of man, as to have \ningenerated a permanent difpofition to evil, and in- \ndifpofition to good, the works of Abel muft have been \nas unrighteous as thofe of his brother. In Genefis vi. \n5, it is teflified of Noah, " that he was ajuft man, and \n$erfe5f> and walked zvith God-," \xe2\x80\x94 a character totally \nincompatible with the fuppofition, that the fall ren- \ndered human nature vicious and unfound to the very \n\n\n\nand intelligibly, but I truft with becoming moderation, my with \nis to defend the great and good Anti-Calviniftic majority of the \nClergy againft the malicious afperfions of the Calviniftic mi- \nnority; and to vindicate the rights of the former to freedom of \nopinion, and freedom of inquiry; rights, which the latter, who \nare enemies to truth and feafon, would willingly take away. \nI love, I venerate the Church of England with all her imper- \nfections. Though I am not fo warm an admirer as to panegy- \nrife her wrinkles ; or fo infatuated a lover as to imagine that \nher freckles add to her beauty ; yet I am confeious that the has \nqualities which deferve the etieem of her friends, and the re- \nfpect of her enemies. If her faults be many, they are greatly \nexceeded by her virtues. And who is there, even among her \nbittereft foes, who can cenfure the fimplicity of her rites or \nthe folemnity of her fervice? Who is there, not callous to \nevery emotion of piety, that will not laud the beauty of her \nliturgy, the devotion with which it glows, and the charity \nwhich it infpires? \n\n\n\n( 43 ) \n\ncore. Of job, it is faid that he was <c perfeil and \nupright, one that feared God, and ef chewed evil" and, in \nanother pailage, God himfelf is reprefented as calling \nJob u a p erf eft and an upright man, one that f ear eth God> \nand ejchev:eth evil." S u reiy nothing can more ftrongly \nprove St. Auftin\'s favourite doctrine of innate cor- \nruption to be unfcriptural and erroneous; for had \nAdam\'s guilt been infufed into his potlerity, fo as to \nproduce a continual averfion to good, and an unceas- \ning converiion to evil, there could not, after the firft \ntranfgreffion, have been a (ingle perfect and upright \nman upon the whole face of the earth. But as there \nhave been, fince the fall, feveral perfect and upright \nmen who feared God, and efchewed evil, thefe exam- \nples prove, that men were under no natural or innate \nbiats to unrighteoufnefs; and that there were fo many \nfinners in the world, not becaufe fin was a mechani- \ncal neceffity, but becaufe men grofsly ahufed their ca- \npacity to do good, and not to do evil. In A els x. we \nread of Cornelius, a centurion, " a. devout man, and \none that feared God with all his houfej who gave \nmuch alms to the people, and prayed to God always." \nIndeed, in all ages and among all nations, there \nhave been righteous as well as wicked j there have \nbeen fome who have obeyed, though there have been \nmore who have tranfgrefled the law written on their \nhearts; the law whofe practice realbn approves, and \nwhofe obligations confeience feels. \n\n27. If God be a moral governor, man muft be a \n\n6 \n\n\n\n( 44 ) \n\nmoral agent; that is, capable of choofing good or \nevil; for, without fuch a capacity, human actions \nwould be no more fufceptible of the relations of mo- \nrality, than the movements of a machine. Moral \nagency confifts in the voluntary \xe2\x80\xa2preference of good to \nevil, or of evil to good; and without which, God can- \nnot be, with refpect to man, a moral governor; for \nthe notion of a moral government is incompatible \nwith that of a mechanical neceflity. But the doctrine \nof original fin, which is taught by the Fanatics, de- \nflroys the moral government of God; for man could \nnot make a voluntary election between good and \nevil, if he were, from the womb, indifpofed to good, \nand difpofed to evil. \n\n2,8. As the notions of original fin, which are en- \ntertained by the Fanatics, invalidate the moral go- \nvernment of God, they mud, of courfe, take away \nall motives to righteoufnefs and devotion, to obedi- \nence and adoration. If God be not a moral gover- \nnor, he mud be a carclefs fpectator of human actions, \nindifferent to vice or virtue; and hence mankind \ncould cherifh no hope of conciliating his favour; and \nneed entertain no dread of exciting his difpleafure. \nFor, once fet afide the belief of God\'s moral govern- \nment ; and all actions, as they refpect the relations \nbetween God and man, become alike. They lofc \nthe characleriftic dillinctions of good and evil; and \nGod himfelf ceafes to be an object worthy of reli- \ngious adoration. For we might as well worfliip \n\n\n\n( 45 ) \n\nwood and (lone, as a God who docs not concern \nhimfelf about us ; and who, whatever may be our \nconduct towards him, regards us neither with pleafure \nnor difpleafure, with fondnefs nor averfion. What \nemotions of piety, of hope or fear, of love and gra- \ntitude, could the worfhip of fuch a being kindle in \nthe foul? \n\n29. The great and glorious attribute of God, the \nexcellence of his excellencies, the perfection of his \nperfections, is his gecdnefs-, that goodnefs which is \nevery where manifefted in the works of creation ; and \nin the pages of fcripture. But the genius of Fana- \nticifm obfeures the unclouded funihine of the divine \nglory; for it fuppofes that God conftituted all the \ngenerations of men finners, appointed to damnation \nbefore they were born ; and that of all thofe who \ncome into the world, only a very fmall portion is \nelected to falvation, while millions and millions are \ncreated on purpofe to be tormented for ever in fire \nand brimftone. This doctrine, which is not more \nreplete with abfurdity than with blafphemy, ap- \nproaches nearer to the chilling fyftem of the Atheift, \nthan to the cheering doctrine of the gofpel. The \nAtheift denies the exiftence of God ; the Fanatic \nannihilates the fuppofition of his goodnefs; and what \nfentient and intelligent being is there who would not \nprefer no God at all to a God without goodnefs ? \nStrip God of his goodnefs, and the imagination in- \nftantly rcprefents the Deity as a Devil; for the divine \n\n\n\n( 46 ) \n\npower, abftracled from that goodnefs, which dirtcl \nits operations, excites fenfations more allied to trem- \nbling abhorrence, than to thrillins; love. \n\n30. What is the precife nature ofjufUce, 2s it re- \nfpecls the government of God, it may be difficult to \ndefine; but on this, I think, we may fafely rely, \nthat the proceedings of God towards man will not be \nfuch as might reafonably be accufed of injuftice, if \nthey were the proceedings of one man towards ano- \nther. Our notions of jutlice are, for the mod part, \ndirtincl and clear; and in which we feldom err, unlefs \nfrom the abufe of reafon or the contempt of con- \nfciencc. Our fenfations themieives, in a meafure, \nteach us to diftinguifh juftice from injuftice; andihat \nfenfe of right, which is either innate in the heart, or \nwhich the lead exercife of reafon will diicover, will \nprevent any considerable miftake in queftions which \nfo nearly concern our own intereft, and the intereft \nof our fellow-creatures. Now, we cannot i> nc \nthat God, in his dealings with us, will act contrary \nto thole principles of jultice which he has made \nevident to the mind, and fo genial to the heart; and \nwhich he has, moreover, exprefsly cor to \n\nobferve in our conduct towards each other. his \n\nopofition would make God act contrary to i *n \n\nwill and his own decrees. No rood and wife \nwho impofes laws on others will violate them himfelf; \nnor can we, for a moment beHeve 3 that God would \nordain laws, to which he hi mil k would not co n. \n\n\n\n( 47 ) \n\nIf God tell man to do no wrong to his brother man, \nwe may fafely truft that He will not tranfgrefs his \nown decrees by doing wrong to mankind. \xe2\x80\x94 But the \nperverfe and wicked doctrine of the Fanatics fup- \npofes that God is fallible, and inconuflent with him- \nfelf; that he does not conform to his own laws, and \ndoes not abide by his own decrees *. According to \nour fenfe of right and wrong, which is the gift of \nGod, and according to the fpirit and to the letter of \nGod\'s laws, it would be an ad of outrageous cruelty \nin any human lawgiver, to punifh a man for crimes \nwhich he never committed, or to hang him for a rob- \nbery which was perpetrated by one of his remote \nprogenitors; and in the guilt of which his defendants \ncould not be involved. If any human legiflator \nfhould attempt to put in practice fuch an opprefllve \nfentence, it would revolt every heart; and every \nhand would be raifed to refift the execution. If it \nwould be unjuft in any human tribunal to put the \ninnocent in the place of the guilty, a fimilar con- \nduct, if practifed by God, would be contrary to the \nlaws of juftice, which he ordained; and it would be \nreprobated by that fenfe of right and wrong, which \nhis goodnefs imparted to us ; and by which we dif- \ntinguilh good from evil, and mercy from oppreiiion. \n\n\n\n* The laws of God are the emanations of his wifdom, of his \njuftice, and his goodnefs; and God can no more a fit contrary \nto them, than he can act contrary to wifdom, to juftice, and to \ngood Daft. \n\n\n\n( 4\xc2\xab ) \n\n3\'. There feems no propofition in theology more \nclear than this ; that God prefers the righteous to the \nfinner; that thofe who keep his laws are the objects \nof his regard, and thofe who violate them, of his dif- \npleafure. But if all men were, according to the hy- \npothefis of the Fanatics, inherently and radically vi- \ncious, utterly indifpofed to good, and difpofed to evil, \nthey would all be, in refpect to moral qualities, on \nthe fame level, and one could have no better claim \nto preference than another. Whence then do the \nfcriptures aflure us, that God does prefer fome to \nothers; the juft to the unjuft; for if human nature \nwere as corrupt as the Fanatics reprefent it, there \ncould be none that did good, or efchewed evil ; and, \nin this cafe, God would be made to prefer one in- \ndividual to another without a caufe for preference. \nSuch reafoning, with refpecl to God, is impious and \nabfurd. \n\n32. If fome individuals be more the objects of \nGod\'s love than others, it muft be becaufe fome ex- \ncel in moral qualities more than others; for a differ- \nence in moral qualities can alone form a ground of \npreference in the fight of the moral Governor of the \nworld. If moral qualities do form a ground of pre- \nference, and if God do, as the fcriptures fully aflert, \nprefer fome men to others on this account, then all men \ncannot be equally finners, or equally difpofed to evil, \nand indifpofed to good; for this fuppofuion would \nleave no motivt for a reafonable preference; ami wt \n\n\n\n( 49 ) \n\ncannot fuppofe the preference of God to be unrea- \nfonable. \n\n33. But the Fanatics will pretend, that, though all \nmen are born finners, fome are made righteous by \nthe fpecial appointment of God; that, though all the \ndefendants of Adam do come into the world, reek- \ning with pollution, and infected with guilt to the very \ncore, God does, of his own free will, give to fome \nfew chofen people, his own eleff, a power to become \nrighteous, which he denies to others. But this fup- \npofition will not bear examination ; for it makes the \nFather of Spirits act with the fullennefs of bigotry or \nthe wantonnefs of caprice, arbitrarily creating fome \nfor happinefs and others for damnation. \n\n34. If God give to fome a power to be righteous \nwhich he withholds from others, this power muft be \neither a conditional or an unconditional gift, either \ngranted with or without any endeavour to obtain ir. \n1{ it be an unconditional grant, then, as fome are \nmade righteous by a divine appointment, others are \nmade finners by a divine appointment; \xe2\x80\x94 that is, they \nare made righteous againft their will, and finners \nwithout their choice. This is entirely to confound \nand to deftroy the diitincUons of good and evil: for, \nwithout changing the language of morals, and abo- \nlifhing every notion of right and wrong, a man can \nno more be called a finner, who is made fo without \nhis concurrence, or righteous, who becomes fo againft \n\nE \n\n\n\n( So ) \n\nhis Inclination, than he could be called black who is \nborn white, or white who is born black. \n\n35. If the divine fuccour, by which people become \nrighteous, be a conditional grant, if any previous \nmoral exertion be requifite to obtain it, or any pre- \nvicus moral fltnefs to receive it, then righteoufnefs \nand unrighteoufnefs become very diftincT: things; for \nthe will is inftrumental in their production ; and there \nis a caufe for preference in the one which is wanting \nin the other. The firft, by a certain congruity which \nfeems invariably obferved in the economy of the \nmoral world, deferves the divine favour; and, by \nthe fame congruity, the lad incurs the divine dif- \npleafure. To the firft, which doeth good, belong \nglory, and honour, and immortality; while tribulation \nand anguifh are awarded to the laft, becaufe it doeth \nevil. But the fuppofition, that the divine favour, \nwhich flrengthens the feeble and refrefhes the faint, \nis a conditional grant, is totally incompatible with that \nfyftem, which the fanguinary zealot of Geneva ef- \npoufed, and which fucceeding Fanatics have fupport- \ned. According to their doctrine, men are made \nrighteous againft their will, and wicked without theii \nchoice ; and God vouchfafes his regard to fome which \nhe denies to others; not becaufe the former vfc their \nutmoft endeavours to obtain it which the latter do \nnot ufe, but becaufe He acts without motives, dif- \ntinguifhes without a caufe of diftinftion^ prefers with- \nout any reafon for preference, punifhes where there \n\n\n\n( 5* ) \n\nis no guilt, and rewards where there is no integrity. \nSuch are the blafphemies which the Fanatics utter \nagainft the Mod High ! \n\n36. That the Fanatics fhould make fo many con- \nverts, is little to be wondered, when weconfider how \nagreeable their doctrines are to fiefh and blood, and \non what eafy terms they promile an eternity of biifs \nto the dupes of their impofturc. They throw wide \nthe gates of heaven to the finner; and fhut them \nagainfi: the righteous. Their religion is popular and \npleafing, becaufe it requires fo little felf-denial. \n\'With (hem falvation depends on the impulfes of feel- \nings j with us it is the confequence of righteous habit. \nWith them repentance is a miraculous infufion; with \nus it is a forrow for fin, generating newnefs of life. \nWith them one tranfport of the nerves, beating with \ndevotional extravagance, is more likely to lift the fin- \nner to heaven, than a whole life fpent in the practice \nof virtue. Great religious formality, great aufterity \nin the manner, and great fanclity in the look canonize \ntheir faints; while we reckon among the juft, only \nthofe, who pofTefs that inward purity which cleanfes \nthe thoughts, and that goodnefs which is manifeft in \nthe conduct. The Fanatics reft their entire hopes \non the fiction of imputed righteoufnefsj but while \nwe judge the blood of the atonement the only caufe \nof our falvation, we think that it is not that blood of \nfprinkling by which individuals will be faved from \nthe wrath to come, unlefs it purify their fouls from \n\nE 2 \n\n\n\n( 52 ) \n\naffualjin, and render them a peculiar people zea- \nlous of good works. The Fanatics think grace \nneccflary to perfeverance in righteoufnefs ; and we \nthink the fame; but they fuppofe grace irrefiftible; \nwhile we think that it may be quenched; they fay \nthat it operates againft, we afTei t that it works in con- \njunction with, our will ; and that it is a talent which \nwill be withdrawn if it be not turned to a good ac- \ncount. Their doctrine is a chaos of myftery; in \nwhich the wife and the foolifh are alike bewildered ; \ncur doctrine is plain, and artlefs, and intelligible ; \nwhich the fimple cannot miftake ; and the way -faring \nman may underftand. The religion which we preach \nmeliorates the heart; theirs only inflames the paffions. \nWe addrefs the understanding \xe2\x80\xa2, they agitate the in- \ntemperance of the imagination. We are fedulous to \npromote active ufefulnefs; they excite only a barren \nconfidence or a comfortlefs defpondency. Our fyftem \nis favourable to the growth of virtue and of happinefs; \ntheirs tends to the increafe of vice and mifery. We \ndeliver thofe inflructions which are fitted to make \ngood hufbands, good fathers, good children, which \nencourage all that is amiable in domeftic, and all that \nis upright in civil life; while the counfels which they \ngive, and the lefTons they teach, produce either a \nfullen indifference, or a fierce contempt for all thofe \nties which are the deareft to the heart, and the moll \nbinding on the confeience. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nMan was a free agent , accountable for his a Bions before \nthe fatly and has continued Jo ever Jince. \n\n\n\nT , That man was made an accountable being at \nthe beginning, and that he has continued Co ever \nfince, is a truth which the fcriptures fully eftablifh; \nand to which good and wife theologians of all ages \nhave aflented. \n\na. An accountable being means, a being endued \nwith a capacity to difcern good from evil, and refpon- \nfible for the ufe of it. T he right ufe of this capa- \ncity conftitutes religious obedience; the wrong ufe of \nit conftitutes difobedience or impiety, \n\n3. As we pofTefs a capacity to difcern good from \nevil, that capacity is a law of our natures which we \ncould have derived only from him who gave us this \n\ne 3 \n\n\n\n( 54 ) \n\nmortal life, and placed us in this probationary world. \nTo prefer moral good to moral evil, is to obey the \nlaw of our rational nature; as to prefer phyfical good \nto phyfical evil, oleafure to pain, and food to hunger, \nis to obey the law of our animal conftitution. To \nobey the law of our rational nature, or rightly toufe \nour capacity of difcerning good from evil, is to obey \nthe will of God ; who gave us the capacity and made \nus reiponfible for the exercife. \n\n4. If we are conftituted beings, accountable for \nthe morality of our actions, or, in other words, for \nthe conformity of our conduct to the law of our ra- \ntional nature which is the will of God, it follows, \nthat we pofTefs not only the faculty of difcerning good \nfrom evil, but alfo the free ufe of it, in choofing \neither the one or the other, as it fecmeth to us belt; \nin either conforming or not conforming our actions \nto the law of our rational nature, or the will of our \nCreator. We cannot be accountable for impoflibili- \nties. We cannot be refponfible to the Judge of all the \nearth for not ufing that which we do not pofTefs ; or \nwhich is not fubject to the will, or the rational fa- \nculty of man. \n\n5. We either do pofTefs the faculty of difcerning \nbetween good and evil, or we do not pofTefs it. If \nwe do not pofTefs it, we cannot be called to account \nfor not exerting the energies of a nonentity j if we do \npofTefs it, we muft pofTefs the power of calling it into \n\n\n\nC 55 ) \n\naction. If we poflefTed the faculty of difcerning good \nfrom evil, or of diftinguifhing between the nature \nand tendencies, the happy and unhappy confequences \nof certain actions, and yet did not poflefs the faculty \nof voluntarily exerting it, we could not be accounta- \nble for the voluntary exertion of it. If #c pofleflcd a \npower of diftinguifhing between fweet and bitter, \nbetween things noxious and things innocent, between \npoifons and their antidotes, and yet when fugar and \ngall, when a loaf of bread and a ftone> when a fifh \nand a ferpent were fet before us, we did not poflefs \nthe power of reaching out our hands and taking that \nwhich we knew to be good and wholefome and nu- \ntritious, in preference to that which we knew to be \ndeftructive, the power of diftinction would beufelefs; \nbecaufe it could not be exercifed; and, in this cafe, \nwould it not be tyrannical, that we fhould be punifti- \ned for not exercifing it ? In the fame manner, if we \npoflefs a power of difcerning moral good from moral \nevil without the faculty of exerting it, the not exert- \ning it cannot juftly be laid to our charge by a rea- \nfonable being, fuch as God mud be. \n\n6. If, therefore, we do not poflefs the faculty of dif- \ncerning between good and evil and next of choofing \nbetween them, we cannot be accountable for oui ac- \ntions. And if we be not accountable for our actions* \nthen there is no fuch thing as a law of our rational na \nture, to which our conduct fhould be conformable ; for, \nin this cafe, it would be a law, firft, which we could not \n\nE 4 \n\n\n\nknow, and next which we could not obey. It would, \ntherefore, be no law at all 5 for how can that be a law \nto us, or a law which we can be required to obey, or \nrefponfible for not obeying, either whofe obligations \nwe do not know, or which the Iawg ; ver himfelf has, \nby a conftrahit on our nature, prevented us from obey- \ning, and determined us to violate ? Such a fuppofi- \ntion would be to make human nature and the whole \neconomy of the moral world a fyflcm of abfurdity, \nand the. author of it a capricious demon, characterifed \nby injuftice, and delighting in torture. Such are the \ninconfiftencies and impieties into which thoie per- \nfons are neceffarily carried who maintain that man \nis, from the womb, utterly indifpofed to good and \ndifpofed to evil; and meriting eternal damnation for \na tranfgreflion to which he was noc accefTary; which \nhe had neither power to choofe or to refufe, to per- \npetrate or to prevent. \n\n7. As the advocates for the loathfome doctrine \nof hereditary corruption pretend that the fall de- \nitroyed the capacity of man to do good, and left him \nnothing but a capacity to do evil, that it extinguimed \nthe life of religion in the foul, that it eftranged all \nhis affeclions from the law of God, and imprefled on \nhis difpofition and habits an irrefiftible bias to all \nmanner of iniquity, let us carefully examine the brief \nand, probably, in Jome degree, allegorical account*, \n\n* Le Clerc fays, <f banc hiftoriam nafcentis orbis, licet fim- \nplici contcxtaui, ut videtur, ftylo, non carere fchematibusj \n\n\n\n( 57 ) \n\nwhich the fcripture has left of that event, and we \nmall find that it gives no authority whatever for fo \nftrange a fuppofuion. \n\n8. The original anceftors of mankind were no \nfooner feated in paradife, than they found themfelves \nin a (late of trial. And the trial on which they were \nput, at that time, was not the trial of their obedience \nto the moral law, but to a pofitive precept, <c Thou \nJhalt not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and \nevil." \n\n9. Our firft parents, when in paradife, where the \nearth fpontaneoufly brought forth every thing to \nfupply their wants, and where they were the only \ninhabitants, were not tried by their obedience to the \nlaw of moral obligation; becaufe they could, in that \nHate, be under no poffible temptation to falfehood, \nto adultery, to injuftice, or any other immorality. \nThe violations of truth and juftice are ufually occa- \nfioned by the force of temptations to which Adam \nand Eve, placed in the garden of Eden, were inac- \nceffible. God, therefore, inftead of making their \nenjoyment of his favour depend on their obedience \nto the ftatutes of the moral law, which they had no \ntemptation to violate, made it depend on their obe- \n\nuncle minus mirum videiur, fi cjutsdam in fuperioribus ut jacent 3 \nintelUgenda non fint, qua?nvis nuda ornamentis ?iarratio, primo \nintuitu videtur" Cleric in Genef. iii. 22. See\'Warb. Div. \nLeg. b. ix. \n\n\n\n( 5* ) \ndience to a fingle injunction, not to eat of the tree of \nknowledge of good and evil; which did operate as a \ncharm upon their fenfes; which was grateful to the \neye, and pleafing to the fmell; and which, confe- \nquently, exercifed their felf-\'denialj and formed a fa- \ntisfactory teft of their obedience. \n\n10. A ftate of temptation is necefifary to beings \naccountable for their actions. Accountablenefs fup- \npofes a capability of merit or demerit, or, in a reli- \ngious fenfe, a power of obtaining the favour or of in- \ncurring the difpleafure of God. But how can a \ncapability of obtaining, or a qualifying fitnefs for re- \nceiving the divine favour, exift in actions, which did \nnot originate in \xe2\x80\xa2preference? A ftate of moral proba- \ntion, or a ftate in which we are capable of merit and \ndemerit, of obedience and difobedience to the divine \nwill, necefTarily fuppofes the encounter of oppofite \nmotives in the bread of man; and the fitnefs or right \napplication of moral agency confifts in making a \nright choice between them; in preferring the motives \nto obedience to thofe which incline us to difobe- \ndience ; and in regulating our conduct by the former, \nrather than by the latter. \n\nii. Our firft parents, though they had no tempta- \ntion to violate thofe laws of moral obligation, in \nobedience to which righteoufnefs now confifts, were \nyet placed in a ftate of moral agency, and capable of \nmerit or demerit, as far as they were capable of obe- \n\n\n\n( 59 ) \n\ndience or difobedience. Even, in paradife, they \nwere, in fome meafure, operated upon by contend- \ning motives; and they were required to make a \nright uie of the freedom of their will in choofing \nbetween them. They were liable, as the hiftoiy \nproves, to the external agency and the internal in- \nfluence of temptation; and their moral agency con- \nfirmed in combating the one and repelling the other. \nThey beheld the tree of good and evil waving its \nfair and beautiful fruit (probably more attractive in \nits appearance, than the fruit that grew on any of the \nother trees in the garden) before their eyes. The \noutward attractions of the fruit operated on their \nfenfes; and concurred with the prohibition to eat, to \ninflame defire. In quenching the defire, and in obey- \ning the divine injunction, their morality and their \nhappinefs confifi ed. The command was pofitive \nnot to eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of \ngood and evil; and obedience to it was enforced by \nthis denunciation, " In the day that thou eatefl thereof \nthou Jhaltjurely die" \n\n12. Our firfl parents were thus placed in a date of \ntemptation; and fubjected to the influence of oppofite \nmotives.\' The forbiden fruit, acting on their fenfes, \ninflamed their appetites, and inclined them to dif- \nobedience; while the love of him, who had provided \nfor them fuch abundance of delights, and gave them \nfull power to enjoy all the varied luxuries of paradife, \nivtth this finale exception, combined with the fear of \n\n3 \n\n\n\n( 6o ) \n\nincurring the penalty which he threatened, Teemed \nmore forcibly to impel them to obedience. \n\nT :. But our firit parents, a good deal like their \ndefcentLntSj fcem to have been vanquifhed by the \ndefire ofprefent gratification. Beguiled by the imme- \ndiate pleafure, they difregarded the more diftant con- \nfequences. They perhaps pra&iied upon themfelves \ndelufions of a fclf-impofture, fimiiar to that which \nwe are fo often accuftomed to practife upon our- \nfelves, in thofe cafes in which our appetites are in- \nflamed by the nearnefs of fome prefent, but criminal \nindulgence. They, perhaps, imagined, that if they \ntranfgrcITeJ, the tranfgreflion might be concealed ; \nor that the ccv. r quences might not be fo bad as were \nthreatened. Confcious of the goodnefs of God, the^ \nmight fondly hope that one (ingle offence would not \nfo far provoke hi* wrath, as to caule him to depiive \nthem for ever of all the happinefs which his bounty \nhad provide^ to drive them from his prefmce and \ndoom them to mifcry and definition. Thus it is pro- \nbable, that they liftcned to the vain imaginations of \ntheir own hearts ; they fuffered the flame of feniual \ndefire to make its inroads into the foul, till it became \ntoo violent to be extinguifhed. They ate of the \nfruit which they were commanded not to eat; they \nviolated the injunction of God ; and brought death \ninto the world. \n\n14. Hence we fee that our firft parents were no \n\n\n\n( 6i ) \n\nfooner created, than they were tempted like as we \nare; that they had, as we have, reafon and confcience \nand freedom of will to vanquifh :emptation; but that \nby not liftening to the fuggeftions of reafon and not \nminding or not believing the denunciations of God, \nand by abufing their natural freedom of moral agency \nwhich his goodnefs had imparted, they fuffered a \ntemptation to overpower them, which they might have \noverpowered, \n\n15. That the moral powers, or the powers of re- \nfilling temptation, and of conforming to the law of \na rational nature or the wiJl of God, were flronger \nin Adam, than they have been in many of his de- \nfendants, by no means appears from any fuggeftions \nin the account of the fall, or in any other parts of \nfcripture. The contrary is rather proved by the \nhiftory ; for Eve feems, as far as can be gathered from \nthe relation of Mo/es, to have yielded to the fir ft tempta- \ntion, and to have been vanqui/ked by the fir ft impulfe of \nunlicenjed defire. Many of the frail and fair daughters \nof Eve, who from her derive forrow and travail in \nthe conception of children, feem to have (liccefsfully \nrefilled temptations flronger than thofe by which \ntheir female progenitor was overcome. How then \ncan it be truly faid, that there was, in our firil parents, \nan original righteoufhefs which has been entirely loft \nin their defcendants ? Let us not be deceived, by \nfine-founding words, or by the honeyed cant of \nfalhionable authorities; let us examine the fcriptural \n\n\n\n( 62 ) \n\naccount of the creation and the fall, and we fhall find, \nthat that which i- called original righteoufnefs never \nexifted; and, confequently, could never be loft. For \nwhat does the word righteoufnefs mean in the language \nof fcripture, or what can it mean in the language of \ncommon fenfe, but a habit cf doing right , of obeying \nthe divine will, in preferring good to evil, and obe- \ndience to difobedience ? Our firft parents could not \nhave been created in, or born with this habit of \nrighteoufnefs j for if they had, they would have con- \ntinued righteous. \n\n1 6. When a habit is formed by repeated ads, it \nbecomes a permanent principle of action; that guides \nus with eafe, and that we refill with difficulty j and \nmuch more powerful would be an habit of righteouf- \nnefs, incorporated in the frame, and ingenerated in \nthe foul by the author of our being; but that fuch a \nhabit was not ingenerated in Adam or in Eve, is clear \nfrom this, that they appear to have embraced the \nfirft temptation to unrighteoufnefs ; and to have tranf- \ngrefTed, almoft as foon as they had an opportunity \nof tranfgreffng. Real righteoufnefs (not the coun- \nterfeited righteoufnefs of imputation *) confifts in a \n\n\n\n* Whitby calls the imputation of Chrift\'s perfect and ac- \ntive obedience to us, a very falfe and pernicious doctrine: and \nhe proves, that it is contrary both to fcripture and to reafon. \nSee his difcourfe on the imputation of Chrift\'s perfect righte- \noufnefs in his Teftament. " In the holy fcriptures," fays \n\n\n\n( 63 ) \n\nvigorous habit of refilling remptations to fin, and of \nfolio wing the true motives to holinefs; but our firft \nparents feem either not to have poffefTed, or not to \nhave exerted, the power to acquire fuch a habit; for \nthey were no fooner tempted than they fell. \n\n17. It appears then, from the records ofinfpiration, \nthat what is called original righteoufnefs, is a mere \nfiction, fit only for fome canting fanatic * to incul- \ncate, or fome fuperflitious old woman to embrace ; \nfor, even for a minute, fuppofing that man did ever \npoffefs an ingenerate habit of righteoufnefs, fuch an \nhabit could not have been implanted in the human \nnature without annihilating all ideas of merit or \ndemerit, without totally deftroying the freedom of \nchoofing between good and evil, and abolifhing the \nflate of moral probation in which man is placed; \n\n\n\nWhitby, " there is no mention made of the imputation of any \nman\'s fin, or righteoufnefs to another, lut only of the imputa- \ntion of his oivn good deeds for righteoufnefs, or of his oivn evil \ndeeds for punijlwient ." See Whitby\'s N. T. vol. ii. p. 235. \n\n* In proportion as a man is averfe to the cant of religion, he \nis attached to the reality j and in the fame degree that he \npradtifes the cant, he is eftranged from the reality. This re- \nmark may, perhaps, delerve the attention of the evangelical \npreachers whofe continual cant about faith, grace, imputed \nrighteoufnefs, and imputed fin, is a convincing proof that they \nlove darknefs better than light, and myftery better than com- \nmon fcnfe, hecaufe their deeds are evil. \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xab4 ) \n\nand which fuppofes, in mod cafes at lead, fomething \nlike an equality in the motives, which incline the will \nto good or to evil. But an irrefiftible bias to good, \nfuch as what is called original righteoufnefb, fuppofes \nin our firft parents, would have counteracted any \nbias to evil, and have annihilated the influence of \nthe motives to difobedience; but that fuch a bias to \ngood was not impreffed on the firft anceftors of the \nhuman race appears from this, that they wanted \n(Irength and refolution to defeat one wayward in- \nclination to unrighteoufnefs. \n\n1 S. Man was originally created, as the fcriptureS \nallure us, in the image of God ; and his image flill \nremains in all who are born into the world ; and no- \nthing but atls of difobedience to the divine will can efface \nit in us, any more than in our firft \'parents *\xe2\x80\xa2 Till acts \n\n\n\n* Mr. Wilberforce feems to fuppofe, that the moral part of \nhuman nature is a mafs of putrefaction. But Mr. Wilberforce \nwill not, I hope, think his authority depreciated, if I prefume \nto pay lefs deference to his opinions, than to thofe of Sir Mat- \nthew Hale, the righteous and the wife, and thofe of Eifliop \nButler, the penetrating and profound. Sir Matthew Hale, in \nhis primitive origination of mankind, fays. " I come now tocon- \nfidcr of thofe rational in(tine~ls, as I call them, the connate \nprinciples engraven in the human foul ; which, though they \nare truths acquirable, and drducible by rational confequence \nand argumentation, yet they feem to be inscribed in the very \ncrafn and texture of the foul, antecedent to any acquifition by \ninduftry, or the exercife of the difcurfive faculty in man ; and, \n\n\n\n( 65 ) \n\nof fins are committed, there is the lovely imprefs of \na divine character uoon the human nature; fuch as \n\n\n\ntherefore, they may be well called anticipations, prenotions or \nfentiments chara6terifed and engraven in the foul, bom with \nit, and growing up with it, till they receive a check by ill cuf- \ntoms or educations, or an improvement and advancement by \nthe due exercife of the faculties. I mall (hew, firft, what they \nare : fecondly, what moves me to think that fuch are con- \nnatural. \n\n" 1. Touching the former, I think thofe implanted and con- \nnatural anticipations are thefe; namely, that there is a God ; \nthat he is ofgreateft power, wifdom, goodnefs, and perfection; \nthat he is pleafed with good, and difpleafed with evil; that \nhe is placable ; that he is to be feared, honoured, loved, wor- \nfhipped, and obeyed ; that he will reward the good and punifh \nthe evil ; a fecret fentiment of the immortality of the foul, or \nthat it furvives the body to be capable of rewards and punifh- \nments, according to its deportment in this life ; certain common \nnotions of moral good and evil, of decorum and turpe; that faith \nand promifes are to be kept ; that a man muft do as he would \nbe done by; that the obfeene parts and actions, though other- \nwife natural, are not to be expofed to public view, obvelatio \npudendorum; that a man mull be grateful for benefit received. \nThefe, and fome fuch common notions or intimate propen- \nlions, feem to be connaturally engraven in the foul antecedently \nto any difcurfive ratiocination; and though they are not fo dif- \ntinct and explicit, yet they are fecret biafles, inclining the hu- \nman nature primarily to what is ufeful and convenient for it, \nin proportion to the flate of an intellectual nature : That, as \nwe fee in brutes, befides the exercife of their faculties of fenfi- \ntive perception and imagination, there are lodged in them cer- \ntain fenfible inftincts antecedent to their imaginative faculty, \nwhereby they are pre-determined to the good and convenience \nof the fenfible life; fo there are lodged in the very crafis and \n\nF \n\n\n\nC 66 ) \n\nwe behold in the innocence of fmiling infants; on \nwhofe ccnfciences is no fin, and in whofe hearcs is \n\n\n\nconfiitution of the foul, certain rational inftincts whereby it is \npre-difpofe<i, inclined, and biafled to the good and convenience \nproportionable to a rational and intellectual life j a certain con- \ngenite ftock of rational fentiments and inclinations, which may \ngo along with him, and fairly incline him to fuch a trade and \nWay as is Suitable to the good of his nature; fo that he is not \nleft barely to the undetermination, incertainty, and unfteadi- \nnefs of the operation of his faculties, without a certain fecret \nand gentle predifpofition of them to what is right, decent, and \nconvenient for their manage and guidance by thefe common \nanticipations, inclinations, and connatural characters engraven \nin the foul. \n\n" 2. And that which inclines me to believethis,is not only the \ncongruity of the fuppofition to the convenience of the human \nnature, and the inftance of the fenfible inftincts in the animal \nnature proportionate to their convenience, and the great import- \nance of them to the convenience thereof} but alfo that, which is \nobfervable in the attentive confederation of the manners of \nmankind in general, which feems to have thofe common fen- \ntiments in them, and to accord in them in a very great mea- \nfure: and though evil cuftoms and education much prevails \namong men, yet it doth not wholly obliterate thefe fentiments, \nat leaft from the generality of mankind. It muft be agreed \nthat thefe rational inftincts, as I call them, are not always fo \nvigorous and uniform in their actings as the animal inftin&s of \nbrutes are in their kind, which partly proceeds from that li- \nberty of will tli3tis in the human nature, which many times \nfufpends or interrupts tlnir energy and operation, partly from \nthat mixture of the fentient appetite with the actings of the \nreafonable foul, which oftentimes tranfport it. Even the more \nSimple and uncompoundtd any nature is, the more uniform, \nare its motions and actings ; the natural inftinct* and propor- \n1 \n\n\n\nC 67 ) \n\nno guile. Innocence, or a freedom from any moral \ntaint) which is the true image of the divine nature \n\n\n\ntions even of things inanimate (as of heavy bodies to defcend) \nare more uniform than the very inftincts of brutes, who have \na more complicated form or nature: but as this accidental in- \nterruption of rational inftin&s doth not difprove their exif- \ntences, fo man hath a greater advantage by the exeicife of his \nreafon and intellective faculties, to remove thofe interruptions, \nand improve thofe connatural fentiments or rational inftincts \nto his lingular ufe and benefit, which abundantly recornpen- \nfeth thofe interruptions.\'" \n\n" Again," fays Sir Matthew Hale, " I appeal to the moft \nknowing men in the world that have but had the leifure to \nthink ferioufly and converfe with themfelves, and that have \nkept their minds free from the fumes of intemperance and ex- \ncefs, paffton and perturbation, whether next under divine reve- \nlation their belt and cleareft fentiments of morality at leaft \nhave not been gathered from the due animadverfion and in- \nfpe&ion of their own minds, and the improving of that flock \nof morals that they there find, and the tranfcribing of that \noriginal which they found firfl written there. It is true, that \nit is with the connatural principles infcribed in our minds as \nit is with our faculties, they lie more torpid, and inactive, and \ninevident, unlefs they are awakened and exercifed like a fpark \ninvolved in allies; and being either fuppreffed or neglected, \nthey feem little better than dead; but being diligently attend- \ned, infpected, and exercifed, they expand and evolve them- \nfelves into more diftinclion and evidence of themfelves. And, \ntherefore, it was not without fome kind of probability that \nfome of the ancients thought that fcience was little elfe than \nmemory or reminifcence, a difcovery of what was in the foul \nbefore. But whatever may be faid of other matters, certainly \nthefirjl draughts andjlri\xc2\xa3lures of natural religion and morality art \n\nF 2 \n\n\n\n( 63 ) \n\nimprefied upon the human, is born with us; and \nif we die before we have learned to difccrn s;ood \n\n\n\n\xe2\x96\xa0naturally in the mind." See Hale\'s Primitive Origination of \nMankind, fol. London, 1677, p. 6l, 61, 63. \n\nThe following are fome of Biihop Butler\'s notions of human \nnature: " There is not at all any lV.eh thing as ill will in one \nman towards another, emulation and refentment being away, \nwhereas there is plainly benevolence or good-will : There is \nno fuch thing as love of injultice, oppreflion, treachery, ingra- \ntitude, but only eager defires after inch and fuch external goods j \nwhich, according to a very ancient obfervation, the mod aban- \ndoned would choofe to obtain by innocent means, if they were \nas eafy and as effectual to their end : That even emulation \nand refentment, by any one who will confider what thefe pat- \nlions are in nature, will be found nothing to the purpofe of \nthis objection : And that the principles and paflions in the \nmind of man, which are diftindt both from felf-love and bene- \nvolence, primarily and mojl di redly lead to right behaviour, and \no?ily fecondarily and wore remotely to ivhat is cz\'il" Biihop Butler\'s \nSermons, p. 19, 20, \n\n" There can be no doubt/\' continues this great philofopher \nand divine, " that feveral propenfions or inftincts, feveral prin- \nciples in the heart of man, carry him to fociety, and to contri- \nbute to the happinefs of it, in a fenfe and a manner in which \n110 inward principle leads him to evil. Thefe principles, froben- \nJlons or inJlinSls, which lead him to do good, are approved of by a \ncertain faculty ivithin, quite diftincl from thefe propen/lo?:s them- \n/elves, p. 28. \n\n" Every bins, inftinct, propenfion within, is a real part of \nour nature, but not the whole: Add to thefe the fuperior fa- \nculty whole office it is to adjuft, manage, and pri fide over them, \nand yon complete the idea of human nature. And as, in civil \ngovernment, the conAitution is broken in upon and violated \n\n\n\n( h ) \n\nfrom evil, and have become perfonal tranfgreflbrs \nby perfonal acls of difobedience, by not obeying the \n\n\n\nby power and ftrength prevailing over authority; fo the con- \nstitution of man is broken in upon, and violated by the lower \nfaculties or principles within prevailing over that, which is, \nin its nature, fupreme over them all. Thus when it is faid by \nancient writers, that tortures and death are not fo contrary to \nhuman nature as injufticej by this, to be fure, is not meant, \nthat the averfion to the former in mankind is lefs ftrong and \nprevalent than their averfion to the latter ; but that the for- \nmer is only contrary to our nature contidered in a partial view, \nand which takes in only the loweft part of it, that which we \nhave in common with the brutes ; whereas the latter is contrary, \nto our nature, conjidercd in a higher fenfe ; as afyftem and conflitu- \ntion, contrary to the ivhole economy of man. And, from all thefe \nthings put together, nothing can be more evident than, that, \nexclufive of revelation, mankind cannot be contidered as a \ncreature left by his Maker to act at random, and live at large \nup to the extent of his natural power, as paffion, humour, wil- \nfulnefs, happen to carry him 3 which is the condition brute \ncreatures are in : But that from his make, covjlitution, or nature, \nhe is in the Jiricleft and moji proper fenfe a lazv to hi?nfclf. Hg \nhath the rule of right ^within. What is iv anting is only that he \nhoneflly attend to it. , \n\nThe inquiries which have been made by men of leifure after \nfome general rule, the conformity to or difagreement from \nwhich mould denominate our actions good or evil, are, in many \n\'refpects, of great fervice: Yet let any plain, honeji man, before \nhe engages in any courfe of action, a/k himfelf, is this I am going \nabout rioht, or is it ivrong? Is it good, or is it evil ? I do not \nin the leaf doubt but this quejlion ivould be anfwered agreeably to \ntruth and \'virtue, by almojt any fair ma?i, in ahuoji any circw/i- \nJiance. Neither do there appear any cafes which look like \n\nF 3 \n\n\n\n( 7\xc2\xb0 ) \n\nfuggeftions of confcience, and by offending againft \nwhat Sir Matthew Hale and Bilhop Butler call the \n\n\n\nexceptions to this, but thofe of fuperftition and partiality to \nourfelves. Superftiiion may, perhaps, be fomewhat of an ex- \nception; but partiality to ourfelves is not, this being itfelf dif- \nhonefty. For man to judge that to be the equitable, the mode- \nrate, the right part for him to n6t, which he would fee to be \nhard, unjuft, oppreffive in another ; this is plain vice, and can \nproceed only from great unfairnefs of mind. \n\nrt But allowing that mankind hath the rule of right within \nbimfelf, yet it may be aiked, what obligations are we under to \nattend to, and follow it? I anfwer; it has been proved, that \nman by his nature is a law to himfelf, without the particular \ndiftincl confideralion of the pofitive fandions of that law, the \nrewards and puniiliments which, from the light of reafon, wc \nhave ground to believe are annexed to it. The queftioo then \ncarries its own anfwer along with it. Your obligation to obey \nthis law, is its being the law of your nature. That your con- \nfcience approves of, and attefts to, fucli a courfe of action, is \nitfelf alone an obligation. Confcience does not only offer itfelf \nto (hew us the way we fhould walk in, but it likewife carries \nits own authority with it, that it is our natural guide, the guide \nafiigned us by the author of our nature. It, therefore, belongs \nto our condition of being, it is our duty, to walk in that path \nand follow this guide, without looking about to fee whether \nwe may not poffibly forfake them with impunity." p. 45, to 4Q, \n\nThefe fentiments, both of Sir Matthew Hale and of Bifhop \nButler, are very adverfe to thofe of Mr. W. and not very agreea- \nble to thedodtrine of the ninth article, which fays, that u man \nis, of Jus oivn nature, inclined to eviiy But, according to the rc- \nprefentation of Bifhop Butler, man is, of his own nature, in- \nclined to good, and the practice of morality is mofl conformable \nto the principles and frame of hiz co:i/Jitution. \n\n\n\n( 7* ) \n\nlaw of our nature, we die not fubjecT: to wrath and \ndamnation j but with the fame image of God en- \n\n\n\nThe prevailing opinions about original (in refl principally \non the authority of St. Auftin ; whofe writings were, at the \ntime of the reformation, more read and better underftood than \nthofe of the early Grrek fathers, who give no countenance to \nthe doctrine. Speaking on this futrject;, Jeremy Taylor fays, \nc< There is nothing which, from fo flight grounds, hath got fo \ngreat, and till of late, fo unqueftioned footing in the perfus- \nions of men. Origen laid enough to be miftaken in the quef- \ntion. \'H dgct t& Aodu, xoivrj \xe2\x96\xa0zuccvrcuv teprv xai ra. xa.ra. tvj \nyvvxiKos, sy. etrri xctfr r t ; 8 Xsysrcci. Adarris curfe is common \n\ni \n\nto all ; and there is not a woman on earth to whom may not \nbe faid thofe things which were fpoken to this woman (Eve). \nHim St. A.mbrofe did miftake, and followed the error about \nexplicating the nature of original fin, and let it fomething for- \nward. But St.AuJiin gave it complement and authority by his \nfierce disputing againft the "Pelagians, whom he would over- \nthrow by all means. And if fuch a weak principle as his faying, \ncould make an error fpread over fo many churches, for fo many \nages, we may eafily imagine, that fo many greater caufes, as I \nbefore reckoned, might infect, whole nations, and confequently \nmankind, without crucifying our patriarch or firft parent, and \ndeclaiming againft him (poor man) as the author of all our evil. \nTruth is, we intend by laying load upon him to ex- \ncuse OURSELVES J AND WHICH IS WORSE,. TO ENTERTAIN \nOUR SINS INFALLIBLY} AND NEVER TO PART WITH THEM, \nUPON PRETENCE THAT THEY ARE NATURAL AND IRRESIS- \nTIBLE." Taylor\'s Practice of Repentance, p. 423, 424. \n\nWhitby, as famed for his honefty as his erudition, and who, \nJike Jeremy Taylor, Clarke, and other great theologians, \nthought it no deviation from truth and no violation of his \noath to deviate from the doctrine of the articles, when they \n\n\' F 4 \n\n\n\n( 72 ) \n\ngraven upon our fouh, with which we came into \nthe world. \n\n\n\ndeviated from the doctrine of fcripture, affailed the unfcrip- \ntural hypothecs of hereditary depravity, and other fictions of \nCalvihiftic fuperftition, with weapon.-, which the Cnlvinifts of \nhis day could not encounter, and which the Calvinifts of our \ntimes will find it impomble to repel. \n\nIn the beginning of the preface to his Five Points, Whitby \nfays, " They who have known my education may remember, \nthat I was bred up feven years in the univerfity under men of \nthe Cahinijiical perfuafion ; and fo could hear no other doc- \ntrine, or receive no other inftrnciions from the men of thofe \ntimes, and therefore had once firmly entertained all their doc- \ntrines. Now, that which firft moved me to fearch into the \nfoundation of thele doctrines (viz. the imputation of Adams Jin \nto all his pojlerity), was the ft range coniequences of it: this \nmade me fearch the more exactly into that matter, and by \nreading Jofua Ptacazus, with the anlwer to him, and others on \nthat fubjeel, I soon found cause to judge that there \n\nWAS NO TRUTH IN IT." \n\nI am furprif-d, and not more furprifed than concerned., that \nMifs Hannah More, in her very fenfible, lively, and highly \npolilhed work on education, Ihould have allotted a chapter to \nthe defence of the innate corruption of human nature-, a doc- \ntrine which is, I truft, fully proved in thefe pages to be con- \ntrary both to fcripture and to reafonj and which, as Jeremy \nTaylor, the flower of Englifh theologians, has declared, is difa- \n\xe2\x80\xa2voived by all cm li qui ty prior to the tunes of St.slu/lin; in whom it \nfound a champion, who had zeal without difcretion, and know- \nledge, without judgment. That St. Auflin, mould have enter- \ntained fuch unworthy notions of human nature, I the lefs \nwonder, when I confklcr the atrocious flinders which lie fabri- \ncated againft the more amiable Jcx. " De carbonibus.\' fays the \n\n\n\n"( \xc2\xab ) \n\n1 8. Man did not: originally poffefs any thing like \nan ingenerate habit of right eoujnefs-, but hepoflefled at \nthe beginning, as he has done in all ages and genera- \ntions fnce, certain tendencies io good, implanted in \nhis nature; and which he is required to invigorate \nby cultivation. He brings into the world certain \n\n\n\nungallant Father, whofe huge folios fupport the hereditary- \ndepravity of the world, " ignis fcintillse profiliunt, de ferro \nrubigo nutritur, morbos afpides fibilant, et mutier fundit con- \ncuplicentice peftitentiam; in r\'ifum aliquando dijjlitvitur; nunc blan- \nditias exhibet ; et, quod eft <venennfius fuper cuncia, pfatlere drfec- \ntatur aut cantare ; cujus cantu totcrabilius eji audire bafilifcum \nftbiluntun" \xe2\x80\x94 Aug. in lib. de fing. cleric. In another place he \nfays, " Mutter nee docere pot eji, ?iec teji\'is ejjc, nee fidem dicere. \nnee judicare." Many, many are the ladies of the prefent day, \nwho have afforded a moft facisfaclory refutation of thefe ca- \nlumnies ; and have {hewn that they are able both to inftruct and \nto delight ; to teach the pureft morality to others 3 and to let \nthe brighter! examples of it themfelves. Nor can I believe, \nthat if the modell Father couid be again brought on earth to \nhear fome of our EngliGi, and Scotch, and Iriih ladies war- \nbling their fweeteft notes, he would any more compare the \nharmonies of the fair creation to the venom of the afp, or the \nhilling of the bafilitk. The Fathers, in general, feem to have \nhad no very favourable opinion of womankind. Jerom gives \nthis auflere, unfocial, and unnatural advice : u Kofpitiolum \ntuum aut raro aut nunquam mulierum pedes terant; omnes \npuellas aut virgines Chrifti aut, aequaliter, ignora aut sequa- \nliter dilige. Vide, ne fub eoJem tedo, manferls" Hier. in \nEpift. ad Nepot. Chryfoitom on the beheading of John the \nBaptift, calls woman a confummatc mi/chief; and the JJiarpe/i \nupon in the Devils armoury HI \n\n\n\n( 74 ) \n\npowers, as thofe of reafon and the moral fenfe, which \nare necefiary to him as a moral agent, accountable \nfor his a<5tion c ; he pofTeflcs the power of difcerning \ngood from evil, and of choofing between thcmj and \non the right ufe ofthefe powers, much of his prefent \nand all his future happinefs depends. If he prudendy \ncxercife and carefully improve thefe falutary faculties \nof his nature, he doeth good; if he mifapply them, \nhe doeth evil. If he do good, he continueth in fa- \nvour with God; if he do evil, he falls, as Adam fell, \nunder his difpleafure. \n\n19. Our date of trial, at prefent, feems more dif- \nficult than that of Adam in paradife. He had only \none temptation to refill and one precept to obey ; \nbut a thoufand temptations are every where fpread \naround us; which ever way we turn, it requires vi- \ngilance to efcape a fnare ; and our duties, inftead of \nbeing limited to the obfervance of a fingle precept, \nembrace a multiplicity of important obligations. \n\n20. Our fphere of moral agency is wider and more \nextended than that of Adam. We expofe, as it \nwere, a broader furface to the influence of tempta- \ntion; the obedience required at our hands fuppofes \nthe fubjedlion of the will, and the conformity of the \nconduct to a variety of injunctions ; and in the cir- \ncumftances in which we are placed, it requires vigor- \nous refolution not to do amifs. It requires a fenfe \nof duty, not momentary, but permanent; it demands \n\n\n\n( IS ) \n\nunwearied labour, and unceafing vigilance. It may \neafily be conceived how we, who are placed in cir- \ncumftances more difficult than thofe in which our \nfirit parents were placed, fhould be frequently over- \ncome by temptation, and yield to fin, without hav- \ning recourfe to the imputation of Adam\'s unrigteouf- \nnefs to his pofterity, or to the pernicious notion that \nour actual tranfgreffions are the fruits of an hereditary \ndepravity. \n\nSi. That no principle of moral corruption was \ninfufed into the nature of man after the fall, and that \nno irrefiftible bias to moral evil was imprelTed on the \nhuman will, we are taught by the fentence of con- \ndensation which was paffcd on our firft parents i in \nwhich we do not perceive, that the Lord took from \nman the power of difcerning between good and \nevil, or making a free choice between them; and \ncertainly this part of the fentence, which would have \nconstituted the moil grievous part of the punifhment, \nwould not have been paired over in filence if it had \nbeen inflicted. \n\n22. The whole of the punifhment which Adam \ndiffered, and in which his pofterity are involved, was \nan expulfion from paradifes an expofure to bodily \ntoil and mifery, and a diffolution into the duft from \nwhich he was taken, Adam being deprived of para- \ndife could not leave it as an inheritance to his pof- \nterity, any more than, in common life, a parent can \n\n\n\n( 7\xc2\xab ) \n\ntranfmit to his children the patrimony which he has \nwafted by his extravagance. The fentence palled \non Adam, though certainly a punifhment en him who \nhad offended, appears to have been rather a difpenfa- \ntion of mercy to, than an infliction of revenge upon, \nhis innocent pofterity. It placed them in a (late of \ndifcipline, more fevere indeed, but, at the fame time, \nmore favourable to their improvement. The fhort- \nnefs of this prefent life carries our hopes to another; \nthe frequent fpectacle of mortality in all around us \nchecks the extravagance of pride, and moderates \nthe intemperance of mirth; while the many afflic- \ntions and cares with which life is ftrewed, tend to \nfoften the heart, and to teach us to fhew kindnefs to \nothers by the want of it ourielves. Moral improve- \nment is greatly accelerated by fuffering; it fobers \nthe thoughts; it exalts, it purifies, and, in fome mea- \nfure, ianctifies the affections. \n\n23. The eafe which Adam enjoyed was not fo \ngenial to the growth of habits of obedience to the \ndivine will, as the more arduous (late of probation, \nto which we are born; for Eve appears to have yield- \ned to a temptation which many of her fair and amia- \nble defendants would now combat with fuccefs ; and \nAdam complied with the wiihes of his partner with \nmore facility than fome of his children would comply \nwith the guilty wifhes of the woman they mod lov e. \n\n. 24. As far, therefore, as I am competent to judge, \n\n\n\n( 77 ) \n\nfrom a ferious investigation of the queftion, it ap- \npears to me, that the moral (late of man, as he comes \nfrom the womb, is, at lead, not worfe than it was \noriginally, for moral improvement is proportioned \nto the Strength with which we can combat, and \nthe fuccefs with which we can conquer temptation. \nBut the power of refilling temptation was certainly \nnot more inherently pofTeffed, or more vigorously \nexerted, by our firfr. parents, than it has been by \ntheir lateft defendants. The ftate of moral difci- \npline in which man is at prefent placed, and par- \nticularly in thofe countries which are acquainted with \nthe revelation of Jefus, feems, in a high degree, fa- \nvourable to his progrefs in moral obedience and true \nholinefs. Have we not, therefore, good reafon to \nconclude, that man is born at prefent, as he was cre- \nated at the beginning, a being accountable for his \nactions, endued with a faculty to difcern good from \nevil, and capable of regulating his conduct by its \ndecifions; that the fall did not imprefs on the will a \nbias to depravity ; but placed man in a ftate of dis- \ncipline, in which fuffering is nicely accommodated \nto the perfectioning of his nature; in which he has \nmore temptations to combat, and more difficulties to \nfurmount; but where temptations vanquished, and \ndifficulties overcome, will be found eminently to \ncontribute to his improvement in righteoufnefs ? \n\n25. If it be aSTerted, as it may with truth be af- \nferted, that, by the tranfgreflion of Adam, his pof- \n\n\n\n( 78 ) \n\nterity became liable to fin -, it muft, at the fame time, \nbe remembered that Adam himfelf was made liable to \nfin ; or he would not have finned; and, as far as he was \nthe firfifmner, he may be truly faid to have brought \nfin into the world. We are all born as Adam was \ncreated, liable to fin ; but there is a very great differ- \nence between the being born liable tofin 3 and the being \nborn finners, depraved to the very core, obnoxious to the \ndivine wrath, and doomed to eternal perdition with- \nout ANY PERSONAL ACT OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS, \n\n26. The great difference between the natural date \nand privileges of Adam and of his ddcendants, is \nthis j that Adam was made capable ofhappinefs and \nimmortality on certain conditions, without even a tem- \nporary extinclion, or fufpenfion of life \\ but, at prefent, \nman is born to trouble j and the grave is placed be- \nfore him as a neceflary paiTage to an endiefs life. \nMan became fubject to death by Adam\'s fall ; and, \ntherefore, many die almoft as foon as they are born: \nand more before they are capable of difcerning good \nfrom evils and, confequently, before their hearts can \nbe imbued with guilt ; for it is nothing but the taint \nof actual perfonal guilt, that caufes us to forfeit the love, \nor to incur the wrath of Cod, and to lofe the imprefs of \nhis image on ourfuls. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nTHE DOCTRINE OF FAITH, \n\nSpeculative and practical, pbilofophical, theological \n\nand moral. \n\nIN THREE PARTS. \nPART I. \n\nI. Faith is an affent of the mind to the truth of any \nproportion. Of this affent, there are various degrees : \nfrom that conviction which is produced by actual \ncertainty, to that which reds only on fome faint and \ndiftant probability. Of the truth of thofe things \nwhich are within the cognizance of the fenfes, the con- \nviction is firm and undoubting. There are, likewife, \nmany truths which are capable of actual demonftra- \ntion, or of which the reality may be made fo palpable \nto our perceptions, that we can no more refufe our \naffent to them, than we can to the truth of our own \ncxiftence. Of this kind, are thofe truths which are \ncalled mathematical i and of which, when the terms \n\n\n\n( 8o ) \n\nare underftood, and the feveral propofitions from \nwhich they refult are clearly and perfpicuoufly ex- \nplained, and, as it were, brought home to the under- \nftanding, the belief amounts to certainty. \n\nQ. No one who rightly underftands the meaning \nof the terms, can doubt that two and two make four. \nOur afTent, therefore, to the truth of this proportion, \nthat two and two make four, is firm and immovea- \nble. It is a certainty which excludes doubt. There \nare other propofitions of which the evidence is not \nfo clear and conclusive ; and to which the afTent that \nwe yield is not of fo fixed and unchangeable a na-\' \nture. It does not exclude doubt, or rife up to cer- \ntainty. Many of the truths, which are the objects \nof our aiTent, and the grounds of our practice in com- \nmon life, are of this defcription : they are not ca- \npable of actual demonftration ; their reality cannot \nbe rendered fo palpable to the fenfes as to produce \nthat conviction of the mind which may be denomi- \nnated actual certainty. They are the refult of many \nprobabilities, which amount to what may be called \nmoral certainty ; a certainty not like that which arifes \nfrom mathematical proof, but which is fuited to a \nrational nature ; and furncient both to convince the \nmind and to influence the conduct. \n\n3. In the autumn or in the fpring we bury the feed \nin the earth, in order that it may produce a harveft \nin the fummerj but that the one will be followed by \n\n\n\n( 8i ) \n\nthe other, is not an actual or a mathematical, but \nonly a moral certainty. At the time in which we \nfow the feed, we cannot demonflrate the reality of \nthe future harveft; we cannot bring it before our \neyes, or make it palpable to our fenfes. All the \ngrain that is fown may perifh in the earth; it may \nbe deftroyed by infects, or nipped by blights -, waft- \ned by too much rain, or withered by too much fun- \nfhine. But, from the obfervations and deductions \nof many years pad, the connexion between feed time \nand harveft is rendered, as it were, infeparable in our \nminds j and we commit the grain to the bofom of \nthe earth, under almofi: as ftrong a conviction that it \nwill take root downwards and bear fruit upwards, as \nif, at the time of fowing, we faw it waving o er the \nfields in the fulnefs of its beauty and the maturity of \nits flrength, \n\n4. When we adopt any plan of conduct that has \na relation to the future, when we engage in any \nexertions that have a reference to fomc diftant ad- \nvantage, when we embark in any fpeculation that \nrequires fome facrifices of a prefent, and a certain,, \nfor a great probable, but uncertain, intereft, that \nconvi&ion of the mind which induces us to adopt \nthis conduct, or to engage in thefe meafures, cannot \namount to an actual, though it may to a rational and \nmoral certainty of iuccels. It may be the refuk of \naccumulated probabilities, to which it would be un- \nreafonable not toadem; and on which k would be \n\nG \n\n\n\n( 82 ) \n\nunwife not to aft. In the mod: intereiting fcenes, \nand the mod important undertakings of our lives, \nwe are often contented to act on evidence, which is \nvery far removed from certainty ; and, from the ex- \npectation of events of which die iffue cannot be \nknown or the reality afcertained. \n\n5. Belief may, generally, be confidered as of two \nkinds; that which is an actual, and that which is a \nmoral certainty* that which depends en realons, which \namount to a demonstrative proof; and chat which \nreits on thofe which are only the Cakula ions of pro- \nbability. When many probabilities are accumulated \nin favour of any truth, when they are fo nu i.erous \nas greatly to exceed the probabilities in favour of a \ncontrary fuppofition, they amount to what may be \ntermed a moral certainty; and which, though it do \nnot exclude every particle of doubt, affords a juft \nclaim to aflent and a right principle of action. \n\n6. The truth of revelation is not a demonftrative \nbut a moral certainty; a certainty arifjng from pro- \nbabilities; to which no probabilities of a contrary \ntendency and an equal weight can be oppofed. Any \nfober and reafonable man, who mould fairly and \nimpartially examine the different degrees of credit \nthat are due to thefe two que ft ions, whether the Chris- \ntian revelation be true or falfc> will find fo many argu- \nments infupport of the former, and fo very fuperior, \nboth in number and in weight, to any that can be \n\n\n\nbrought to countenance the latter, that he will 3 even \nafter the clofeft companion, and the minuted inquiry^ \nafTent to the truth of the Chrillian religion, and con- \nfide in the reality of the Chriliian miracles* \n\n7. Faith, therefore, in the divine authority of the \nChriftian religion, is an alien: to a truth that is highly \nprobable -, fo probable as to be morally certain. The \ntruth of revelation is not a mathematical problem, \nof which we can demonftrate the certainty, or make \nits truth palpable to the fenfes. It is an historical \nfact; of which the truth or the faliehood muft be de- \ntermined by the weight of evidence. \n\n8. Revelation is a record of facts, which took \nplace in Judea about eighteen centuries ago; and on \nthe truth and reality of thefe "facts depends the truth \nof the doctrines which they were intended to eftablifh. \nIf the miracles which are related in the gofpels be \nfictions, then the whole fyftem is a fiction. If Jefus \ndid not rife from the dead, then the doctrine of the \nrefurrection of the dead, which is grounded on that \nevent, is nothing better than a vifion of the night. \nThen our faith is vain, and our hope vain. Now \nthe refurrection of Jeius from the dead is not an \nobject of fenfes nor can the fact be made vifible to \nthe eye, nor palpable to the touch. We cannot, \nlike Thomas, fatisfy our doubts by feeing the print \nof the nails in his hands, nor the mark of the fpear \nin his fide; but, neverthelefs, though the actual truth \n\nG % \n\n\n\n( U ) \n\nof the refurrection is not a mathematical certainty, \nnor a felf-evident proportion; though our faith can- \nnot be, like that of the eye-witnefles of the fact, a \nfenfation which forces conviction on the mind, and \nexcludes every doubt from the heart, yet the fact \nitfelf was fo well atteded at the time, and the tefti- \nmony was fo ftrong and fo confident, and delivered \nand maintained under fuch difcouraging circurn- \nftances, and has been tranfmitted to us with fo little \nalteration, that the reality of the miracle itfelf is a \nmoral certainty j to which it is unreafonable not to \naffent, and on which it is highly imprudent and peril- \nous not to act. For the probabilities in favour of \nthe truth of the refurrection of Jefus from the dead, \nand, confequently, in favour of a future life, are fo \nmuch flronger than any probabilities which the genius \nof man can adduce to fupport the contrary, that not \nto believe a fact, of which the evidence is fo clear \nand convincing, and not diligently to feek to obtain \nthat intereft of which it demonftrates the reality, \nwould be called a folly, approaching to madnefs, in \nthe ordinary concerns of life. \n\n9. When, indeed, we poffefs fuch an accumula- \ntion of probabilities, amounting to a fatisfactory \nproof of the truth of the Chriftian religion, it feems \nas unwife and as unfafe not to regulate our prefent \nlife with a view to a future, not to lay up a treafure \nof good works here, in order to promote our happi- \nnefs hereafter, as it would be not to fow the earth in \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xabJ ) \' \n\nautumn, that we may reap in fummer. The proba- \nbilities in favour of this proportion, that our prefent \nlife is relative to afuture y are as convincing, as they \nare in fupport of this more familiar truth \xe2\x80\x94 that feed \ntime is preparatory to harveft. \xe2\x80\x94 In our worldly con- \ncerns, we often act as if fome future, but diftant in- \ntereft, at which we aim, were prefent to us; we do \nnot regard the uncertainties that may interpofe \nbetween the day before us and the year to come, \nwhen the chances of attaining the object of our wifhes \nare greater than thofe of their being fruftrated. In \nendeavouring to attain that happinefs which faith, \npropofes as the end of our labours, we are not to be \ndifcouraged by any intermediate obflacles; or to fuf- \nfer doubts, arifing from the circumflances in which \nwe are placed, to undermine our conviction, and to \nfub vert our hopes. We mould remember, that our \nfaith in revelation is an aflent, not to what is a mathe- \nmatical, but a moral certainty; that it is a truft in the \ntruth of facts, which are fupport ed by highly credible \nteftimony ; that it relates to an intereft which is not \nfeen, but hoped for; and of which the reality is evinc- \ned by probabilities, fufficient to work conviction in \nthe minds of beings endued with a power of inquiry \nand a freedom of choice; with reafon to inveftigate \nwhat is true, and with liberty to conform to what is \nreafonable.. \n\n10. When men violate their duty, they cannot be \nimprefTed with a juft fenfe of its importance or have \n\nG3 \n\n\n\n( 86 ) \n\nright notions of the good afibciated with it ; for all \nmen are governed by their intereft; and where there \nis a juft fenfe of the importance of religious obedi- \nence, there holinefs will be, in fome meafure, iden- \ntified with felf-intereft ; for it will then be perceived, \nthat a greater intereft is connected with the obfer- \nvance of our duty than with the breach of it. A \nftrong fenfe of duty will always be blended with a \nftrong perfuafion of the intereft depending on its \npractice. If men act, as all reafonable men will do, \nfrom comparifons of good, and calculations of in- \ntereft, then the practice of religious duty will always \nbe found greatly to exceed the cornmiflion of fin in \nintereft and advantage. \n\nit. The truth of revelation is not fo certain as not \nto admit of doubt ; but the probabilities in favour of \nits reality are fo numerous, and fo greatly exceed the \nprobabilities in favour of the contrary, that every \nman would be efteemed guilty of an imprudence \napproaching to infanity, who, on any common occa- \nfion, would not acknowledge a truth fo plain, or act \non evidence fo convincing. When a merchant fends \nout a fliip on a diftant voyage, he compares the pro- \nbable advantages that will accrue from it, with thofe \nwhich he might derive from fending the fame fhip \non a voyage nearer home; but if the chances offuc- \ncefs greatly outweigh, in his mind, the chances of \nfailure; if the probabilities of an eventual lofs are \nconfiderably lefs than thofe of an eventual gain, he \n\n\n\n( 87 ) \n\nwill fubmit, like a wife and prudent man, to be go- \nverned by the fair calculations of intereft, and conclu- \nfions of probability. \n\n12. Where the hope of advantage is flronger \nthan the fear of lofs, the latter, though it may, in \nfome degree, affect the fenfations, will not alter the \nconduct. The merchant who fends out his fhips \non dangerous ventures to remote and unfrequented \nfhores, where they may be dafhed on the rocks, or \nfwallowed up in the waves, acts all the while on rea- \nfonable probabilities ; which caufe him to defpife \nuncertainties, and to truft to the future. In the com- \nmoner!: concerns in the every-day affairs of life, men \nare continually trufting to contingencies, and 1 fpe- \nculating on uncertainty ; and yet the fame conduct, \nwhich is thought reafonable in common life, is often \nthought unreafonable in religious conduct. Reli- \ngion points, it is true, to a diftant intereft ; and as it \nis not within the cognizance of any of our fenfes, it \nis uncertain. But if its reality be highly probable, it \nis unwife not to regulate the conduct by the evidence, \n\n13. Religion is as a voyage which v/e are defired \nto make, in order to obtain an intereft which exceeds \ncalculation, and to which no prefent intereft in the \nworld can bear any comparifon. It is, indeed, a \nvoyage to eternity; a voyage in which much felf- \ndenial is to be practifed, and our unruly appetites to \nbe moderated \xe2\x80\xa2, and moft men prefer a voyage nearer \n\nG 4 \n\n\n\nC 83 ) \n\nhome, where fenfual pleafures may be more lavifhty \nenjoyed-, and in which fewer facrifices are required. \nBut this is the great and awful confideration : Is not \nthe good which religion promifes to the righteous, greater \nthan that which any pleafures in this life can afford to \nthefinner? None can deny the magnitude of reli- \ngious intereft; yet, as it is uncertain, people flatter them- \nfehes that it may be an illufion. But whether the in- \ntereft may not poffibly be an illufion, is not what we \nought to confider; but whether it be not probable, \nand in what degree probable, and if it be probable \nonly in a moderate degree, ftill the intereft is fo vaft \nas to make that moderate degree of probability de- \nferve the attention of every ferious man; and much \nmore will it be found to deferve attention when reafon \nfhows us, that the intereft which revelation has un- \nfolded is, in a high degree, probable, fo probable as \nif not to preclude doubt, to fatisfy the inquifitive, \nand aftonifh the profound. \n\n14. In matters of religious faith, a certain degree \nof doubt cannot be avoided*. As the human mind \n\n\n\n* Hooker fays, *5 we have lefs certainty concerning things \nbelieved, than concerning fenfible or naturally perceived. OF \nthefe who doth doubt at any time ? Ofthent, at fome time ,tuhn \ndoubteth not ? I will not here allege the fundry confeflions of \nthe perfected that have lived upon earth concerning their great \nimperfections in this iv ay ; which if I did, I fhould dwell upon \na ?natter fufficicntly knoixm by every faithful man that doth know \nhimfelf:\' Hooker\'s Works, ed. Ox. I7y3, vol. iii. p. 523. \n\n\n\n( 89 ) \n\nis conftituted, and in the circumftances in which we \nare placed, fome degree of doubt is necefiary as a \n\n\n\nAfter this quotation from Hooker, I cannot help remarking \nthat this great divine appears to have believed in what he \nfomewhere calls the " foggy damp of original corruption," \nwhich he feems to have fuppofed fpread over all our faculties} \nbut of which little was ihed upon his own. It was not a damp \nthat chilled the growth of virtue in his heart, or that clouded \nthe luftre of his intellectual light. Had I not long ago, when \nonly a beardlefs boy, adopted the principle of " nullius addictus," \n&c. I might have fallen down in difmay, or have bent in paf- \nfive humiliation before the coloiTal authority of Hooker. I \nmight have declined the combat with his mighty genius as \nParis retired at the approach of Menelaus. "Avp r avsyjjo^crsv, \nur\xc2\xa3fO\xc2\xa3 Te piv iiXs rfa%eix(. But, even if the quefiion of ori- \nginal corruption were to be decided by authority, I might cer- \ntainly, without any derogation from the merit of Hooker, op- \npofe to his decifions the great theological reputation of Jeremy \nTaylor, who was by no means inferior to Hooker in vigour of \nintellect, in depth of erudition, or in richnefs of fancy. Jeremy \nTaylor, the firft Englilh divine of the eftablifhed Church with \nwhofe writings I am acquainted, that openly oppofed the doclrine \nof the ninth article, fays, that " it is Jo far from being true, that \nman after his fall did not forfeit his natural poivcr of election, that \nit seems rather to be increased. For as a man\'s know- \nledge grows, fo his will becomes better attended and miniftered \nunto. But after his fall his knowledge was more than before ; \nhe knew what nakednefs was, and had experience of the dif- \nference of things) he perceived the evil of difobedience and the \ndivine anger; he knew fear and flight, new apprehenfions, \nand the trouble of a guilty confeience: by all which and m2ny \nother things he grew better able, and instructed with \narguments, to obey God, and to refuse sin for the \ntime to come. And it is every man\'s C2fe; a repenting man \n\n\n\n( 90 ) \n\n/pedes of trial. If religion did not admit doubt, the \nmind would not be aftive in believing: faidi would not \nbe, in any degree, an operation of the underftandin\xc2\xb0-; \nnor would it be different in different individuals. \n\n15. In order to exercife the reafon, religious evi- \ndence was wifely made an aggregate of many proba- \nbilities, each of which deferves fome consideration j \nand to each of which different individuals may give \ndifferent degrees of credit. Some will prefer the \nhiftorical, fome the prophetic, fome the internal, \nfome the external evidence ; but the conviction of all \nwill generally be found to reft more on the aggregate \nof evidence, than on the individual force of any par- \n\n\n\nis wifer, and hath oftentimes more perfect hatred of fin than \nthe innocent ; and is made more wary by his fall." Taylor\'s \nPractice of Repentance, ed. 1655, p. 410. \n\n" Men," fays Taylor, \'* fometimes by evil habits and by choof- \ning vile things for a long time together, make it morally im- \npoflible to choofe and to love that good in particular which is \ncontrary to their evil cnjloms. Cujlom is the devil that brings \nin new natures upon us ; for nature is innocent in this particular. \nNulli nos vitio natura conciliat: nos ilia integros ac liberos \ngenuit (Senec. ep. g4). Nature does not engage us upon a vice. \nShe made us intirej Jlie made us free ; but ive male ourfclves \nfrifoners andflavcs by vicious habits , or as St. Cyril (Catech. Q). \ncxprefTes it iX^ovrzs avxpz^roi vjv fh ircooapscrsu}^ ajxacrayo- \npsv. We came into the world without (in, but now we fin by \nchoice, and by election bring a kind of nccellity upon us. But \nthis is not fo in all men; and fcarcely in any man in all in- \nstances." Taylor\'s Practice of Repentance, p. 421, 422. \n\n\n\n( 9* ) \n\nricular part ; more on the accumulated probabilities* \nthan on any Jingle probability. \n\n1 6. The degree of affent which different indivi- \nduals give to the truth will vary according to the \ndegree of underftanding, the power of inquiry, the \nexercife of refearch, &c. ; and the higheft degree of \naffent will be that in which theiperfuafion of the truth \napproaches the neareft to that ftate of mind which \nis produced, not by the evidence of probability, but \nby that of certainty ; not fo much by the deductions \nof reafon, as the demonftration of fenfe. But though \nreligious belief may approach very near to the con- \nviction of certainty, yet it will never be found en- \ntirely to reach it. The moft fincere believers are \nfubjecl to moments of diilruft j the moft righteous to \nemotions of defpondency. True faith will, indeed, \noften make the future, as it were prejent; but there \nwill be often other intervals, when \'clouds and dark- \nnefs will red upon it; when the apprehenfions of un- \ncertainty will (leal into the mind and fadden the \nheart. Some degree of doubt will, therefore, in \nfpite of all our endeavours to the contrary, be occa- \nfionally mingled with the reality of our faith. Like \nfhadows thrown acrofs our path, they will caft a \ngloom around us, and perplex and bewilder our way. \n\n17. But though religious diilruft will fometimes \narife in the mind, it is always to be reftfied. He who \ncherifhes doubts is weak and unfettled in the faith; \n\n\n\n( 92 ) \n\nas he who cavils at the infirmities of humanity is \nufually wanting in love to mankind. To fofter \ndoubts inftead of checking their growth, oppofing \ntheir admiflion, and counteracting their malignity, is \nto give them an undue influence, and to incline to \nfcepticifm. A good and fober-minded man will, \nindeed, maturely weigh every reafonable objeftion to \nthe truth ; but he will always feel a ftronger difpofi- \ntion to embrace the good than the evil; to fpread \nhis heart open to the arguments for belief, rather than \nto give admiflion to the perfuafions of infidelity. \n\n1 8. As the truth of revelation is not a matter of \ncertainty, but only of probability, his faith is genuine \nwhofe conviction of the truth is much ftronger than \nhis diftruft ; and the more the former fentiment pre- \nvails, or the more conviction precludes doubt, the \nmore will the practice of the life correfpond with \nthe conclulions of the reafon, and the perfuafions of \nthe heart. The lefs doubt of The Truth that there \nis in the mind, the greater will be the certainty of that \nreward which it promifes, and the ftronger the en- \ndeavour to obtain it. The more doubts gather round \nthe mind and prefs upon the heart, to the greater \ndiftance will the intereft of religion recede into fu- \nturity, and the more problematical it will feem; but \nthe more that doubts vanifh from the imagination \nand the lefs they trouble the affections, the nearer \nwill the intereft approach -, till it comes, as it were, \nalmoft within die edge of the fight, and the grafp of \n\n\n\n( 93 ) \n\ndie touch. Thus faith, in a meafure, makes the fu- \nture prefent, and operates on the conduct, in propor- \ntion to its ftrength. \n\n19, As faith increafes, goodnefsmuft increafe; but \nas faith grows feeble, righteoufnefs will decay. For \nthe more lively faith is, the flronger will be the af- \nfurance of that eternal intereft to which faith directs \nour attention; with which it drives to animate our \nhopes and inflame our affections. And the more \nmindful people are of the interefts of eternity, the \nlefs they muft live for thole of time; for the interefts \nof eternity, when beheld by the eye of faith, will \nfwallow up thofe of time. The two interefts will \nbear no comparifon ; and as far as man is governed \nin his conduct by reafonable calculations of intereft, \nfo far the faithful will make the gofpel a rule of life; \nbecaufe it will be the teft of their good and the ftand- \nard of their happinefs. \n\nao. Almoft every man has a certain ftandard of \nintereft in his own mind to which he conforms, and \nby which he, for the mod part, regulates his actions ; \nand happy, thrice happy, is that man, the ftandard \nofwhofe intereft and the bafis of whofe happinefs is \nobedience to the revealed will of God*. All men are \n\n\n\n* A man may, perhaps, have a ftrong convl&ion of the truth \nof revealed religion, and, in his way through life, may have his \n\n\n\n( 94 ) \n\ngoverned by a fenfe of intereft, and, perhaps, none \nmore than he who entertains a f roper fenfe of the in- \nter eft which is connected with the duties of religion; for, \nthat inter eft is the great eft in degree, the fur eft in kind, \nand the longeft in duration. It exceeds every other in- \ntereft in quantity, in quality, in intention of degree, \nand extenfion of time. Other interefts are often at \nvariance with a fenfe of duty; and cannot be ob- \ntained without its violation. But religious intereft \nand a fenfe of duty are never at variance. They are \nindeed one and indivifible; and he who has a juft \nimpreilive fenfe of his religious intereft, will have \naccurate, juft, and upright notions of every other \nintereft. He will know and feel that he can have \nno intereft diftinct from the obligations of morality. \n\n21. The diftance at which our religious intereft \nis placed does not diminim its magnitude, though it \nmay lefTen its credibility. Diftance dees not really \nleflen the fize of an object, though it makes it appear \nlefs to the eye. It does not deftroy its reality, or alter \nits proportions, it only alters its relations to us in \npoint of fpace, and our relations to it in refpecl to \nthe capacity of apprehending it. The intereft of \n\n\n\nheart conflantly and warmly afTe&ed with a fenfe of his eternal \nintereft j and yet, oiving to fome pcrverfc and unfound notions of \nj unification, or Jomc mi flake about the conditions of Jalvation, this \nconviction may not have a f roper influence on his conduA, \n\n\n\n( 95 ) \n\neternity, too vaft for our conceptions in our prefent, \nfinite, imperfect ftate, was wifely made remote; that \nits proportions might, in fome meafure, be fuitcd to \nour capacity, and accommodated to our fituarion. \nBeholding it only at a diftance, it is but as a fpark- \nlingftar; to which if we could approach nearer, its \nmagnitude would appal our fenfes. To behold, in \nits natural fize and its exact proportions, the vaft in- \ntereft which religion promifes to the righteous, our \nfaculties mull be changed; our fenfes made more \nvigorous; this corruptible muftput on incorruption ; \nand this mortal immortality* \n\n12, Were the truth of revealed religion a matter \nof demonftrative certainty, and the reward connected \nwith obedience to its laws brought within the fphere \nof our vifion, its brightnefs would be too ftrong for \nour fight. It would, like wife, be deftru&ive of a \nHate of moral probation. Men\'s motives would all \nincline one way; and a bias would be laid on the \nwill too ftrong to be counteracted. But the wifdom \nof the Almighthy (thank the Lord, oh my foul! \nthank the Lord for all his goodnefs!) appears, in his \nhaving fo arranged the evidences of revelation, as to \nmake faith a matter of choice rather than of neceffity; \nand in having caft juft fo much obfeurity about the \nreality of the in tereft, as is fitted to leave it in that \nftate of doubtful light which does not dazzle the eye, \nnor put an end to that probationary ftate in which \n\n\n\n( 96 ) \n\ndivine wifdom has placed us here \\ and which would \nbe probationary no longer, if the affections were \nmore piaffed or the will more enflaved ; if it were \nnot left to our unconftrained choice, either to em- \nbrace or to reject the truth of Chriftianity. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\x94^rZTt \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nTHE DOCTRINE OF FAITH. \n\n\n\nPART If. \n\nI. That doctrine of faith which the Fanatics are in \ngeneral fo loud to proclaim, and fo eager to defend, \nis a lhamelefs calumny on the credibility of revela- \ntion, and the rational powers of man. They repre- \nfent faith as the immediate gift of God; a miraculous \ninfufion poured into the foul without the confent of \nthe will. They afcribe it to a power, fuperfeding \nthe neceility of inftruction, and the ufe of inquiry. \n\n2. That faith is the gift of God, no fober Chrhtian \nwill deny; but then it is no more the miraculous gift \nof God, than any other part of knowledge. If God \ngive us the faculty to acquire any thing, he never in- \nterferes * to fuperfede its exercife, or to give us the \nbenefit without that exertion on which he made it \n\n\n\n* Except on very extraordinary occafions, and for very fpe< \ncial purpofes indeed. \n\nH \n\n\n\n( 93 ) \n\ndependant. God has given us faculties to calculate \nthe revolutions of the planets, and to meafure the \ndiameter of the earth; but the pofTeflion offuch know- \nledge is always pofterior to and dependant on the \nexertion of the power. The Almighty does not in- \nfufe into the mind of man, either agronomical, ma- \nthematical, or any other kind of knowledge; but he \ngives the capacity to obtain it; and the pofTeflion is \nthe confequence of intellectual application. \n\n3. It is God who gives us the bread which we eat; \nbut then, becaule this is true, who ever imagined, \nthat bread was not the product of human indufthy ? \nThough it be a felf-evident truth, that God gives us \nnot the bread which perifhes, without much previous \nlabour and toil, yet, in fpite of this glaring analogy, \nthe Fanatics aflert, that He gives us the better bread \nwhich endureth unto everlafting life, without any \nperfonal endeavours to obtain it; that he infufes it \ninto our fouls, whether we labour for it with dili- \ngence, or crofs our arms in idlenefs. \n\n4. Thefe notions fuppofe, that God has communi- \ncated a revelation to mankind, of which no man can \ndifcover the truth ; for if man, by the right exercife \nof his reafon, can difcover the truth of revelation, why \nIhould God make faith independent of its exercife*? \n\n\n\n* If ChriftVinity be fupported by fufficicnt evidence, nothing \nmore can be wanting, on the part of man, to attain a reafonabb \n\n\n\n( 99 ) \n\nThus the Fanatics entirely invalidate the ufe of reafon \nin matters of religious opinion. \n\n5. If faith be, according to the fanciful notions of \nthe Fanatics, a miraculous infufion, our belief is not \na matter of choice; and, then, with what juftice can \nwe be called to account for not believing? If reli- \ngious belief be independent on the confent of the will \nand the exercife of the reafon, then certainly, with \nrefpect to the morality of faith, the believer can pre- \nfer no ftronger claim to the divine favour, than the \ninfidel. The believer being acted upon by a power \nunder whofe influence the will is paflive and the rea- \nfon dumb, cannot help believing j and the infidel not \nenjoying the fame arbitrary intervention of a miracle, \ncannot help not believing. \n\nconviction of its truth, than a fober examination of the evi- \ndence which fupports it. The evidence by which Chriftianity \ngained its firft footing in the world was that of miracles. To \nthefe miracles Jefus of Nazareth appealed as the ftrongeft \nproofs of his commiffion to declare the will of God to man- \nkind. If thefe miracles were matters of fact, and if the ac- \ncounts of them, which have been tranlmitled to us, be genuine \nand authentic, which I fee no reafon to difbelieve, then, why \nfhould faith in revelation be a miraculous infufion ? If God \nwrought miracles at firft to confirm the teftimony, why ihould \nhe Hill be obliged to work other miracles on the mind of every \nindividual to make it credited ? This would be to fuperfede \nthe neceffity, or to deny the authenticity of the firft miracles ; \nfor, if they be authentic, they are credible; and if credible, the/ \nwill produce belief, if their truth be rationally investigated. \n\nH 2 \n\n\n\n( ico ) \n\n6. But the Fanatics found their notions of faith, as \nthey do their other tenets, on that rotten and crum- \nbling pillar of their theology, the innate depravity \nof man. Did, indeed, man ifiue from the womb, as \nthey pretend, a mafs of moral putrefaction, with his \nheart ulcerated with guilt, and his mind darkened \nwith prejudice, he would, certainly, want capacity to \ndifcover, and honefty to confefs the truth. He would \nnot be able to comprehend the plained propofition \nin morals or religion. A man born blind might as \neafily form juft and accurate ideas of the nature and \nproperties of light, as a man born radically corrupt, \nand irrefiflibly propelled, by the bias of his nature, to \nthe com million of iniquity, could form of the nature \nand tendencies of moral obligation. No man could \nhave a tafte cf what is fweet if God had fo organifed his \npalate that he could tafte nothing but what was four; \nand, in the fame manner, no man could acquire a \ni dim for virtue, if the Creator had made him phy- \n\xe2\x80\xa2fically ravenous of vice. \n\n7. How contrary is this doctrine of the Fanatics \nto the doctrine of Chnft, which tells us to /earth the \n\nfaiptures? to investigate the matter of belief; and \nwhich, in order to ftimulate our capacity to do good, \ntells us, that he who deeth the will of God, fhal! know \nof the truth whether it be of God. God feems to have \nmade a belief in the Chriftian revelation dependant \non the right application of the reafon and the con- \nfidence. If we will examine the evidence without \n\n\n\n( IOI > \n\nany beam of prejudice obftructing the fight of the \nmind, or any finfal luft reigning in the heart, the \nlight is too clear not to be feen ; and the doctrine \ntoo pure not to be acknowledged as divine. \n\n8. Many of the errors which are ufually enter- \ntained on the docirine of faith * feem to originate in \nthe miftake, or the perverfion of the term, which \n\n\n\n* Faith lays the foundation of our j unification. Juftifica- \ntion in fcripture means, for the moft part, an admiflion into \ncovenant with God. As the Chriitian covenant flipulates cer- \ntain privileges to be conferred, and certain benefits to be grant- \ned on the part of God, it requires certain conditions to be per- \nformed on the part of man ; and we mult fincerely believe the \nformer, before we can earneilly fet about the performance of \nthe latter. As the conditions which the new covenant impofes \non man require great felf-denial, and many things difagreeable \nto flefh and blood, faith is nccejjary to Jiimulate our exertions, to \nelevate our hopes, and to purify our hearts. In this fcnfe, faith is \nthe only caufe of our j unification \\ or it is the only condition of ad" \nmijjion into covenant ivith God. But though faith juftifies, it \ndoes not, of itfelf, make us righteous 3 though.it initiates us \ninto covenant with God, it does not make us partakers of its \nprivileges or its benefits, without the performance of the con- \nditions to which thofe privileges and benefits are appended. \nThe performance of the conditions is an object of our choice; \nand faith, when it is fincere and lively, will,, necefTarily, ope- \nrate in favour of their performance. It will give, a bias to the \nwill in favour of moral good ; and will not permit that (ppovTjij.x \ncracy.os, that fpirit of fenfuality which is planted in us, in order \nto afcertain our moral obedience, to fubjugate the reafon, and to \nreduce us under the flavery of iin. \n\nh 3 \n\n\n\n( 102 ) \n\nhas various fignifications; the confufion or the ig- \nnorance of which has caufed many dilTcnfions in the \nChriftian world, and contributed only to perplex \nthofe who, without a critical knowledge of the lan- \nguage of fcripture, have attempted to explain the \ndodtrines of Chriftianity. Ignorant people fuppofe \nthe word faith to have only one particular and fpe- \nciric fignification, which they apply promifcuoufly \nto every paflage in which the word occurs. This \nis, in a more efpecial manner, the practice of the \nhardy champions of Fanaticifm, who transfer to the \nterm faith, in whatever part of fcripture it may be \nmentioned, a conftruction fuitetl to their own illi- \nberal prejudices, and calculated to favour their grofs \nand wicked perverfion of the Chriftian religion. \nThat we may not be impofed on by that fenfelefs \njargon, which viiionaries and Fanatics, which the fu- \nperftitious and the artful utter about faith, let us \nexamine fome of the principal fignifications in which \nthe word is ufed by the facred writers. \n\n9. Sometimes the word faith is employed to fignify \nthe whole Chriftian doctrine, which is an object of \nfaith. Thus when St. Paul fays, " by whom we \nhave received grace and apoftlefhip for obedience \nto the faith among all nations for his name." Rom. \ni. 5. " He which perfecuted us in times paft, now \npreacheth the faith which once he deftroyed." Gal. \ni. 23. " Before faith came, we were kept under the \nlaw." Gal. iii. 23. " After that faith is come, we \n\n\n\nC l0 3 ) \n\n^re no longer under a fchool mailer. " Gal. iii. 25. \ncc Nourished up in the words of faith" dec. 1 Tim. \niv. 6. " A great company of the priefts were obedient \nto the faith." Acts, vi. 7. "(Felix) heard him con- \ncerning the faith in Chrifl." Acts, xxiv. 24. \xe2\x80\x94 In all \nthefe paflages, to which many more might be added, \nthe word faith is employed to reprefent the whole \nChriftian doctrine, which is propofed for our belief. \nIn one comprehenfive term, it includes the tenets of \nChriftianity that are necefTary to be believed, and the \nduties that are neceiTary to be pra&ifed. \n\n10. Sometimes faith is taken, generally, for any \nftrong perfuaiion of the mind, whether originating in \na divine revelation, or produced by the force of argu- \nment; as in the paflages which follow : cc He ftag- \ngered not at the promife of God through unbelief, \nbut was ftrong in faith" Rom. iv. 20. " Haft thou \n\nfaith? have it to thyfelf before God." Rom. xiv. 22. \n<c Without faith it is impofTible to pleafe him; for \nhe that cometh to God muft believe thaj: he is." \nHeb. xi. 6. \xe2\x80\x94 In thefe places faith denotes nothing \nmore than zfincere prfuafion of a particular truth. \n\n11. In other places, faith is ufed to fignify Amply \nveracity or truth which deferves aiTent; and as op- \npofed to faifehood which deferves none. <c Shall \ntheir unbelief make the faith (truth) of God without \neffect." Rom. iii. 3. " The fruit of the fpirit is \nlove, joy, peace, long-furTering, gentlenefs, goodnefs, \n\nH 4 \n\n\n\n( 104 ) \n\nfaith, meeknefs, temperance." Gal. v. 22, 23. In \ntfiis laft pafiage, faith, which is mentioned among \nthe other virtues, of which the fpirit, or the word of \nGod, rightly underftood, and diligently practifed, is \nproductive, evidently fignifies veracity, or an in- \nviolable adherence to truth in our words, our pro- \nmifes, in our dealings and intercourfe with each \nother. Hence, by the bye, we learn, that a lying \ntongue is incompatible with the gifts of the fpirit; and \nthat thofe who make fuch bold pretences to the pof- \nfeflion of thofe gifts, lay claim to what they cannot \npofiefs, whenever falfehood is practifed by their lips, \nor guile is cherifhed in their hearts. \n\n12. Faith is, occasionally, taken for thofe things \nwhich are revealed by God, but are invifible to our \nperceptions. In thisfenfe "faith is the fubftance of \nthings hoped for, the evidence of things not feen." \nHeb. xL 1. \n\n13. Sometimes faith is put for a fimple and lifelefs \najfent to things which are not feen ; as to thefe pro- \npofitions, \xe2\x80\x94 that there is a God, that he made the \nworld, &c. &c. Such a faith is characterise of that \nof devils, and is often mentioned by St. James in the \nfecond chapter of his epiflle. ce What doth it profit \nthough a man fay, he hath faith and have not works, \ncan faith fave him?" James, ii. 14. In this pafTage \n\nfaith is ufed for a barren and dead ajfent to the truth \nof the Chriftian religion; without the fruits of that \n\n\n\n( *\xc2\xb0 5 ) \n\nreal goodnefs of heart and life which cannot be coun- \nterfeited; and without which faith is not faving. \nThe word is ufed in this ienfe in feveral other places \nin this chapter of St. James. cc Faith without works \nis dead, being alone. " C( Thou believed that there \nis one God, thou doeft well; the devils alfo believe \nand tremble ; but know, oh vain man, that faith \nwithout works is dead." The apoftle afterwards \ndeclares, that <c by works a man is juftified, and not \nby faith only." In thefe pafiages St. James ufes the \nword to denote a vain, a dead and fruitlefs, as oppofed \nto a living, a vigorous and prattical conviftion of the \ntruth ; and it is highly neceflary that we fhould attend \nto this diftin&ion, and, if poffible, afcertain the pre- \ncife fignification of the word in thefe days, when Jo \nmany ftrange doctrines are broached about the nature of \nfaith \\ and when the ignorant and the credulous are \ntolled about by the machinations of religious impof- \ntors on a fea of errors. The apoftle James affec- \ntionately and earneftly conjured the Chrillians of his \ntime to remember that fomething more than a bare \noutward profefllon of the faith was effential to falva- \ntion ; and that faith without works was as dead as a \nbody deprived of the principle of life. \n\n14. Sometimes faith is ufed to fignify truft in the \ndivine promifes; and in the recompenfe referved for \nthe righteous ; and, in this fenfe, the word is repeat- \nedly employed in the eleventh chapter of the epiflle \nto the Hebrews, which contains an animated recom- \n\n\n\n( 8*6 ) \n\nmendation tA this f pedes of faith, illuftrated by exam- \nples, and remarkable for the warmth of its piety, \nand the ftrength of its eloquence. \n\n15. Few are the people among the fcattered my- \nriads of mankind who have not fornc glimmering \nand indefinite notions of God, as the reward of \nthofe thacdiligcntly feek him (fee Keb. xi. 6). A \nbelief in a flate of future rewards and punifhments \nfeems to conllitute one of thofe great objects of faith \nabout which all men are agreed ; a truth which the \nwife and the good, in all ages and nations, have con- \ncurred to inculcate; and which, indeed, is conge- \nnial with the univerfal expectations of the human \nrace. The knowledge of this truth may have been, \nat firft, communicated by revelation ; but a certain \n\nforeboding of the event feems naturally to originate from \nthat flate of things in which we are placed; and where \nthe often apparently confufed and fortuituous difpen- \nfations of good and evil, of pain and pleafure, of fuf- \nfering and enjoyment, lead the mind of man to look \nfor a future life ; in which thefe irregularities will be \ncorrected, and thefe diforders vanifhi when the finner \nand the righteous will be recompenfed according to \ntheir works. \n\n16. St. Paul infinuates in the fir (I chapter to the \nRomans, that the Heathen might, by the right ap- \nplication of their reafon, have framed juft notions of \nmoral obligation and of the diftin&ions between vice \n\n\n\n( 107 ) \n\n$nd virtue; that they might have obtained fotne \nvvholefome information about the being of a firft \ncaufe and a moral governor of the world, by the \nlight of nature and the ftudy of his perfections, as \nthey are manifefted in the works of his creation. \nAnd the apoftle informs us that the Heathen, by neg- \nlecting the right ufe of their natural faculties, had \nincurred the dtvine difpleafure, and were without \nexcufe. But let us hear St. Paul himfelf: " That/\' \nfays he, " which may be known of God is manifeft \nin them (the Heathen); for God hath mown it unto \nthem; for the invijible things of him from the creation \ncf the world are clearly Jeen, being iinderjiood by the \nthings that are made ; even his eternal power and God- \nhead; fo that they are without excufe; becaufe that \nwhen they knew God, they glorified him not as God; \nneither were they thankful; but became vain in their \nimaginations; and their foolifh heart was darkened." \nRom. i. 19 \xe2\x80\x94 21. Hence we learn, on the authority \nof St. Paul, that the Heathen, by the right applica- \ntion of their reafon, might have difcovered the being \nof a God ; and, conjequently the knowledge of their dutyi \nfor a right fenfe of the being of a God, of his power \nand goodnefs, cannot exift in the mind without a con- \ncomitant fenfe of our dependance upon him for all \nthat we poOfefs; and of our duty to give him thanks \nfor all that we enjoy. \n\n17. But the Heathen world, though they were ca- \npable of knowing God and of afcertaining his being \n\n\n\nC io3 ) \n\nand perfections, yet gave him not the glory that was \ndue to him as the maker of the world. Neither \noffering him the incenfe of their praife, nor the tri- \nbute of their gratitude, they paid Icfs homage to the \neternal Creator than to the perifhable creature. \nThey changed the glory of the incorruptible God \ninto an image made like to corruptible man, and to \nbirds and four-footed beads and creeping things. \nHence, their understanding became darkened, from \nnot being properly applied; their diftinftions of right \nand wrong became confufed; and their affections, \ndevoted only to the pleafures of this vain world, be- \ncame corrupt. They were funk in idolatry and \nwickedntfsj flaves to the vanity of their minds and \nthe lulls of their hearts. \n\n1 8. God never left himfelf without witnefs in the \nworld, even among thofe nations to whom he never \nmade known his will by a direct revelation. The \ngreat witnefs of the being of a God, and of his moral \nperfection?, exifts in the earth and the heavens ; in \nthe reafon and the confcience of man. The reafon \nof man can hardly be called into action without dif- \ncerning palpable traces of an invifible Creator in the \nvifible creation. And the confcience of man, fo \nnicely fenfible of the diftinftions of right and wrong, \nfo jealous, as it were, of preferving in our hearts a \njuft fenfc of moral obligation, urging us to retain its \nlaws in our minds, and to praftife them in our lives, \nfecretly imbuing our lenlations with pleafure when \n\n\n\n\n\n\n( 109 ) \n\nwe do good, and with anguifh when we do evil* \nproves, that he who made us is a lover of moral excel- \nlence, by planting fo powerful an advocate for its authority \nand its praclice in cur hearts. \n\n19. Our nature has, originally, a bias to moral \ngood, in preference to moral evil ; and when the \nchoice is offered to the will, reafon when it is not \ndarkened, and confcience when it is not depraved, \nwill always prefer virtue to vice, with as little hefita- \ntion as we prefer fweet to bitter, pleafure to pain, \nand happinefs to mifery. But the misfortune is, \nthat inllead of repreffing and moderating our ani- \nmal appetites and our fenfual defires, we fuffer them \nto grow rank and luxuriant \', to ftifle the confcience, and \nimpair the reafcn. Then our foolifh hearts become \ndarkened; then we become the fport of wayward \nlufts and unclean imaginations. Then we put good \nfor evil, and evil for good; then we think righteouf- \nnefs our bane and fin our advantage. \n\n20. This was the miferable condition of the Hea- \nthen world with refpect to the knowledge of God, \nand the practice of their duty; a condition to which \nthey were reduced by the neglect or the abufe of \nthofe powers which God had given them to employ \nin the inveftigation of his perfections, and in the \npractice of righteoufnefs. Though the Heathen had \nfome perception of a ftate of rewards and punifh- \nments, and, confcquently, of the importance of virtue \n\n\n\n( no ) \n\nand theintereft which they had in being virtuous; and \nthough the knowledge of thefe weighty truths was never \nentirely obliterated among them, yet their belief in them \nwas Jo faint that it had no influence on their lives. \n\nif. In order to fupply the defects of natural rea- \nfon, and to give undeniable proof of the moral go- \nvernment of the world i to awaken the dormant at- \ntention of mankind to a right fenfe of their greateft \nintereft, to difpel the clouds of fuperftition, and to \nabolifh thofe impoftures which men in all ages have \nbeen too prone too practife under the name of reli- \ngion, the Almighty has, at feveral times, interpofed \nin a more vifible and palpable manner, to declare \nhimfelf the maker of all things, 3nd the only objecl of \nhitman adoration. \n\n22. Thefe revelations of the Deity were, at firft, \npartial or exclufive; made to particular perfons, \nor confined to particular nations ; but were all in- \ntended to pave the way for the miraculous appear- \nance of Chrift Jefus, who was fent to manifeft his \nwill to all mankind; and to fublijh a religion Juited to \nthe r Joants and capacities of every people under heaven. \n\n23. In the beginning, God (hewed himfelf as the \nmaker of the world, and the father of mankind, as \nthe lover of thofe that do good, and an avenger of \nthofe that do evil. In the interval between the fall \nand the deluge, God feems, more than once to have \n\n\n\n( III ) \n\nmanifefted himfelf to his creatures. After the de- \nluge, the Lord appeared unto Abraham, defiring \nhim to forfake his kindred and his father\'s houfe, \nand to fettle in a land in which he was a ftranger; \nunder an afTurance, that it mould, at fome future \njperiod, belong to his pofteiity; and that, in the \ncourfe of time, the whole world mould be blefTed in \nthe perfon of one of his offspring. The faith of \nAbraham which, on this occafion, was counted to \nhim for righteoufnefs, was an unjhaken truft in the \nfromifes of God, producing a willing obedience \n\nTO HIS COMMANDS, \n\n24. We next read of the great Maker of the \nworld appearing under the partial name of the God \nof Ifrael; and we behold him interpofing with a \nmighty hand, and a ftretched-out arm to refcue the \ndefendants of the favoured patriarch from the op* \npreflion of the Egyptians. God, afterwards, chofe \nMofes as the fpecial inftrument of his providence \nand the meffenger of his will. By him, he entered \ninto a covenant with the Ifraelites; at the fame time \nenacling fome laws, which were to have a perpetual, \nand publiihing others which were to have only a \ntemporary exiftence. The former are limited to \nthofe moral obligations whofe truth and ufefulnefs \nare fupported by the univerfal confent and approba- \ntion of the world; and one tittle of whofe importance \nwill never pafs away; which find a protection, flrong \nas adamant, in the principles of reafon and in the \n\n\n\n( M* ) \n\ncommon fympathies of humanity. The ceremonial \nJaws of the Mofaic difpenfation were intended merely \nto preferve unbroken the barrier between Jew and \nGentile, till the coming of him who was to break \ndown the wall of partition between them ; and to \nteach that God is no refpecter of perfons ; but that he \nregardetb every man who worketh right ecufne/s in all the \nnations of the earth. \n\n25. In each of the partial revelations which pre- \nceded the Chriftian, the Almighty exhibited many \nfignsofhis love for his creatures; and gave fome \nobfeure prefage of that glorious plan which he had \nformed for reconciling the world unto himfeif, in. the \nperfon of his fon, in whom he was well pleafed. In \nthe Mofaic law the great fcheme of redemption was \nobfeurely infinuated, rather than diftinc\'tly pourtray- \ned in types and figures, in the facrifices of the altar, \nand the atonements of the prieft. The Redeemer \nwas, indeed, feen through the rites of the Mofaic \ndifpenfation, as through a veil or a glafs, darkly. \nThey were like the cloud that covered the taberna- \ncle ; through which the eye could not penetrate; and \nwhich infpired fenfations of awe without exciting \nany lively perceptions of form and character. \n\n26. The prophets who lived after the Mofaic dif- \npenfation, particularly Ifaiah, exprefsly foretold a \nRedeemer to Ifrael; but the mode of redemption \nwas left involved in obfeurity and uncertainty; till in \n\n\n\n( **3 ) \n\nthe fulnefs of time (Thrift came msnifefted in the \nfiefh j the fpotlefs fun of righteoufnefs difperfmg the \nfhadows of the law; clearing up the milts of the vi- \nfion and the perplexities of the prophecy, and fted- \nding the light of immortality over the darknefs and \nmifery of the world. \n\n27. Hence Jefus, The Chrift, The Median, fore- \ntold by the prophets as our Redeedmer from the \ngrave and the future judge of all mankind, is the \nprincipal object of Chriftian faith. This is the moft \ncommon acceptation and moft important fignification \nof the word faith in the fcriptures of the new cove- \nnant; and which we cannot too often remember, or \ntoo carefully retain. Faith, in this fenfe of the word, \nis necetTary to falvation*. St. Paul fays, " if thou \n(halt confefs with thy mouth the Lord jefus," (that \nis, if thou malt fincerely aflfent to, and fearlefsly avow \nthis truth, that Jefus is the Mefiiah fent to declare \nthe will of God to mankind,) <c and ft alt believe in \nthine heart that God hath raifed him from the dead, \nthou (halt be faved." Rom. x. 9. This belief muft \nnot only be confefTed by the lips, but eftablifted in \nthe heart, fo as to be productive of real goodnefs \nand righteoufnefs. Faith, thus underftood, is the \n\n\n\n* In thofe countries which enjoy the light of revelation, or \namong thofe whofe unbelief is more owing to the hardnefs of \ntheir hearts, than to a defect in the means, or the opportunities \nof conviction. \n\nI \n\n\n\n( "4 ) \n\nprinciple of a new life in the foul; it exalts the \nthoughts, purifies the arTeclions, and fanclifies the \nconfeience. \n\na8. " With the heart, " fays St. Paul, cc man be- \nlieveth unto righteoufnefs," Rom. x. 10.) that is, \nwhen the heart is really iu preiTed with that faith, \nwhich the gofpel requires, it will invariably mani- \nfefl: its invifible exigence, by the outward fruits of \ntruth, iuflice, and mercy. This faith is infeparable \nfrom a right practical fenfe of moral obligation; and \nthofe who attempt to disjoin faith from a good con- \nference, only make fhipwreck of their fouls. (See i \nTim. i. 19.) The end of faith is to make us careful \nto maintain good works (Titus iii. 8.) ; to perfuade us \nthat it is our greateft intereft to deny f\xc2\xa3 ungodlinels \nand worldly lulls, and live foberly, righteoufiy, and \ngodly in this prefent world." (Titus ii. 12.) To \ngive any other explanation of faving faith is to quit \nthe word of God, and turn afide from the wholefomc \npreaching of Chrift and his apoftles, to the M vain \njangling;" to the " foolifh queftions and conten- \ntions" of ignorant vifionaries or interefted impoftors. \n\n\xe2\x96\xa0 \n29. We are, likewife, particularly to remember \n\nthat true evangelical faith is always off dated with a \n\nbeneficent difpcfition ; a difpofition prone to fympathife \n\nwith the didrcfTes, and, as far as we have opportunity, \n\nto relieve the wants of our fellow- crcarures. For it \n\nis a conclufion, enforced by the precepts of our Sa- \n\n\n\n( i;5 ) \n\nviour, by the whole tenor of his life and the fpirit of \nhis doctrine, that charity is the end of the commandment \'; \nand that no faith availeth but that which wcrketh by \nlove. (See Gal. v. 6.) And the term love does not \nfignify any grofs or licentious fenfations of affection, \nbut the fire of vital charity warming our hearts, ani- \nmating our lives, and mewing its heavenly influence \nin every part of the conduct of man, towards his \nbrother man. This is true Chriftian love* which is \nnot (hewed in word, neither in tongue, but in deed \nand in truth* \n\n\n\nI 2 \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT Cx\\NT. \n\n\n\nTHE DOCTRINE OF FAITH. \n\n\n\nPART I I J. \n\ni Faith, in its mod frequent acceptation in the \nChriftian fcriptures means a conviction of this truth, \nthat Jefus is The Chrift, the Son of God, and the \nSaviour of thofe who regulate their lives by his laws. \nIt contains a firm perfuafion, that, if we obey him, we \nfhall obtain remiffion of fins, and eternal life -, and a \nvigorous refolution to render him the obedience \nwhich he has commanded. This is that faith which \nmay truly be called faving -, and the fcriptures by no \nmeans warrant the fuppofition that faith, confidered \nin any other knk y will conduce to our falvation. \n\n2. That faith, therefore, which will form the \nground-work of our juftiftcation before God, muft \nbe afibciated with moral goodnefs; for one of the \nconftituent parts of faving faith is a perfuafion that \nJefus will be the Saviour of thofe who regulate their \n\n\n\n( "7 ) \n\nlives by his laws ; and a right perfuafion of this laft \ntruth, operating on the foul, will neceffarily produce \nobedience, in the general acts and habits of the indi- \nvidual. \n\n3. Thofe laws of Chrift, to which true faith tends \nto render us obedient, are not ceremonial but moral *. \nThey are laws whofe obligations are unchangeable, \nwhich were written on tables of ftone and on the \nflefhly tables of the heart before he came into the \nworld; and of which he did not invalidate, but \nincreafe the importance, by eftabliihing their con- \nnection with the intereft of eternity. \n\n4. The laws of Chrift, on our obedience to which \nour eternal welfare is at flake, inculcate nothing but \na pure, a vigorous, and an habitual morality of con- \nduct, without any of thofe fubtile refinements, thofe \nqualifications and referves, in which fophiftry de- \nlights; and with which the vain genius of human \nphilofophy has too often perplexed the plaineft truths, \nand invalidated the mod forcible moral obligations. \n\n\n\n* "Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adul- \nteries, fornications, thefts, falfe witnefs, blafpheraies. Thefe \nare the things ivhich defile a man; but to eat with unwathen \nhands defileth not a man." Matt. x. ig, 20. Here we trace \nthe right distinction between ceremonial and moral purity. All \nour Lord\'s fayings, by keeping which we are required to mani- \nfeft our love towards him, have a moral tendency ; and his life \nwas one continual funfhine of moral excellence. \n\n1 3 \n\n\n\n( r,3 ) \n\nThey are not made dark and ambiguous by equivo- \ncations; they are clear, ditiiacl:, and comprchenftve; \nnot too obfcure for the apprehenfion of the mind, \nnor too difficult for general practice. They tend to \nmake truth, juflice a and beni-volence the univerfal \nrule of human action and the unchangeable ftandard \nof human intereft. \n\n5. When truth and juftice and benevolence are \nmade the maxims of conduct and the ;eft o( intertft, \nwe can experience little perplexity in any of thole \nfituations which might embarrafs our choice, or be \nproductive of crimes, if we adopted any other rule \nfor the government of our actions, and eltimated hap- \npinefs by mere felfilh calculations. Were the laws \nof Chi id unwerfally practifed, treachery and falfe- \nhood, violence and wrong, cruelty and injuflice \nwould be banifhed from the world; in one word, \nmorality would mine with unclouded luftre; for the \nwill of God would be done on earth, as it is in hea- \nven. Such are the happy tendencies, and fuch \nwould be the beneficial operations of thefe precepts \ncf Chrift, to which it is one effential part of faving \nfaith to adhere with inviolable affection and habitual \nfidelity. \n\n6. It is obedience to ChrifTs laws, which conftitutes \nthe moral goodnefs of a Chriftian. For the laws of \nChrift, of which he himfelf condenied the fpirit \n2nd the practice into this one glorious and unrivalled \n\n\n\n( "9 ) \n\nfaying, cc whatfoever ye would that men fhould do \nunto you, do ye alio unto them," comprehend the \nwhole circle of moral obligations. If, therefore, ge- \nnuine faith do include, as I think the whole tenor of \nfcripture proves, obedience to Chrift as a lawgiver: \nand if his laws be moral laws, then moral goodnefs \nmuft be an infeparable adjunct of faving faith , and \nwithout which it is but an empty breath of air. \n\n7. The precepts of Ch rift differ, in a great mea- \nfure, from thofe of other lawgivers, in being rather \npofitive than negative, in inculcating virtue rather \nthan prohibiting vice; in enjoining more what is to \nbe praclifcd than what is to be avoided; in fpeaking \nof duties more than of crimes ; in commanding bene- \nficence more than juftice; and in deterring from evil \nby urging to good. Thus our Lord comprefles \ninto this one emphatic faying " thou malt \\owt thy \nneighbour as thyfelf;" the whole of the moral law; \nand he who fulfils only this one precept, cannot be \nwanting in any duty, or guilty of any crime. For \nlove worketh no ill to his neighbour; and, therefore^ \nlove is the fulfilling of the law. \n\n8. That beneficence which produces pofitive good \nmuft exclude pofitive evil; for the fajne principle \ncannot operate as an incentive to good and to evil. \nTrue benevolence, therefore, muft prove deftruclive \nto falfehood and injuftice, and every fpecies of moral \ndepravity. Hence we fee why our Lord compreiTes \n\n14 \n\n\n\n( H6 ) \n\nthe whole fubftance of morality into one brief pre- \ncept; fc thou (halt love thy neighbour as thvklf :" \nand why he faid to his diiciples, towards the conclu- \nfion of his miniftry, <c by this (hall all men know that \nye are my difciplcs, if ye have love one to another/* \nThe love which Chrift enjoined is the perfection of \nmorality ; morality cleanfed from the lees of fdfifh- \nnefs. and refined into pure bene ficencej that morality \nwhich confitts not only in an abhorrence of faliehood \n\n* \n\nand injuftice, but which animates the vigorous ener- \ngies of active goodnefs j which not only indiipofes us \nto do wrong to others, but which difpofes us, as far \nas we have opportunity, to do good unto all men. \nThis is that morality of which the practice is a ne- \nceflary aflbciate ofjavmg faith. Thus faith, where- \never it takes fuch a ilrong pofilflion of the foul, as to \nbe, in lome tneafure, the fubftance of things not leen, \nwill be not a pajfoe quality , but an afire e principle j full \nof ftrergth and life; urging us not only not to work \niniquity, but to bring forth the fruits of charity. \n\n9. Many perfons confine the feat and habitation of \nfaith, the bounds of its exigence, and the fphere of \nits influence,, to the fenfationsj within whofe aafeous \natmofphere they circumfcribe its power, and to \nwhole invifible operations they reftricT: its evidence. \nBut the (criptures do not authorize, and reafon dis- \nclaims, any fuch vain, changeful, and pernicious teft of \nreligious belief; for both reafon and fciipture prove, \nthat the life is the only latisfactory evidence of its \nreality. \n\n\n\nt M" ) \n\nio. As far as faith is an invifible and inward prin- \nciple, confined to the impenetrable caverns of the \nmind or to the unfeen chambers of the heart, we can- \nnot know that fuch a principle even exifts without \nclifcerning fome teftimony,of its exigence in the out- \nward conduct. A mere profeflion of belief does not \nconftitute belief, or make a man a Chriftian, any \nmore than a bare profeflion of agronomical know- \nledge makes a man an aftronomer; except fo far as \nthe profeflion anfwers to the fact, and the fact to the \nprofeflion. \n\nii. The profeflion of a faith in the Chriftian reli- \ngion is a profeflion of thefe truths \xe2\x80\x94 that Jefus, the \nfounder of the Chriftian religion, is the Meffiah fore- \nfhewn.to the Jews, and the Redeemer promifed to \nall mankind i and that he will confer eternal life on \nthofe who obey his laws. Genuine Ghriftiari faith, \ntherefore, implies a conviction of a future and eternal \nlife j with a pcrfuafion that its happinefs depends on \nthe conformity of our conduct to the precepts of the \ngofpel. Now have we any reafon to believe that \nany profeflion of faith of this kind is true, where we \nfee thofe, who make it, giving no proof of irs reality \nin their lives; where we fee them acting, as if this \nlife were the fum of their being, the termination of \ntheir hopes and fears, and as if their prefent con- \nduct had no relation to a ftate beyond the grave r* \n\n12. When we fee the profeflion of religious faith \n\n\n\n( 122 ) \n\nutterly at variance with the outward actions, when \nwe behold it exerting no influence en the character or \nthe conduct, not producing temperance, juftice, and \nrighteoufne fs ; not rnaking the heart kind and the \nhand bountiful ; can we believe, that the inward f jrin- \nciple exifts ? A n an is not to make his own fen- \nfations, however warn or rapturo* s they may be, a \nteft of his believing in Chriti; when (Thrill himfelf \nallowed no fu< h reft, but referred the evidence of \nfaith to the conduct Let us hear his own words, \nand let them fink into our fouls: l< Every good tree \nbringem forth good fruit ; but a corrupt tree bringeth \nforth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth \nevil fruit j neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good \nfruit : Every tree that hringeth not forth good fruit \nis hewn djwn, and cad into the fire." Matt. vii. \nI/. i y . \n\n13. If the blood be contaminated by any principle \nof difeafe or any mattet of contagion, the effects foon \nappear in the watte of the ilrength, the depreiTion of \nthe mind, or the ulcerations of the fiefh. Where the \nbody glows with \'the animating flame of vitality and \nhealth, there the limbs are vigorous, alert, active; \nthe fiefh is firm, and the fpirits gay. If a principle \nof moral purity be fixed in the thoughts, if truth, and \njuftice, and humanity be enthroned in the affections^ \ntheir inward reality will be vifible in their outward \noperations. If moral corruption have feized the \nmind, and fprcad its baleful putrefcence over the con- \n\n\n\n( 123 ) \n\nfcience, the effects will correfpond with the caujfe* \nThe conduct will be bafe, polluted with injuftice* \nwith cruelty, or luft. The outward actions of a man \nare the bed mirror through which the (rate of his \nthoughts and his heart can be feen. <c Out of the \nhearr," faid our Lord, " proceed evil thoughts, mur- \nders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, falfe witnefs, blas- \nphemies." Matt. xv. 19. The outward conduct \ndiftinctly pourtrays the inward, workings of the foul. \nIt ihews, if I may fo exprefs it, the true complexion \nof the heart, and marks the fluff of which the con- \nfcience is made. \n\n14. Whenever the principle of genuine Chriflian \nfaith is alive, warm, and vigorous in the heart, it will \ndiiplay its wholfefome energies in the moral character \nof the man. There will not be occafion for an audi- \nble confeflion of the lips or any vifible infeription on \nthe forehead, to fhow that faith animates the bread. \n\'True faith is its own evidence. It wants no emblema- \ntic tokens nor factitious proofs. It manifefts its fpi- \nritual ftrength, and, if I may fo term it, its bodily cx- \niflence by figns beyond the reach ofhypocrify or art; \nand which bring conviction home to the mind of \nthe fpectator. Its fruits are the fruits of holinefs. Its \nactions are ftamped with the facred irnprefs of truth \nand juftice and that vital warm beneficence which \ncannot be counterfeited j and whofe teftimony the \nwhole world cannot gainfay nor refill. \n\n\n\n( **4 ) \n\n15. He who really believes in the truth of the \nChriftian religion will not live for this fnort life i he \nwill not purfue the perifhable things of this world \nwith greedy impatience or intemperate defire. His \nfaith will be " the fubftance of things hoped for ; \nthe evidence of things not Teen." Neglecting the \nfordid concerns of time., his thoughts will be exalted \nto the higheft heavens, and his affections rapt in \nthe bofom of eternity. \n\n16. True faith, as far as it is the faith of a rational \nbeing, muft be compounded of the affent of the mind \nand the perfuafion of the heart. It fuppofes the un- \nderstanding, from the inveftigation of the evidences \nof religion, to be convinced of its truth j and the af- \nfections to be interested in the practice of its duties. \n\nr \n\nWherever the dictates of the reafon are thus in uni- \nfon with the impulfe of the fenfations, and the fenfa- \ntions accord with the decifions of the reafon, there \nreligious faith flourifhes in its greatefl beauty and its \nutmoft flrength. \n\n17. It does fometimes, and, perhaps, more often \nthan is fufpected, happen, that fpecuhtive belief is \nunited, if I may fo fpeak, with practical infidelity ; \nor, in other words, that the mind fometimes a (Tents \nto the truth of the Chriftian religion, when no warm \nfenfe of its duties touches the heart; and the eon- \nfcience is callous to its weighty obligations. As a \nfpecuhtive belief in a God is by no means incompa- \n\n\n\n( **S ) \n\ntible with practical atheifm *, fo a rational convic- \ntion of the truth of revejation is fometimes aiTociated \n\n\n\n* The Atheifm of the French, to which fome have imputed \nall the exceffes of the revolution, was engendered by thr cor- \nruptions of popery j and confequently, thofe who afcribe fo \nwide a fphere of agency to the fir ft, ought not to forget the \neffects that originated in the laft. When they declaim on the \nevil of the progeny, they mould not pais in filence over the \nmalignity of the parent. In inveftigating the caufes of thofe \ngreat diforders which always accompany the revolutions of great \nftates, when an ancient government is overthrown; when infti- \ntutions, a floriated with the affections of fome and the interefts \nof others, are fubverted ; when the prejudices and paffions of \nmen are engaged, as it were, in a furious warfare; when new \nopinions arq forced into a violent concuffi n with the old ; when \nthe firft, full of youthful vigour, are labouring for dominion, and \nthe laft are Struggling with the dying energies of felf-preferva- \ntion ; we muft beware of imputing thofe diforders which muft: \nneceffarily arife in fuch a complicated ftate of things, to any one \nparticular and exclusive caufe. Atheifm or irreligion had cer- \ntainly a very exteniive influence in producing thofe accumu- \nlated miferies, thofe acts of profcription, of injuftice, and \ncruelty, which (lain the pages of the revolution : but Atheifm \nitfelf was not equal to the production of fuch a mafs of calamity. \nAtheifm met with a juncture of circumftances highly favour- \nable to the explofion of its difaftrous principles; but the prin- \nciples themfelves would have been much circumfcribed in their \neffects, if a variety of other caufes, all blending their mifchiev- \nous influence, had not affifted their operation ; had not increaf- \ned their ftrength, and dirTufed their rancour. Atheifm is cer- \ntainly a very powerful caufe of calamity; but\'we muft not im- \npofe on Atheifm a weight of effect greater than it canproduce. \nThe practical evils of atheifm are, generally, restrained by the \ndirect intereft which men have, and always will have, in re- \n\n\n\n( 1^6 ) \n\nwith glaring impiety. A belief in the being of a \nGod is not necefTarily or uniformly productive of \n\n\n\n{training them. Whatever men may think of the fpeculative \nprinciple, they muft, if they have a (park of common lenfe, \nknow its pra6tical tendency as adverfe to the inte.refl of the \nindividual as it is to that of the community. Atheifm can \nnever exert any very general or exteniive influence, except in \nthe crifis of revolutions; when fo many other caufes confpire \nto render it actively pernicious, and increafe ,its will to deftroy \nby arming it with the power of deftruction. \n\nThe atheifm of the French owed its origin to the corrupt \nflate of Cbriftianity in France before the revolution ; and, per- \nhaps, many of the evils, which we afcribe to atheifm, would, \nwith more ju ft ice, be imputed to their primary caufe; that is, \nthe pollutions with which popifh fuperftition had adulterated \nthe Chriftian doctrine. Men of leifure, of a highly fpeculntive \nturn of mind, and a morbid temperature of body, are fometimes \nAtheifts; but the poiibn can never be difTufed through the bulk \nof mankind. The former may not always be able to prevent \nthe in trillion of anxious doubts reflecting the firfl principle of \nreligion; the latter do not theorize on the fubject; and when \ntheir actions are contrary to the principles which they profefs, \nthey do not proceed fo much from the want of religious belief \nin the mind, as from the want of a religious fpirit in the heart. \nThere arefeTvfficcuIath\'c, but many prafiical Athetfl$\\ there are \nfew who really dilbelieve in the being of a God; but there are \nmany, very many, in all countries iv/io live ivit/iout any fear of God \nbefore their eye:. The mob Of Paris, by whole hands molt of the \nfanguinary deeds of the revolution were perpetrated, were not \nproperly fo much Atheifts as Fanatics; and as far as they were \nAtheiftSj their Atheifm was certainly the effect of that corrupt \nand polluted atftiehrifftan fuperftition in which they had been \neducated. The diftance between extremes, though it feern \nlong, is in fact ihort. The change in the mind from one to \n\n\n\n( **f ) \n\nthat fanctifying fenfe of his perfections, that kdrftir^- \ntion of his wifdom, and that iove ot his goodndsi \n\n\n\nthe other Is often rapid and inftantpneous. From lelkz\'ing ton \n7Hiich i men foon come to believe too tittle. \n\nSuperfiitkm always, lilently, favours the growth M \'nhdel : ty; \nand, after a certain period, ahva. s hltH&atefy produces it. \nHence governments mould beware of or k ring the miaifiefs of \nan eftabliihed church to bewilder the minds" of the ignorant \nwith uncertain doctrines, and to preach ablurd or pernicious \nmyfteries more than pra6tical godlinefs. \n\nThat Atheifm renders the fentiments ferocious and th* heart \nfavage I can readily admit; but I believe it w ill be found that \nreligion, dege?ieraied into Fanaticifm> is an enemy as deftruiStive \nto tendernefs of feeling as the moft ftubborn Alheifm The \nAtheift, who really believes not in a God is not reftrai :. in \nthe career of his crimes or the excels of his iuri.s by app\xc2\xbb-ehen- \nfionsofa future judgment; but he is liable, to fome reftraint \nfrom the invilible operation of thofe fympatl ies which nature \nplanted in the heart, and which Atheifm iUelf cannot always \neradicate. But Fanaticifm e;vtinguilbes the benevolent affec- \ntions, and it calls in the fuppofed iandtions of religion to coun- \ntenance their extinction, and to encourage their violation. \nWhen cruelty rages in the bofom of an Atheift, there is a total \nw r ant of any religious influence to efiuage its fury ;. but vJun it \nra^es in the bofom of a " anaiic. the i? e ofrtligion, in (lead tf \n\nreprcjjing its force, only incrcafes its ferocity. The Atheift may \nbe cruel from the violence of pafiion; but the Fanatic is snore \nfo from the fedatenefs of principle. \n\nThe Fanatic often perpetrates atrocities the moft revolting \nin order to do God fervice; for ? from a ftrange hallucination of \nideas, which turn the blood into gall and the heart into itone, \nFanaticifm makes the love of God compatible with the moft \nunrelenting barbarity. The Atheift delights in ensming: the \nFanatic in torturing his victims; he thinks every groan which \n\n\n\nwhich engage che affections in his fervice, and make \nobedience to his will the law of the heart i the itaid \n\n\n\nthey utter agreeable to God ; and he lengthens out the linger- \ning agony to the longer! capacity of furTering. The Atheift \n"braves the terrors of eternity ; yet he does not always lofe the \ntendernefs of a man : but the Fanntic gnthers motives from \neternity to juilify the mod atrocious violatiows of humanity. \n\nThe refinements of torture and the aggravations of woe, \nwhich were practifcd in the Inquifition, give a ftriking repre- \nfentation of the force, with which religion, corrupted into \niuperLiition and Fanaticifm, tends to flifle all the amiable fym- \npathies of the heart, and to fubftitute in their room the mod \nfavage cruelty and the moil implacable ferocity. The Atheitts \nwho, in September 1/92, wantonly fported with the lives of \ntheir fellow-citizens, appear not to rank lower in the fcale of \nhumanity, than the Fanatics who fhed the blood of the inno- \ncent in the maffacre of St. Bartholomew. \n\nOur Lord makes religion to conlift in the love of God and \nthe love of man. What ever kind of prepofterous love Fana- \nticifm may bear to God, it certainly cheriihes very little re- \ngard for its fellow-creatures ; for it is aflbciated with hate, bit- \nter and implacable to all who have not fwallovved, or who will \nnotfwallow the poifon of its corruptions. The Fanatic luppofes \nthat God delights in fuperftkious forms, and takes pleafure in \nthe mifery of his creatures. He fondly Hatters his own heart \nthat the divine favour is exclufively appended to only one par- \nticular form of worlhip, and that every other incites the di- \nvine abhorrence. The Fanatic is, therefore, infiigated by the \nmoll powerful motives, motives drawn from the interefts of \neternity, to e.ercife the luft of cruelty on all who think not \nas he thinks ; whole devotion is not manifefted by the fame \nproftrations, or whofe adoration is not aflfociaied with the \nfame forms. \' He feels no reilraiat from the kindly influence \nof the lucial principle, urging him to be mindful of the happi- \n\n\n\n( 129 ) \n\ncriterion of intereft; and the perennial fountain of \npleafure and of happinefs. \n\n\n\nnefs of his fpecies; for the force of that principle is annihilated \nby the invifible demon that works within his breaft, chilling \nthe warmth of his affections, and infufinga deadly rancour into \nhis fenfations. \n\nFanaticifm perplexes and confounds the diftin6tions of right \nand wrong ; it maies right to be wrong, and wrong to be right: \nand, under its influence, religious belief which ought to be, and \nwhich, in a well educated mind, always is the ftrongeft {lay to \nright, gives the mod powerful impulfe to wrong The Fanatic \neither imagines that he is exempted from the weighty matters \nof moral obligation, or that God will permit their violation for \nthe fake of fome trifling penance or fome unfocial aufterity. \nHe deems them matters ofe^fy compenfation; and he, there- \nfore, feels little compunclion in their infraction. Thofe who \ndo not like to practife the great duties of truth and juilice, are \nalways predifpofed -to imbibe the delufions, and to embrace \nthe demoniac principles of Fanaticifm. \n\nThe Atheift who believes not in a future judgment, and \nfeeks not the approbation of a fuperior power, can have no juft \nnotions of moral obligation ; he regards morality as a fort of \nartificial contrivance, and truth and juftice as mere matters of \nhuman convention; and he deems them obligatory no farther \nthan as they promote his prefent views, or contribute to his \nperfonal gratification. But Fanaticifm, while it relaxes all \nmoral reftraints, often makes immorality a matter of co?ifcicnce. \nIt, therefore, often gives a greater encouragement and a flronger \nitimulus to the violation of truth, of juttice, and humanity, than \neven the molt obftinate Atheifm. The Fanatic ftrips God of \nhis refphndent attribute of univerfal good nefs, and makes him \na partial and capricious being : and it may be doubted whether \na belief in fuch a being, as Fanaticifm fuppofes God to be, be \nnot productive of as much mifchief as the non-belief in the \n\nK \n\n\n\n( ijo ) \n\n1 8. We have only to caft our eyes around us to \nbehold many who are by no means infincere believers \n\n\n\nexiftenee of any God at all. The Atheift has no ftandard of \nmora! excellence; the Fanatic has a falfe one. The principles \nof the Atheift prevent his moral improvement; thofe of the \nFanatic promote his moral deterioration. The love of God, the \nonly genuine principle of practical religion, elevates the heart \ntowards heaven; it wafts the affections to the throne of mercy \nin the perfume of player, from which they defcend again \nupon the earth, frefh with the bloom, and warm with the glow \nof univerfal charity. But of this principle of the love of God, \nwhofe fpirit is fo divine, and whofe operations are fo benefi- \ncent, the Atheift is as deftitute as the Fanatic, and the Fanatic \nas the Atheift. \n\nThe heart of the Atheift is cold and favage; infenfible to the \ndiftrelTes of thofe around him, as beings with whom he has \nonly a tranflentand accidental connexion here, and with whom \nhe is to hold no intercourfe hereafter. The heart of the Fana- \ntic is not cold with apathy, but hot with hate; net fo much \ninfenfible to the diftrelTes of others, as rejoicing at their inflic- \ntion, when they are the diftrelTes of thofe who are not of his \nown perfuafion. He looks on all mankind, not only not as \nbrethren, but as people whom he has a commillion from hea- \nven to exterminate, and whom he perfecutes without mercy \nwhenever he has the power. The Fanatic puts the victims of \nhis r^ge to every torture which he can contrive in this world, \nand then breathes fervent ivijJics to heaven for their eternal damna~ \nt\'ton in the next ! \n\nThe Atheift perfecutes, perhaps tortures, his victims; and \nthen fends them to the grave as to a place of eternal fleep. \nThe Atheift is a brute, who. when his pallions are excited, \nrends and lacerates his fellow-men like fellow brutes ; the \nFanatic aggravates his cruelty by religious mockery, and lings \nhallelujahs while the unfortunate objects of his malice are \n\n\n\n( i3i ) \n\nin the being of a God, yet living, as it were, without \nGod in the world ; and many might be obferved who \nhave themfelves a reafonable conviction that reve- \nlation is no fiction nor impofture, that the miracles \nrecorded in the gofpcls were actually performed, and \neven fome might be noticed who have laboured to \nimpart conviction to others, by the ftrongeft reafon- \ning and the mod (Inking arguments, but who, not- \nwithstanding, by the whole tenor of their lives, by \ntheir intemperance in the purfuit of animal pleafure, \ntheir eagernefs in the race of temporal diftinction, by \ntheir ambition of praife and their luft of gain, by the \nbrittlenefs cf their friendfhips and the rancour of their \nenmities, feem to acknowledge that that Jefus, whofe \nreligion they profefs, never lived; that he never \npreached temperance, humility, meeknefs, benefi- \ncence, forgiveneis of injuries; that he ne* er rofe from \nthe dead, and that this world terminates alike the \njoys and forrows, the hopes and fears of man. On \nthe other hand, we do meet with many perfons, par- \n\n\n\nwafting in the flames. Of the butchery which has been per- \npetrated, and th^defolation which has been produced both by \nFanatics and by Atheilts, hiftory will furnifh many a melan- \ncholy recital 5 and if it be difficult to determine on which fide- \nthe guilt preponderates, it lhould teach governments to labour \nto prevent thefe hell-born fiends from fpreading their venom \namong the people ; and this can only he done by compelling the \nm\'mifters of t lie eJlaWJJiment to teach nothing but that furb \n\nMORALITY, WHICH CHRIST TAUGHT, WITHOUT ANT CANT \nOR ANY MYSTERY. \n\nK 2 \n\n\n\n( 132 ) \n\nticularly thofe who are placed low in the vale of \npoverty, who have neither had leifure nor capacity \nto examine the evidences of revealed religion ; who \nhave not what may be called a rational conviction \nof its truth, and who are unable to render to others \na reafonable account of the hope that is in them, but \nyet whofe lives are an ornament to the religion \nwhich they profefs, whofe actions manifeft its fruits, \nand whofe affections kindle with its holy flame. \n\n19 But as it mud be confefTed that, where the \nmind is convinced without the heart being perfuaded, \nfaith is dead, becaufe barren and unfruitful in the \nknowledge of the truth; fo, on the other hand, we \nmuft acknowledge that where the affections are en- \ngaged in the practice of the duties, without the un- \nderftandmg being exercifed in the examination or \nacquainted with the evidences of revealed religion, \nfaith refts on an unfafe and perilous foundation, eafily \nundermined by the fubtleties of ibphiftry, and fub- \nverted by the (hock of argument. He who knows \nnot the ftrong pillars of evidence on which the reli- \ngion of Jefus refts, who is not able to give him who \nafketh a reasonable account of the hope that is in \nhim, will not long remain unmoved by the reafoning \nof the infidel or the raillery of the fcoffer. The ig- \nnorant man almoft always receives his (trongeft im- \nprefiion from the lad fpeaker ; and is liable to be \nwhirled about, here and there, by every eddy of \nargument and every breath of folly. \n\n\n\n( *33 ) \n\n20. Where a rational conviction of the truth is \nwanting, faith is not eafily fixed; it fluctuates with \nevery new opinion, and changes with every wind of \ndoctrine. Hence ignorant people are always the \neafy prey of vifionaries or Fanatics ; whofe absurd- \nities they have not judgment enough to fee, and \nwhofe crafty machinations thev have not iagacity to \npenetrate. Hence they are fomerimes perfuaded, \non the flighted grounds, and the weakeft reafons, to \nforfake a pure, and plain, and rational worfliip, for \none that is polluted with fuperftition , to leave what \nis Ample for what is myfterious ; to relinquish truth \nfor error i and to prefer darknefs to light. Hence, \nin the prefent age, we have feen multitudes of the \nignorant and the credulous ledaftray, from the plain \npaths of common fenfe, by itinerant impoflors; for- \nfaking the Ample, the dignified, and the well-digefted \nprayers of the Church of England, for the confufed \nand crude abortions, the whining cant, and wild ex- \ntravagance of extemporaneous devotion -, abandon- \ning the Ample morality of Cnriu: for unintelligible \ndoctrines, which have no foundation whatever in the \nwords of fcripture, critically understood, andjudi- \ncioufly explained. \n\n2f. Where the mind is not furnifhed with true \nfcriptural knowledge, folly will often triumph over \nwiidom; and the fuffrages of the illiterate crowd \nwill often run ftrongerin favour of thofe who inflame \ntheir feelings, than in favour of thofe who fpeak \n\nK 3 \n\n\n\n( \'34 ) \n\nplainly, but gently to their affections; of thofe who \naddrefs the imagination, than of thofe who endea- \nvour to convince by ftrength of argument. \n\n22. The religious faith, as I have faid, of a rational \nbeing, ought to confift of the aiTent of the mind in- \ncorporated with the perfuafion of the heart. This \nis that faith which is lead liable to change or decay; \nand on whofe faving efficacy the greatefl: dependance \nmay be placed. For it is that faith which God who \nhas given us a faculty to difcern truth from error, \nand who has fo difpofed the evidence of revelation \nas not to fuperfede, but to encourage its exercife, \nrequires at our hands. It is a faith, in the formation \nof which the mind concurs with the affections, and \nin whofe operations reafon moderates and directs \nthe energies of fenfation. This alone is the charac- \nter of that faith which is a reafonable fervice; which \nis moft agreeable to the father of fpirits, and to the \ngenius of Chriflianity. \n\n23. In the formation and the operations of faith, \nthe reafon and the affections mould, as much as is \npoffible, go hand in hand, and act in conjunction. \nThus faith is preferved from the extravagance of en- \nthufiafm and the n.ifchievoufnefs of Fanaticifm; \nfrom the frothinefs of delufion and the barrennefs of \ninaction. If reafon lay the foundations of faith, the \nbulding cannot rife into a fair and beautiful flructure \nwithout the aid of the affections; but if the affections \n\n\n\n( \'35 ) \n\nalone are employed in rearing it, the edifice, wanting \nthe ftrong pillars of reafon, will hardly bear the beat- \n\n\n\ning of the ftorm. \n\n\n\n24. The affections give to faith its beauty and its \nufefulnefs; beauty that delights the eye, and ufeful- \nnefs that cheers the heart ; but reafon gives it ftrength \nand folidity; ftrength that no blaft can lhake, and \nfolidity that is eternal. Reafon, uniting its force with \nthat of the affections, makes the prefence of religious \nbelief delicious to the individual and its operations \nbeneficial to humanity, \n\n25. Without fome degree of rational conviction, \nreligious belief refts, as it were, on a cloud of vapour; \nand it is fubject to all the alternations and capriciouf- \nnefs of prejudice in fome cafes, and to its ^bilinacy in \nothers. We cannot give a rational affent to what we \nknow not, any more than we can be faid rationally to \nprefer one thing to another without knowing or in- \nveftigating the right grounds of preference. Our belief \nin revealed truth, like our belief in any other truth of \nimportance, jhouldbe rational that it may be firm. It \nfhould be the effect of the underftanding that it may \nremain the fubject of the will. From that to which we \naffent without knowing why, we are always liable to \ndiffent without knowing wherefore. We have ken \nthis truth exemplified in many recent inltances; and \nit is to this principally that the Fanatics owe the pre- \nfen: magic of infatuation which they poffefs, and the \n\nK. 4 \n\n\n\n( & } \n\nprefent harveft of popular delufion by which they are \nfed. As it is impoflible to fee clearly when the \nvifion is dim, or the nerve of fight faint, or to hear \ndiftinctly where the organ of hearing is paralytic ; fo it \nis impoflible to believe juftly when the organ of con- \nviction, which is the mind, is either incapable of act- \ning, or has never been called into action. \n\n26. The faith of thofe, who have not leifure to \nprofecute a diligent inquiry into the evidences of re- \nligion, muft indeed always, in fome degree, reft on \nthe authority of others. But, thanks be to God, \nthat, in this enlightened period of this enlightened \ncountry, the faith even of the peafant or the artifan \nneed not be a blind affent to they know not what, or \nthey know not why. Their belief may be grounded \non knowledge. Their minds may, without a wicked \nnegligence on their own parts, be inftructed in the \nevidences of Chriftianity, fufficiently to give a rea- \nfonable account of the hope that is in them ; to com- \nbat the arguments, and to penetrate the fophiftry of \nthe gainfayer. In a country in which there are few \nChriftians who cannot read, in which there are few \nvillages without fchools for the inftruction of the poor \nin the rudiments of learning, and none without a \nchurch for their improvement in righteouihefs, few \nindeed mud be the perfons who can complain, with- \nout injuftice, that they are deprived of the means of \nreligious information. \n\n\n\n( \'37 ) \' \n\n<&7\xc2\xab In thefe days many books have been publish- \ned, and widely circulated, in which the evidences of \nrevelation have been briefly, clearly, and forcibly ex- \nplained. And though the poor may meet with none \nof thefe treatifes, they may fupply the defect by the \nfludy of the fcriptures; by comparing the prophecies \nin the OldTeftament refpecting the Median with their \ncompletion in the New ; in the perfon, the life, the \nfuffe rings, the death, and the redirection of Jefus \nChrifl. They may diminifh their doubts, and in- \ncreafe their conviction by the ferious perufal of that \nwonderful prophecy, relative to the difperfion of the \nJews, which occurs Deut. xxviii. and which they \nmay behold fulfilled before their eyes. They, may \nfee its exact and almoft literal accompli foment in the \nfate of that extraordinary people, who are fcattered \nover the whole world, living among all the nations \nof the earth, but yecpreferving the language, the \nmanners, and the inttitutions of their ancedors ; di- \nvided from . each other by kingdoms, by feas and \nmountains, but maintaining a fort of national inter- \ncourfe like an united people; denying the Chriftian \nfcriptures, but bearing their concurrent teftimony to \nthe truth of thofe of the Old Tedament; believing \nin the divine original of the law of Mofes, in whofe \nwritings their prefent difperfion is threatened and \ndefcribed, and, from many hints in the law and \nthe prophets, dill expecting, with undiaken confi- \ndence, an end to their difperfion, and a reiteration to \nthe country of their fathers. And if the prophetic \n\n\n\n( \'3* ) \n\nproofs of the divine original of Chriftianity fhould be \ndeemed vague, indefinite, and un fat is factory, (till \neven thofe of the meaneft capacities, who are not \nwilfully remifs or criminally indifferent in a matter of \nfuch great moment, may obtain a rational aflfurance \nof the truth of revealed religion, by carefully perufing \nonly the Englifh transition of thofe memoirs of the \nfounder of Chriftianity, which are contained in the \nwritings of the four Evangelifts, of whom at lead two \nwere actual fpectators of what they related, and the \nreft drew their accounts from the information of \nthofe who had been with Jefus from the beginning; \nwho were well acquainted with the doctrines which \nhe preached, and the miracles which he wrought. \nIn the narrative of thefe four independant witnefTes, \nin which there is every mark of honeft truth and art- \nlefs fimplicity, let the unlearned inquirer confider \nthe perfect doctrine and the fmlefs life of Jefus; let \nhim compare the profound wifdom that is difplayed \nin the one, with the patience, the gentlenefs, the be- \nneficence that were vifible in the other; let him con- \ntrail the fublimity of his character with the lowlinefs \nof his condition; the fplendour of his mi icles with \nthe humblenefs of his deportment; the fear which \nhe excited with the little power which he poiTcfTed; \nthe popularity which he avoided, with that which, \nhad he harboured any ambitious views, he might have \nacquired ; let him confider the total ablence of any \nthing like equivocation, duplicity, or lmpoflure in \nevery word that he Ipoke; the prudence with which \n\n\n\n( 139 ) \n\nhe conduced himfelf in the mod embarrafling cir- \ncumdances ; the fagacity of his anfwers to the mod \nperplexing quedions; the meeknefs with which he \nendured the mod humiliating infuksj the filence \nwith which he abafhed the fcorner; the force and au- \nthority with which he rebuked the hypocrite; the \ntendernefs and affection with which he indrucled the \nfimple; the concern which he fhewed for the bodies \nand die fouls of men; the rcadinefs with which he \nrelieved their wants, and the fympathy which he dif- \ncovered for their iorrows; the love which he mani- \nfefted for his friends, and the fervour with which he \nprayed for his enemies; the fortitude with which he \niudered a molt ignominious death, and the glory \nwith which he role to an endiefs life. Thefe confi- \nderations are, I think, fufficient to prove, whether \nto thole who are funk in the vale of ignorance, or to \nthofe who have icaled the heights of learning, that \nJefus was no irnpodor; but was what he declared \nhimfelf to be, \xe2\x80\x94 a man fent from God to reveal the \nmod weighty truths, and to inftrucl and animate \nthe world in the way of righteoufnefs. \n\n28-. But when the rich or the poor, the peafant or \nthe philofopher have, by the inveftigatibn of the \nevidences of revealed religion, or by the dudyofthe \nfcriptures, attained to a reafonable conviction of the \ntruth of Chridianity, let them well confider that faith \nis vain without works; let them not endeavour to \nfix the truth of religion in the underftanding without \n\n\n\n( i 4 o ) \n\nkindling its fpirit in the affections. Let them all \nremember, that an aflent to the truth of religion \nought to lead to living righteoufnefs; and let me \nmore efpecially admoniih the philofopher to con- \nfider, that the fubde refinements, the profound de- \nductions, the fplendid fy (terns, or the lofty fpecula- \ntions of learning and of genius, are but vain and ufe- \nlefs things, unlefs they are affbeiafed with that wifdom \nwhich mends the heart, and maketh wife unto Ja Iva \ntion. \n\n29. Faith, when taken in its Uriel: fcriptural fig- \nnification, as comprehending, in one wordy the ajfent of \nthe mind and the perjuafion of the hearty is necejfarily \nand uniformly productive of righteoufnefs. In this fenfe \nthe word faith means not only the feed, but the fruits \nof righteoufnefs ; it reprefents the Christian religion \nnot only as approved by the mind, but principled in \nthe heart, and manifested in the conduct. In this \nfenfe the word faith is often applied in the fcrip- \ntures, as including a belief in the truth of the mif- \nfion of Jefus, and the practice of his precepts. Faith, \nwhen it fignifies only the conviclion of the mind, is not \nuniformly and necefTarily productive of righteouf- \nnefs. The understanding may be acquainted with \nthe evidences of religion, where the ipirit of piety \nis not excited in the heart. \n\n3c. When we endeavour to imprefs the mind of \nan Athciit with a rational conviction of the being of \n\n\n\n( Hi ) \n\na God, we fhould endeavour, at the fame time, to \nanimate the heart with fuch a trull in his moral go- \nvernment, and fuch a lively fenfe of his fatherly- \nconcern for the welfare of his creatures, as will cer- \ntainly engender benevolence in the difpofttion, and \nmorality in the conduct. When we undertake to \nbring the evidences of Chriftianity home to the un- \nderstanding of a Deii\'t, we fhould, at the fame time, \nendeavour to bring its duties home to his affections. \nWe fhould endeavour not only to make him believe \nthat the founder of Chriftianity was a perfon fent \nfrom God to reveal his will, but fhould earneftly \nperfuade him to imitate the goodnefs of Chrift, and \nto follow the example of his finlefs life. We fhould \nafliduoufly fix the thoughts on this wholefome con- \nclusion, without which the glory of the Chriftian \nreligion withers and decays, that faith is vain if it \nbe not fruitful in good works 5 and we mould em- \nploy every exertion to produce fuch a juft fenfe of \nthe happinefs connected with the praftice of righte- \noufnefs, as may warm and intereft the foul in its \nperformance. \n\n31. The great work of faith is but half-finifhed \n\nwhere the mind is convinced without the heart being \n\ntouched, or where the heart is touched without the \n\nmind being convinced. The faith of a being like \n\nman, highly intellectual and exquifitively fenfitive, \n\nfhould be the united effect of reafon and fenfation. \n\nThe reafon fhould be able to difcern, and to defend \n\n\n\n\n\n( 14* ) \n\nthe truth of religion, and the fenfations (hould glow \nwith the flame of piety. There fhould be a vital \nprinciple of belief in the one, and a vital principle \nof action in the other. \n\n32. The perfection of faith con fit ft 9 in the convic- \ntion of the mind blended with the periuafion of the \nheart; or, in other words, in a ration j1 acknowledg- \nment of the truths to be believed with the habitual \nperformance of the duties to be pracli fed. The \ntruths to be beiieved were intended to favour the \ngrowth and to promote the performance of the \nduties to be practifed ; and the one cannot be feparated \nfrom the other without doing violence to both. \nThe truths to be believed are, the refurre&kn of the \ndead> a future life, and a day of judgment, in order to \nmultiply and itrengthen the motives to practical \nobedience; and unlefs, through the operation of the \nreafon and the affections, thefe truths do deter from \nevil and animate to good, they are believed in vain. \n\n33. It does too often happen that the truth of re- \nligion is acknowledged, and its evidences approved \nby the underftanding, when its power is net prac- \ntically evinced in the conduct. This melancholy \noppofition of the mind to the heart, and of the con- \nduct to the judgment, generally takes place when \nthe affections, which ought to be engaged on the \nfide of religion, are devoted to lefs worthy objects; \nabforbed in the cares of the world or the pleafures \n\n\n\n( H3 ) \n\nof fenfe, which wean the heart from God and caufe \nthofe whofe opinions are by no means tainted with \nthe fpeculative tenets of infidelity to hold the truth \nin unrighteoufnefs, and to live as if they were really \ninfidels. \n\n34. "While we are difcufilng the nature and incul* \neating the neceffity of faith, it will, I think, be worth \nour while to employ a little time in confidering what \nare thofe ejfentials of belief without a fincere aflent \nto which true Chriftian faith cannot exift; and what \nare thofe acceflbries of belief which may be adopted \nor rejected ; which may be believed or difbelieved, \nwithout increafing the virtue of faith on the one \nhand, or diminifhing it on the other. \n\n35. The efTential matters of religious faith appear \nto me to be thefe, \xe2\x80\x94 that there is a God j that he \nmade the world by his power, and governs it by his \nprovidence ; that the founder of the Chriftian reli- \nligion was the favoured Son of God, who was put \nto death by the Jews, and who rofe again from the \ndead, fbefe are truths ejfential to be believed \\ and \nwithout an affent to which, faith is imperfe5f. From \nthefe flow other indifptnfable truths, which have a \nnear relation to the former, and are the great incen- \ntives to practical goodnefs 5 and which are principally \nthefe, \xe2\x80\x94 that this life is a (late of trial; and that there \nis a ftate of retribution after death, when all man- \nkind will be judged according to their works, and \n\n\n\nC *44 ) \n\nwhen the happincfs of Individuals will be proportion- \ned to their improvement in righteoufnefs in the life \nwhich now is. Thefe are the truths, both fpecu- \nlative and practical, moft neceffiry to be imprefied \nupon the mind, and to be cherifhed in the heart , \nand he, to whofe confcience they are facred, and to \nwhofe affections they are dear, cannot but be in the \nftrait path to eternal glory, though he may not fub- \nfcribe to other points of doctrine which are lefs \nclearly revealed or more ambiguoufly expreffed ; \nwhich are more dark and dubious, and have no ne- \nceffary connexion with righteoufnefs To all tboje \nChriftiansy of all communions , who hold thofe effenttals of \nfaith which I have enumerated, (and what sincere \nChriftian of what communion is there who rejects \nthem ?) we may and ought to give the right hand of \nfellowjhi-py however much we may differ from them about \nfome abftnife and myfterious matters of f peculation. \n\n36. Chridians are too prone to contend with each \nother about points not eilential to falvation -, and \nmany of the religious difputes among Chriftians are \nmere difputes about words. Some ufe the words \nfaith and grace in one fenfe, and others in a different; \nand then they fight about the word, when, perhaps, \nthey are agreed about the doctrine. Few indeed \nare the Chriftians, except thofe \xe2\x80\xa2; the ncceffity \n\nof moral goodnefsy and think that the righteoufnefs of \nChrijly or the nr/rightcovfnefs of Adam is made theirs \nby imputation, who do not concur in opinion about \n\n\n\nC 145 ) \n\nthe eflentials of religion. They ail agree in the be- \nlief, that there is a God, that he is the moral gover- \nnor of the world, that J efus is the Chrift, the Mef- \nfiah, the Son of God, that he was put to death, and \nrofe from the dead; that this life is a ftate of trial, \npreparatory to another, in which every man will be \nrecompenfed according to his works. Thofe who \ncordially acquiefce in thefe tenets, ought, in matters \noflefs moment, to hold the unity ofthefpirit in the bond \ncf peace \\ for thefe tenets are the main pillars of belief \non whofe adamantine ftrength genuine Christianity \nwill for ever reft ; defying the moil furious attacks \nand the fiercer! dorms. \n\n37. There are certain fubordinate articles of faith, \nabout which great heats have, at different periods, \nbeen fomented in the Church, which have occafion- \ned bitter difTenfions and implacable animofities ; but \nof which the profeflors of a religion, that breathes \ncharity in every precept, would have done well to \nabandon the difcuflion, in order to provoke one ano- \nther to love and to good works. It is not a little \nremarkable, that points of doctrine which tend not \nunto holinefs, and which cannot be important, be- \ncaufe they are not distinctly revealed, are ufually \ndifcufTed as if they were of the lad importance; as if \nthe very exiftence of religion depended on their fup- \nport ; and as if, were they removed from the Chris- \ntian fabric, the foundations would give way, and the \nwhole building fall to ruins. \n\nL \n\n\n\n( \'46 ) \n\n5$. In religion, men are too much governed by \nthe force of imagination. Hence, they are fo much \ncaptivated with the myfterious and the obfeure. \nThey are delighted with fomething vaft and invifible, \nwhich they do not know and which cannot be known; \nbut whofe heights fancy exalts and whofe dimenfions \nit expands. What appears before their eyes, they \nthink little and dwarfifh ; becaufe it is not too vail \nfor their perceptions. What is removed beyond \nthe utmoft ftretch of the underftanding, they prize \nbeyond meafure, becaufe it is hid in darknefs. Thus \nthey think doctrines important in proportion as they \nare obfeure. What is eafy and fimple they depre- \nciate ; what is difficult they extol ; what is obvious \nthey neglect; and where the wayfaring man would \nnot err, they are loft in an endlefs maze. Little do \nthey confider that thofe points of uncertain fpecula- \ntion, to which as much confequence is attached as \nif they alone divided the confines of heaven and of \nhell, cannot be of fuch great importance, or they \nwould not have been Jo ambiguoujly exprejfed-, that \nGod would not have left any tenets ejjential to falvation \nliable to fitch a ftrange diverfity of opinions, that the \nmoft confeientious Chrifiians have entertained Jentimen! $ \nthe moft oppofite on their importance and their truth. \nBut, forgetting this plain inference, which common \nfenfe fuggefts and found piety enforces, thofe Chrif- \ntians who love darknefs better than light, and pre- \nfer one impulfe of imagination to a thoufand deduc- \ntions of reafon, labour to explore the labyrinths, or \n\n\n\n( 147 ) \n\nto traverfe the clouds of myftery, while they lofe \nfight of truths which are as pure as they are plain, \nand which come home to the interefts and the bo- \nfoms of all mankind. But there is, perhaps, to an \nill-regulated mind and a vitiated tafte, a certain irre- \nfiftible attraction in the fhapelefs maiFes of abfurdity \nwith which the myftic theology abounds; as, on \nfome occafions, a certain degree of darknefs feems \nto i-ncreafe, to an immeafurable bulk and ftature, the \nvapours rifing from fome fpreading moor; making \nthe landfcape vantfti from the fight, and perplexing \nthe traveller on his way. \n\n40. The Sceptic, who feoffs on religious fubjects, \nwho derides all revelation as an impofture, who \nfpeaks with contempt of its evidences and without \nreverence of its author, who indulges himfelf in fool- \nifh jetting and impious blafphemy on fubjects of \nwhich every ferious man who does not affent to \nthe truth will confefs the importance, is a wretch \nunworthy the fociety of his fpecies, and hardly de- \nferving the common offices of humanity. There is \nfuch a vaft accumulation of probabilities in favour \nof the truth of revealed religion as may well make \nthe rafh paufe, and the fcorner dumb ; and even if \nthe evidences of Chriflianity were not half fo fatis- \nfaclory as they are, Hill the belief of it is fo nearly \nconnected with the dearefl interefts of mankind, with \ntheir moil refrelhing hopes and their fweeteft confo- \nlations, that 71a unbeliever, whofe bofom glows wit& \n\nL2 \n\n\n\n( \'43 ) \n\nonly one /park of tendernejs for his fellow- creatures y \nwould difcufs its truths with levity, or load its fupporters \nwith infult. But a fober and humble difTent even \nfrom the truth of revelation, though it may excite \nour concern, ought not to provoke our rage. It \nfhould rather awaken the feelings of companion than \nthe virulence of fcorn ; it fhould rather produce \ngentlenefs of exhortation than intemperance of abufe. \nOn any topics, and particularly on the weighty mat- \nters of religion, it is not becoming to fpeak unad- \nvifedly with our lips. The unbelief of any man, as \nfar as he employs no fcurrility to revile, and no fo- \nphiftry to fhake the belief of others, is fubject to \nthe cognizance of God alone*. As there is one \nwho judgeth we are not to pafs Jentence on the infidel \nbefore his time\\ but are to leave him, though with \n\n\n\n* " Omnes in feipfum armat, qui in alios, quos errare credit, \narmatur. Par omnium in omnes jus eft. Qui fibi jus tribuit coer- \ncendi alios, idem aliis in fe ipfum idem jus ul concedat, necefie \neft. Nulli homini aut ecclefiae judicium infallibile de errori- \nbus aliorum delatum eft. Quare ft coercitiones ullae admit- \nt.untur, quid erit Chriftianifmus aliud, quam gladiatorum in \n1"c invicemconcurrentium arena, ac mutua inque vicem rediens \nincarceratio, relegatio et flagellatio? Hie itaque primus obex \nponendus eft, alioquin facile ulterius ad fanguinem et caedem \nibitur. Facilis ab una poena ad aliam progrelTus eft ; et ubi \nfemel horror poenarum animo exemtus eft, fanguis etiam tan- \ndem vilis haberi incipit. Nee praetextus defunt. Crudelitas \ndum fibi indulget, facile manlellum repent, quo fe tegit." Vid. \nEpifcop. op. torn. ii. Apol. Coufeif. Rcmonft. p. 210, 2 11. \n\n\n\n( 149 ) \n\ntrembling apprehenfion, to the great day of account, \nwhen the fecrets of all hearts fhall be revealed. \n\n41. The confcioufnefs that men do not fometimes \nnotice what is placed before their eyes, and do not \nalways comprehend truths that feem to others too \nplain to be miftaken, fhould check the riling ebul- \nlitions of intolerance in the human breaft; fhould \nmake us bear with the froward, and conduct our- \nfelves with gentlenefs toward thofe who oppofe \nthemfelves. \n\n\n\nL3 \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT Cx\\NT. \n\n\n\n-\xc2\xab \n\n\n\n\xc2\xa5he Docfrine of Regeneration, rational, fcriptural, and \n\nprafticaL \n\n\n\nT. The doctrine which principally engrofies the \nconfideration of the Fanatics is that of regeneration -, \non which they arc unfparing of their cant, and lavifh \nof their impofture. It is the pillar of their hypo- \ncrify, and the corner (lone of their fuperftition. \nWhen they attempt to explain this important arti- \ncle of the Chriftian religion, they utter only a con- \nfufed heap of words without meaning. Indeed words \nwithout meaning and founds, by which no certain \nideas are conveyed, are the props of their fraud, and \nthe engines of their extortion *. \n\n\n\n* V If the trumpet," fays the Apoftle, " give an uncertain \nfound, who fhall prepare himfelf to the battle." The trumpets \nwhich the Fanatics blow in our flreets and villages, in our \nchurches and conventicles, are, indeed, very fonorous; but that \nthey utter any very diflinft founds, I cannot take upon me to \n\n\n\n( i5i ) \n\n2 The Fanatics fuppofe regeneration to be a \nchange wrought in the foul in direct oppofition to \nthe will and the affections. According to their no- \ntions, the rational faculties of the creature are as \nlittle concerned in the production of the new birth \nas they are in that of our original formation in the \nwomb. They feign that man is, by the conftitution \nof his nature, fo prone to evil, and fo averfe to \ngood, that his depravity is inherent and incurable. \nThis depravity, they fay, expofes us, from the ntft \nmoment of our exigence, to God\'s wrath and dam- \nnation. Thus they reprefent God as angry with us, \nfor no other reafon than becaufe we are born. \nBut this is fo grofs a perverfion of fcripture and \nreafon, that it hardly deferves a confutation. God \ncannot be angry with us merely for being born; for \nwe are born without our confent, and have no choice \ngiven us either to be born or not, either to have or \nnot to have exiftence. \n\n3. Our natural birth can be no tranfgreflion, for \nthere can be no criminality in any act whatever to \nwhich the will does not confent. All Cm mull ne- \n\n\n\n1 \n\ndeclare j and their hearers feem, in general, no more edified by \nthe noife, than by a dream arifing from indigeftion. St. Paul \n(1 Cor. xiv. 19.) prefers five words fpoken with the under- \nstanding to ten thoufand words fpoken in an unknown lan- \nguage. Let the Fanatics abandon their fenfelefs jargon for \nplain common fenfe. \n\nL 4 \n\n\n\n( 152 ) \n\ncefTarily be the violation of Tome known law, and the \ndoing of fomething which our confcience or our rea- \nfon tells ought not to be done; but as we cannot be \nthe fubjects of any legal obligation before we have \nexigence, and, moreover, as we can do neither right \nnor wrong, before we have any perception of right or \nwrong, it is clear that we are not f inner s hy birth ; \nand that we are not, and cannot be created in guilt \nor wickednefs. \n\n4. It is God who makes us. It is his power \nwhich fafhions us in the womb ; and it is only by \nhis permiffion that we come into the world. As \nour exiftence, therefore, is the gift of God, and our \nbirth is the exertion of his will, we cannot fuppofe \nthat he, who directs us to do good, would have given \nus a nature incapable of doing it -, or that he would \nthreaten us with punifhment for working iniquity, if \nhe had rendered our nature fo addicted to fin, that \nwe could not help finning. God defires us to work \nrighteoufnefs; and he has given us a capacity to do it. \nHe has not by an arbitrary decree made us finners, \nand then, by an act of tyranny, threatened to punifri \nus for not obeying a law which he had previouQy \nmade us incapable of obeying. But, if we came into \nthe world, fuch vile, debafed, and corrupt creatures, \nas the Fanatics tell us, with fo much depravity in \nour flefh, and (o much guilt clinging to our fouls, fin \nwould be unavoidable on our parts. Sin would be \nour inftinct, our nature; and it would be as natural \n\n\n\n( *S3 ) \n\nfor us to commit all manner of crimes, as it is for a \nhorfe to eat grafs. We mould have as ilrong a bias \nto moral corruption, as we have to drink when we \nare dry, or to eat when we are hungry. But this \nwould be to deftroy the very nature of fin \xe2\x80\xa2, for fin is \nan abufe of our free will; and if the will were not \nfree to choofe either good or evil, we mould no \nlonger be accountable for our actions. But God, \nevidently, fuppofcs that we have a capacity either \nto keep his commandments, or to break them j for \nhe would not otherwife have determined to judge us \naccording to our works. \n\n5. The fuppofition that we are born finners makes \nGod the author of our fin ; for, as it is by his will \nthat we are born, it mufl be his fimplejfo/ that con- \nftituted us finners, if we came into the world in a (late \nof fin. Thus this abfurd doctrine would throw the \nblame of all our tranfgre (lions on our good Creator. \nLet us beware of indulging fuch horrid blafphemy; \nlet us beware of harbouring notions fo totally oppo- \nfite to the goodnefs of God. If God had made us \nfinners, as he certainly would have made us if we \nwere finners from the womb, he could not with any \nreafonable (how of juftice have propofed to punifh us \nfor our fins, or to judge us by our works *. For, \n\n* The following text is frequently urged by the advocates \nof original corruption as decifive in their favour: " Behold \nI was ihapen in wickednefs; and in fin hath my mother con- \nceived me." Pfalm li 5. " The words," fays Jeremy Taylor, \n"are an Hebraifmj and flgnify nothing but an aggranda- \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xbb54 ) \n\nwould it not be not only rank injuliice, but revolt- \ning cruelty in any parent, to punifh a child for ac- \n\n\n\ntion of hisfinfulnefs." u If David," continues this great Theolo- \ngian, " had meant this of himfelf, and that in regard of original \nfin, this had been Jo far from being a penitential exprtjjion, or a \nc0?l f c JJ- n ^, \xc2\xb0fhisfn, that it had been a plain accufation of God, and \nan excufng of himfelf As if he had faid, " O Lord, I confefs I \nhave fumed in this horrible murder and adultery, but thou, O \nGod, Jinoivejl hozv it comes to pafs, even by that fatal punijhment \n\xe2\x80\xa2which thou didjl, for the Jin of Adam , injlitl on me and all man^ \nhind 3000 years before I tuas born, \'hereby making me to fall into \nfo horrible corruption of nature, that, unlefs thou didjl ir re fifthly \nforce me f ro77i it, I cannot abjlain from any fin, being 77iofi naturally \ninclined to all." Who would fuppofe David to make fuch a \nconfefiion, or, in his forrow, to hope for pardon for upbraiding \nnot his own folly, but the decrees of God ?" See Practice of \nRepentance, 394, 3q6. John Taylor, of Norwich, makes many \nobfervations on this text, firnilar to thofe of his name-fake \nthe Bifhop of Down and Connor. He calls it " an hyperbolical \nform of aggravating fin, whereby he (the Pfalmift) loadcth him- \nfelf, and ftrongly condtmneth the impurity of his heart, and \nthe loofe he had given to his own unlawful inclinations." See \nJohn Taylor\'s Scripture Doctrine of O. S. 4th edit. p. \\Z~ . \nOn this expreflion of the Pfalmift, Grotius fays, " Senftis eft \nJ\\on 72unc tamu77i, fedet a pueritia meafspius peccain. Eft enim \nloquendi genus l,Vc;ooA<hcv (fupt rji ctivum) ut oftendit col- \nlatio." Job xx:a. 18. Pfalm xxii. 10, II. lviii. 4. Ixxi. 0, 0. \nEfaiae xlviii. 8. Vid. Grot op. torn, 1. p. 231. The note of \nthe great Le Clerc on this paflagc is well worth reading. I \nfhall extract a part of it. \xe2\x80\x94 " Earn refpicit setatem, qua deliu- \nquere potuit, non cum primum formanetur in uteio matris, \nquo tempore peccare rcquibat; omne cnitn peccatum, cum fit \nviolatio legii Divin.e, notam cam noceflarid ft at uil ; aut certe \nnofci potuiife a delinquente, nee nifi ejus culpa ignotum 5 pof- \n\n\n\n( Hi ) \n\ntions of which he himfelf was the author; or for a \n\nrnode of conduct which he had irrefiflibly compelled \nhim to purfue ? And, yet, if we fuppofe that we \nare born finners, fo difpofed to evil that we ruih \ninto moral corruption from neceflity rather than \n\n\n\ntulatque ut is rationis compos fit, hoc eft, norit quid agat, ab \neoque etiam abllineat, fi velit, fine quibus rebus, nemo reus \nh^hieri queat. Haec, quae recH ratione et ufu fcripturae nitun- \ntur, nunquam aliter intellecla fuiflent ; ft femper chriftiani \nratiocinandi et interpretandi artibus asque polluirTent. Sed \ntemporibus , quitus hce artes parum notcc> aut negledtce erant> fine \ndeclamitandi et argutandi facilitate, not a funt dogmata f ante ra- \ntioni plane contraria, nee magis fcripturce confentanea, ad qiue \nScrigtorum facrorum ab wiper it is pojlea detorta funt. Et tajnen \nnobis ea fazcula y quafi norma veritatis, hodie proponuntur, eorum- \nque commenta, injiar religionis Chri/liance defenduntur /" Vid. \nCleric. Lib. Hagiog. fol. Amftel. 1/31. p. 314, 315. Another \npaflage, on which much ftrefs is laid by the patrons of this \npernicious doctrine, is Job xiv. 4. " Who can bring a clean \nthing out of an unclean ? Not one." John Taylor, in his maf- \nterly book, fays, that " this is a fentence of the proverbial kind; \nand ufed to fignify that nothing can be more perfect than its ori- \nginal. And, therefore, as it fuits all cafes, muft be underftood \naccording to the fubject to which it is applied. Here it evidently \nflands in relation to our mortality. As if he had faid, Man is \nborn of a woman. We fpring from a mortal flock, and there-\' \nfore are frail mortals" Taylor, p. 142. \n\nI muft here flay to remark that, in this place, Job xiv. 4, the \nfeventy read *{$ yap xaQctoo; select aito fuirs ; literally, who fhall \nbe clean from pollution ? A man that has told a lie cannot, in \nrefpedl to moral purity, be in the fame ftate as if he had always \nfpoken truth ; nor can he who has violated his integrity be as \nif he had been uniformly juft. \n\n\n\n( \'56 ) \n\nfrom choice, we cannot help cafting the imputation \nof injuftice and of cruelty upon God. But the fcrip- \ntures, when rightly underftood, and not perplexed \nand obfcured by thofe who make God the author \nof fin, and ufe the gofpel as a cover for their un- \ngodly practices and pernicious doctrines, \xe2\x80\x94 the fcrip- \ntures lead us to a very different conclufion. They \nexprefbly declare that man is born pure, upright, and \ninnocent j fo innocent that our Saviour reprefented \nrighteous perfons under the emblem of little children. \nNothing can be more harmlefs, and fimple, and \nlovely than little children; and inftead of being born \ndepraved, guilty, and objects of God\'s indignation, \nthey are created unvitiated and finlefs, and more \nefpecially objects of the divine love and protection. \n\n6. It is clear, then, from the authority of our Sa- \nviour, who could not lie, and who mud have rightly \nunderftood the doctrine which he had received com- \nmiffion from his father to preach, that little children \nare born innocent -, and that confequently the nature \nof man is not neceffariiy, and by an arbitrary ap- \npointment made vitiated or depraved. If little chil- \ndren were born, as the Fanatics aflert, corrupt and \nfinful creatures, objecls of wrath, and fubject to pu- \nnifhment, the unhappy parent might well mourn \nover his offspring* 3 fome of whom are, perhaps, \n\n\n\n* The Calvinifts will tell you that hell is full of little chil- \ndren not a fpan long. \n\n\n\n( Hi ) \n\nhardly put into the cradle before they are carried to \nthe grave, or who do not arrive at years of difcre~ \ntion before they are covered with the darknefs of \ndeath *. If guilt and wickednefs were the inherent \nand efifential properties of human nature, well might \nthe parent lament the untimely deiiruclion of his \nchildren, who would be carried into a place of tor- \nment, and born only to be eternally miferable. \n\n7. But as the doctrine of hereditary depravity is \nan unfcriptural fiction, and as the guilt of Adam is \nnot tranfmitted to his pofterity, let no parent forrow, \nas one without hope, for his little innocents who are \nfuddenly nipped by the blaft of death ; for the mo- \nment they expire, they are conveyed by angels into \nAbraham\'s bofom. They are only taken from the \nevil to come, and dying before they can diftinguifh \nright and wrong, they die without tranfgreflion, and \npafs from the realms of mortality into manfions of \n\ns lor y- j \n\n8. Before men can pofllbly deferve punifhment \nfor fin, they mud be per/anally finners. They muft \nhave wilfully violated fome divine law ; for we can- \nnot fuppofe that God would punifh one man for \nthe offences of another. God exprefsly declares \nthat every man (hall bear his own burthen 5 fufier \n\n\n\n* If the doclrineof hereditary corruption were true, it would \nfee a duty, paramount to all others, not to marry. \n\n\n\n( \'58 ) \n\nfor his own fins ; and be recompenfed according to \nhis own righteoufnefs. Before men can be fubject \nto the punifhment of human laws, they muft have \nviolated thofe laws; and before thev can become ob- \nnoxious to the punifhment of the divine laws, they \nmuft have been guilty of actual tranfgrefilon. But \nhow can infants offend againft laws of whofe obli- \ngations they cannot be fcnfible? No guilt can be \nimputed where there is no capacity of diftinguifhing \ngood and evil, and of choofing between them. But \ndo any of us poffefs this capacity till we have been \nfome years in the world, till reafon begins to dawn, \nand confeience to expand ? Infants cannot, there- \nfore, be born finners, nor fubject to the divine dif- \npleaiure. Indeed the fuppofnion is the abfurdeft of \nall abfurdities, and can be entertained only by thofe \nwho are as ignorant of the fcriptures as they are \ninfenfible to the divine perfections. \n\n9. But if men are not born finners, how do they \nbecome fo ? The anfwer is eafy. By neglected \neducation, vicious example, and wilful infraction of \nthe faiutary dictates of reafon and of confeience. \nSin is not an innate (late of the difpofition, but an \nacquired habit. Its growth is flow and gradual. So- \nlomon, the v/ifeit of men, and whofe reafonings on \nhuman nature prove him to have been intimately \nacquainted with the human heart, has bequeathed \nthis prudent exhortation to thofe who have the care \nof the early years of man. Train up a child in \n\n\n\n( \'59 ) \n\nthe way that he fhould go, and when he is old he \nwill not depart from it.* The king of Ifrael would \nnever have delivered this fage counfel, if the nature \nof man were radically depraved and vicious ; for it \nwould be impoffible, by the moft judicious educa- \ntion or management, to make a child walk in the \nright way, in whofe dipofition the Author of nature \nhad planted an irrefiftible propenfity to go in the \nwrong. But God has imparted no fuch bias to evil \nto the human will; he has left man free to choofe \neither good or evil. Sin is, therefore, not a matter \nof neceffity but of choice. \n\n10. U fuch be the nature of man, pure and in* \ncorrupt, free to choofe either good or evil, but lia- \nble to temptation and capable of corruption, it is \nplain that man must be a sinner before he \nis a penitent; and that no change is neceffary to be \nwrought in the heart and\' difpofition of mati, till habits \ncf fin are incorporated in his frame. But, according \nto the doctrine of the Fanatics, that change of mind \nand affections which is called the new birth, is full as \nneceffary to the falvation of an infant that is born in \na ftate of innocence as of an old man that is harden- \n\n\n\n* " Si malos habitus anteverterimus, bona educaticne, ad \nfene&utem ufque, lint excluli, certe magna ex parte. Non \nfequitur tamen hinc, ut male edacati femper lint nequam, aut \nbene educati boni: fatis eft hoc etfe plerumque - veruro, aut \ncerte fkpius." Cleric, in Prov. xxii. 6. \n\n\n\n( i6o ) \n\ned in habits of fin. If people came into the world \na rotten mafs of corruption and depravity, their \ndoctrine would be true ; but as children are born \nktnoeentj and fpecial objects of God\'s love and pro- \ntection, no change can be neceffary to be wrought \nin their minds and affections, their difpofitions and \nhabits, till, by an abufe of their free-will and their \nrational faculties, they have tranfgrefied the divine \nlaw, and become obnoxious to punifhment. For \nif children be born innocent, their difpofition is as \npure as it can be, till it becomes tainted by depravity, \n\nii. The innocence of little children fits them for \nheaven; for our Lord has declared "theirs is the \nkingdom of heaven /\' This proves that no change is \nwanting in the human heart till it is vitiated with \nmoral corruption ; for the great end of the new birth \nis to promote that wholefome change in the habits, which \nmakes the pojeffcr meet for the kingdom of heaven. Our \nSaviour tells his difciples that unlefs they be con- \nverted, and become as little children, they cannot \nenter into the kingdom of heaven. Here he is fo \nfar from declaring human nature to be originally \ncorrupt and vicious, that he fuppofes depravity not \nto be the effect of our nature but the growth of our \nhabits ; and he makes true righteoufnefs to confifi in a \nreturn to that Jtmplidty and innocence which we bring \ninto the world, and which we do not lofe till after \n1b me continuance in it; till a perverfe education, \nevil examples, and bad habits have corroded our \n\n\n\n( i6i ) \n\noriginal purity, and given us an unnatural bras to \niniquity. \n\n12. But when we have loft the purity, the fim- \nplicity, and innocence in which we were born, then \na change in the mind and difpofition becomes ne- \ncefTaryj then we cannot hefaved unle/s y in the language \nof our Lord, we be converted, and become as little chiU \ndrew, that is, unlefs the heart be cleanfed from ma- \nlice and from guile. \n\n13. A man muft be a Tinner before it is neceflfary \nfor him to be a penitent. Repentance implies a \nftrong conviction of finfulnefs ; but a man cannot \nrepent of fins which he never committed, and which \nconfequently can make no impreffion upon his torn \nfcience. Moral guilt mud, therefore, be firft con- \ntraded by fome aclual> perfonal tranfgrej/ions, before \nwe can be accounted finners in the fight of God : \nand when perfonal difobedience has made us finners, \nit is neceffary that a change be wrought in our mo- \nral difpofition and habits, that we turn from fin unto \nholinefs, and be renewed in the fpirit of our minds. \n\n14. Thus the doctrine of regeneration becomes \nclear and eafy; for regeneration implies a reforma- \ntion from bad habits unto good ; a return from the \npaths of iniquity unto thofe of righteoufnefs : it is, \nin fact, only another name for repentance confirmed; \nthat repentance, which caufeth not only ibrrow for \n\nM , \n\n\n\n( i6i ) \n\nfin, but produces newnefs of life. The change \nwhich a repentance, thus genuine and fincere, ne- \nceffarily occafions in the mind and affections, is very \naptly reprefented in fcripture as a new birth. It is \na change which caufes the finner to be fo different \nin his temper and conduct from what he was before, \nas to deferve the name of a new creature. He is \nameliorated in heart and mind j he loathes fin ; and \nhe glows with zeal in the purfuit of righteoufnefs. \nThe love of God, by degrees, becomes the ruling \npaffion of his foul. He is warmed with a pcr- \nfuafion that fin is his greateft mifery, and goodnefs \nhis greateft advantage. Thus there is a total change \nin his moral qualities. The outward form of the \nman continues the fame -, but his inward difpofition \nis altered. This is called in fcripture, a renewing of \nthe mind. Thus, for inftance, when a drunkard, \nwho has long lived in habits of intemperance, be- \nginning to fee his error, and to apprehend his dan- \nger, fummons up refolution to forfake that fin which \nfo eafily befets him, and in whofe fnares he has been \nfo long entangled : or, when a liar returns to the \npractice of truth; a thief to the paths of integrity; \nwhen a mifer conquers his love of money, and in- \nftead of being hard-hearted and felfifh, becomes \nkind and charitable to his fellow-creatures ; in thefe \ncafes, thefe different tranfgreffors, by turning away \nfrom their fins, their bad propenfities and habits, to \nhabits, purfuits, and affedtions, more fuitable to the \nChriftian character and the commands of the gof- \n\n\n\n( $9 ) \n\npel, become new creatures. Their hearts are purg- \ned, and their thoughts purified 5 their inclinations \nimproved, and the whole man ameliorated. Such \nchanges are abfolutely neceffary in Juch fmnersy for he \nwho dies hardened in habits of only a fingle fin, can- \nnot enter into the kingdom of heaven. Neither \nfornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effe- \nminate, nor abufers of themfelves with mankind, \n\xe2\x96\xa0 \n\nnor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor re- \nvilers, nor extortioners, (hall inherit the kingdom of \nGod. 1 Cor. vi. 9, 10. \n\n15. In the fcripture, inveterate habits of Cm are \ncalled the old man, fee Eph. iv. 22. which we ,are \ndefired to put off, and, in its (lead, to put on the \nnew man, or habits of righteoufnefs and true holinefs. \nWhile we live in habits of fin, we are the fervants \nof fin -, fin is our matter, and rules us at difcretion : \nbut when we forfake our fins, and repent from our \ndead works, or thofe works of ungodlineis which \nwill end in eternal mifery, we become, as it were, \nnew creatures, created again in Chrift Jefus unto \ngood works, which lead to glory and immortality. \n\n16, The fcriptures feem to intimate that there \nare fome perfons who need no repentance. See Luke \nxv. 7. And our Saviour himfelf exprefsly declares, \n" I came not to call the righteous, but finners to re- \npentance;" Luke v. 32. evidently fuppofing that \nall men are not polluted with the guilt of tranlgref- \n\nM 2 \n\n\n\n( \'64 ) \n\nfion, and that there are fome who are rrii Jlaves to \nfin. Such perfons are ufually thofe who are brought \nup under pious parents in habits of righteoufnefs, \nand pafs from the cradle to the grave without any \nflagrant or mortal fin. They make the divine law \nthe rule of their lives, the ftandard of their conduct, \nand the meafure of their intereft and their happinefs. \nThey live (tcq from all habitual offences, from drun- \nkennefs, from uncleannefs, from lying and injuftice ; \nand commit none of thole immoralities, on account \nof which men will be excluded from heaven. Now, \nas repentance implies a total change of heart and \nlife, of the mind and affections, it is not required \nin thofe whofe lives are regulated by the rules of \nthe gofpel, and in whofe affections the love of God \nprevails. But, neverthelefs, even the righteous, of \nwhom the Jcripture declares that they need no repent- \nance, will be found occqfionally to offend; but their \ntranfgreffions will not be thofe which indicate rooted \ndepravity, but only human infirmity; and we may \nfafely believe, that a good and merciful God will \nnot lay to the charge of his creatures any trifling \nand venial trefpaflfes, which do not indicate fo muGh \nthe perverfenefs of guilt, as the imperfections of \nhumanity. \n\n17. Though there may be fome, who fo feldom \noffend, or whofe offences are fo few and fo venial, \nwho are fo entirely free from all habitual fins, and \nfrom all flagrant vices, as to be faid, in fcripture, to \n\n\n\nt m ) \n\nneed no repentance j yet the greater part of man- \nkind are fo imbruted in corruption, and fo fallen \nfrom the uprightnefs of their nature, that, unlefs they \nare renewed by the power of repentance operating \non the fpirit of their minds, they cannot efcape the \nwrath to come. Mod men, from neglected educa- \ntion, vicious parents, and evil examples, are foon \nimbued with moral pollution. They depart from \nthe innocence of their youth, and the integrity in \nwhich they were created. They begin the career \nof their unrighteoufnefs with fingle fins, which, by \nbeing often repeated, ftrengthen into habits. Then \nguilt grows entwined around their hearts, and fin \nreigns in their members. As their affections be- \ncome depraved, their underftanding becomes dark- \nened. Their evil habits hold them in chains -, they \nare a law in their members, whofe force they find \nit hardly poflible to controul; for nothing is fo des- \npotic as habit, and the fcriptures reprefent it as \nalmoft invincible. \n\n1 8. Habit is juftly called a fecond nature, and \nwe are told by the higheft authority, that it is ar \ndifficult for an Ethiopian to change his fkin, or a \nleopard his fpots, as for a tranfgreffor to depart from \nthe fins which have become rooted in his heart and \nmind by long indulgence. But, woe to the habitual \nfinner, if he die unregenerate, if no change take place \nin his habits before death hath made that change \n\n\n\n( 166 ) \n\nimpoffible! Woe, I fay, to the impenitent and \nhardened tranfgreffor, for he will pafs into mifery \nand torment ! \n\n19. The change that is wrought in the mind and \naffections of the finner muft not be fictitious, but \nreal ; not diffembled, but fincere. Let us therefore \nfee how this change begins, and what are the figns \nof its having taken place. \n\n20. The firft beginning of any faving change in \nthe breaft of a finner is a forrow for fin ; a forrow \npricking the confcience, and troubling the foul. \nThis forrow will always be affociated with a ftrong \nconviction of having tranfgreffed the law of God, \nand of deferving punifhment for our difobedience. \nIt is a forrow that, in its firft commencement, is \nufually excited more by the fears of hell than the \nhopes of heaven. It is a ftronger fenfe of the juft- \nice of an offended, than of the tender mercies of a \nreconciled and reconciling God. But as repentance \nbegins to fhew its fruits not only in the dereliction \nof habits of fin, but in the performance of acts of \nrighteoufnefs, the terrors of a troubled confcience \ngradually fubfide in peace of mind, and fear vanifhes \nin joy of heart. \n\na 1. The law of God, as manifefted in the gofpel \nof Chrift, and which requires us to live foberly, \n\n\n\n( i6 7 ) \n\nrighteoufly, and godly, in this prefent world*, was \nintended for our benefit. If we keep it, it will lead \nus to happinefs ; if we violate it, to mifery. All fin \nconfifts in the tranfgrefiion of this law, which re- \nquires fincere obedience ; and a fteady conviction of \nits juftice, of our duty to obferve it, and of the pu- \nnifhment that awaits the violation, can alone lay the \nfoundation, and prepare the heart for the practice \nof repentance. For we cannot repent without \nknowing that we are finners, or being confcious that \nwe have fomething to repent of. We are finners \nonly fo far, and no farther than we have difobeyed \nthe divine will, or acted contrary to the fober dic- \ntates of our reafon and our confcience ; only fo far \nas we have trefpaffed againft the law infcribed in the \ngofpel, or the law written on our hearts. \n\n22. We cannot violate a fingle precept in the law \nof that gofpel whofe authority we acknowledge, or \nof that unwritten law of confcience whofe obliga- \ntions we feel, without offending God; and when \nGod is offended, nothing but repentance can reftore \nus to his favour; and we are affured that there will be \n\njoy in heaven over one /inner that repenteth. \n\n23. No repentance can be acceptable to God, \nbut that which works not only contrition of heart, \n\n\n\n* The gofpel of Chrift is nothing more than a rule of life. \nSee Anti-Calvinift, Second Edit. p. 25\xe2\x80\x9428. \n\nM 4 \n\n\n\n( i68 ) \n\nbut newnefs of life. The confclence muft not only \nbe racked with remorle, but a change muft be pro- \nduced in the pratlical habits, equivalent to a new crea- \ntion. To the regenerate man old things are pafled \naway. He forfakes his former habits ; his affections \nare fixed on new and better objects j he becomes lefs \ngrofs and fenfual; he learns to refift, to combat, and \nto conquer the vicious propenfities of his animal \nnature \\ and the more the outward man decayeth, \nthe more he is ltrengthened with might in the inner \nmanj his mind and affections are renewed day by \nday. As the great work of repentance proceeds, \nthe mind becomes more ftrongly imprefied with a \nfenfe of duty, and the affections more fervid and \nzealous in the practice. When the affections are \nfet on any thing, the practice is eafy, becaufe it is \npleafant. When the heart is warmed with the ge- \nnuine flame of holinefs, the practice becomes de- \nlightful; for it is affociated with a pleafure that \npafTeth knowledge. \n\n24. He who is hardened in habits of iniquity, \nthinks righteoufnefs a foe to pleafure and an enemy \nto happinefs; but little does he know of the plea- \nfantnefs that is to be found in her paths ; and little \ncan he imagine the joy of heart which fhe fupplies. \nBut when the finner turns to God, he finds that he \nhad formed a very miftaken notion of the nature of \nreligion and the power of piety. For he foon learns \nby experience, that the joy which flows from per- \n\n\n\n( i-h ) \n\nJeverance in goodnefs cannot be compared with the \nutmoft pleafure that can fpring from habits of un- \ngodlinefsj and that the confolation to be derived \nfrom keeping the commandments of God is fo great \nas not to bear any comparifon with that pleafure \nwhich can in any circumiiances accrue from their \nviolation. \n\n25. The ftrongeft token of the reality of our con- \nverfion to God, and of the deftruction of the power \nof fin in our hearts, is conftancy, and zeal, and de- \nlight in doing the will of God. For the righteous \nare perfuaded and convinced that their greater!: in- \ntereft and happinefs confift in the practice of right- \neoufnefs. \n\n26 Obedience to the divine will, to the law of \nreafon and of confeience, and to thofe rules of con- \nduct which our Lord inculcated, muft increafe the \nfum of our earthly enjoyments; and it has the pro- \nmife of eternal glory. But, though obedience to \nthe divine will be evidently our greateft gain, yet \nmen are too apt to imagine that it is their greateft \nlofs. They place their affections on perifliable \nthings , on the gratifications of animal defire ; and \nthey forget that the carnal mind, or the mind, which, \ninftead of governing, is governed by the appetites, \nis enmity againft God. \n\n27. Before men who have long gone aftray in the \n\n\n\n( 170 ) - \n\npaths of unrighteoufccfs, whofe hearts h?.ve been \ndepraved, or whofe minds have been darkened by \nlong continuance in iniquity, can be brought to \nknow that godlinefs is great gain, they mud, in the \nlanguage of the fcripture, be born again. The dif- \npofition of their minds muft be regenerated, and a \nnew fpirit infufed into their fouls. \n\n28. In fome finners, the change which is wrought \nby the fpirit of holinefs is more complete than in \nothers. In fome the word of God brings forth \nthirty fold, in others fixty, in others ninety, in pro- \nportion to the fincerity and honefty of the heart to \nwhich it is communicated. And repentance has \ndifferent degrees of fruitfulnefs. In fome finners a \nmore thorough and radical change of the mind and \naffections takes place than in others ; but no finners \ncan be faid to be eftablifhed in repentance, or to \nhave had that change effected in their moral difpofi- \ntion which (hall fave their fouls, in whom all habitual \n\nfins are not forfaken, and who do not abftain from the \ncommiffion of thofe tranfgrefiions, of which St. Paul \ndeclares, that he who commits them (hall not enter \ninto heaven. \n\n29. Even the regenerate will indeed fometimes \noffend, but their offences will be few, and will favour \nmore of infirmity than of guilt. Thev will not trcf- \npafs in any matter which fhews deliberate malice \nand wickednefs, great obliquity of principle, of fet- \n\n\n\n( i7i ) \ntied corruption of heart. Trifling errors and venial \nimperfections may difcolour the purity of their con- \nduct, but which will difappear in the charity that \nglows in their affections, in the truth that will cha- \nracterize their promifes, and the integrity that will \nbe manifefted in all their actions. \n\n30. For thofe little offences or cafual overfights \nwhich the regenerate may at times commit, they \nhave a heavenly interceflor conftantly fitting at the \nright hand of God j an interceflor who has felt, and \nwho can companionate the wayward thoughts and \nthe unliable refolutions of humanity; and for whofe \nfake the Father of Spirits will not be fevere to mark \nthe imperfections of the humble, or the frailties of \nthe juft. \n\n31. In the gofpel of Chrifl finlefs perfection is \nnot expected of us ; but we are defired to endeavour \nto be per/eft; and the more we endeavour to attain \nperfection, the higher we fhall rife above our prefent \n(late of imperfection. Abfolute and unqualified per- \nfection belongs to God alone, and every created being \nmufl be comparatively imperfect. But it is the duty \nand the intereft of all created beings, endued with \nintelligence, to drive to make continual advances in \nmoral excellence. For this purpofe man is endued \nwith improveable faculties, and both his heart and \nhis mind are fufceptible of amelioration. Chrifti- \nanity not only calls on us to labour to be perfect, as \n\n\n\n( m ) \n\noUr Father which is in heaven is perfect, but, in- \norder to aftift our endeavours, and to animate our \nhopes, it has placed before us, in the life and cha- \nracter of Chrift, a pattern of practical goodnefs, a \ngoodnefs that cannot be exceeded by any, but which \nought to be imitated by all. His example ihould \nbe the ftandard of our conduct ; and the more we \nput on his likeneis, the nearer we fhall approach to \ndivine perfection j for, in him, the goodnefs and the \nperfections of God were incorporated in the human \nform. \n\n32. The more our difpofition and habits, the \nbenevolence of our affections, and the fpirit of our \nminds, are conformed to the likenefs of Chrift, the \nmore will the image of God be imprefTed upon our \nhearts. In the character of Chrift there was no- \nthing vicious, nothing imperfect. It is, indeed, not \npoflible for the moft upright among men ever to \nattain the degree of his righteoufnefs. In thofe \nperfons, in whofe habits the power of holinefs feems \nto prefide, there will dill adhere much imperfection. \nThough the general tenor of their lives may be pure \nand finlefs, though juftice and charity may be the \nruling principles of their conduct, yet many ftains \nof corruption and depravity will fully the beauty of \ntheir character. But though the moft perfect among \nthe fons of men will retain fome blots of imperfec- \ntion, we ought not to contend with the lefs zeal to \ngrow better and better every day of our lives. In \n\n\n\n( m ) \n\nthe great work of acquiring habits of goodnefs we \nfhould never (land frill, but endeavour to advance \nfrom one degree of perfection to a higher. \n\n33. The life of the Chriftian mould manifeft a \ngreat and unwearied, a continually increafed and in- \ncreafing activity in doing good. This is to grow in \ngrace ; it is to increafe in favour with God, whofe \nlove and fpiritual affiftance will always he fro-portioned \nto our labours after real gocdnefs. One portion of \ngrace rightly employed will produce another ; and \nthe quantity beftowed will be increafed in proportion \nas it is ufed. \n\n34 Men are always very fedulous and eager in \nimproving their temporal condition 5 and happy \nwould it be for them, if they were but as earned, as \nvigilant, as indefatigable in their endeavours to im- \nprove their moral condition, and to grow in ftrength \nand conftancy of obedience to the will of God. \nTheir temporal defires are vafl and rapacious, but \ntheir fpiritual ones are eafily fatisfied. They think \nthat they can never accumulate too many of the \ngifts of fortune, but they feel no warm defire to \nattain the perfect ftature of the goodnefs of Chrifh \n\n35. We are too apt to meafure our own worth \nby the ftandard of our neighbours\' imperfection. \nIf we fee many others more vicious or lefs uprigKt \nthan ourfelves, we rejoice in the fuperiority. Our \n\n\n\n( 174 ) \n\nfelf-love makes us imagine ourfelves as good as wc \nneed to be$ and the illufion caufes us to relax our \nendeavours to become better. The uncharitable \ncompanions, or the fallacious calculations of our \nown worth by the worthlefTnefs of our fellow-crea- \ntures, always leffen the frequency, or palfy the vigour \nof perfonal exertion. \n\n3 J. Thinking ourfelves fafe, we take no precau- \ntions againft danger. But Chriftians, inftead of \nappreciating their excellencies by the defects of \nothers, ought to meafure themfelves by no other \nftandard than that of the righteoufnefs of Chrift, \nWhen we adopt this ftandard of comparifon, and \nthis criterion of excellence, we (hall find more oc- \ncafion for humility than for arrogance, for zeal than \nindifference, for diligence than inaction. If we con- \ntraft our virtues with thofe of Chrift, we fhall per- \nceive the former ta be light as air upon the balance. \nBy frequendy inftituting this comparifon, and by \nexamining how far our lives and conduct tally with \nhis precepts, or accord with his example, we (hall \nbe able to afcertain the degree of our obedience, \nthe extent of our tranfgreflion, and the meafure of \nour danger; and at the fame time, a fenfe of infe- \nriority will be felt on our minds, that will forcibly \nimpel our exertions, and accelerate pur progrefe in \nrighteoufnefs. \n\n36. The Chriftian life is reprefented as a warfare \n\n\n\n( 175 ) \n\nand a race; expreffions which ftrongly enforce this \nconclusion, that there is a necefiicy on our parts for \nthe mod ftrenuous activity, for courage and con- \nftancy, for the glow of zeal and the third of excel- \nlence, for vigilance on the one hand, and forperfe- \nverance on the other. We are never to remit our \nexertions, but are continually to endeavour to ex- \nceed in thofe genuine virtues which the gofpel re- \nquires as the conditions of falvation, and on which \nalone will be bellowed an incorruptible crown of \nglory. \n\n37. But the Fanatics imagine that a very fmall \nmare of moral purity will fufnce for their falvation. \nAlas ! little do they know, that God requires purity \nin the inward parts -, and little do they think that \nwithout real holincfs no man fhall fee the Lord ! \nHe who has long lived in habits of fin, does not \nbecome righteous by an inftantaneous converfion. \nThe power of fin is not conquered by one fiidden \nblow. Great preparation of the heart is neceffary \nbefore it can be fit to enter into heaven. This life \nis a way intermediate to a better; but if we perfilt \nin tranfgreffion, we make it only a pafTage to a \nworfe. Inftead of leading to glory and happinefs, it \nconducts the impenitent to deftrudlion and mifery. \n\n38. When habits of depravity have taken root \nin our affections, they cannot be removed without \na long and painful ftraggle againfl their dominion. \n\n\n\n( "76 ) \n\nAs they are formed by degrees, they can only be \nrelinquished by degrees. Sin is an obftinate enemy, \nmighty in ftrength, and fertile in ftratagcm. And \nin order to fubdue his power, and fhake off his do- \nminion, we muft not only exert our utmoft natural \nenergies, but muft: ufe thofe means which are ap- \npointed in the gofpel, in order to obtain help from \nabove. For this purpofe we muft gird on the whole \narmour of God, taking the bread- plate of faith and \nlove, and for an helmet the hope of falvation. Dif- \ntrufting our own refolutions, we fhould earneftly \nimplore counfel from the Wife, and fuccour from \nthe Mighty. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n39. By continually ftruggling againft the arbitrary \nfway of fin, and habitually fupplicating the Father \nof all goodnefs for affiftance, the penitent will, by \ndegrees, be eftablifhed in the good work which he \nhas undertaken. He will be renewed day by day in \nhis mind and affections. The lefs corrupt and im- \nperfect he becomes, the more he will ftrive after \nincorruption and perfection. He will not remain \nftationary at any point of obedience which he may \nattain, but will confider one degree of holinefs only \nas a ftep to another ; and the nearer he approaches \nthe termination of his days, the more meet he will \nbecome for the communion of the juft. \n\n40. When we perceive the luft of fin becoming \nlefs unruly and irrefiftible, when we find corruption \n\n7 \n\n\n\n( i77 ) \n\nvanifhing from our hearts, and purity, and modefty, \nand delicacy, gaining the afcendant in our thoughts, \nand benevolence lighting its hallowed flame in the \naffections, it is a certain and undeniable proof that \nour repentance is becoming effectual; that it is \ntaking root in the mind, and bearing fruit in the \nfoul. Let no man deceive himfelf, or attempt to \ndeceive others by vain words : let nim not imagine \nhimfelf a new creature, or fit for heaven, while any \none fin reigns in his member s> en/laving his reafon and \nhis conscience. Let every one who wifhes foberly to \ncalculate the chances of his fafety, or to know the \nimminence of his danger, diligently compare his \nconduct by thofe rules of life which were enforced \nby the holy Jefus. If his actions are modelled by \nthis ftandard, or if, after making all fair allowances for \nhuman imperfection, they are found diametrically \noppofite to the fpirit and precepts of the gofpel, if \nhe find himfelf under the yoke of any one habitual \ntranfgreffion, let him confider that his danger is \ngreat, and his ficknefs unto death. \n\n41. Let no man think to fave his foul by merely \nfkinning over the wounds of confciencej let him \nrather probe them to the bottom, and be fatisfied \nwith nothing fhort of a perfect cure. The majority \nof people leave the work of their repentance half \nfinifhed. Some apprehenfion of their danger makes \nthem anxious to amend their lives, but felf-love \nblinds them to the excefs of theix* iniquity, They \n\nN \n\n\n\n( i 7 8 ) \n\nflatter themfelves that they are not fo bad as they \nreally are; and they omit the proper meafures to \nobtain a radical recovery. They, perhaps, perform \nfome few acts of obedience to the divine will, but \nthey violate it in more. They refrain from fome \nindividual or occafional fins, but they do not forfake \nthe habit of finning. And thus they remain fuf- \npended in a fort of middle date between impeni- \ntency and repentance ; but, in the end, they become \nthe fervants of fin, and the children of the devil. \n\n42. If we wifh in earned to fubdue the power of \nfin, we muft not enter into any truce or compromife \nwith fo formidable an adverfary. We muft not con- \nclude, as it were, a treaty of partition with him, or \nthink that there can be any fort of faving coalition \nbetween iniquity and righteoufnefs \xe2\x80\xa2, for God admits \nno half fervice \xe2\x80\xa2, he requires us to worfhip him with \nall our ftrength, all our heart, and all our foul. \nWe cannot ferve God and the devil. If we cleave \nto the flrft, we muft abhor the laft. The fervant of \nSatan muft be truly changed in his difpofition, and \nthoroughly cleanfed in his affections, before God \nwill receive him into favour ; or bind his brow with \nthe crown that is referved for the righteous. \n\n43. Let me then finally conjure the readers of \nthefe pages, not to be deceived by that cant of re- \nligion which the fanatic, the fuperftitious, and the \nhypocrite, are endeavouring to difleminate among \n\n\n\nC 179 ) \n\nmankind Let me conjure them not to be led far \nand wide away from the light of truth to the dark- \nnefs of error, from the path of fafety to the brink \nof perdition, by that popular but fenfelefs jargon, \nwhich is brawled abroad loud as the wind, and hi- \ndeous as the dorm. Believe not, O Chriftian ! that \nthou corned into the world with a heart indifpofed \nto good, and difpofed to evil, full of corruption and \niniquity j but rather know that thou art born inno- \ncent and upright, and that it is only by perfonal acts \nof fin, hardening into habits of fin, that thou be- \ncomeft a tranfgreiTor, fubject to the wrath of God, \nand, without repentance, liable to damnation. Re- \nmember, that, like the firft parent of the human \nrace, thou art placed here in a date of trial 5 and that \nthou wilt be happy or miferable after death, in pro- \nportion to the habits of goodnefs or depravity which \nthou acquired in this mortal life. When thy heart \nand affections are edranged from the love of God, \nand when habits of unrighteoufnefs are incorporated \nin thy fleih, when fin becomes, as it were, a law in \nthy members, fo that thy reafon is fubjugated by its \ninfluence, and thy fenfe of right has become too \nimpotent to prevent the practice of wrong; then \nlet me befeech thee to remember, that nothing but \ntrue and unfeigned repentance can fave thy foul; \nand that no repentance can be fincere or faving, that \ndoes not purify the mind and affections, that does \nnot convince the mind of the neceflky of obedience \nto the divine will, and intered the affections in its \npractice. \n\nN 2 \n\n\n\n( *8o ) \n\n44. Religion, pure and undefiled, not fpoiled by \nthe wicked, nor perplexed by the fubtle, confifts in \nloving God with all our mind and all our foul ; and \nour neighbour as ourfelves. In whatever place, \nand among whatever people, whether in London or \nin Rome, in Paris or Jerufalem, this doctrine is \npreached, there pure Chriftianity is taught -, but \nwherever any notions are maintained contrary to it, \nor fubverfive of it, there the religion of Jefus is \ncorrupted, there its defign is perverted, its precepts \nare reviled, and its fpirit is unknown *. \n\n\n\n* Inftruclions, like thofe which I have here delivered, how- \never adverfe they may be to the reigning tafte, and to that \nfpirit of delufion which feems to have feized the religious \nworld, appear to me neceffary at all times, in order to abalh \nthe prefumption of the wicked, and to increafe the virtue of \nthe juft; but they feem more efpecially neceffary at this dif- \naftrous period, when deceivers, who turn the truth of God \ninto a lie, and make religion an inftrument of mifchief, and an \nengine of corruption, are roaming among us, feeking whom \nthey may devour, polluting the principles of the young, and \ntroubling the happinefs of the old. Like the fenfelefs Phari- \nfees of old, whofe hypocrify our Saviour fo warmly rebuked, \nand againft whofe accumulated immoralities he denounced \nfuch heavy judgments j they make a great parade about the \nmere forms and externals of religion, while they neglect its \nweightier obligations; and vainly think to atone by the excefs \nof their fuperftition, and the fplendour of their hypocrify, for \nthe habitual contempt of truth, of juftice, and of mercy. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nThe dottrine of Grace, Jcripural, rational, and \n\npraclical. \n\n\n\ni . JL h e doctrine of grace has been abufed by the \nwicked, perplexed by the fubtle, and miftaken by \nthe credulous. Some have employed it as an en- \ngine of mifchief j and others have made it minifter \nto the propagation of folly. I (hall therefore, per- \nhaps, be not wholly undeferving the gratitude of \nthe reafonable part of the Chriftian Church, if I \nendeavour to refcue this wholefome doctrine from \nthe delufions of vifionaries, and the artifices of in> \npoftors. \n\na. Mod of the promifes of grace which occur \nin the fcriptures, are reft rained to the apoftolical \nage. At prefent, the operations of the Spirit, of \nwhatever nature they may be, are certainly carried \non in fecret. They are neither vifible to the eye, \nnor palpable to the touch ; and they neither fuper- \n\nN 3 \n\n\n\n( >8* ) \n\nfede the exercife of the rational faculty, nor controul \nthe freedom of the will. \n\n3. The firft Chriftians could afford demonftrative \nproof of their pofleflion of fpiritual gifts by working \nmiracles, by the powers of prophecy, by different \nkinds of languages, by the interpretation of lan- \nguages. See 1 Cor. xii 8 \xe2\x80\x94 :o. Such powers are \nevidently no longer beftowed, however confidently \nthe fanatics may lay claim to the pofTeflion ; and de- \nceive the credulous by the boldnefs of their pre- \ntenfions. \n\n4. The following expreffions in St. Luke, though \nmore peculiarly applicable to the Chriftians of the \napoftolic age, have, probably, a relation to the faith- \nful in all future ages. " I fay unto you, afk, and it \nfhall be given you ; feek, and ye (hall find ; knock, \nand it fhall be opened unto you. For every one \nthat afketh, receiveth; and he that feeketh, findethj \nand to him that knocketh, it fhall be opened. Now \nif a fon fhall afk bread of any of you that is a father, \nwill he give him a fione ? or if he fhall afk a fifh, \nwill he for a fifh give him a ferpent? or if he fhall afk \nan egg, will he give him a fcorpion ? If ye, therefore, \nbeing evil, know how to give good gifts unto your \nchildren j how much more fhall your heavenly father \ngive the holy Spirit to them that afk him?\'* Lukexi f \n\n9\xe2\x80\x9413- \n\n\n\n( i\xc2\xab3 ) \n\n5. Thefe words fhew the outward means by \nwhich the grace or favour of God is to be obtained, \nand which is reprefented as confequent on prayer and \nftrenuous exertion on the part of man. cc AJk, and \nit /hall be given you ; Jeek, and ye Jh all find - y knock, and \nit Jh all be opened unto you. " In the natural courfe of \nthings, man is condemned to labour; he is to earn \nhis bread by the fweat of his brow; but the world \nis furnifhed with various powers and influences to \ninvigorate his induftry, and aflift his toils. \n\n6. There are various powers in nature which \nman, by the active force of his body or his mind, \nmay in fome meafure controul, and render iub- \nfervient to the purpofes of life. The earth is full \nof vegetable juices, but labour is required to elicit \ntheir beneficial properties, and to make them fub- \nfervient to the fuftenance of man. When man has \ncarefully tilled and fown the earth, he can do no \nmore; then other powers, the fun, the air, the dew, \nthe rain, the meteor, and the ftorm, all acting under \nthe wife controul of a providential hand, combine \ntheir varied influences to fuccour the varied opera- \ntions of human art and human toil. In the moral \nworld, it is highly probable, that many fecondary \ninfluences are made to contribute, under the fuper- \nintending agency of the moral governor of the \nworld, to the moral welfare of man ; and that his \nmoral endeavours are the conditions of obtaining \ntheir afliftance. \n\nN 4 " \n\n\n\n( i8+ ) \n\n7. The fpirit of God is univerfal. We live and \nmove and have our being, in the unfeen but infinite \norbit of its power \xe2\x80\xa2, and it is probable that its favour- \nable influence on every fentient and intelligent indi- \nvidual bears a certain fixed relation to the right ufe \nwhich he makes of thofe faculties that are given him \nto profit withal, to the fincerity of his devotion, \nthe fervour of his charity, and the zeal of his obe- \ndience. \n\n8. If man will exert his natural ftrength, God \nwill fuccour his natural infirmities by ftrength from \nabove. If man will exert his moral powers, God \nwill further the growth of moral goodnefs in his \nfoul. In proportion as we labour to become fit for \nheaven, God will work the fitnefs within us. Reafon \nleads us to this conclufion, and revelation fanctions \nit j revelation teaches us that if we wifh to reap fpi- \nritual things, we muft fow fpirituai ; that if we are \nfincerely zealous to improve in righteoufnefs, we \nmuft firft make a juft ufe of our reafon and our \nconfciencej and that then God will favour our pro- \ngrefs, and invigorate our exertions. \n\n9. When grace, or the favour of God, is fhed \nupon us, we are not to confider it as an apology for \nidlenefs, but an incentive to exertion. The more \nour power of doing good increafes, the more we are \nfenfible that the word of God is taking root in our \nfouls, the more we Jhould endeavour, and with the \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xab8 5 ) . \n\ngreater fuccefs, we may endeavour to fulfil all righteouf~ \nnefs* This is to ufe the manifeftation of the fpirit to \nprofit withal, to walk in the fpirit, to be worthy of the \nvocation whereto we are called, and to prove that \nwe are the workman/hip of God, created in Chrift Jefus \nunto good works* \n\njo. Let us not imagine that grace, in the fenfe \nin which I have explained it, is an imaginary thing, \nbecaufe its fpecific agency is not the object of any \nof our fenfes. We know that there are many \npowers whoje mode of agency is infcrutable, but whofe \nbenefits are felt, and whofe effects are feen. In the \nnatural world, heat, light, electricity, and, perhaps, \nmany other powers, whofe precife nature we do \nnot underftand, and whofe fpecific agency we can- \nnot difcover, have a very fenfible influence on the \nframe of man, and the fruits of the earth. In the \nmoral world, it is probable, that there are various \ninfluences employed, peculiarly fitted to act on the \nmoral powers of men, and to give them ftrength in \nproportion as they are fitted to receive it. The moral \ngovernment of God, in fome meafure, fuppofes the \nexertions of fuch influence, for if God be a moral \ngovernor, he muft prefer the righteous to the linner, \nand is it not highly probable, that he has arranged \nthe moral order of things to favour moral, as he has \narranged the natural order of things to favour phy- \nfical induftry ? \n\n\n\n( i86 ) \n\nii. The laws which regulate the moral world, \nare probably, as regular and uniform as thofe whicli \nregulate the natural. In the natural world, effects \nfollow their caufes in a chain of connexion that is \nnot, except for moral purposes *, permitted to be \nbroken. In the moral world, the connexion be- \ntween caufe and effect is probably as clofe and in- \ndiffoluble. In the natural world, certain beneficial \neffects are the confequence of certain actions; in \nthe moral world, good or evil feem to follow in a \ndeterminate courfe, according to the previous con- \nduct of the individual. \n\n112. The labours of piety, and the exercifes of \ndevotion, do not change the general courfe of moral \nlaws, any more than induftry alters the uniform \ncourfe of the laws of nature. But if, in the moral \norder of things, mifery be affociated with vice, and \nhappinefs with virtue, he who avoids the firft, ne- \nceffarily attains the laft ; as the induftrious derive \nbenefit from the laws of the natural world, of which \nthey would have been deprived, if they had perfe- \nvered in idlenefs. Thus it may be underftood how \ndevotion and prayer, by exciting us to conform our \nconduct to that moral order of things, according to \nwhich, the difpenfations of good and evil are regu- \nlated, operate on our improvement in righteoufnefs \nand in happinefs. That portion of divine favour \nwhich prayer produces, is not miraculous or fuper- \n\n* As In the cafe of the Chrifiian miracles. \n\n\n\n( i\xc2\xbb7 ) \n\nnatural, the one is afTociated with the other in the \nmoral order of things, as the fruitfulnefs of a field is \ngenerally proportioned to the cultivation bellowed \nupon it, \n\ni f. Demotion, when pure, fervent, and fincere, \nnaturally produces grateful feelings, and imprefles a \nftrong fenfe of duty upon the confcience. But though \ndevotion excite the mod agreeable fenfations, thefe \nJen fat ions ought not to be efteemed fupernaiu^al calls, or \nmiraculous experiences-, for they proceed from natural \ncaufes, and are generated by the moral organization \nof man, as agreeable fenfations, arifing from nervous \nexcitement, are connected with, and flow from, his \nphyfical conftitution. \n\n14. Prayer is a help to holinefss and when fer- \nvent and fmcere, procures a refrefhing fupply of \nthofe wholefome moral energies, thofe fpiritual gifts, \nwhich, by whatever name they may be exprefled, \nare certainly ultimately derived from the Father of \nfpirits ; not by any immediate and miraculous inter pofi- \ntion of his power, but through the channel of that moral \norder of things, which he eftablijhed, and the moral \nconftitution of man, which he ordained, \n\n15. If men are negligent in their worldly con- \ncerns, they do not profper ; and the neglect of their \nmoral welfare is attended with fimilar effects. The \n\nfirft produces poverty, the laft vicej and, by the \n6 \n\n\n\n( >88 ) \n\nconititution of the natural and the moral world, both \nare alTociated with mifery and ruin. \n\n1 6. Secondary means are necefTary in the natural \nworld, in order to derive advantage from the ge- \nneral courfe of the laws of nature ; and fecondary \nmeans are alfo neceifary in the moral world, in order \nto profit by the moral economy of the univerfe. \nPrayer is among the principal of thofe means which \nwe are to employ for this purpofe. " AJk> and ye \nJhall receive " Prayer affifts the right culture of the \naffections ; it is a mean of fixing the love of God in \nour fouls, of invigorating the moral principle within \nus, and of arming it againft the deftructive influence \nof temptation. Prayer cheers the heart when it is \nfad, foftens it when it is hard, and purifies it when \nit is unclean. It fits it for the reception of grace, \nand makes it a temple meet for the Father of fpirits \nto inhabit. \n\n17. It is not the mere act or ceremony of devo- \ntion, which caufes grace to be fhed on the foul, but \nit is that devotion, which, by habitual exercifes, in- \ncreafes our love of God, our truft in his providence, \nand our fenfe of his goodnefs, which makes us ob- \njects of his favour; which brings us, as it were, nearer \nto his regard; and places us in different relations to \nbim y than we could other wife have ken. It is y there- \nfore, prayer generating mora! improvement , which caufes \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xbb89 ) \n\nGod to give us the good things which we afk> becaufe \nwe afk them according to his will. \n\n1 8. If thefe notions of grace be true, and they \nhave the fanction of reafon and the warrant of fcrip- \nturej then thofe of the vifionaries and fanatics of the \nprefent day, muft be falfe. They reprefent grace \nas a mere matter of fenfation, they aflert that fenfa- \ntion is the centre of its agency, that it is independent \non the will, and that the affections are the utmofl \nboundaries of its influence. They do not confider \ngrace as an energy to be procured by moral means, \nand to be applied to moral ends. Hence they think \na Hate of grace compatible with a flate of fin *; for \nthey confider it not as a blefling given to good en- \ndeavours, vaccording to any fixed laws of the moral \ngovernor of the world, but as fome impulfe, inde- \npendent on any moral endeavours to acquire it, or \nany moral fitnefs to receive it. Their grace is often \nvouchfafed to the vileft of mankind, to thofe who \nare hardened in long habits of unrighteoufnefs, and \nfrom whofe confcience the very fenfe of moral ob- \nligation feems to have vanifhed for want of being \nexercifed. With them, grace is not the confequent \nof devotion and alms, but is diftributed with a ca- \npricious and partial hand, often withheld from the \n\n\n\n* Treading in the fteps of Calvin, they maintain that the \nfavour of God is not loft by the pollutions of the confcience; \nnon auferre Jlatum gratice adziUerta et homicidia. \n\n\n\n( *9\xc2\xb0 ) \n\ncontrite, and often lavifhly accorded to the hypo- \n\n\n\ncrite. \n\n\n\n19. If grace be, acceding to their fyftem, a free \ngift, independent on the exercife of the moral powefSj \nand, in the attainment or which, no previous exertion \nis required, and no preparation neceflary, then ic \nis an unconditional grant \\ and in this cafe, why did \nour Lord teach us the means by which it might be \nobtained, and enjoin us to put them in practice ? \nFor, it God beftow the influence of divine grace on \nman without any regard to his moral fitnefs, if he \nrequire the performance of no conditions previous to \nits infufion, then men cannot juftly be blamed for not \nendeavouring to obtain it, nor juftly be condemned for \nnot poffeffing it. But, if grace be a bleffing on the \nearned and vigilant exertions of man to conform his \nconduct: to the will of God, if it be accorded to the \nfervor of his prayers, and the liberality of his alms, \nthen it is, like other blefllngs in the natural world, \ndependant on caufes which it is our own fault if \nwe do not put in motion. In this caje> grace operates \nby general laws, and Chriftians are juftly accountable \nfor not performing the conditions to which it L> \nappended. \n\n20. Grace is one of the glorious privileges which \nbelong to that covenant into which we gain ad- \nmifTion by baptifm and by faith. God (hows man \nthe means by which he may acquire fo ineftimablc \n\n\n\n( i9i ) \n\na blefling; and, therefore, the perverfenefs of man, \nrather than the goodnefs of God, mud be accufed, \nif the former neglect the right application of his \nfaculties. If any man, faid our Lord, love me, he will \nkeep my words, and my father will love him, and we \nwill come unto him, and make our abode with him, John \nxiv. 23. But the fanatics, in their doctrine of grace, \nentirely neglect the previous moral endeavour and \nthe confequent moral fitnefs ; and, by omitting thefe \nimportant confiderations, their ideas on the fubject \nare dark, myfterious, and deftructive. Inftead of \npromoting goodnefs, they encourage fin; they make \nthe tranfgrefTor rejoice and the righteous defpair. \n\n21. As the fanatics do not confider grace as the \nconfequent on moral qualities, fo they do not regard \nthe pofleffion as productive of them. With them, \ngrace is rather a glowing temperature of the feel- \nings, than an active (late of the rational and moral \npowers; rather agitating the paffions within, than \nvifibly improving the conduct without. As they \nconfine its agency within the volatile gas of the fen- \nfations, the tokens of its prefence vary with the phy- \nfical temperament of the individual. \n\n0.2. When moral qualities are regarded as a teft \nof grace, it cannot be miftaken ; but if the warmth \nor ecftafies of fenfation are made the figns of its \npoffefiion, we are foon loft in the delufions of pride, \nor perplexed by the tricks of impofture. We fet \n\n\n\n( *9 2 ) \n\nthe imagination to work, and that myfterious faculty, \nwhen operated on by fo powerful a ftimulus as that \nof religious intereft on one fide, and fpiritual ambi- \ntion on the other, produces the mod furprifing \neffects upon the feelings. When the fancy, per- \nturbed with this delirium, caufes any violent tranf- \nport or tumult in the bread, the fanatics call it an \nexperience of grace. But fuch feelings, uniefs as far \nas their fruits are manifefted in the integrity of the \nconduct, and in the purity and kindnefs of the heart, \nfavour more of madnefs than of reafon ; of fuperili- \nticn, than of piety. \n\n23. The power of fpiritual pride is well known, \nand its delufions are very common. The inward \nfeelings of the fanatics are, for the moft part, either \nthe refult of an overweening pride, or an irregular \nimagination, often operating in conjunction and often \nby themfelves. And as they refer the evidence of \ngrace to the invifible tribunal of their own fenfations, \nthe pofTefiion may be readily counterfeited; and the \nignorant, whofe credulity makes them eafy to be \nduped, do not as readily difcover the deception. \n\n24. Grace, of whatever nature it may be, is an \ninvifible power -, but the exiftence of an invifible power \ncan be afcertained only by its vifible effects. No \nman in his fober fenfes, or who pretended to reafon, \nwould make the invifibility of the wind the criterion \nof its exiftence -, or aflfert that it is, only becaufe it \n\n\n\n( *93 ) \n\nis not feen. He would rather refer to its vifible \neffects; he would fhow its agency in the heavens \nabove, and on the earth beneath ; in the motion of \nthe clouds, and the agitation of the waters. But \nthe fanatics, who defpife every thing like plain com- \nmon fenfe and fober reafoning, who think abfurdity \nthe teft of truth, and darknefs the proof of light, \npretend to demonftrate the exiftence of grace, not \nby its outward properties, but by its Jecret and un- \nknown operations. They make their feelings the \ncentre and fource, the beginning and the end of its \nagency. And thefe feelings, for aught any one \nknows, may be fpurious or genuine, real or coun- \nterfeit. \n\n25. Grace, being an invifible power, can be known \nonly by its vifible effects. Our Lord Jefus, who, \nno impoflor himfelf, was an enemy to all impofture \nin others, never authorized us to conclude that our \ninward feelings were any proof whatever of the prin- \nciple of righteoufnefs abiding in us. He told us to \njudge of the qualities of the tree by its fruits; and \nI know of no other way in which the reality of \ngrace can be afcertained j or any other fign, which \nQznfafely be trufted as the criterion of its poffefiion. \n\n26. That grace does never operate on the fenfa- \ntions as a vehicle of its agency or a medium of its \npower, cannot be precifely determined ; but whether \nit do or do not thus operate, the former hypothefis \n\nO \n\n\n\n( i?4 ) \n\nis only a harmlefs theory in theology, as long as we \nagree that thofe fenfations are not that ttftimony of its \nexigence in which we can rationally confide. What \nthen are we to ccnfider as the evidences of grace ? \nCertainly the only credible evidences are the pofTefTion \nof thofe moral qualities, whofe effects are palpable, \nwhole character is fixed, and whofe impreffions arc \nlafting. \n\n27. A good tree bringeth forth good fruit ; but \na corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. Grace can \nbe known only by the fruit which it produces; and \nwhat the fruits of the fpirit are, St. Paul has dis- \ntinctly told us. They are " love, joy, peace, long- \nfuffering, gentlenefs, goodnefs, faithfulnefs, meek- \nnefs, temperance.\'\' Galat. v. 22, 23. Thefe word? \ncertainly characterife the ordinary influence ofthejvirh> \nJuch as is probably Jhed on fin cere Chrijlians in all ages; \nand as oppofed to thofe miraculous operations of the \nfpirit, which are detailed 1 Cor. xii. 4 \xe2\x80\x94 11. and \nthey well deferve our attentive confideration. They \nintimate that a pleafurable ftate of the affections, \nthat kindnefs and finglenefs of heart, with juflice and \nbeneficence, are indications that grace is prefent and \noperative in the foul. A pleafurable ftate of the \naffections is included in the words (< love, joy, peace, \nweeknefs, gentlenc/s" a ftate cf mind very adverfe to \nthe uneafy terrors and chilling apprehenfions of the \nfuperftitious, to the lowering brow of the fanatic, \nto the impetuofity of the turbulent, and the rancour \n\n\n\n( *9S ) \n\nof the malevolent. In " goodnefs, faithfulnefs, tem- \nperance" we behold the energies of the fpirit brought \ninto action, contributing to the well-being and the \nhappinefs of mankind. They increafe all the inno- \ncent enjoyments of the individual, by keeping his \nfenfations, his temper, and his pafiions, in a due and \nreafonable fubjection ; and difpofing them to the \nproduction of particular and of general good. They \ninfufe life and activity into the benevolent affections, \nand keep our moral powers alert and vigorous for \nthe practice of juflice towards others, and of tem- \nperance in the government of ourfelves. \n\n28. Such are the characteriftic marks of the ope- \nrations of the Holy Spirit, as they are defcribed by \nSt. Paul; and if thefe marks be genuine, thofe of \nthe fanatics mud be counterfeit. The teftimony of \ngrace, to which the fanatics moil confidently appeal, \nand the proofs on which they mod implicitly rely, \nare, turbulence and fervour of fenfation, a wildnefs \nof the imagination bordering on delirium, and of the \npafiions approaching to frenzy; while the benevolent \nfympathies are extinguished by bigotry, or benumbed \nin apathy ; and the moral powers, without animation \nor ftrength, are imbruted in corruption. \n\n29. It may not be improper here to contraft the \ntokens of grace which are enumerated by the apof- \ntle, Gal. v. 22, 23, with thofe which are difplayed \nby the fanatics. For love they fubftitute a frozen \n\nO 2 \n\n\n\nC 196 ) \n\napathy, or favage hate ; for joy, a weeping counte- \nnance *; for peace, fcdition and ftrife ; for long-iuf- \n\n\n\n* St. Paul fays very emphatically, " Rejoice evermore." \nTheiV. v. 16. M Rejoice in the lord always, and again I fay \n\nrejoice." Phil. iv. 4. A relilh for innocent checrfulntis and \na difpofnion to harmlefi mirth are no uncertain indications \nthat the benevolent principle is prefent and active in the heart ; \nbut a fullen dejection of the fpirits* and a cold averfion to \nfocial joy, are very credible tokens that the malevolent prin- \nciple has erected its ftandard in the bread: and that the affec- \ntions are imbtsed with its noxious influence. The fanatic.-, \nand particularly thole who belong to the feet of the metho- \ndifts, forget the injunction of our Lord, " not to be of a fad \ncountenance" nor to disfigure their faces; which they do by \ntwifting them into all pofiible contortions of woe of which the \nmufcles are fufceptible. And like the heathen, they think to \nbe heard for their much [peaking ; they feem to imagine that \nthey can never tell God enough j and, as if he were a corporeal \nidol, and a little inclined to deafnefs, they feldom fail to brawl \nout their petitions on the higher! pofiible key. Their devotion \nis one continued monotonous diapafon. Religion, pure and \nundented, is a cheerful fervice, and nothing is Co well fitted to \nproduce cheerfulnefs. It fpreads an artlefs fmile of compla- \ncency upon the countenance ; and it caufes fweet vibrations of \njoy in the heart. It naturally generates that peace with God \nwhich pali\'eth all underitanding ; which is a fourcc of the moft \nrefined and rational delight ; which banilhes impatience, bit- \nternefs, diftruftj and every emotion allied to malice and to mi- \nfery; and is a foretalte of that reward which is referved for the \njuft. The dejectipn of the great ma Is of the fanatics prove* \nthat they either want the fpirit of true religion, or that they \nare confeious of not deferving the polVeffion. Whoever is ac- \nquainted with the methodiils, mud hive remarked their long \nfaces; and perhaps they are not lefs remarkable for their long \n\n\n\n( *97 ) \n\nfering, a fierce impatience of controul; a whining \ncant about perfecution when they are weak, and a \n\n\n\ngraces. As the Pbarifees would not eat without firft warning \ntheir hands,, fo the methodifts will feldom eat, except in pri- \nvate, without many previous ejaculations of their hypocrisy. \nI once drank tea with two methodift paribus, and an evange- \nlical clergyman, as much a methodift as the other two. Before \nwe were permitted to regale on this ealtern luxury, it was firft \nneceftary that a pious oration fhould be made. The perform- \nance of this ceremony, having been firft humbly declined by \nme, was turned over to the evangelical preacher; who, riling \nfrom his feat, made no very brief addrefs j and accompanied it \nwith fuch a forlorn caft of the eyes, and fuch hideous contor- \ntions of the body, that I could hardly keep my countenance. \nOne fimple benediction, coming from the heart, is, in my opi- \nnion, more impreilive, and more acceptable to the Father of \nSpirits, than a grace five minutes in length, with all the de- \nvout accompaniments of methodiftic grimace. The intent of \ngrace before meals is, to elevate the heart to God as the giver \nof all good things 3 and, after meals, the fenfe of his goodnefs \nto us lhould make us think of the wants of others. There is, \nin good bifhop Wilfon\'s works, a grace to be faid after meals, \nas near as I recollect, in the following words. " O God, who \nhaft provided for our wants, make us mindful of the wants of \nothers, for Jefus Chrift\'s fake." This grace, though not very \nlong, would feem prolix and affected in particular companies j \nfor graces muft, infome degree, be timed to perfons and places ; \nbut, of this prayer of the apoftolic bifhop, I muft fay, that \nevery good man will always feel the fentiroent in his heart, \nthough, he may not pronounce it with his lips; for it is the \nimmediate, nay, almoft the inftinclive feeling of every grateful \nman, (and no ungrateful man can be a religious man), after \nhaving tafted the goodnefs of God. But the methodifts, as \nfar as I have had an opportunity of obferving them, inftead \n\no 3 \n\n\n\n( 198 ) \n\nfanguinary ferocity when they are ftrong*; for gen- \ntlenefs, the mod iupple adulation, veiling the mod \n\nof endeavouring, in their verbofe fupplications, to flrengthen \nthe impreilions of thankfulnefs in the hrft place, and to excite \nthe fpirit of beneficence in the fecond, ufually make long \nprayers for what they call fpiritual things, when a good repaft \nof animal food is fet before them. But though they implore \nfpiritual bleflings with as much fanctity as if their bodies wen \ncut out of a cloud, inftead of being carved out of the clay, they \nare not exceeded, even by Homer\'s heroes, in the carnivorous \ncapacity. Every Chriftian may, certainly, without 2ny of- \nfence, eat and drink in moderation j but I abhor that hypo- \ncrify, which, while it is inwardly as ravenous as a wolf, out- \nwardly whines, and prays, and talks, as if a man could live on \nair, or as if a focial being were defigned by the Almighty to \nbe debarred from all focial pleafures. \n\nGentle reader, after having faid Co much on graces, let us \nleave the fubjec~t; left, from the bufy in trillion of fome aftb- \nciated ideas, thou or I fhould begin to dream of hofpitality \nwhich we cannot realize ; and perturb our fpirits with the re- \ncollection of happier days, which, like the fwift waters, have \npalTed away. \n\n* Epifcopius remarked the fame difpofition in the fanatics \nof his time; while they were in the minority they were ftre- \nnuous advocates for freedom of worfhip and liberty of con- \nscience; they exclaimed againft all reflraint as a breach of cha- \nrity, and an unauthorized ufurpationj but they no lboner be- \ncame the majority, than they praclifed an opprellion on others, \ngreater than ever had been practifed on themfelves. Profperity \nmade them info/en t; the foj/lffion of poivcr intolerant ; and no- \nthing BUT AN UNCONDITIONAL ACQUIESCENCE IN ALL THEIR. \nPOGMAS COULD APPEASE THEIR CRUELTY. " Tcmpori (fayS \n\nEpifcopius) et fecnte fervitis. Hinc varia et difhmilis eft veftra \noratio. Sub jugo gementes, corporales omnes coercitiones \n\n\n\nC l 99 ) \n\nmalicious guile j for gcodnefs, a bufy defire to do evil; \nfor faith \xc2\xbb, injuftice and deceit; for meeknefs, pride in- \nfatiate lurking beneath the affected extravagance of \nhumility ; for temperance, a more than heathen excefs \nin the gratification of their lufts. Such ate fome of \nthe diftinguifhing features of factitious as oppofed \nto real, of fanatic as contrafted with apoflolic grace : \nfeatures which are not exactly the fame in every fa- \nnatic ; which vary in degree with conftitution and \ncircumstances ; but, of which, with a few exceptions \nin favour of individuals, a general likene& will be \nfound in the whole fraternity. \n\n30. The fanatics feem to imagine that grace fu- \nperfedes the ufe of the moral powers of man, of his \nreafon and his confciencej and this miftake caufes \nthem to neglect the culture of the one, and to defpife \nthe dictates of the other. Grace may indeed, and \nalways does invigorate our natural power to do good j \n\ndamnatis ut illicitas ct a Chriftiana caritate prorfus alienas; ubi \njugo colla veftra fubJuxiflis, per fas ei ntfas, ibi, Ji tempora atque \ningenla populi non ferunt Janguinaria conjilia, Juppliciorum ei poe- \nnarum omnium jugum atiis imponitis , folo fanguine excepto. At \n\nUBI, PRO VOTO RERUM FOT1MINI ET POPULQRUM RECTORUM- \nftUE VOLUNTATES AD NUTUM VESTRUM HABETIS, IBI EXTREMA \nOMNIA TENTARE ET SANGUINEM K .qERETICORUM EFfUNDERE \nGLORIOSUM ZELUM DUCITIS 3 PLANE UT ALTERUTRUM NE- \nCESSE SIT FIERI, AUT MARTYRES VOS ESSE AUT FACERE. ReC- \n\nte Seneca " Multorum, quia imbecilla funt, latent vitia, non \nminus aufura, cum illis vires fuse placuerint." Vid. Epifcop. \nop. torn. ii. Apol. pro Confeff. Remonft. p. 241 . \n\nQ 4 \n\n\n\n( 200 ) \n\nbut it by no means lays fuch a bias on the will as \nprevents us from doing^evil. It ftrengthens the na- \ntural capacity, but without annulling our moral re- \nfponfibility; which it would do if it abolifhed our \ncapacity to difobey. It increafes the power to refill \ntemptation ; but it does not hinder us from being \ntempted. It kindles a flronger third after holinefs; \nbut it does not clofe up every avenue through which \nunrighteoufnefs may (leal into our hearts. In fact, \ngrace by no means alters our prefent ftate of trial, \nthough it infpires us with fortitude to combat its \ndangers, and minifters confolation to its forrows. It \naccelerates our progrefs in goodnefs and happinefs, \nwithout fuperfeding the voluntary powers of the \nindividual. \n\n31. That grace, inftead of controuling the will, \nis fubject to its fway, is the undoubted doctrine of \nfcripture. For even the extraordinary gifts of the \nholy Spirit, which were imparted to Chriftians of \nthe apoftolic age, were fubject to the will of the \nindividual j or St. Paul would not otherwife have \nrecommended their fober ufe, or have reprehended \ntheir vain-glorious, idle, and oftentatious exhibition. \nSee 1 Cor. xii. xiv. And indeed our Lord intimates \nthat many who had prcphefied*, caft out devils, and \ndone mqny wonderful works, would yet be rejected at \n\n\n\n* The fpirit of the prophets are fubject to the prophets. \n1 Cor. xiv. 32. \n\n\n\n( 201 ) \n\nthe loft day> becaufe they had worked iniquity. See \nMatt. vii. 22, 23. Thefe had tailed the heavenly \ngift, but had made an improper ufe of it *. \n\n32. If the extraordinary gifts of the holy Spirit \nwere fubject to the will, and liable to abufe, we can- \nnot fuppofe that the ordinary operations are inde- \npendent of our volition. Grace, therefore, is a \npower vouchfafed to us in order to be improved by \nexercife, and ftrengthened by ufe. To this purpofe, \nSt. Paul fays, " the manifeftation of the fpirit is given \nus to profit withal" All our phyfical faculties are \nmade capable of improvement, and their improve- \nment depends on their proper application. The \nvarious faculties of our bodies and our minds are \ncapable of being invigorated by exercife. The ana- \nlogies of nature, independent of the exprefs autho- \n\n\n\n* A fimilar remark is made on Matt. vii. 22, 23, by arch- \nbifliop Newcome in his revifed translation of the New Cove- \nnant, printed at Dublin in 2 vols. 8vo. 1796, for J. Johnfon, \nLondon. I ftrenuoufly recommend the perufal of this excel- \nlent work, by the late learned primate of Armagh. Dr. New- \ncome has made many improvements, and corrected many de- \nfects in the old vernon; and he has followed the text of Grief- \nbach. The notes are very fenfible and judicious ; the ignorant \nwill rind them inftruetive, and the learned fatisfadkny. Gra- \ntitude will not lufFer me to refrain from adding, that I owe \nthe poffemon of this work, and many other favours, to the kind- \nnefs of a Nobleman who has few equals among the great, many \ninferiors among the learned, and no fuperior among the good. \n\n\n\n\\ \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xa302 ) \n\nnty of icripture, leads us to conclude that grace is a \npoiTeffion which we may either ufe or abuie; and \nwhich, if it be not improved, will be withdrawn. \nIt is not a candle that is to be hid under a bufhel, or \na talent that is to be laid up in a napkin. It b to \nbe vigoroufly exercifed, and applied to thofe great \nmoral ends, to which the Creator led it to be fub- \n\nfervie:>:t. St. Paul tells the Ephefians " to grieve not \nthe holy Spirit" Eph. iv. 30. the Theilalonians u not \nto quench the Spirit ," T hell. v. 19. and he enjoins \ntimothy to ftir up the free gift of Gcd" Hence it \nclearly appears that grace is to be ufed ; and that it \nis fubmitted to the government of our reafonablc \nfaculties. \n\n23> If it be afked, how is grace to be ufed P we \nmay reply that it is a moral power to be directed to \nmoral ends; and that, infxead of difcharging us from \na fingle moral obligation, it is bellowed that we may \nfulfil thofe obligations with greater facility. It is fhed \non the foul, that we may make a continual progrefs in \nhabits of juftice, of mercy, and of truth. And the \nmore we excrcife, or, in the language of fcripture, \nfiir up this divine gift of God> the more will its energy \nbe increaied. \n\n\n\n34. One meafure of grace, rightly ufed, will bring \nus another. One temptation combated and van- \nquished, brings flrength to refill a (tronger; till, by \ndegrees, the habit is formed, and the fiercell afTaults \n\n1 \n\n\n\n( 203 ) \n\nof the adverfary are derided. In the parable of the \ntalents, which refers to fpiritual as well as natural \ngifts, and for the application of which God will cer- \ntainly hereafter reckon vnth us, it is plainly intimated \nthat thofe talents, which, by vigilance and induftry, \nwe turn to a good account, will produce other talents ; \nwhile the neglect of them will occafion our condem- \nnation. To him who hath, to him fhall be given; \nand from him that hath not, (hall be taken away even \nthat which he hath. \n\n35. The fanatics will fay that grace of itfelf, and \nwithout any co-operation of our will or natural fa- \nculties, enables us to perform our moral duties, and \nto become wife unto falvation. That this is not \nthe cafe, we may learn from this, that fome of the \nfirft Chriftians, to whom the grace of God was \nvouchfafed in a far fuperior degree than to Chriilians \nof the prefent age, were not free from immorality. \nAnd the reafon was, that they abujed the talent that \nwas given them. The manifeftation of the fpirit was \ngiven them to profit withal; but they did not profit \nby it ; becauje their moral powers were ?iot exercifed in \na way conformable to reafon, and agreeable to the will \nof God, Grace was vouchfafed to them in order to \ninvigorate their natural capacity to difcern good \nfrom evil; or their natural power to choofe the one \nin preference to the other ; but, by not duly exerting \nthe faculty they pofTefTed, they abufed the divine \ngift which they had received. They fowed to the \n\n\n\nC a\xc2\xa94 ) \n\nflefh inftead of the fpirit. They neglected the power \nthat was in them. They yielded to the lufts which \nthey fliould have combated and fubduedj and they \nworked iniquity when they might have praclifed \ngodlinefs. \n\n36. That grace, without the free cooperation of \nthole moral powers by which we difcern good from \nevil, does not enable us to perform our moral obli- \ngations, we may learn from the conftant, uniform, \nand energetic addreffes of St. Paul, to thole whom, \nthough they pofTeffed the extraordinary gifts of the \nipirit, he did not ceafe to exhort to do the will of \nGod. He urges them to put azvay lying* not to \ngive place to the devil; to let no corrupt communication \nproceed out of their mouths ; to put away all bitternefs> \nwrath, and anger, and clamour } and evil -f peaking, ivitb \nall malice -, to be kind unto one another, tender -hear ted: \nall which exhortations would have been vain and \nfuperfluous, and indeed a reflection on God, if the \ngifts of his holy Spiiit were as independent on the \nwill, as the fanatics, and particularly thofe among \nthem who pafs under the name of Calviniils, main- \ntain, and have long maintained. For, in this cafe, \nthofe who pofTciTcd thefe gifts would have performed \nthefe obligations, as if by a mechanical necefiity, \nwithout any injunction from the apotile. But that \nthe grace which was fhed abroad even in this age \ndid not operate by necelTity, or work its effects by \nthe fubjugation of the will, is fully proved by his \n\n\n\nC 205 ) \n\nearned intreatirs to the Chriftians then living, not \n\nto quench the fpirit which they had received, but \n\nto ufe it to profit withal ; and by the examples of \n\nthofe, who, inftead of thus ufing it, either hid the \n\nlight, with which they had been favoured, under a \n\nbuihel, or abufed it to their own dtflruclion. Kence \n\nit is plain, that grace alone is not dcilgned by God \n\nto deliver us from the power cf temptation, or to \n\nprevent the intrufion of evil into our fouls; and that \n\nour will mud co-operate with the grace which is \n\ngiven i for if grace operated on the foul in any other \n\nway, it would take us out of a (late of moral refpon- \n\nfibility for our conduct. It wculd put an end to \n\nthat (late of trial and probation, in which the fcrip- \n\nture univerfally fuppofes us to be placed ; and from \n\nwhich, it will be found, that the influence of grace \n\ndoes not deliver us. God will judge us according \n\nto our works ; but if God overruled our actions by \n\nany principle which we could not refill, he would \n\nbe the author of our actions; and then, how could \n\nit be affirmed by the apofiie, that, every man JJjall \n\nbear his own burden; and that, wbatfoeroer a manfow- \n\neth> that Jh all he alfo reap. Gal. vi. 5. 7. \n\n37. But fome will go to fuch lengths of blaf- \nphemy, as to aflert that grace is a fpecial exemption \nfrom moral obligations. Perverting to the word of \npurpofes, this declaration of the apoftle, that we are \nnot under the law, but under grace ; they make the \nignorant believe, that grace fuperfedes the import- \n\n\n\n( MB ) \n\nance, and annuls the neceuity of practical obedience. \nThey make grace a cloak for licentioufnefs \xe2\x80\xa2, to work \nall iniquity with greedinefs. They do not confider \nthat St. Paul is not here fpeaking of the moral law, \nbut of the ritual; which grace, or the gofpel, which \nis the grace of God, abolifhed. The moral law ex- \nifted in the will of God before the foundations of \nthe earth were laid ; and it will certainly continue \ntill the heavens are rolled up like a fcroil, and the \nelements (hall melt with fervent heat. \n\n38. Fie who is under grace, that is, whofe life is \na teftimony to the truth, and whofe conduct is a \nglorious manifeftation of the power of righteoufnefs, \nis fo far not under the moral law, as that he is not \nfubjecl: to its condemnation ; for againfl righteoufnefs \nthere is no law ; but he is, and muft for ever be under \nthat law, fo far as he is not exempted from its obli- \ngations. For, between being free from the con- \ndemnation of the moral law, and being releafed from \nobedience to it, there is a wide difference. A man \nmay be free from the penalties of injuftice, but can \nnever be privileged from the duties of jufcice; he \nmay, by his good life and conduct, not be obnoxious \nto civil punifhment ; but he cannot, therefore, be \nexempted from the prohibition to Heal or to flay. \n\n39. Thofe who are led by the fpirit are not \nunder the law, Gal. v. i3. and why? becaufe they \nwalk in the fpirit ; becaufe their faith worketb by love-, \n\n\n\n( soy ) . \n\n&nd they do not fulfil the lufis of the fiejh. They arc \nnot guilty of " adultery, fornication, uncleannefs, \nlafcivioufnefs, idolatry, hatred, variance, emulation, \nwrath, ftrife, feditions, herefies, envyings, murders, \ndrunkennefs, revellings, and fuch like ;" which are \nexprefsly excluded from the kingdom of God : but \nthey {how forth the fruits of the fpirit, in love, joy, \npeace, long- faltering, gentlenefs, goodnefs, truth, \nmeeknefs, temperance, againft which there is no law. \nThus grace does not exonerate us from fabjection \nto the law, from the terror which it infpires, and the \npenalties it denounces, only fo far as it gives us \nflrength to lead a more holy life, and to do ihoje \nthings which no law condemns. \n\n\\ \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n40. But if, inftead of ufing the grace that is given \n\nus to profit withal, we ufe it only for a cloak of \nlicentioufnefs, and not as a help to our progrefs in \ngoodnefs, then we fall from grace given; we lapfe \ninto fin ; and the law, from whofe rigorous fentence, \ngrace, rightly ufed, would have delivered us, feals \nour condemnation. Graceas given us to fow to the \nfpirit; that our hearts may yield the fruits of right* \neoufnefs and true holinefs, whofe end is everlafting \nlife; and to extirpate thefe vicious habits, and that \nmoral corruption, whofe confequence will be mifery \nand torment. \n\n41. The gofpel, as oppofed to the law, is a voice \nof glad tidings ; a covenant of favour : the law, as \n\n\n\n( aoS ) \n\noppofed to the gofpel, is 3 fyftem of implacable fe- \nverity; it denounces death on the tranfgrefibr, and \nwithout any promife of mercy to the penitent. But \ngrace comes with healing in its wings; not abolifbing* \nbut ejiablijhing the law, while it moderates its rigour \nand mitigates its penalties. Grace does not grant \nan exemption from any of the duties which the law \nrequires; but, by helping our infirmities, it gives \nftrength for their performance ; while, by more \npowerful motives, more awful fanctions, and more \ninterefting perfuafions, it infpires zeal to do thoje things \nagain ft which there is no law. Under the law we are \nflrictly prohibited from doing evil; but, under grace, \nwe are excited to do good; the law ordains juftice; \ngrace infpires charity ^ which is the bond of perfedt- \nnefs. ColoiT. iii. 14. The law inculcates duty from \nmotives of fear; but grace from thofe of love. \n\n42. The law is inflexible; it demands unerring \nobedience; but grace is mild and flexible; it calls \nfor repentance when we have done amifs; and, \nthough it do not demand perfection, yet it will not \naccept imperfection without fmcerity. Under the law \nthe finner had no pledge of fecurity in the day of \nvengeance ; but, under grace, we have an advocate \nwith the Father, Jefus Chrift the righteous; and he \nis the propitiation for our fins. Thus grace rather \neftablifhes than annuls the obligations of the law, \nby affording us help to fulfil them ; and by temper- \ning juftice with mercy when we offend. Under the \n\n\n\n( 20 9 ) \n\nlaw, every fin was utter deftruction ; but under grace \ncharity " is made" to cover a multitude of fins, i Pet. \niv. 8. Under the law, the end of the command- \nment was unvarying obedience ; but under grace, \nthe end of the commandment is charity out of a \npure heart, a good confcience, and faith unfeigned, \ni Tim. L 5. \n\n43. What then, in the language of St. Paul, mail \nwe fin, becaufe we are not under the law, but under \ngrace ? God forbid ! This cannot be ; becaufe when \nwe are admitted into covenant with God, by baptifm \nand faith, we are fuppofed to be dead unto fin ; and \nhow fhall they, who are dead unto fin, live any longer \ntherein ? For we cannot, in the fcriptural fenfe of \nthe words, be dead unto fin, without becoming the \nfervants of righteoufnefs. \n\n44. The influence of the holy Spirit, which is \ngiven to help our infirmities, is defigned to mortify \nthe deeds of the body; Rom.viii. 13. Gal. v. 16\xe2\x80\x94 \n25. and it is by this means alone, that " the ipirit \nof life in Chrift Jefus makes us free from the law \nof fin and death 5" Rom. viii. 1. for there is cc no \ncondemnation to them who walk not after the flefh, \nbut after the fpirit." Rom. viii. 1. \n\n45. The genuine energy of the fpirit, when fhed \non our hearts, infufed into our affections, and vigo- \nroufly exercifed by the reafon and the confcience, \n\nP \n\n\n\n( 210 ) \n\nnot only does not fuperfede, but eftablifhes the ne- \ncefiitv of moral ri^hteoufnefs. For St. Paul uni- \nformly fuppofes a Mate of grace to be a {late in which \nthe appetites and paflions are kept in a due fubjeclion; \nand in which thofe qualities are acquired, which our \nLord To uniformly difplayed in his life, and fo ear- \nneflly inculcated in his doctrine. A (late of grace, \ntherefore, when grace is rightly applied, mud al- \nways BE A PROGRESSIVE STATE OF RIGHTEOUSN V SS J \n\nfor the right and wife ufe of one portion of the divine \nfavour brings another, and enables us to keep the \nmoral law perfected by the fovereign excellence of \nChriftian charity. \n\n46. It muft not, indeed, be fuppofed, but that \nthofe who are under grace, will occafionally violate \nthe law. The mod righteous will fometimes offend. \nBut the tranfgre (lions of thofe, who are really in a \nftate of grace, \xe2\x80\x94 of grace not quenched but flirred \nup, will never be marked by any flagrant violation \nof the greater, or by any habitual deviation from the \nfmaller commandments. In many things they may \nand will offend; on many occafions mortal infirmity \nwill be vifible in their conduct. ; but notwithstanding \ntheir accidental lapfes, the general tenor of their lives \nwill prove, that they are, really, dead unto fin, and alive \nunto right eoufnefs. \n\n47. It is not by fome occafional mifdoings that \nwe are to pafs fentence on any man. Habits of \n\n\n\n( 2" ) \n\nrlghteoufnefs, like habits of fin, are not fo uniform \nas to admit of no tranfient variations. A drunkard \nmay be accidentally fober; and a fober man may be \naccidentally drunk. But when we eftimate the \nworth of the human character, we are not to form \nour calculations on the conduct of one (ingle day, \nbut are to take the average of many days and years, \nand lee what proportion a man\'s violation of his \nduty bears to its performance; his virtues to his \nvices ; or his fins to his righteoufnefs. In many \nthings we offend all : it is the condition of our im- \nperfect nature, placed in a ftate of arduous trial, and \nconftantly affailed by numberlefs temptations; but a \nfew occafional offences, a few venial and tranfient \nerrors, will not countervail the merits of a life de- \nvoted unto righteoufnefs. \n\n48. For the occafional mifdoings of the righteous, \nthe covenant of grace, lefs ftern and unbending than \nthat of the law, offers many means of reparation; \nfor, demanding fincere rather than finlefs obedience, \nit promifes forgivenefs to the contrite; and it fets no \nlimits to the difpenfations of its mercy. It does not \nfay that pardon can be obtained only feven times; \nit rather fays feventy times feven. Did not the co- \nvenant of grace thus overflow with mercy, our hopes \nof falvation would be precarious indeed ; for even of \nthofe who have tafted the heavenly gift, how few \never lay down their heads at night without having \nfome little fins of omiflion, if not of commiflion, to \n\nP % \n\n\n\n( 212 ) \n\nremember? But thofe, whofe faith is frefti, vivid, \nand active, and on whofe fouls grace has been fhed, \nand not fhed in vain, will no fooner feel a confcioui- \nnefs of having offended, than remorfe, hearty and \nunfeigned, will expiate the offence. And though \nthe righteous may fall into fins of infirmity, they \nwill efcape the fnare of thofe tranfgrcfiions which \nindicate malignity of difpofition, in which malice \nmeditates deliberate revenge, or the conlcience is \nfeared againft the obligations of truth, of juftice, \nand of charity. \n\n49. We are expofed on all fides to fo many \ntemptations, that it is lefs to be wondered that the \nrighteous fhould fometimes be vanquifhed, than that \nthey fhould fo often conquer. The only genuine \ncriterion of righteoufnefs is a power to refifr, tempta- \ntion; and the greater and more numerous the tempta- \ntions we refift, the greater the degree of our obe- \ndience. The increafing power of conquering tempta- \ntion, is a token that our fuith is increafing, and that \nwe are grczving in grace. \n\n50. Mod fins fpring from fome temptation af- \nfented to by the will; as moil acts of real righteouf- \nnefs fpring from fome temptation oppofed and over- \ncome by the will, aflifted by the favour of God. \nTemptations fugged motives of action oppofite to \nrighteoufnefs, and contrary to the will of God ; and \nthey place before us motives to do evil, in order to \n\n\n\n( 2IJ ) \n\ncounteract our inclination to do good. As, during \nour (lay on earth, we are continually expofed to \ntheir influence, our Lord enjoined us continually to \nwatch and pray that we enter not into temptation, \n\n51. As our moral trial is made up of a variety of \ntemptations from within and from without, acting on \nour fenfes, our thoughts, and affections, produced by \nthe objects around us, or excited by the force of ima- \ngination, it behoves us to be conftantly aware of our \ndanger, and to be on our guard againft the enemy. \nIt behoves us to beware of our danger, that we may \nnot be furprifed ; that a fenfe of duty may be always \nprefent to our confcience ; and that we may have \ngrace to help in time of need, \n\n52. Men are too apt to defpife temptations; and \nconfequently, to put themfelves in their way, when \nthey ought to get out of it; or to folicit their admif- \nfion when they ought to fecure every avenue of the \nheart againft their entrance. It is thus that they \nfall, by thinking themfelves fafe ; and that they are \nfurprifed, by taking no precaution againft their dan- \nger. We ought conftantly to remember, what we \ntoo conftantly forget, and what none forget fo much \nas thofe who believe, or pretend to believe in the \ninnate corruption of mankind, that we are here in \na ftate of probation, and on our trial for eternity, \n\n53. He who had on the morrow to ftand at the \n\n\n\n( 2I 4 ) \n\nbar of a human tribunal, would not neglect the \nmeans of his defence, and the proofs of his integrity. \nAnd while we are living, ready, every moment, to \nbe called hence to anAver for the talents committed \nto our trufT, fhall we wafte the time in apathy and \ninaction ? Shall we not guard againft temptation; \nand do thofe things, which, for Chrift\'s fake, will \nappear pleafing in the fight of God, when he fum- \nmons us to judgment ? \n\n54. A Mate of life, like ours, in which we are \nmade accountable for our actions, mud:, necefia.ily, \nbe a (late of tempation ; a flate, in which different \nmotives urge us to actions that have very different \ntendencies and effects. Without this conflict of \nmotives and of interefts in our hearts, there would \nbe no morality in human actions j for without fome \ninclinations to good as well as to evil, and to evil \nas well as to good, we could not be moral agents; \nand it is the right choice between good and evil, \nor the cheriflrng and exercifing the inclination to \none, and counteracting and refilling that to the \nother, in which the principle of moral rectitude \nrefides. \n\n55. The perfection of moral rectitude confifts in \nfo regulating our pafiions and purfuits in life, as to \nchoofe that which is mod fitted to our own indi- \nvidual good, as we are fentient and reafonable be- \nings; to the good of others, as we are focial beings; \n\n\n\n( its ) \n\nand to the will of God, as we are religious beings. \nThat, therefore, is morality, pure and undeflled, \nwhich teaches us to connect our own good with the \ngood of others, and with the will of God. As we \nare fentient beings, accefllble to the varied influences \nof pleafure and pain, and as the love of life, or the \nprinciple of fclf-prefervation is clofely incorporated \nin our frame, we cannot help making what we call \nJelf a part in mod of our confiderations refpe&ing \nthe end and tendencies of our conduct. As we are \nfocial beings, we pofTefs various fympathies which \ntend to diminim our felf-love, and to connect our \nintereft with the intereft of others : and as we are \nreafonable beings, not governed merely by inftinct, \nor the force of fenfation, we are to prove that our \nown individual good is increaled by being fhared, \nand multiplied by being divided. And as we are \nreligious beings, for man is fo conftituted that reli- \ngion is an effential part of his nature, and the only \nfolid groundwork on which he can reft his happi- \nnefs ; and particularly as we are beings, to whom \nthe light of revelation has made known the duties \nof true religion, we cannot feparate the confidera- \ntion of the good which we do to others, or contri- \nbute to fociety, from the will of God; for what his \nwill decrees, mud be our good; and what it forbids, \nour bane ; both as we (land in relation to ourfelves, \nor as we form part of a large community. \n\n56. As we cannot fuppofe that God would have \n\nP-4 \n\n\n\n( 216 ) \n\nenjoined any thing contrary to out real intereft, as \nwe are fentient and reafonable, or focial and reli- \ngious bein^Sj it follows that pure morality confitls \nin doing his will, as that will has been made known \nto us, without (laying fcrupuloufly to calculate how \nmuch fuch obedience may conduce to our own im- \nmediate advantage, or to the advantage of others ; \nbecaufe, as God is infinitely wife and good, he cannot \nhave appointed laws for our conducl, of which the ob- \nservance is not relative to our own good, and the good \nof others. \n\n57. Pure morality then confifls in doing God\'s \nwill; but here is our mifery, that we are often \npowerfully tempted not to do it, and that various \ncaufes confpire to make us violate it. Though a \ncomprehenfive confederation of the fubject might \nprove obedience to the will of God to be our pre- \nfent intereft identified with our future, yet, expofed \nas we are, to the fudden impulfes and violent agita- \ntions of luft and paflion, we cannot wait the refult \nof fuch calculations. \n\n58. Lulls and pafiions are incorporated in the \nframe of man, as antagonifls to his reafon and his \nconfeience; that they may afford opportunity for \nreafon to exercife its flrength, and for confeience to \ndruggie againfl the enemy that oppofes it. In the \nframe of man, fenfation is often at variance with \nreafon -, and appetite with confeience. Reafon calls \n\n\n\n( 2i 7 ) \n\nfor felf-denial; fenfation demands felf indulgence. \nSenfation regards merely the prefent; reafon looks \nto the future. The one is the fkfh luftihg againft \nthe fpirit; the other the fpirit lufting againft the \nflefti ; the one is the animal, the other the moral \npart of man ; and thcfe two are, for wife reafcns, and \nin order to inftrutl man in the difficult art of f elf- \ngovernment , for which no room could other-wife have \nbeen afforded, made often contrary the one to the other. \n\n59. By refitting his pafiions, which call for im- \nmediate gratification, and controuling his feniuil pro- \npenfities, man is trained up to habits of obedience, \nand fitted for a better (late, in which, fenfe and luft \nwill have no fway. The lufts and paffions of men \n(the flefh warring againft the fpirit, ftir up their will \nagainft the will of God. Intended to be a fubor- \ndinate part of our nature, and to find exercifc for \nour moral powers, they often become, through the \nneglect of a reafonable fclf government, thedefpots, \nto whofe influence we yield, and under whofe flavery \nwe crouch. They keep the little ftate of man in a \nperpetual commotion. If they are not governed, \nthey foon govern. They fix in the very core of the \nheart the ftandard of rebellion againft heaven. A \nconftant watchfulnefs is necefTary to keep them in \nfubjecYion. Our fenfe of duty ihouid be always \nburning; it is the oil, which fhould never be want- \ning in the lamp of conference s and it is that oil, \n\n\n\n( 218 ) \n\nwhich we cannot borrow of others, but muft pro- \nvide for ourfelves. \n\n60. A fenfe of duty, fuch as will enable us to \nquell the tumult of our lufts and pafiions, of our \nirregular defnes and our inordinate appetites, mud \nnot be only a cold faint belief that Chriftianity is a \ntrue religion; a belief that will not banifh one evil \nthought, or quench one unruly defire, but it muft \nbe a conviction operating on the mind, and a per- \nfuafion warming the heart; whofe united ftrength \nwill, in fome meafure, bring the future and the pre- \nfent into contact ; that will identify the intereft of \neternity with that of time; and make the law of the \nLord our ftudy and delight, our glory and our hap- \npinefs. A fenfe of duty, compounded of a con- \nviction fo rational, and a perfuafion fo affectionate, \ncan alone diffolve that forcery which the flefh ex- \nercifes over the confeience, and arm the moral prin- \nciple with ftrength to combat the attacks and to \nmoderate the rage of fenfual defire. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nThe praclice of Repentance plainly and affectionately \n\nrecommended. \n\n\n\ni.JljLow little do we know onrfelves! how feldom \ndo we meditate on the nature or the number of \nour fins ! We no fooner tranfgrefs fome law of God, \nthan we feek excufes to palliate the offence 3 and if \nconfcience upbraid us we call in fophiftry to footh \nthe pang. Thus we pracliie the groiTeft dim*mula- \ntion, even upon our own hearts. \n\n2. Few are they who do not know their duty; few \nare they who cannot diftinguifh juftice from injus- \ntice, truth from falfehood, humanity from cruelty. \nBut, though we cannot plead want of knowledge, \nhow feldom do we act on the knowledge we poffefs? \nIntent on the pleafures of fin, we blind our eyes to \nthe danger of finning. We rufh toward the brink \nof ruin, confcious, but carelefs, whither we are goingc \nO ftrange infatuation ! \n\n\n\n( 120 ) \n\n3. Sin is, in the firft place, a violation of the \nmoral law. Chriftians cannot pretend ignorance of \nthat law, for it is not only imprinted on their con- \nferences, but is clearly, diftinctly, and authoritatively \nmade known to them by revelation ; and, as our \nSaviour declared, though heaven and earth fhall be \ndiffblved, not a tittle of it fhall ever pafs away. The \ndoctrine of Chrift is the eternal wifdom of the moral \nlaw, enforced with the higheft fanctions, and pro- \npofed to our obedience on the pain of damnation. \nWhenever we fin againft any of the precepts of \nChrift, we fin againft the moral law; and we cannot \ntrefpafs againft any part of the moral law, without \noffending againft fome exprefs and revealed rule of \nthe gofpeL The moment, therefore, we have vio- \nlated any one duty of truth, juftice, and humanity, \nor any one faying of the perfect law of Chrift, that \nmoment we are polluted with guilt; and, without \nrepentance, obnoxious to punifhment. Then we \nhave need of forgivenefs; then we ought to exclaim \nwith the publican in the parable, " Lord have mercy \nupon me a finner [" \n\na. We ought frequently to meditate on the good \nand perfect law of God, that we may know how \noft we offend, We ought never to lay down our \nheads on our pillow at night, without reflecting on \nour tranfgre Prions in the day. We ought, every \nnight, to try and examine our thoughts, words, and \nactions, that we may know how far they have been \n\n\n\n( 111 ) \n\nregulated according to the rules of the gofpel. Wc \nought to fay to ourfelves, have I tranfgreiTed this \nday in thought, word, or deed ? and what was the \nnature, and what were the circumftances of my tranf- \ngreflion ? Let us put thefe queftions to our own \nhearts, that we may diftinclly fee what we have done \namifs. This practice would aid our piety, and haiten \nour improvement. It would teach us to be on our \nguard againft fin, and to know ourfelves. St. Paul \nfays, " let not the fun go down upon your wrath ;" \nand, doubtlefs, we mall mod effectually confult our \nprefent, and provide for our future happinefs, if we \ndo not fuffer the night to end and the morning to \ndawn, while we have one fin, unrepented of, hanging \non our fouls. \n\n5. Men are prone to forget their tranfgreffions ; \nthey fin day after day without thinking of their fins, \nor being aware of their danger; and they, perhaps, \ncontinue this practice for many years, till they have \ncommitted innumerable trefpalTes, which they have \nforgotten, but which God will remember. Fie will \nbring to light the hidden things of darknefs, and \ndifclofe to the trembling and impenitent culprit, the \nevil of all his days that are pad ! How much then \ndoes it behove us to repent while we know what \nwe have to repent of; and not to poftpone this moft \nimportant duty, till our fins have become more in \nnumber than the hairs o( our heads, and our ini- \n\n\n\n( 212 ) \n\nquities have accumulated till we know not their \namount ? \n\n6. It is always dangerous, even in our worldly \nconcerns, to run in arrears with time. It is always \ndangerous to put off till the morrow what ought to \nbe done to day. Much more dangerous is it, in \nour fpiritual affairs, to run in debt with time, and to \ndefer the work of our falvation, which it is perilous \nin the extreme to begin late, and which can never \nbe begun too foon. Let us not attempt to veil our \ndanger under the cover of that felf impofture, which \ncaufes us to miftake the fictions of hope for a rock \nof fafetyl The impenitent fmner can never be fdfe. \nHe is always Handing on the brink of the gulph of \nperdition ; and he may be plunged into it in a mo- \nment ! In a moment he may pafs into that ftate, \nwhere repentance will be impoffible, and tears will \nbe fried in vain. \n\n7. Repentance, it is to be feared, is ufually begun \ntoo late ! People tamper with their foul\'s everlafting \nwelfare. There are, perhaps, few perfons, however \nprofligate, who do not flatter themfelves with fome \nhope of improvement. They fix on fome ima- \nginary period, in which they refolve to carry it into \neffc6l j but this period no fooner arrives than it is \nfound inconvenient) and the great work is deferred to \nfome period ftill more diftant; and is thus fuccef. \n\n\n\n( 223 ) \n\nfively poftponed from time to time, till life has \nebbed away ! \n\n8. Some are fo improvident of their future hap- \npinefs, as to imagine that it will be time enough to \nrepent, when their hairs are grey with age, or fome \ndangerous ficknefs indicates their approaching diflb- \nlution. But, alas ! how vain and deceitful are thefe \nexpectations ! Few live to grow old, compared to \nthe many who perifh in their prime. On a reafon- \nable calculation of the value of life, there is nor, \nperhaps, more than one perfon in ten, who attains \nhis feventieth year. Many are cut off in their in- \nfancy; fome in the flower of youth; others in the \nvigour of manhood ; and how many are there whofe \nend is fudden and unexpected ? Thefe confederations \nfhew the neceffity of beginning our repentance to- \nday, while it is called to day, and not putting it off \nto the night, when no man can work* \n\n9. Repentance, begun late, is likely to be in- \neffectual. If we furfer habits of fin to grow with \nour growth, and to flrengthen with our ftrength, \nthey will become, as it were, incorporated in our \nnature, and our exertions to eradicate them muft be \nvain. We may, perhaps, imagine that the divine \nfavour will affift us in this arduous undertaking; \nbut we have no reafon to expect that affiflance. \\\xc2\xa3 \nwe have led lives, entirely repugnant to our fenfe of \nright and wrong, and to the laws of the religion we \n\n\n\nC 22 4 ) \n\nprofcfs; if we have (lighted the words of eternal life \nin that period when we had health and ftrengthi and \nall our faculties were in their full vigour, can we \nthink that God will be thus gracious when we re- \npent becaufe we can fin no longer ? Let us not in- \ndulge fuch treacherous expectations. I do not, in- \ndeed, fay that a death- bed repentance was never fin- \ncere, or never accepted ; but this I fay, that it is \nalways unfafe, and feldoni practicable. The fcrip- \ntare, by no means, encourages us in trufting to fb \nprecarious a flay. It tells us to be wile in time. \nIt tells us to watch and pray; and fufFcr nothing to \nput us off our guard againft the enemy of our fouls. \n\n10. Some fmners aflurfte a falfc confidence from \nthe example of the thief upon the crofs, who was \nforgiven when in the agonies of death. But his \nexample holds out little encouragement to Chriftians \nat the prefent day. We are initiated into the church \nof Chrifl: foon after we are born; and who among \nus can plead ignorance, unlefs it be a perverfe and \nwilful ignorance of the truth, and the duties of Chrif- \ntianity? To us Chrifl is known; to us he is preached ; \nto us the words of immortality are proclaimed; and \nit is our own fault if we have eyes, and fee not ; ears, \nand hear not ; and do not make a wife and timely \napplication of the knowledge we pcfTefs. The poor \nmalefactor on the crofs had probably but one op- \nportunity of knowing Jeius, or at lead, of being \nconvinced of his divine character ; but he did not \n\n\n\n( 225 ) \nfuffer that opportunity to efcape: he made an inftant \nand laving ufe of it ; his heart was pierced with con- \ntrition i he implored pardon ; and obtained the par- \ndon he implored *. But in what a different fitua- \n\n\n\n* As this pafTage in Luke xxiit. 3Q \xe2\x80\x94 43, is frequently rnif- \nunderftood, and encourages many in truiling, more than they \nought, to a death-bed repentance, I {hall give the whole paf- \nfage in Dr. Clarke\'s admirable paraphrafe. " One of the rob- \nbers alfo, that were crucified with him, being a man of a def- \nperate and incorrigible temper, not duly fenfible of the great- \nnefs of his own crimes, nor confidering the tokens which jefus \ngave, in his whole behaviour, of his being an innocent and \nholy perfon, faid to him, in a difcontented and fullen manner, \nIf you be the Messiah, ivhy do you not refcue yourfelf and us? \nBut the other, being of a meek and penitent difpofition, truly \nfenfible of the greatnefs of his own crime, and of the juftice \nof his puniihment 3 and, obferving at the fame time, the ex- \ntraordinary marks which appeared in this whole tranfadtion, of \nJefus\'s being a very great and good man, fo that he became \nfully convinced in his own mind that Jefus was indeed the \nexpected Mefjiah, he rebuked his companion, faying, How \ncan you be fo profane and impious, void of the fear of God, \nand fo defperately infeniible of your own condition, as to in- \nfult over a dying perfon, at the fame time that you yourfelf \nare actually in the fame condemnation ? efpecially, when what \nive fuffer is only the juft puniihment of our crimes, and no \nmore than we deferve ; but this man does not appear guilty \nof any fault at all. Then directing himfclf to Jefus, he faid, \nLord, I believe you to ba the Mc/Jiah- t and that, after all your \nfufferings, God will exalt you to great glory and power j I \nbefeech you, when you come to be eftablimed in your king- \ndom, remember me with thoughts of mercy and compaflion. \nJefus replied ; Verily, I tell you, this day thou fhalt be with \n\n\n\n( 126 ) \n\ntion are we from this criminal ? How many oppor- \ntunities have we of knowing Jefus; of attending to \nhis inftructions, and of keeping his fayings ! but, \nhow often do we flight thefe opportunities, and let \nthem glide by us like the waters of the brook ? \nAlas ! this is the caufe of our ruin. We are not wife \nin times we defpife the day before us, and let the \nthe fun of life let before we think that it is going \ndown. \n\nii. If we wilh to finifh that repentance, which \nis not to be repented of, we muft begin it early. \nRepentance, which imp\' its a thorough converfion \nunto holinefs, cannot be accomplifhed in an hour, \nor a day, or any fhort time. It is a work of years; \nand its operations are (low and gradual. As no man \nbecomes profligate in aninftant; fo no one becomes \nrighteous on a fudden. It is only by degrees, that \n\n\n\nme in the ftnte of happy fouls departed." u Tis probable." \nfays Dr. Clarke, " from the admonition mentioned in verfes \n40, 41, that this robber had been brought to ferious confider- \nation and true repentance fome time before he came to exe- \ncution ; and that having formerly heard of Chritt, and com- \nparing what he now law with what he had before heard con- \ncerning him, he was convinced of his being the true MeJJiaJi. \nBut, however that be, and whether he was a penitent before \nhis coming to execution, or not; \'tis certain his believing in \nChrtfi at this firjl opportunity, hears ?io fimUitiuh to the late re- \npentance of Chrijiians, zv/io \'have believed and dijbbcyed him all \n\n\n\n( 227 ) \n\nthe firmer is hardened in unrighteoufoefs ; and it is \nonly by degrees that he becomes righteous. Habits \nof fin, and propenfities to evil, cannot be fubdued \nwithout a long and laborious conflict. They drug- \ngie againd fubjeclion > and even when thcy/eem ex- \ntinguifhed, they will fome times rife, as it were, from \ntheir afhes, and lead us captive at their pleafure. \nThus we fee in what a fatal delufion thofe perfons \nare enfhared, who imagine that their converfion is \nfudden and indantaneous j that they hear a divine \ncall 5 that they feel a celedial impulfej that they are \nfinners one minute, and righteous the next j that \nthis inftant they are in danger, and the next in fafety; \nthat this moment they tremble on the verge of hell, \nand that the next they thrill with rapture in the hod \nof heaven. Such grofs impofitions only ferve to \nengender a faife fecurity, and to make thofe who \nindulge them carelefs of their conduct, and utterly \nnegligent of all the great obligations of morality. \n\n12. The penitent is never entirely fafe; he is \nalways in danger of falling ; and the tempter is ever \nwatching an opportunity to entangle him again in \nthe fnares from which he has efcaped. Thus, then, \neven the righteous have occafion for abundant watch-* \nfulnefs ; and much more occafion have thev, whofe \nrepentance is only begun, and not yet confirmed. \n\n13. When the converfion of a finner firft com- \nmences, there is a great inward druggie between his \n\nQ^2 \n\n\n\n( 218 ) \n\nappetites, his pafilons, and his confcience ; till, by \nflow degrees, he learns to refill temptations, and to \nreplace evil habits by habits of goodnefs. But, \nif repentance be a work of time, if the converfion \nof the (inner cannot, without the extraordinary grace \nof God, be completed in an inftant, it is certainly a \nitrong reafon, why none ought to put it off to a \ndiftant and uncertain period ; and much lefs ought \nthey to poftpone it, till the fand of life is almoft run \nout. A death-bed repentance is not to be trufled to. \nIt is madnefs in any man to hazard his falvation on \nfo perilous and defperate a venture. \n\n14. And let us not forget, what too few remem- \nber, that repentance means not only forrow for fin, \nbut forrow producing newnefs of life. It means \ncontrition generating moral improvement. It means \na change from fin unto holinefs ; a recovery from \nthe fnares of the devil to the fervice of the living \nGod. That repentance is not fincere or faving, \nwhere the heart and life are not changed. The re- \npentance of the drunkard is not fincere, unlefs it \nmake him foberj of the liar, unlefs it generate the \nlove of truth ; of the hard-hearted man, unlefs it \ninfpire humane affection ; of the covetous, unlefs it \nextinguifh the luft of wealth; of the ambitious, \nunlefs it kindle the fpirit of humility; of the frau- \ndulent, unlefs it end in habits of plain-dealing; of \nthe" deceitful, unlefs it produce fincerity. \n\n\n\n( 229 ) \n\n15. If that repentance be vain, which bringeth \nnot forth good fruits meet for repentance, we more \nforcibly fee the extreme clanger of delaying it till \nthe clofe of life, when health and ftrength are gone, \nand the foul is troubled with the fears of death. \nAt that period, when all the nobler faculties of our \nnature are difordered, what reparation can we make \nfor a whole life of fin ? At that period, how can we \nextirpate or reverfe thofe habits and affections which \nwe have cherifhed from our earlieit years ? \n\n16. As the repentance of a fick man feldom lads \nlonger than the period of his ficknefs \xe2\x80\xa2, fo we have \ntoo much reafon to apprehend that the repentance \nof a dying man is feldom real and fincere; and that, \nif his life were fpared, his fins would not ceafe. He \nwould again return to his old ways, and perfift in \nhis former tranfgreffions. \n\n17. If we wifh to make our repentance effectual, \nwe ought not to truft to the uncertainties of the \nfuture. We ought to begin the work of our falva- \ntion to-day, while it is called to-day; as none of \nus know how the day may end, or what the morrow \nmay bring forth. The prefent, that ineftimable \nprefent, by which we fet fo little (tore, is the only \nfafe and convenient feafon for repentance. Let us \nthen not wait till that feafon be over 1 Let us not \nforget how ftiort and uncertain life is ! Let us not \n\nCL3 \n\n\n\n( 230 ) \n\nforget the difficulty of correcting evil habits, when \nthey have been fuffered to grow rank by indulgence, \nand to gather ftrength by age. Let us not fuffcr \none day after another to pafs by us, without reflect- \ning ferioufly whither we are going, and how great \nwill be our mifery if we perifh in our fins ! \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT Cx\\NT. \n\n\n\n\'Temptations -, how to combat 3 and how to conquer. \n\n\n\nl.JUiFE is a (late of trial; and, confequently, of \ntemptation. In the circumftances in which we are \nplaced, we find motives to very oppofite modes of \nconduct. Temptations chiefly operate by oppofmg \nthe animal to the rational nature of man ; they arm \nhis appetites and paffions agamft his confcience. \nAddretfing their perfuafions to our grofs fenfes, they \naflail us in that quarter in which we ufually make \nthe lead refiftance. Under the form of forne pre \nfent good, or the attraclions of fome immediate \npleafure, they invite us to forego that conduct, which \nis followed by no remorfe, and that intereil which is \nmore real, though it may be more remote. \n\n2. Reafon and confcience are the great anta^o- \nnifts, with which God has provided us, to combat \ntemptation. Would we but carefully cultivate our \n\n\n\n( 2ja ) \n\nrational faculties, and our natural fenfe of right and \nwrong, and which are fo capable of improvement, \nno temptation would be able to bring us into fub- \njeclion. 1 he right exercife of our reafon will always \ninvigorate the feeling, and incline us to the practice \nof cur duty. But if man, who pofleffes powers fitted \nto exercife, and capable of exercifing a fovereign \niway over his inferior appetites, will neglecl: their \ncultivation, or rebel againft their government, he \nmud neceffarily become the flave of temptation, \nand fall into fin and mifery. \n\n3. When man does yield to the impulfes of \ntemptation, he can, juftly, blame no one but himfelf. \nGod places us in circumfUnces of temptation, in \norder to prove our obedience, and to exercife our \nreafon and our confcience ; but he never permits the \ntemptations which we meet with to be greater than \nour ftrength, or able to overpower us without the \nconfent of our will. Did God place us in circum- \nftances of temptation greater than our power to \nrefill, or more than the right ufe of our reafon and \nour confcience could conquer, he would be the au- \nthor of our fins ; and man would by no means de- \nferve to be accountable for his actions, or punifh- \nable for his offences. But the Father of fpirits deals \nnot fo cruelly and unreaibnably with his creatures. \nHe never fuffers our temptations to be greater than \nour ftrength ; or, in fcriptural language, he never \ntempts us above that we are able to bear. He does \n\n\n\n( *33 ) \n\nnot permit the perfuafions to do wrong to be natu- \nrally ftronger than the power to do right. \n\n4. Motives to vice are continually offering them- \nfelves to our minds, fuggefted by the pbjects around \nus, the circumftances in which we are placed, or the \noftcn-ihifting fcene of our lives -, but thofe motives \nare never fo powerful as that they cannot be refilled. \nIf we fuffer them to overcome us, it mult be by \nour own free choice, and we are refponfible for the \ndelinquency. When God permits us to be tempted, \nhe always makes, with the temptation, a way to \nefcape -, fo that we can never accufe him as the au- \nthor of our mifconducl. He has given us arms, \nwith which to refift, and by which to fubdue every \ntemptation that may afTail us, through the infirmities \nof the fiefh, or the circumftances of our condition. \n\n5. Though the bleffed author of Chriftianity or- \ndered us to make this one of our daily fuppiications, \n<{ lead us not into temptation " we ought not to con- \nflrue the petition as in the lead implying that God \never does, or ever will fuffer any temptations to \noccur, which we are too weak to refift, or too frail \nto overcome. Such a notion of God is downright \nblafphemy; and it is contrary to every idea which \nwe can form of his juftice and his goodnefs. But, \nas we know that God, for wife and good purpofes, \nhath defignedly placed us in a ftate of things which \noffer frequent occafions of temptation, the peri- \n\n\n\n( *34 ) \n\ntion Cf lead us not into temptation," muft be fup- \npofed to contain a fervent fupplication that, in all \nthofe temptations in which his wifdom places us, or \npermits us to be placed, he would give us intima- \ntions of our danger, and place the obligations of \nour duty fo ftrongly before our eyes, that we may \nbe prevented from violating it, not only by the ap- \nprehenfions of fear, but by a vivid fenfe of intereft. \nAnd when we pray thus to difcern our danger, and \nthus to know and feel that our duty is our intereft, \nwe take the mod effectual method to imprefs the \nfaiutary perluaficn on our hearts. \n\n6. If we duly confider the danger of fin, with the \ngreat prefent, and the ineftimable future intereft, \nwhich is connected with the performance of our \nduty, the confederation is furely enough to make us \npaufe before we liften to the fuggeftions of tempta- \ntion, even when it offers itfelf under the mod fpe- \ncious and infinuating appearance. Temptations ge- \nnerally operate by the lure of fome prefent grati- \nfication ; and it is thus, for the mod part, that they \nprevail againft us. Did they promife only fome \nfuture and diflant good or pleafure, we might have \ndue time to reflect on the danger of liftening to \nthem; confederation might come to. our aid; and \nwe might prefer ve our integrity. Eur, by offering \nfome immediate advantage or enjoyment, they ufually \ntake us, as it were, by furprife. They deny leifure \nfor reflection ; they place themfelves within our \n\n\n\n( \xc2\xab3S ) \n\nreach ; we think, that if we fufTer the opportunity \nto efcape, it will no more return; and we inftantly \nfwallow the bait without thinking on its pernicious \nconfequences. Thus the young and the old are \nfeduced into fin. They fee the prefent opportunity \nof Tome finful gratification before them, and they \ngreedily fcize it without (laying to reflect how iilufory \nit is, or how deftructive it may prove. Thus thou- \nfands are led into a thoufand excefles and crimes; \nexcefTes, which fometimes cannot be repaired; and \ncrimes, which penitence itfelf can hardly wafh away. \nHence, do we not fee the great wifdom of Him \nwho had duly confidered the circumftances of our \nprefent fituation, and our many occafions of falling, \nin directing us to watch and pray, left we enter into \ntemptation ? By watching againft the deceitfulnefs of \niin, in prayer and fupplication, we are kept con- \nftantly on our guard ; and temptations cannot take \nus unawares. If they do attempt our conlcience, \nthey find it a ftrong hold, fortified againft their ir- \nruption. They affail it when armed in the panoply \nof devotion, and prepared to make a vigorous re- \nfinance. \n\n7. When we are defired in fcripture to watch and \npray left we enter into temptations, the injunction \nteaches us to be vigilant, and prepared againft their \ningrefs ; to adopt prudent meaiures of precaution \nagainft thsir open force, or their fecret wiles. We \n\n\n\n( 236 ) \n\nare not fupinely to give them admifiion into our \nhearts, and then imagine that we can (top their pro- \ngrefs, or prevent their victory. No, we are to (hut \nthe gates againtl them. It is too late to oppofe an \nenemy when he is already pad the walls, hist >o \nlate to watch againfl temptations when they have \nfound an entrance into our breafls \'.t is too late \nto pray againfl their enchantments, when they have \npolled themfelves in our affections. \n\n8. The advice of our Lord, " pray that ye enter \nnot into temptation," is in exact conformity to that \npetition which he enjoined, <c lead us not into temp- \ntation ;" that is, he exhorts us to implore Him who \nreads our thoughts, and knoweth whereof we are \nmade, to difpofe our hearts and minds to have fuch \na firm perfuafion of our duty, that we may not wil- \nfully enter into temptation, or unwarily Juffer temptation \nto enter into us. By often ufing this petition, and \nfervently feeking help from God againfl the tempta- \ntions of the world, we are kept conflantly on our \nwatch againfl their inroads. We are prepared to \nftruggle with them on their firfl approach, and to \nextinguifh the fpark before it kindle into a flame. \nAs temptations are ufually bufy in working on the \nimagination, and captivating the will by the allure- \nments of prefent pleafure ; prayer, by fanctifying \nour hearts and invigorating our faith, enables us to \ndifcern that the pleasures of fin are fallacious as the \n\n\n\n( *37 ) \n\napples of Sodom *. Prayer animates and frefhens \nour hopes of immortality, while it renders us lefs \nfenfible to the fafcination of fenfual and fhort-lived \ngratifications. It makes us fee injuftice, intempe- \nrance, and lull, in all their real deformity and dan- \nger -, while it clothes juftice, temperance, and chaf- \ntity, in all their native fimplicity and lovelinefs ; and \nfhows them connected with lading fecurity and hap- \npinefs. \n\n9. Though many temptations to which we are \nfubject, evidently originate from thofe circumftances \nin which God has placed us, yet it is probable, that \nthe principal part of them, and particularly thofe, \nwhofe venom is mod powerful, and whofe bite moft \nmortal, originate more immediately from ourfelves. \nSt. James fays, " every man is tempted when he is \n\n\n\n* " It (the country of Sodom) was of old a moft happy land, \nboth for the fruits it bore, and the riches of its cities, although \nit be now all burnt up. It is related how, for the impiety of \nits inhabitants, it was burnt by lightning j in confequence of \nwhich there are ftill the remainders of that divine fire, and the \ntraces, or ihadows, of the five cities are ftill to be feen, as well \nas the ajlies groiving in their fruits ; which fruits, if you pluck \nthem with your hands, they difiblve into fmoke and alhes. \nAnd thus, what is related of this land of Sodom, hath thefe \nmarks of credibility, which our very fight affords us." See \nJofephus\' Jewifli war, B. IV. C. viii. \xc2\xa7 4. I quote from Whif- \nton\'s tranftation. \n\n\n\n( 23* ) \n\nenfrired and allured by his own evil defire *." Evil \nthoughts, whole prefence we invite, wh fe (lay we \nfolicit, and whofe numbers we cherifh, till they iwarm \ninto a legion of fiends, that fliut up every avenue to \nthe conference, feem the mod formidable emifiaries \no r temptation, and the principal caufes of our falling. \nWe th ; nk and ruminate on fin till it lofes its de- \nformity, or till its mifhapen uglinefs appears grace \nand beauty. \n\n10. By indulging impure and unrighteous thoughts, \nthough only for a fhort time, they often become too \ni ng to be refitted. They attract one another till \nthey rather into a hod, which the reafon cannot dif- \npe: fe, nor the confeience witnftand. Acting with a \nfort of fatal forcery on the imagination, they magnify \nthe pleafures of fin to a degree fo intenfe, or give \nthe n a form fo inviting, that defire becomes inflamed \nbeyond the power of refinance. \n\nii. By meditating on injuftice or adultery, or \nany unlawful gratification, the fond hallucinations \nof pleafure get fuch a firm poffefiion of the pafTions, \nthat they banilh all concern about the danger, the \nfhame, or the fin. The imagination, interefto] in \nthe piclure of fome ideal blifs, palfies the exertions \n\n\n\n* " By his animal part, to whkh his rational part can always \nbe fuperior." Newcome on James i. 14. \n\n\n\n( *39 ) \n\nof the confcience, and prevents all reflection on the \nconfequences. Any man may eafily govern his ap- \npetites, who can mafter the fenfual luxuriance of \nhis imagination ; but be who gives the reins to the \nvoluptuoufnefs of fancy, will foon find himfelf op- \nprefTed by the more than iron bondage of his lufts. \nHe who will vigilantly avoid all evil thoughts, and \nrefolutely oppofe his ideas when they feem difpofcd to \nAide into lafcivious combinations, may prevent every \ninordinate defire, and triumph over every unhal- \nlowed pafiion. \n\n1 2. To contend, therefore, with fuccefs asainfl \ntemptation, we mull learn to keep the fancy in fub- \njection. Inflead of wantonly cherifhing one evil \nthought, we ought to ftifle it at its birth, before its \naffociates, obeying its call, and haflening to its aid, \nfucceflively combine into images of enjoyment, from \nwhich the attention cannot be withdrawn, and from \nwhofe fpells the affections cannot be difentangled. \nThofe who have acquired the habit of governing \ntheir thoughts, of cherifhing the pure, and fupprefting \nthe unclean, will feldom be wanting in flrength to \nfhut out temptation from their hearts. But as, not- \nwithftanding all our endeavours, fome impure and \nunholy ideas, the evil progeny cf paft adociations, \nwill at times crofs the mind, as if endeavouring to \ncaptivate the attention, recourfe mud often be had \nto thofe fervent intreaties which piety will fugged, \nand which the founder of Chriftianiry fo ftrongly \ni \n\n\n\nC 240 ) \n\nrecommended. Thofe who, with a pure and up- \nright heart, afk fuccour of God, will never find it \nto fail. But when, notwithstanding our firft in- \ntreati^s, we feel evil thoughts gaining ground on \nour attention and getting the maftery over our will, \nwe rnuft not only pray, but be importunate in prayer. \nOur firft fupplications are often not granted, to try \nour faith, and, by increafing our devotion, to make \nus better qualified to receive the fivours we implore. \nDifficulties, in the way of the refolute and the ftrong, \nonly increafe their exertions to overcome them ; and \nmany occafions there are, in which help refufed to \nthe righteous, will only add to the intenfity of defire \nand the fervour of fupplication. Our Lord did not, \ntill after reiterated refufals, grant the prayer of the \nCanaanirifh woman *, that he might try the conftancy \n\n\n\n* See Matt. xv. 21 \xe2\x80\x94 28. The behaviour of our Lord on \nthis occafion deferves our attention ; and it will in fome mea- \nfure ferve to illuftrate the manner in which God often tries \nour trull in his gooclnefs, and our patience in prayer. To the \nfirit requeft of the unfortunate ttranger, Jefus anfutereil not a \nivorJ. And yet there fecms to have been Co much diltrefs \npainted in the manner and the cries of the fupplicant, as to have \nexcited the compaflion even of his difciples, who interceded \nwith their matter to grant her rcquctt, and fend her home. \nBut Jefus, as if unmoved by the lamentation of the mother \nfurrowing for her child, and by the intercettion of his dilciplcs, \nreplies fternly, "I am not lint but to the loll fheep of the \nhoufe of Jfrael." The woman then came and did him obei- \nfancej opprelTed with gruf, flic fell at his feet, and, cafting \nup he: to his, endeavoured to intcrett his fympathy; but, \n\n\n\n( ^41 ) \n\nof her faith, by the ardour of her importunity. To \npray coldly and negligently, with languor and dif- \n\n\n\n"it is not right," faid Jefus, " to take the children\'s meat and \ncad it to dogs." Did this harfh refufal provoke her fcorn, or \noffend her pride? Noj endeavouring to foften his feverity by \nher meeknefs, me returns an\'anfwer which fhews the gentle- \nnefs of her difpofition, and the lowlinefs of her heart. " Truth, \nSir, but the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their matter\'s \ntable." Jefus could hold out no longer; he fent the petitioner \naway happy in his commendation of her piety, and in the \nrecovery of her daughter. The reiterated denials which the \nCanaanitifh woman experienced from him, whom fhe knew \nto be the teacher of truth, and the minifter of compaffion, \nonly made her intreaties more intenfe inflead of more remifs; \nand rather invigorated hope than produced defpair j till, at laft, \nher faith and her piety fo ftrongly manifefted her moral fitnefs \nto receive the favour (he implored, that it could no longer be \ndenied. " Woman !" faid Jefus, " great is thy faith ; he it unto \nthee as thou defiirefl? Prayer always tends to bring us what \nwe afk, when it increafes our moral fitnefs to receive what we \npray for. And hence the neceflity of praying, and of praying \nwith earner! importunity. See Luke xi. 5 \xe2\x80\x94 I J. In order to \navert many of thofe phyfical evils which often make exiftence \nfo deplorable, and which feem the immediate vifitation of God, \nas fome cafes of ficknefs, and various misfortunes, lofles, and \ncafualties, which providence pours from the vials of his wrath, \nit feems fir ft neceffary to avoid thofe moral evils, zvith ivhich fuch \nafflictions are ajfociated in the ?noral order of the vuorld. Perhaps \nfew fufferings are inflicted on us in the courfe of our lives, \nwhich we do not deferve \\ and certainly none by which we \nmight not profit, if we would ufe them well. When, then, \nwe pray to be delivered from thofe harms which may happen \nto the body, or impair our temporal happinefs, le us not fail \nto confider that the mofi efficacious method o>i averting them, is \n\nR \n\n\n\n( *42 ) \n\ntfuft, is to make ourfelves unfit to receive the fa- \nvour we afk, and, confequently, to indifpofe God to \n\n\n\nby efcheiving evil, and doing good. Righteoufnefs hath not or \nthe promife of the life which is to come, but of that which \nnow is. It is not, indeed, often allied to great wealth or dil- \ntinguilhed honours; (for fuch things are a common fource of \ncorruption and mifery;) but it is feldom found connected with \ntorment of body or anguifh of heart. Goodnefs is the Car \nway to happinefs; and as far as happinefs regards a pleafurable \nflate of the heart and confeience, and which, perhaps, conftitutt-s \nthe pureft kind of earthly happinefs, it will, I think, be found \nalways nicely apportioned to our moral qualifications. But, it \nmight be faid, if no furTerings be inflicted on us which we do \nnot deferve, and which have not, at the fame time, a benevo- \nlent defign, why mould we pray againit them ? The fame ob- \njection might be made to the ufe of prayer in general ; but we \nare to confider that we do not pray, in the vain defign of \naverting ills that have already happened, or which are in- \ntended to happen ; for this would be to pray in order to alter \nthe will, or fruftrate the plans of providence ; but we pray, in \norder that the thoughts of fufFering, and the confeiou fuels that \nGod can inflidt, and will infli\xc2\xa3t it, ivhere there is a moral neevf- \nfity, may be fo ftrongly impreiTed on our minds, that, by acting \nJo as not to deferve the puni/Junent, ice may take the fureji tuojf \nnot tojujferit. Thus prayer enables us to profit by the general \noperation of moral laws, as indufu# r enables us to take advan- \ntage of the beneficial tendencies of the laws of the natural \nworld. Hence there is, therefore, a great and unfpeakable ad- \nvantage in earneftly and habitually imploring a deliverance \nfrom bodily furTerings and temporal calamities; becaufe though \nwe do not thereby prefume to change the courfe of the moral \nfyftem, we give it a favourable direction, as far as it refpe&s \nourfelves; by altering, not its rcta\'lons to us, but our relations \nto it; not by turning it out of its \xe2\x82\xac9urfe, but by putting ourfelves, \n\n\n\n( 243 ) \n\ngrant it. To fupplicate divine affiftance, if I may \nfo ipeak, without the fpirit of fupplication animating \nour requefts, and warming our hearts, is, inftead of \nmaking prayer a protection to ourfelves, to render \nit an advantage to the enemy. Such refiftance will \nnot avail againft the flrength of temptation ; but \nwarm, fincere, and earned and devout appeals to \nthe throne of mercy, will banifh thofe impure ima- \nginations which labour to enfnare us; and repulfe \nthofe blafts of corruption that feem fent from hell \non purpofe to fear and canker our virtuous fenfi- \nbilities, and harden our hearts in unrighteoufnefs. \n\n\n\nour oivn hearts and difpojitions, in that Jlate, ivhich, being morally \ngood, is, in the ivife arrangements of that moral government under \n\xe2\x80\xa2which toe live, invariably connected ivith, and productive qftem-. \nforal good, and prcfent felicity. This appears to me the only \ntruly philofophical and fcriptural mode of explaining the effi- \ncacy of prayer 5 and hence we may fee how what is called a \nparticular and perfonal, is compatible with a general provi\xc2\xab \ndence. \n\n\n\n\xc2\xa3 \n\n\n\n\n\n\nRELIGION "WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nCaufes of religious error and unbelief* \n\n\n\nI. JL he principal caufes of religious error and un- \nbelief, may be traced to the ignorance and preju- \ndices of the mind, or the corruptions of the heart. \n\na. Our Lord, who was certainly a friend to the \nfree exercife of the rational faculties, was well aware \nof the confequences, that would flow from their \nabufe. He accordingly admonifhed his difciples : \n" Take heed that the light which is in thee be \nnot daiknefs." Luke xi. 35.* Let not thy reafon \n\n\n\n* ^.y.orsi oiv, y.y rl fw$, ro \xc2\xa3y <ro], crr.oros i<niv. Luke xi. 35. \nGrotius fays, " Laudo eos qui vertunt, confident an non lux tua \ntencbrce fint. Many of the commentators have, as ufunl, per- \nplexed this palTage in their endeavours to find meanings that \nwere never meant. Rofenmuller is brief and clear. " Senfu* \n.eft," fays the fober and judicious fcholiait, " conlidera an non \nmens tua ignorantias et pra-judidorum vitio laboret." May I \nrefer the reader to Dr. Clarke\'s paraphrafc? \n\n\n\n( 245 ) \n\nwhich was given thee as a flay to virtue and a guide \nto truth, become the means of bewildering thee in \nerror, or of hardening thee in fin ! In another place, \nour Saviour compares the underftanding to the eye; \nthe organ of knowledge to the organ of fight. u The \nlamp of the body is the eye ; if, therefore, thine eye \nbe clear, thy whole body will be enlightened. But \nif thine eye be dim, thy whole body will be in dark- \nnefs. If, therefore, the light which is in thee be \ndarknefs, how great mufi be that darknefs*!" Matt, \nvi. 22, 23. When the vifion is clear and vigorous \nwe fee our way diflinclly ; we behold objects as they \nare, in their true figure and proportions. When the \nunderftanding is in a found and healthy ftate, neither \nwarped by prejudices, dimmed by fuperftition, nor \ntorpid through inaction, it readily diftinguifhes truth \nfrom error. It examines queftions propofed to its \nconsideration, with impartial feverityj it gives to op- \npofing arguments their due force 5 and its decifions \n\n\n\n* I follow Dr. Newcome\'s tranflation. In his fupplement \nto Wolnus, Koecher fays, on this palfage, " Domini fententia \nhaec eft; lucerna corporis oculus exiftit ; quod ii igitur oculus \ntuus fanus et integer eft, totum corpus tuum recte move,tur \nac regitur; fin vero oculus tuus vitio laborat, totum corpus \ntuum motibus et actionibus rite perfungi nequit. Si, itaque, \nquod in te exiftit lumen, nempe intellects tuus, tenebris^ id \neft, ignorantia et erroribus repletus eft; quanta? hae tenebrae \nmentis prae tenebris oculorum, quam perniciofae erunt, quan- \ntum tibi damni afferent ? Plus fane quam oculus male confti- \ntutu\'s." Koecher, Supplem. in Wolf. p. 15G, I67. \n\nR 3 \n\n\n\n( 2 4 6 } \n\nare influenced only by the weight of evidence. But \n\xe2\x96\xa0when the mind is under the mifrule of prejudices, \nwhen fuperftition has clouded its horizon, or (loth \nhas numbed its energies, it lees objects through a \nfalfe medium; a medium which changes their colour \nand their form; and difturbs and confufes their rela- \ntions. Then, things that are ftraight, appear crooked ; \nthat are light, become obfeure; propofuions that are \nplain, fcem abftrufe-, conclufions that are jufl, irre- \ngular. And thus, when that power, by which God \ndefigned to fhew us the true relations of things, to \nfix the limits of right and wrong, truth and error, \nbecomes itfelf darkened, how great, in the language \nof our Saviour, mud be that darknefs ! The under- \nstanding, oppreiTed under a cloud of prejudices, can \nno more difcern the truth, than a blind man can \nbehold the fun. \n\n3. Some of our earlieft notions are, often, of a \nreligious caft. The curiofity of children is often \nremarked, and is very remarkable ; it (hows itfelf in \nan infatiable defire to learn the caufes of the objects \naround them ; and they are continually bufy in put- \nting queftions to their parents and others, to obtain \nthe information they defire. They afk, " whence \nthis or that came, who made this thing or that." \nThey are informed of one caufe after another, till \ntheir inquiries end in God. They are told that God \nis the author of all things ; that he made the fun, \nthe moon, and the flars ; that he caufes the thunder, \n\n\n\n( 247 ) \n\nthe lightning, the wind, and the rain \xe2\x80\xa2, that he is the \ngreat creator of every thing which they behold. \nThus fome kind of religious knowledge is often the \nfirft which children acquire; and if their parents, or \nthofe who have the care of their childhood, are of \na religious difpofition, they will naturally endeavour \nto furnifh them with other religious information, \nbefides that which their own cafual inquiries might \nfupply. \n\n4. It is certainly necefTary that juft notions of \nright and wrong mould be impreiTed on children \nfrom their earlieft years ; and it is equally necefTary \nthat thofe notions fhould be ftrengthened and en- \nforced by the fanclions and perfuafions of religion. \nChildren ought not to be left without the ftay of \nmoral principle or religious belief, till they come to \nyears of difcretion, and are capable of abftract rea- \nfoning. They ought to be influenced by a fenfe of \nmoral duty, and a pcrfuafion of religious truth, long \nbefore they can inveftigate the grounds of the one, \ndr the evidences of the other. But as much care as \nis poflible, mould be taken, not to impart to them \nfalfe and erroneous opinions ; for, as religious notions \nare generally among the firft irripreffions which are \nmade on the mind, they are the mod difficult to \neradicate. They are often unalterable by the cleared \ndeductions of reafon, and defy the moft vigorous \nexercife of the underftanding. When, therefore, \npernicious tenets on religious fubje&s have been \n\nR 4 \n\n\n\n( * 4 8 5 \ninfufed into the mind, and, as it were, identified with \nthe phyfical organization of the brain, in the period \nof infancy, tenets fubverfive of found morals, of \njuft notions of right and wrong, of God and provi- \ndence, it may readily be conceived, how deftru&ive \nthey mud become in their confequences, and how \ndifficult in their cure. \n\n5. Even many perfons of quick apprehenfion, \npenetrating fagacity, and powerful intellect, often \nfeel a trembling unwillingnefs to examine their re- \nligious creed, to fift it to the bottom, to feparate \nfalfe from right notions, to burn the chaff, and pre- \nferve the wheat. Religion is connected with fo vaft \nand incalculable an intereft, and is often aflbciated \n"with fuch overwhelming fenfations of myfterious \ndread, that many, who are attracted to the invefti- \ngation by its importance, are yet withheld from \npurfuing it by its awfulnefs. The facrednefs of the \ntheme makes them regard freedom of inquiry as a \nfort of unlicenfed profanation ; the pleafurable tran- \nquillity of their faith is, befides, not undifturbed byk \ncertain anxieties of fkepticifm ; and their veneration \nfor the truth, or their confeioufnefs of its connexion \nwith their happinefs, makes them loath to inquire, \nleft they Jhould inquire too far, or difcover more than \nthey would wijh to know*. Thus, if they are inclined \n\n\n\n* Many timid people want refohuion to caft their eyes to \nthat quarter which is expofed to danger, or from which danger \n\n\n\n( ^49 ) \n\none moment to put forth their hand and touch the \nark of their creed, they draw it back the next with \nfenfations of dread and uneafinefs. Thus, many \nremain all their lives long, willing victims to the \nmoft deftructive errors, for want of courage to em- \nbrace a more falutary fyftem. If religious notions \noperate thus on fome who pofTefs a confeioufhefs \nthat they are erroneous, and have power to detect \ntheir erroneoufnefs, how mull they operate on others, \nwho feel that they are infallible, and who deem it \niacrilege and blafphemy to fuppofe themfelves, or \nto permit others to fuppofe, that they are in an \nerror * ? \n\nis expected ; and thus fear makes them neglect the means of \ndefence, while it deprives them of the pleafure of fecurity. \n\n* 11 n\'y a rien d\'exclufif, d\'affirmatif, comme le prejuge j \nmoins il raifonne lui-meme, et moms il permet le doute dts \nautres. Tout a fes yeux eft evidence immediate, parce que \nrien n\'eft deduction : il fe manifefte avec impetuofite, parce que \nVhomme livre au prejuge, n\'eft point maitre de fon efpritj il \ns\'irrite de la renftance, parce qu\'il fe lie fouvent aux paflions, \net que le mouvement des paflions croit en raifon des obftacles. \nLorfque le prejuge ne nait pas de la paflion, il devient bientot \nune paflion, lui-meme. Car on fe paflionne pour une idee comme \npour un jnteret. Une idee dominante devient un de nos be- \nfoins. Son triomphe fe He & celui de notre amour-propre; \nfouvent nous la perfonnalifons en quelque forte, nous nous \nattachons a elle comme a un ami ; les contradictions qu\'elle \neprouve femblent interefler en fa faveur la generofite de notre \ncaractere, du moins elles la font refibrlir plus vivement pour \nnotre efprit j elles rendent done fon action fur l\'imagination \nplus energique. Que fera-ce done n* la perfecution de 1\'au* \n\n\n\n( 250 ) \n\n6. Hence it may be conceived how much preju- \ndices on religious fubje&s, when they have taken a \nftrong hold on the confcicnce, and a deep root in \nthe affe&ions, tend to \' obfcure the light, and to \nnumb the exercife of the understanding. By the \nword prejudices, as I ufe it in this place, I mean \niblely, falfe and erroneous notions on religion, notions \nfubverfive of genuine piety and morality, which cart: \na thick darknefs over the light of the mind, prevent \nit from feeing the cleared truths, and from being \nconvinced by the ftrongeft arguments. There are \nfome prejudices *, which were embraced from the \nperfuafion, or adopted on the authority of others, \nwhich will bear the teft of examination, and (land \n\n\n\ntorite pent fe joindre a la contradiction du difcours, fi des fen- \ntiments d\'iudcpendance, li des peifpe&ives de gloire viennent \nfe reunir a lopiDion que nous avons foutenue, et fi on nous \ndonne lieu de nous aUacher a elle par les fouffranccs quelle \nnous coute !" Degerando, des ngnes, &c. t. iii. p. 326, SJ.J \'. \n\n* Any notions adopted on the authority of others, without \na rational investigation of their truth or falfehood, may be de- \nnominated prejudices. Thus prejudices may be cither good or \nbad, ufeful or mifchievous. There is, if I may ufe an harm- \nlefs play upon the word, too great a prejudice aga\'mji prejudices* \nChildren ought to be nurtured in good and ivhokfome preju- \ndices ; but, at the fame time, as much care as is poflible mould \nbe taken to invigorate the rational faculty, and to render its \nexercife eafy and delightful ; that when they come to years of \ndifcretion, they may have the will and the capacity to analyfe \nthe notions which they have taken up on truftj to examine all \nthings, ami to hold fajl that which is good. \n\n\n\n( *y 3 \n\nthe fcrutiny of intellect. But fuch prejudices are \nnot falfe and erroneous, but true, .and juft, and \nwholefome : and too many fuch prejudices cannot \ntoo foon be engraven on the memory, impreffed \nupon the mind, or incorporated in the heart. By \nthe prejudices, therefore, which I am condemning, \nI mean only thofe tenets, which are falfe, abfurd, \nand pernicious ; which will not endure the ten: of \nimpartial inquiry ; which would not have been em- \nbraced by the underftanding in the maturity of its \npower j and which no matured judgment, not afraid \nof looking truth in the face, or irrefiftibly prejudiced \nin favour of error, could poffibly fcrutinize without \nbeing convinced of their mifchief, their falfehood, or \nabfurdity. \n\n7. The hi (lory of the Jews, in the time of our \nSaviour, clearly illuftrates the nature, and forcibly \ndemonftrates the malignity of religious prejudices. \ntfheir prejudices, which had been tranfmitted from \ntheir anceftors, and which were cherifhed and \nftrengthened by the whole courfe of their education, \nran, at the time of our Lord\'s birth, fo ftrong in \nfavour of a temporal Meffiah, a victorious chiefi \nand a worldly potentate, that they rejected the pre- \ntentions of Jefus of Nazareth, without the leaft ex- \namination; notwith (landing the vaft, the multiplied, \nand apparently irrefragable proofs, which he gave of \nthe reality of his character, and the truth of his \npretentions. In the ftrange infatuation of their \n\n7 \n\n\n\nC 252 ) \n\nhearts, they feem to have loft the right ufe of their \nfenfes. They had eyes, and faw not; ears, and \nheard not; and their power of difcrimination was \nparalyfed by the poifon of their prepefieffions. Great \nblindnefs of mind had happened unto Ifrael; and fo \nobftinate was it in kind, and fo excefiive in degree, \nthat it rendered them infenfible to the evidence of \nmiracles, and the glorious manifeftation o( the power \nof God, \n\n3. St. Paul himfelf, is a ftriking inftance of the \nflrength and the danger of religious prepofleiuons. \nBy what ftrange delufions was he opprefled previous \nto his converfion ! His prejudices in favour of the \nPharifaic ordinances and fuperftitions, and againft \nthe fimple doctrine of the gofpel, were fo violent \nand fo invincible, fo full of rancour and acerbity, \nthat though poMefTed of a vigorous mind, and no \nfmall fbare of penetration, he could not only not fee \nthe truth, but laboured to (top its progrefs by the \nckftrudtion of its advocates. The obfeuring power \nof his prejudices is well reprefented by the fcales \nthat fell from his eyes at the period of his converfion. \nPrejudices are, indeed, fcales that prevent the influx \nof the light of truth into the mind, \n\n9. Let us not fuppofe that the delufions of error \nand the obftinacy of prejudice belong to the Jews \nand the Gentiles only; they are often found rank \nsnd full-blown even among Chriftians alfo. Chrif- \n\n\n\n( *S3 ) \ntians arc, in general, too much bigoted to the notions \nof the fe\xc2\xa3t to wh\'iGh they belong. They are too \nprone to imagine that their peculiar notions arc alone \nagreeable to God, alone confonant to his nature, \nalone worthy of his acceptance. They fuppofe that \nnone can be wrong who think as they think j and \nthat none can be right who think otherwife. This \nprepofTefilon renders them flubborn in their belief \nand intolerant in their practice. It makes them, \nlike the Pharifees of old, friends to the few who will \nproceed to the fame lengths of bigotry, and enemies \nto all the world befides. People who are fo vio- \nlently prepofTefTed in favour of their own opinions, \nas to think their fyftem of theology alone jufl, \ntheir ordinances alone reafonable, or their tenets \nalone true; cannot but think the fyftems, ordinances, \nand opinions of all others, erroneous. Hence, they \nvainly fancy their worlhip exclufively entitled to the \ndivine regard j and they confider the worfhip of \nothers as great an abomination in God\'s eyes, as \nit is in their own. Hence, with fuch perfons, into- \nlerance is a principle of faith, and an efTential ingre- \ndient in their religion. If they cannot convert, they \nthink it juft to perfecute ; and with them a fpirit \nof ferocity is fubftituted for the fpirit of Chriitian \ncharity. \n\n10. Let us not entertain fo fond a conceit of the \nincreafe of genuine philanthropy, as to fuppofe that \nthere is no wim remaining to employ perfecudon in \n\n\n\n( l?4 ) \n\nthe fervice of religion. Clouded by innumerable \ndelufionS;, and hardened by the fullen genius of fa- \nnaticifm, many are flill living, and perhaps daily \nincreafing in iircngth and numbers, who, like the \nPapifts of old, would forget the feelings of humanity \nin the rage of their intolerance. Thinking their \nown tenets alone true and infallible, they cannot but \nfeel it a duty paramount to all others to bring the \nwhole world over to their communion j nor will any \ncompunctious vifitings of confeience prevent them \nfrom endeavouring to convince by force thofe whom \nthey cannot convince by argument. In the genuine \nperverfenefs of bigotry, regarding only the imaginary \ngoodnefs of the end, they would be reftrained by no \nfavagenefs in the means of bringing it to pais. \n\n1 1. The tendencies to fuch diabolical intolerance, \nand the tendencies to it, from the fuggeftions of \npride, or the imperceptible illufions of felf-love, are \nmore frequent and more ftrong than we ufually \nimagine, might be, in a great degree, counteracted \nby the prudence of this confideration ; that while \nmany points of faith and doctrine are dubious, points \nof practice are always clear-, that confequently, he \nwho confults the gofpel only as a rule of faith, may \nfometimes err ; but that he who confcientiouflyy?\xc2\xab^>j \nit as a rule of life, can never go wrong. \n\n12. All modes of faith, though they may not be \nconfonant to each other, or agreeable to the deter- \n\n\n\n( 255 ) \n\nminations of fcripture, will, probably, be acceptable \nto Gou, if they do not encourage immorality of \nconduct \xe2\x80\xa2, for, while fome points of faith and doc- \ntrine feem too dark to be made clear, and too intri- \ncate to be unravelled *, the duties of morality are \nalways fo ftrongly and plainly enforced, that any \nfaith, which is adverfe to moral obligation, muft necejfarily \nbe contrary to the doufrine of Chrift. For Chrift can- \nnot contradict himfelf ; and as he has moji Jlrenuoujly, \nand diftintlly, and authoritatively , required the practice \nof moral duty, he cannot, at the fame time, have com- \nmanded a belief definitive of it, or contrary to it. Of \ntwo different modes of belief, therefore, that muft \nbe the bed, becaufe the mod agreeable to the ge- \nneral fpirit of Chriftianity, and the general injunc- \ntions of Chrift, which moft encourages the growth of \nmorality. \n\n13. If points of faith be left dubious, men may \nembrace different opinions refpecting them, and yet \nnot err in the fight of God. That many points of \nfaith are left dubious, appears from this, that while \ndifferent churches adopt different creeds, learned \nand confcientious members of the fame church \noften differ in certain fpeculative matters of belief. \nSome think that there are three perfons in the god- \n\n\n\n* From primary defign, or fubfequent corruption ? \n\n\n\n( *# ) \n\nhead, others only one*; Tome think that grace is a \nmiraculous infufion, others think that what is called \ngrace, is that divine bleffing, which, in the moral \norder of things, and, according to fixed and efta- \nblifhed Jaws, as confbnt and uniform as thofe in the \nnatural world, always attends on the operations of \ngoodnefs. On thefe, and many other knotty quef- \ntions in Chriftian theology, individuals have differed, \nand may, and perhaps always will differ; but they \ncannot fo eafily differ about the duties of Chriftian \npractice s becaufe thofe duties are not obfeurely ex- \n\n\n\n* I wifh that Dr. Prieftley, inftead of laviming To much \ntime and talents on a fruit lefs controvert)-, had profited by the \nfollowing remarks of Grotius. " Vix eft ut cum de Deo loqui- \nmur, utamur vocibus, quae omnes incommodas interpretationes \neffugiant. Scholae Grrecae et Latinae, poft multas curiofas et \naudaces difputationes, in verbis tandem convenerunt, in eorum \nexplicatione faepe diffident. Gr<rci vetcres quidam appellant \nrgQifO\'JS vird^tsu); (fubfiftendi modos) id quod Latini Pcrfonas. \nCaeterum commodiilima ac minime intricate mihi videtur ex- \nplicatio, quam ecclefia Grazca, qu?e erat Conilantinopoli, tunc \ncum urbs ca capeietur, exhibuit Turcarum Sultano. Res fe- \ncundae delicatos faciunt, res adverfne fobrios. Veru7ita7>xn \n\xe2\x80\xa2vecikus tfnologicis, qu<r. conaViorum tmbuerfaiiutn auLiorhate aut \nmagno conjenfu erud\'ttorum receptee Junt, rcluclirnJum non ej}. \nNon enim ita imprudenter fictae lunt, ut non commodam inter* \npretationem recipiant, atque" etiam a multis commode fint-cx- \nplicatoe. Quibus se addere, aut certe tacere, multo \n\nEST SATIUS, QUAM OB FES SI B I NON MINUS QUAM ALUS OB- \nSCUKAS, ET NIHIL AD EMEND ATI O N BM MORL\'M PCRTINENTFS \nTl\'ltBARB REM MAX1MAM PACEM ECCI.I SJ/E." Grot, QD, tom. \n\niii. p.6\'15. \n\n\n\n( *57 ) \n\npreffed, or of doubtful and equivocal conftrucYion. \nThey do not admit of a diverfity of opinions on \ntheir fanctity or importance ; and that faith, there- \nfore, cannot be agreeable to the will of God, or \nconfident with the gofpel of his Son, which generates \na practice oppofite to thofe rules of life, which the \nauthor of chriftianity both taught and practifedj \nfrom whofe yoke no man is free, and whofe obligations \nno man, whatever may be his speculative belief, has a \n\xe2\x80\xa2privilege to violate. No man can be found in his \nfaith who is unfound in his morals. This feems a \nclear, felf evident, fcriptural truth ; and the prefent \nflate of the world, and the foolifh difputes and per- \nnicious errors at prefent prevailing among Chriftians, \nrequire it to be fo univerfally known, that I with I \nhad flrength of lungs to make it heard, and ftrength \nof mind to make it underftood from one end of the \nearth even unto the other. \n\n14. All Chriftians mould endeavour, as far as \nthey have capacity and opportunity, to form their \nfaith in the doctrines of Chriftianity, according to \nthe ftandard of fcripture ; but they mould at the \nfame time remember, that it is lejs incumbent on them \nto penetrate with Jcrupulous care and bufy curiofity into \nthe myjleries of faith, than to lead lives conformable to \nthat law of holinefs which Chrift eftablifhed -, without \nwhich no man\'s faith can be pure ; and with which \nGod will accept any mans faith, though it may be \n\nS \n\n\n\n( *s* ) \n\nJilled with involuntary errors ; errors arifingfrom early \nprejudice, a limited capacity, or deficient information, \n\n15. In matters of faith a man may err through \nignorance, but, in matters of practice, no man can \nwell err without wilful ignorance, an ignorance for \nwhich he is accountable, and for which no excufe \nwill be accepted in that awful hour when every man \nfhall receive according to his works. In matters \nof practice, a man knows his duty without much \ninftruction. He wants not much learning to know \nthat truth, juftice, and temperance, are his duty; and, \nin this refpect, the law, written on his confeience, \nenforces and confirms the law which is written in \nthe gofpel. No man, therefore, can well offend \nagainfl the great and facred duties of moral obliga- \ntion, without doing violence to his own fenfe of \nright and wrong, as well as violating the precepts of \nChiiftian duty. \n\n16. When any man has endeavoured, with a pure \nand upright heart, to form thofe notions of faith \nwhich are moft agreeable to the genuine fenfe of \nfcripture, he may fecurely tfuft, that, if his practice be \nconformable to the practical precepts of Chrift, his \nfaith will be accepted, though it fbould happen to be \nerroneous. No man can do more than exert his \nutmoft ftrength to difcover the truth; and if, after \nfuch exertion, his endeavours fail, God, who isjuft \nand merciful, will not, certainly, punifh him for an \n\n\n\n( 2?9 ) \n\niitvolimtary overfight, or an harmlefs error. God \nonly knows the particular ftrength of mind which is \nallotted to each individual; and he, certainly, requires \nno more than its vigorous application. When man \nhas employed all the opportunities which his (ration \nalio -vs, and all the ftrength which nis capacity admits, \nin unfolding he obfeurity, or in feparating the per- \nplexities <;f religious truth, he has done his utmoft; \nand the Father of {pints does not demand any more \nto be done. To iuppof* that God will punifh a \nman for forming a wrong judgment on matters of \nfaith, after the mod confeientious endeavour to form \na right, or for embracing any tenets that are falfe, \nafter the mod fcrupulous fearch for thofe which are \ntrue, is to make God cruel and unjnft. For God, \nas far as he is juft and good, cannot certainly make \nany man accountable for talents which he never re- \nceived, or opportunities which he never enjoyed. \nHe, therefore, whofe religious belief, however he- \nterodox it may feem, is the refult of a fair and honeft \nand rational examination of the fcriptures, need be \nunder no alarm about the falvation of his foul: at \nthe folemn day of reckoning he will hear this com- \nfortable fentence, " Weil done, thou good and faith- \nful fervant ; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." \n\n17. Superftition is another frequent fource of \nreligious error. It is one of the chara&eriftic pro- \nperties of fjperftition, to fu >pofe that a ceremonial \nworfhip is more agreeable to God, than the wonhip \n\nS 2 \n\n\n\n( i6o ) \n\nof the heart and life. Thus it afcribes extraordinary \nvirtues to ceremonial obfervances, and practifes them \nto the neglect of the weightier matters of religion, \njuftice, mercy, and truth. It demands and obferves \na fcrupulous and inviolate exactnefs in little and \nunimportant matters, while it regards neither reafon \nnor confcience in matters of greater moment. It \nftrains at a gnat, and f a allows a camel; it puts the \nmeans of religion for the end ; it clings to the forma- \nlities of devotion, and fets the fan&ity of mora] \nobligation at defiance. \n\n1 8. Our Lord was, certainly, no friend to religion \ndegenerated into fuperftition, as any one may dis- \ncover in the twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew, \nwhich contains a mod animated invective againft the \nPharifees. The excefs of their fuperftition was ma- \nnifefted in a punctilious attention to minute and \nfrivolous forms. It was feen and heard in the gaudy \nfhow and the fugared cant of external adoration. \nThey made broad their phylacteries, and enlarged \nthe borders. of their garments; they devoured wi- \ndows* houfes, and for a pretence made long prayers; \nthey fulfilled the ceremonial law; they made clean \nthe outfide of the cup and of the platter, while, \nwithin, they were full of ex:ortion and excefs; they \nrefembled whited fepulchres, beautiful outward, but \nwithin, full of dead men\'s bones and all uncleannefsj \nthey affected a fludied reprcfentation of righteouf- \nnefs in the fight of the world, but, in the fi^ht of \n\n\n\n( a6i ) \n\nGod, they were polluted with hypocrify and iniquity. \nSuch were the diftinguifhing features of Pharifaic \nfuperftition, and though fome of them may be varied \nby lapfe of time, and the change of opinions and \nmanners, they will be found to bear a general re- \nfemblance to the character of fuperftition in all ages \nand nations. \n\n19, If we examine the fuperftitions which are \nprevalent among Chriftians, we fhall find that they \ndo not differ in any considerable degree, from the \nfuperftitions of the Pharifees in the time of our \nLord. How many Chriftians are fiercely zealous \nabout forms and ceremonies, forms that are vain, \nand rights that are indifferent, while they are coldly \nnegligent in matters of greater fanctity and impor- \ntance ! How many Chriftians fet profefiions of faith, \nand creeds, and fyftems, the mere fhadows and \ncolourings, above the practice of piety, pure and \nunde filed ! \n\n20. Falfe and irrational notions of God always \npave the way for the introduction, and always afford \nmaterials for the ftructure of fuperftition. If we \nfuppofe God a corporeal, a fallible, or partial being, \nwhich many feem to fuppofe by the vain mummery \nof their adoration, by the infincerity of their homage, \nand the intolerance of their opinions, we can hardly \nhelp being fuperftitious. If God were a corporeal \nbeing, if he were made of flefh and blood, if he had \n\nS 3 \n\n\n\n( 262 ) \n\nanv particular form, any appropriate outward per- \nfbnality, the a r tiricial oblations of the fuperftitious \nrnighj be pleafing in his eyes, fuited to his ch raJer, \nand agreeable to his natun . When we addrefb aa \nenthly prince, we ufually >poroach him with the \nfhow \' great reipeTt and uverence ; the .nvv ird \nfeelings m iv be concealed by the outward geftuxe, \nanc tht effufions of flatteiy may be miftaken for the \nh^mag.- of finccrity. But as God has no corporeal \nfhape, and feeth not as man feerh, he cannot be thus \ndeceived; and the mere extern.] forms of dev< oon \nwill not recommend the worfhipper to his favour, \nexcept fo far as they are unfeigned tokens of inward \nadoration. He cannot be deceived by the trea- \ncherous fmile, the unfek thankfgiving, and the \nmimic prayer. His eye penetrates the mod fecret \nrecedes of the human bread; he difcerns the exa\xc2\xa3b \ncorrefpondence between the heart and the coun- \ntenance, the thoughts and the profeflions ; and his \ndifpleafure cannot but be excited by the unmeaning \noblations of a counterfeited piety. \n\n21. As God is not a fallible, neither is he a partial \nbeing. He is fubjecl to no fudden changes of dif- \npofuion, no unreaionable likings or diflikes ; no \nviolent affections and antipathies He is the uni- \nverfal father, and the name by which Chriit himfelf \ntaught us to ad Irefs God, "Our Father!" implies \nthat, naturally, all minkind are placed in the fame \nftate of relacionfhip to him, and equally entitled to \n\n\n\n( *6* ) \n\nhis regard. As a good and wife parent will never \nmake any invidious or unreafonable diftindlions be- \ntween his children, but where he does fhow any dif- \nference of love, will fhow it mod to thofe who mod \nexcel in what is amiable; fo we may be affured that \nGod, who is the father of the univerfe, will fhow no \nunreaforiable tokens of fondnefs to one, or of aver- \nfion to another. And if he do (hew any preference \nin his regard, it will not certainly be fhewn to thofe \nwho pay him only a formal worfhip; he will mod \nprefer thofe who mofl exceed in goodnefs. Of \n(Thrift, it is mofl emphatically laid in fcripture, that \nhe went abcut doing good ; goodnefs was the caufe of \nhis coming, and the end for which he came into the \nworld; goodnefs was the drift of his inilruclions, \nthe defign of his preaching, the motive of his mi- \nracles, rhe practice of hib life; and thofe accordingly, \nwho make the nearefl approaches to this perfection \nof his character, will have many fenfible tokens of \nthe divine favour in this world, and w.ll receive the \nfulnefs of their recompence at the refurre&ion of the \njuft. \n\n%%* Thofe notions of God, which teach us that \nhe is not a corporeal, a fallible, or partial being; \nthat he delights not in forms and ceremonies, and \nthat real vital goodnefs is the facriftce mofl agree- \nable to his nature, and mod acceptable to his will, \nmud tend to banifh thofe falfe, irrational, and mif- \nchievous notions of religion, by which fuperdition \n\nS 4 \n\n\n\n( *6 4 ) \n\nis engendered, which add malignity to its venom, \nand violence to its ferocity. \n\n23. Immorality of conduft is another frequent \ncaufe of relgious error and unbelief. The under- \nftanding is not always prevented more by its dulnefs \nor irs prejudices from decerning the truth, than the \nheart is, by its corruptions, from embracing it. The \nconfeience is often as feared as the mind is dark ; \nand if a heart, hardened by vicious habits, be not \nthe univerfal and infeparable, it is a common and \noften affociated caufe of infidelity*. \n\n24. The mind may, at times, without any falfe \nbias given by the paflTions, be too dull to lee the \nweight of evidence, or the force of thofe probabilities \non which religious truth depends, and by which \nevery fober and rational man will think it prudent \nto regulate his conduct. But it ufually happens, \nthat a man\'s unbelief is more to be imputed to his \nvices than to his capacity, and that he is prevented \nfrom believing and embracing the truth, rather from \nfome perverfenefs in his temper, or fome obliquity \nin his affections, than from the errors of his judg- \nment, or the weaknefs of his underftanding. A \nman\'s vices cannot fail of prepofTefhng him ftrongly \nagainft thofe truths by which thole vices are con- \n\n\n\n* Immorality is not always either the caufe or the confe- \nquence of deifm. \n\n\n\n( 26 5 \xe2\x80\xa2) \n\ndemncd. No one is willing to attend to that mo* \nnitor who upbraids him with his folly and his fins ; \nwho fternly commands him to abandon fome fenfual \npropenfity, or fome imperious paflion, which he \nfeels an intereft in retaining, or wants courage to \nrenounce. The finner cannot readily bring himfelf \nto examine the evidences of that religion which \nthreatens him with puniihment, and which he could \nnot believe true without changing that courfe of life \nwhich he may find productive of gain or pleafure. \nHe rather voluntarily (huts his eyes againft the light, \nthan opens them to behold it. The vicioufnefs of \nhis heart prevents him from making a right ufe of \nthe faculties of his mind. His affections, entangled \nin the fnares of tranigrefiion, impofe upon his reafon; \nand he finds an intereft in inventing plaufible excufes \nto conceal his danger, or to juilify his unbelief. He \nis ever ready to iiften to any objections, however \nfrivolous, which add to the number of his doubts, \nor increafe the ftubbornnefs of his infidelity. \n\n25. Our Lord himfelf, evidently confidered im- \nmorality of conduct as the malignant principle that \ngenerated and cherifhed infidelity. <c Every one," \nfaith he, " that doeth evil, hateth the light, neither \neometh to the light, left his" deeds mould be re- \nproved j" and as he thought badnefs of life paved \nthe way to fkcpticifm, fo he thought that goodnefs \nbad a natural tendency to produce faith in revelation. \n" He that doeth truth (righteoufnefs), eometh to the \n\n\n\n( 266 ) \n\nlijht;" an * he likewife gives to i proper fenfe and \npractice of moral oDlig.m\xc2\xab>n, a full afiuraoce or be- \nliefs for he fays, if any man will do his will, tut \nis, if any wan w II fmcerciy defiie, and fLeuuoufly \nendeavour to work righceoufneis, he fhall, on a due \ninquiry, know of the doctrine, whether it b of G 1. \nTh 1c impttilive declaration of the author of Chi if- \ntianity, certainly indicate that thofe, who perfnt in \ndisbelieving the gofpel, ought rather to accufe t:ie \nunnghteoulnefs of their lives, than, the iniufficiency \nof the evidence. Before, therefore, any man pre- \nfume to deny the truth of revelation, let him fe- \nrioufly examine whether fome inordinate appetite, \nfome tyrannifing fin, or fome unbridled lull, do not \ngive a falfe and undue bias to his opinions, clouding \nthe clearnefs of his judgment, and perverting the \nrectitude of his underftanding. Chriftianity requires \ngreat purity and felf-denial; and, therefore, it is not \nmuch to be wondered, that it is fo ofcen rejected by \nthole who do not only not refpecl the duties it en- \njoins, but who burn with a vehement d^fire to com- \nmit the fins it forbids*. To a perfon whofe eye is \n\n\n\n* The hiPory of the Jews fhows the (irong tendency which \ngreat corruption of manners and profl\'gacy of co duet h ve \ntowards making men thut then eyes again ft the moft plain \nand ftriking truths. The Jews were not more blind of mind \nthan they were hard of heart. Their prejudices refpecling a \ntemporal Mefliah were one caufe of their rejettmg Chrift; but, \nI think, that a Jlrongcr and more powerful caufe may be dif- \ncovercd in the enormity of their vices, and tiie extent of that cor- \n\n\n\n( 26 7 ) \n\njaundiced, the colours of objects appear very diffe- \nrent from what they are. To one whofe mora) i\'en- \ntiments are corrupted, and whofe affections are de- \npraved, the truths of revelation mult appear of a \nlefs lovely afpect than they really are ; he naturally \nfeels indifpofed to embrace a fyflem which places \nterror and deft ruction before his eyes, and wnich, in \nhis gay ell moments, prefents the fatal iiand- writing \non the wall, to the fignt of his guilty confeience I \n\n\n\nruptions. Their pride, their avarice, and. perhaps, more than \nall, the libidinoufnefs and vindi&ivenefs of th^\'r hearts, in \nwhich, at the time of our Saviour, they feem to have exceeded \nthe ferocity <\xc2\xbbf the wildeft favages, and to have furpaflcd the \nexcefles of the molt intemperate voluptuaries, and which were \nfo oppoflte to the pure, the humble, the benevolent, the gentle \nand forgiving do<5trines of the holy Jefus, made them loath a \npreacher, all whofe layings were deemed a reproach upon their \nco lu&, and a libel on their crimes. The eafy yoke of Chnft \nfeemed to them an intolerable bondage ; became *hey could \nnot forego their lulls and paffions, and bring their hearts and \nJiv?s in fubjettion to his doctrine. The fame reafons which \noperated on the Jews to reject the million of Chrift, will, where- \never they exift, operate on others of all Fucceeding ages, todeny \nthe truth, and to fpurn at the duties of the golpel. \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nEvils of dijjenjion. Temperate fuggeft ions. Eccleftaflical \nunion. The juft medium between indifference and \nintolerance in particular diverfities of opinion. \n\nI. A large portion of human mifery originates in \nthe want of a peaceable difpofuion. Hence, the \nfwoid is unfheathed to make widows and orphans ! \nHence, the attention of mankind is diverted from \nthe purfuits of induftry, which diffuie cheerfulnefs \nand plenty, to purfuits which occafion nothing but \nfamine and woe ! Hence, the progrefs of civilization \nis fufpended, and the profpenty of nations is de- \nftroyed ! \n\n1. The few fhort intervals of peace, which Euro- \npean policy allows to weary man, are feldom owing \nfo much to an aveifion to the principle of war, as \nto the want of refources to carry it on. Pride, am- \nbition, and revenge, the love of falfe glory, the jea- \nloufies of power, and the lufts of domination, are \nnot extinguished \xe2\x80\xa2> the flame is finothered for a fea- \n\n\n\n( 269 ) \n\nfon, but the next guft of fortune blows it into another \nblaze. Thus the peace that fubfifts between na- \ntions, and particularly nations between whom jea- \nloufy is occafioned by proximity of fuuation, and \nwar is prompted by the facility with which it may \nbe waged, is feldom any thing more than a fhort \nceffation of hoftilities. It is rather an exhauftion of \nflrength, than an extinction of pafllon -, rather too \ngreat feeblenefs to hold the fword, than a cordial \ndefire to place and to keep it in the fcabbard. Thus \nthe peace of dates, not originating in a peaceable \ndifpofition, nor in a religious dread of the guilt and \natrocities of war, but being occafioned only by fome \ntemporary advantages, or fome momentary conve- \nnience, is violated when they ceafe j and the banners \nof blood are again unfurled as foon as fome finifter \npolicy can generate or feize new pretexts for deftruc- \ntion. This perpetually-recurring ftate of favagc \nbutchery and incalculable woe cannot be expected \nto have an end, till a fincere indifpofition to ftrife \nfhall be more prevalent in the world, and obedience \nto the peaceful precepts of Chriftianity (hall become \nthe imperial guide of human conduct and human \nintereft. \n\n3. The love of peace always promotes an union \nof affections, and often of opinions. An union of \nopinions on all fubjects, particularly on doubtful \nqueftions, on which different opinions may reafon- \nably be entertained, is impofiible. The topics on \n\n\n\n( 270 ) \n\nwhich men mod frequently differ, and which engen- \nder the moft bitter animofities, are political jld] re- \nligious. When political opinions are connected \nwith temporal emolument, or are fpecial objects of \npublic patronage, it is eafv to conceive why thofe \nwho profefs them, defend them with zeal, and why \nthofe who oppoie them, oppofc them with violence. \nIn this cafe, the advocate* of the different opinions \nmuff, in fome meafure, regard each other as per- \nfonal enemies, and their affe&ions are kept divided \nby the divifion of their interefts. In this conflict of \nopinions, truth is feldom either the only object rhat \nis Tough: *, or the only end that is purfued. For, \non all occafions, in which no fecret intereft biaflcs \nthe parties to any particular conclufions, the male- \n\n\n\n* The following remarks of one of the lateft, the moft fober \nand moft judicious of ihe French metaphyficians, are deferving \nof attention, and are applicable to a very large portion of \nthofe difputes on which nv n wafte their talents and their time. \n" Lrf decouvertc tie la veritc a etc plutot encore le fruit que Tocca~ \nJion des difputes des liommes, la v trite eft auili lente a ie montrer, \nque Terreur eft prompte a paroitre; ainft la lutte des erreurs \nop po fees entre elles, a du conmiencer avant celles des erreurs \ncontre la verite. L\'opinion vraie confifte fouvent a douter la \noii l\'erreur affirme avec affurance; ainft il fcmble qu\'il y a une \noppofition moins ouverte entre le fage et l\'efprit errone, qu\'en- \ntre ceux qui s\'abandonnent a des erreurs diflercntes. Hnfin a \nune feule verite correspondent toujours on tres grand nombre \nd\'erreurs, comme a cote de la ligne direcle, qui conduit au but, \nfe trouvent nrille autres lignes, qui en divergent dans tons lei \nftns." Degerando, vol. iii. 325, \n\n\n\n( 2 7 I ) \n\nvolent pafiions cannot intervene to perplex the quef- \ntion, and to inflame the combatants. \n\n4. Till the genuine, benign, and peaceable fpirit \nof the gofpel of Chrift, fhall be more cherifhed and \nmore venerated by public men, we may hope, but \nwe (hall hope in vain, that the conflict of political \nfentiment fhould occafion no coldnefs in their friend- \nfhip, and no rancour in their enmity. But, more \nfliange it feems, that individuals, who are placed \nfarther fro n the brink of political contention, who \ncan hardly have any perfonal intereft in the fubver- \nfion of one faction, or in the triumph of another, \nfhould not be able to think differently on public \nmen and public meafures, without the rnofl: furious \ndiffrnfions. Thofe who are unacquainted with the \ngreat actors on the political theatre, and who know \nnothing of the very intricate machinery which is \nrequired to keep the wheels of any government in \nmotion, that prefides over a rich and powerful, but \na corrupt and vicious people, can feldom judge with \ntolerable correctnefs, on meafures of policy, or the \ncharacters of politicians. And yet, what company \ndo we enter, in which we do not hear fome men \napplauded as if they were patriots, exempt from \nevery vice, and others reviled as ruffians deflitute of \nevery virtue ? On thefe occafions, we frequently hear \nmeafures, apparently intended by the advifcrs for \nthe public good, inveighed againft with as much \n\n\n\n( 2 7 2 ) \n\nwarmth, and as much bitternefs, as if they were pur- \npofely planned for the public deftruction. Such are \nfome of the rafh and unfair judgments, which men, \nfometimes, peremptorily affirm, and paffionately de- \nfend; and of which they often hate, and even, as far \nas their power extends, perfecute thofe who queftion \nthe truth, or refufe an unqualified afTcnt to their pre- \ncipitate affertions. In fpeaking of public characters, \nmen are, ufually, lefs directed by the conviction of \nknowledge, or the evidence of facts, than by the \nrumours of common fame, the bitter afperfions of \nenemies, or the glowing encomiums of friends ; the \nvirulence of flanderers, or the adulation of depen- \ndants. Political judgments are feldom impartial or \ncorrect:, becaufe the ideas, out of which they are \nformed, are ufually made to diverge from the ftraight \nline of truth, in palling through the cloudy medium \nof ignorance, prejudice, and malignity. \n\n5. What is called the public good, which it is \nthe duty of public men to confider, and, as far as \nthey have power, to promote, is, from the intricacy \nof the fubject, and the multiplicity of particulars \nwhich it includes, fo difficult to be known, and, \nwhen known, from the chaos of jarring inttrdts that \nare to be reconciled, fo d\'fficult to be executed, and \nfo many different ways of doing it may leem the \nbed to different individuals, that the me.ifures which \npublic men adopt, or the counicls which they &ive, \n\n\n\n( 273 ) \n\nought not to be promifcuoufly cenfured becaufe the \nhappen to run adverfe to our own opinions, or to \nobftruct our narrow and partial views. \n\n6. It is very eafy for any one private individual \nto determine what meafures he would judge mofb \nexpedient for the national welfare j for men in gene- \nral are too ready to imagine that what would be \nbeneficial to themfelves, could not be hurtful to the \ncommunity. But, is it not probable, that a council \nof flatefmen, raking a larger view of the fubjecl, and \nconfidering it not fo much in its partial, in its local, \nor its perfonal, as in its general relations, will fugged \nvery different meafures, and more conducive to the \ngood of the community * ? \n\n7. When fo few poffefs the ability to analyfe the \ncomplex idea of the public happinefs, or to trace it \nthrough only half its diverfified relations, we may \nreadily difcern how, without any finifter intentions, \nor difhoneft views, people may think very differently \nfrom each other, on queftions which concern the \npublic welfare. The difficulty of afcertaining which \nopinion is right, or which is wrong, which has the \nftrongeft tendency to promote, and which to coun* \n\n\n\n* Different men, placed at different heights of the fame \nmountain, will form different notions of the features, the pofi- \ntions, and produce of the furrounding country. I mail leave \nthe application to the reader. \n\nT \n\n\n\n( *74 ) \n\nteract the public good, ought to teach their feveral \ndefenders diffidence and moderation. On fuch to- \npics, what fhould deter us from maintaining oppofite \nfentiments without the lead diminution of our mu- \ntual regard, or the lead interruption of our domeftic \nand focial intercourfe I \n\n8. Differences of opinion on religious fubjects, \nare another fruitful fource of animofity. Different \nfects, who efpoufe different doctrines, in a great \nmeafure, refemble the different factions in a (late, \nin the fincerity of their mutual ill-will, in the ardour \nof their ambition, and the purfuit of an exclufive \nintereft. Political factions hate each other, becaufe \neach regards the reft as obftrudtions to the attain- \nment of fome temporal end ; and religious factions \nglow with no lefs mutual hatred, as if the future \ngood, to which each afpires, were totally incom- \npatible with the good of its competitors for eternal \nhappinefs. The firfl feek to obtain the fole, un- \nfhared poffeffion of the honours that perifh; the \nfecond feek to appropriate to themfelves the crown \nof glory, that fadeth not away. They are both in- \nflamed with the fpirit of monopoly; but while the \none is all greedinefs to engrofs the good things pf \nthis prefent world, the other is no lefs greedy to \nengrofs thofe of another. In the flruggle for tem- \nporal and fpiritual dominion, the political faction \nfeems, on the whole, to difplay, though not, per- \nhaps, more benevolence, more fagacity than the re- \nligious. The temporal diftinctions, honours, and \n\n\n\n( 275 ) \n\nemoluments, which the firft purfues, are limited \nboth in number and in quantity, and there is not \nenough to appeafe the ravenous appetites both of \nthemfelves and of their rivals. The richelt mo- \nnarch on earth cannot fatisfy the demands of all the \ncandidates for his favour, or of all the petitioners \nfor his bounty. He cannot even gratify every \nmoderate wifh, or every reafonable expectation. \nHence we may readily conceive how envy and \njealoufy, and all the malignant paffions, arife \namong the competitors for political preference ; and \nwhy their different interefts, which are fo incompa- \ntible, fhould be fo difficult to be reconciled. But \nthe rewards which are promifed to the juft in heaven, \nare not fo circumfcribed in number, or fo fcant in \nquantity. The favours which the Almighty has to \nbellow are infinite ; and the regard which he (hows \nto one, can be no deduction from, and no obflruc- \ntion to that to which another may afpire. If the \narea of a palace be capable of holding only a few \nof thofe who are eager to pufh themfelves into it, \nthere will be fpace enough in the courts of the man- \nfions above, to contain all the generations of all \nnations and ages, who deferve admiffion. It feems, \ntherefore, not lefs the excefs of felfifhnefs than of \nfolly, in the advocates for different creeds and doc- \ntrines, to deprive of happinefs thofe with whom they \ndo not agree, and to engrofs heaven to themfelves. \nBut if man be cruel, God is juft, Whatever opi- \nnions individuals may entertain on fpeculative points \n\nT 2 \n\n\n\n( * 7 S ) \n\nof religion, the everlasting gates will not be \n(hut againft them, who* as far as they have capacity, \nimitate God in his perfections ; and, as often as they \nhave opportunity, do good to their fellow-creatures. \nSuch confiderations, plain and fimple as thefe are, \nmay tend to afliiage the rancour of religious animo- \nfity, and to fhow the abfurdity of thofe anathemas \nwhich one feci: hurls againft another. \n\n9. Thofe religious opinions which are productive \nof the mod bitter diffenfions, ufually relate, not to \nthe weighty matters of religion, but to fome inex- \nplicable tenets, or fome frivolous forms. Few are \nthe perfons who do not agree, at lead in theory, \nhowever much they may differ in practice, refpect- \ning the importance of purity of manners, and holi- \nnefsoflife; and thofe, who thus acquiefce in believ- \ning the ejfentials of found doclrine, fhould not contend \nabout thofe things which have no reference to right- \neoufnefs. \n\n10* It is becoming, and it is necefTary, that Chrif- \nfcians fhould maintain with warmth, but without \npafiion, with zeal, but without intolerance, the effen- \ntial articles of religious belief-, becaufe fuch articles \nhave always an intimate connexion with the practice \nof piety. Thus, thofe articles of religion which are \neflential, may be clearly diftinguifhed from thofe \nwhich are not effential. The firft will always be \nfound favourable to the growth of goodnefs ; while \n\n\n\n( 277 ) \n\nthe lad, ufually afford nothing but occafion for ftrife, \nand fuel for difTenfion. Eflential articles of religion, \nfuch as thefe, that there is a God; that he is the re- \nwarder of thofe that diligently feek him; that the Chrif- \ntian religion is a revelation of his will, cannot be dis- \nbelieved without faith being imperfect; while thofe \narticles which are not efTential, fuch as thefe, that \nthe refurreflion of the dead will be a corporeal refur- \nretlion\\ that the ft ate of the foul in the interval between \nthe death of the individual and the loft judgment, will \nbe a ft ate of inconfcioufnefs, may be either believed or \ndifbelieved, without any addition to, or any deduction \nfrom, the fubftance of religious faith; which, if I may \nfo fpeak, may be believed without gain, and dis- \nbelieved without lofs. Our regard for the un- \nchangeable and eternal obligations of morality, mould \ncaufe us vigorouQy to defend the eflential articles \nof religious belief; while the fpirit of peace mould \nincline us neither pertinacioufly to fupport, nor fu- \nrioufly to oppofe, thofe articles which are not eflen- \ntial, becaufe they have no connexion with vital \nrighteoufnefs. \n\nII. If a man believe that there is no God, which \nis the fundamental principle of natural religion, on \nwhich all its truth depends, and all its importance \nrefts, it is more than probable, that the unfoundnefs \nof his faith will be manifefted in the impurity of his \nconduct. Difbelieving that which is the great fpring \nof practical goodnefs, his unbelief will become .\xc2\xa3, \n\nT 3 \n\n\n\n( *7\xc2\xab ) \n\nfource of practical corruption. As morality confifts \nin a conformity of the conduct to the divine will, \nit is abfurd to fuppofe that he will take any pains \nto conform his conduct to the will of God, who \ndoes not believe in his exiftence, or who denies his \nfuperintending providence. The difference of opi- \nnion, therefore, that mud exift between a man who \ndifbelieves, and another who fincerely believes in the \nbeing of a God, muft be fuch as will necefiarily \noccafion a linking difference in their mutual con- \nduct, and forcibly tend to alienate them from each \nother in affection as well as in fentiment *. The \nopinions and the feelings of an atheift, cannot accord \nwith thofe of a religious man ; nor can the fenfations, \nthe fentiments, the emotions and dcfires of a reli- \ngious man, be in unifon with thofe of an atheift. \nThe warm, the artlefs, the fmcere regards of friend- \nfhip, can never be extended towards him, who fays \nin his heart that there is no God; for friendfhip can- \n\n\n\n* It will generally be found, that a man who does not be- \nlieve in a God, never entertains any hearty good will towards \nthofe who do believe 5 and, probably, becaufe he thinks them \nmore happy and more fafe. A fecret confcioufnefs of his own \ninsecurity, an undivulged, a perpetually ftifled, but a con- \nstantly corroding and corrofive perception of his own wretch- \nednefs, impel the efforts of the atheitt to drive others from \nthe rock of their confidence, and to plunge them into mifery \nas hopelefs as his own. Hence we difcern why atheifts often \ne-xceed even the moll bufy fe&aiies in the zeal of making \nprofelytes. \n\n\n\n( 279 ) \n\nnot flouriih without confidence; and can he ever \nbe an object of confidence, or ever ceafe to be an \nobject of diftruft, who, wanting the only folid prin- \nciple of fidelity, muft excite an habitual dread of \nperfidy and infincerity ? With feelings of commife- \nration an atheift may be regarded; but the warm \nfentiments of our efteem he can never fhare. Can \nwe enter into a bland communion with his thoughts, \nwith his forrows, or his joys ? Can we fympathife \nwith his fpirits in their loweft deprefiion, or their \nhighefl exaltation ? Is he not placed either too far \nabove, or funk too deep below the ordinary level \nof human interefls, ever to be interefting to our \naffections ? Does he not deem happinefs or mifery \nas mere fortuitous combinations of events that are \nuncaufed, or of caufes that do not originate in intel- \nligence ? Does he not receive good without thank- \nfulnefs, and fuffer evil without hope ? Does he not; \nderide the paternal affection of Jehovah ? Does he \nnot defpife his juftice, and flight his mercy* ? \n\n\n\n* There is great juftnefs in the following remarks of one \nof the wifeft of the heathen philofophers. " Sunt," fays he, \n" philofophi, et fuerunt, qui omnino nullam habere cenferent \nhumanarum rerum procurationem deos. Quorum fi vera fen- \ntentia eft, quae poteft effe pietas? quae fanctitas ? quae religio? \nhaec enim omnia pure ac cafte tribuenda deorum numini ita \nfunt, (i animadvertuntur ab his, et n* eft aliquid a diis immor- \ntalibus hominum generi tributum: (in autem dii nequepoflunt \nnos juvare, neque volunt, nee omnino curant, nee quid aga~ \nmus, animadvertunt, nee eft quod ab his ad hominum vitara \n\nt 4 \n\n\n\n( 28o ) \n\n1 2. The great and primary principle of the Chril- \ntian revealed religion is this, that Jefus, the founder \n\n\n\npermanare poflit; quid eft quod ullos diis immortalibus cultiH, \nhonores, preces adbibeamus? In fpecie aatem fi&ae fimula- \ntionis, ficut reliquae virtutes, ita pietas incefle non poteft ; cum \nqua firaul et fanctitatem et religionem tolli necefle eft; qui bus \nfublatis perturbatio vitae fequitur et magna confufio. Atque \nhaud fcio, an, pictalc adverfus dcosfublatd, fides ctiam et focietas \nhumani generis, et una excellentijjima virtus jujlitia tollatur" \nCicero de Nat Deor. lib. i. \xc2\xa7 3. ed. Lallemand, p. 131. See \nGrot, de Jur. Bell, et Pac. lib. ii. \xc2\xa7 44, 4/. \n\nLocke goes fo far as to fay, " thofe are not at all to be tole- \nrated, ivho deny ihe being of a God. Promifes, covenants, and \noaths, can have no hold upon an atheift. The taking away of \nGod, though but even in thought, dilTolves all. Befides alio \nthofe, that by their atheifm undermine and deftroy all religion, \ncan have no pretence of religion, whereupon to challenge the \nprinciple of a toleration." Locke\'s Works, fol. vol. ii. p. 251. \nIn another place, this warm friend to civil and religious liberty, \ndeclares, " jVo opinions contrary to human fociety , or to thofe mo \nrules "which are neceffary to the preformation of civil foe it. ty, arc to \nhe tolerated by the magiflrate" lb. 250, When Mr. Locke faid \nthat thofe ought not to be tolerated ivho deny the bebig of a God, \nhe certainly did not mean that they mould either be ftrangled or \nburnt alive, but only that they mould be reftrained in the pro- \npagation of their pernicious tenets, and excluded from all places \nof civil truft and power. Few are the opinions which ought, or \nwhich can reafonably be the object: of penal reftraint, till they \nare embodied in fome overt act ; yet cafes may occur, in whicli \nthe d.fTufion of mifchievous principles ought not to be en- \ncouraged by impunity. A man may entertain an opinion that \nthere is no God 5 and fnch an opinion is certainly not a fair \nfubject of judicial cognizance or civil punimment ; but, if an \nindividual, not contented with the undilturbed poifeilion of \n\n\n\n( 2 8l ) \n\nof it, was a perfon commifiioned by God to declare \nhis will to mankind -, to fhew what fpecies of wor- \n\n\n\nthis notion, fhould travel up and down the country to make \nprofelytes to it, and to fpread it abroad among the ignorant \nmultitude, he would, certainly, deferve an exemplary punifh- \nmentj nor do I think, that in this cafe, it would be either \njuft or prudent to fufpend the puniihment till the evil effects \nof the opinion had become vifible and palpable in fome open \nviolation of the laws. If I find a man fowing thiftles in my \nfield, am I to fuffer him to proceed till the thiftles come up \nand choke my corn ? That an atheift ought to be excluded \nfrom all places of civil and ecclefiaftical truft and power, every \nfriend to piety will allow; but then, what teft mail we frame, \nby which to diftinguiuh him who really is an atheift, from \nhim who really is not an atheift? An atheift is a man who \ndenies the being of a God ; and the being of a God may cer- \ntainly be denied in two ways ; in ivord, and in deed. Now, \nto deny God in practice, is certainly worfe than to deny him \nin word only ; but if we were to rank as atheifls all thofe who \ndeny God in practice, that is, ivho Irv&.as if there ivas no God \nin the ivorld to ivhom they tuere accountable for their actions, I \nfear that fome of thofe who now pafs for ftridt religionifts, \nwould themfelves be objects of the very intolerance which they \ndefend ! And yet what better teji can you have of a man\'s \nbelief or unbelief, his religion or irreligion, than his conduct ? \nLet, therefore, no man be admitted to any flation of power \nor truft, to civil or ecclefiaftical honours, ivhofe life isfuch as \nto prove that he has no fear of God before his eyes ; who has been \nconvicted of perjury, fraud, extortion, adultery, or any heinous \nviolation of morality. And as all punifhment ought, as much \nas is poffible, tend to the reformation of the criminal, let the \nexclufion continue only for a certain period, or till con- \ntrition of heart is manifefted in a reformation of conduct. \nSuch regulations, adopted by the legiflature, would be more \n\n\n\n( *82 ) \n\n/hip was mod agreeable to the divine pleafure, and \nmoft conducive to their own eternal happinefs. He \nwho denies this, is not a Chriftian ; and we cannot \nregard him with the fame affection as we fhould if \nhe belonged to the fold of (Thrift. Such a divifion \nin our fentiments, will prevent a thorough union in \nour hearts. We love, and we cannot well help \nloving thofe moft, whofe principles are moft con- \ngenial to our own, whofe modes of thinking and of \naction we moft approve, and with the varied changes \nin whofe affections and circumftances we feel the \nftrongeft propenfity to fympathife. A fincere be- \nliever in the Chriftian revelation, may contemplate \na deift without averfion and without fcorn ; but how \ncan he regard with unmingled fatisfaction and un*> \nalloyed efteem, one who regards that fyftem, in which \nhe finds a perennial fource of prefent confolation, \nand from which he derives a cheering affurance of \nfuture glory, either as an artfully contrived or a well \ndefigned impofture; who looks not unto Chrift with \naffection and with reverence, as the beloved fon of \nGod; who imitates not the perfections of his life; \nwho venerates not the memory of his death ; ancj \n\nlikely to ftop the fpread of atheifm, than all the laws that were \never framed, and, perhaps, all the fermons that were ever \npreached. In vain {hall we endeavour to Hem the torrent of \nirreligion which is rapidly fweeping away all the virtuous \nprinciples of the people, while we heap riches and honours on \nthofe who, if they do profefs great zeal for the glory of God \nwith their ltps, do fhew ific ranhji athafm hi their lives! \n\n7 \n\n\n\n( *8 3 ) \n\nwho rejoices not in the hope of his refurre&ion? \nThough in all who glory in the profeffion of Chris- \ntianity, and in whom that profefilon is aflbciated \nwith vivid feelings of relped, of admiration, and of \ngratitude for the beloved name of Chrift, fuch dif- \nferences of opinion may, and mud produce a dimi- \nnution of our perlbnal regard, yet they ought not to \nexclude the individual from that degree of regard \nwhich the genuine philanthropic will feel for every \nparticular member of the human fpecies. \n\n13. As God made of one blood all the nations \nof men that dwell on the face of the whole earth, \nevery fingle member of the univerfal family of man- \nkind has a claim to certain fenfations of humane \nregard; a claim which is indefeafible and inalienable; \nwhich he cannot part with, and which we ought not \nto caft away. The fentient nature of man alone, \nwithout any reference to his religion or his country, \nto the nearnefs or the remotenefs of his relation to \nus by any particular, any local or moral ties, ought \nto be his protection from cruelty, and his ihield \nagainfl: injury*. But at the fame time, the na- \ntural claim to regard which any individual has, as \na being pofTefling the fame common properties of \nthe fame common humanity, is greatly increafed by \nthe ties of kindred, friendfhip, neighbourhood, which \n\n\n\n* Injury is here ufed as any harm done with a malicious \nintention. \n\n\n\n( *s 4 ) \n\nrender the general feeling more lively, diftinft, par- \nticular; and in proportion as thefe endearments of \nfamily, friendlhip, neighbourhood, of the fame civil \nand religious inftitutions are diminimed, our affection \nfor the individual decreafes till it fubfides into a fort \nof ferene complacency, which will often border on \nindifference, and, in fome cafes, approach averfion ; \nbut which ought never to be fuffered to fwell into \nrage, or inflame into rancour. \n\n14. Whatever ferves to increafe or to ftrengthen \nour particular attachments, invigorates and multi- \nplies the motives to preference, becaufe it renders \nthat general good-will which we feel towards the \nuniverfal fpecies of man, more exclufively appro- \npriate to the individual. And thefe attachments, \nthus individuated by family, friendship, neighbour- \nhood, by affinities domeftic, local, civil, and reli- \ngious, are greatly heightened by the moral approba- \ntion of the perfon, \n\n15. If a man be our brother, cur friend, or ac- \nquaintance, he may reafonably have a particular \nclaim to our regard, merely upon th^ fcore of kin- \ndred, friend (hip, acquaintance, but thefe claims will \nbe found, in all cafes, to be ftrengthened, anJ, in \nfome degree, hallowed by our moral approbation \nof the individual \xe2\x80\xa2, and which, in calamity, increafes \nthe willingnefs to relieve, and the pleafure in re- \nlieving. If a man be connected with us by na \n\n\n\n( **S ) \n\nparticular relations, but only as he is a being of the \nfame fpecies, fubject, like ourfelves, to pain and \npleafure, to imperfections and uncertainties, his \nclaim to any preference in diftrefs, mud depend \nalmoft folely on the moral eitimation of his charac- \nter. In the operations of beneficence, moral qua- \nlities will perhaps, in fome cafes, demand a pre- \nference even in the prefence, but always in the \nabfence of other motives. \n\n1 6. A communion in religious opinions has a \nftrong tendency to increafe our good-will towards \nthe individual ; and this increafe of affection may \nvery reafonably be ex peeled to take place, when \nthofe opinions have a direct and intimate affociation \nwith goodnefs of conduct ; and confequently raife \nthe perfon in the fcale of moral eftimation. Moral \napprobation may, indeed, often neither be dimU \nnifhed nor augmented by a difference or agreement \nin particular tenets of religion; for the tenets in \nwhich we differ or agree, may have no real or ap- \nparent connexion with moral worth; may neither \nfavour its growth, nor promote its*decline; and, \nconfequently, ought not to make any addition to, \nor any deduction from, our moral approbation of \nhim, by whom they are efpoufed. \n\n17. An individual may differ from me in be- \nlieving that the day of judgment, as mentioned in \nfcripture, is not to be literally conftrued, but to be \n\n\n\n( 286 ) \n\nunderftood as an adaptation to human forms of \nfpeech** but fuch a difference ought not, and can- \n\n\n\n* Since the greater part of this work was written, and the \nformer fheets printed off, I have been favoured with the pe- \nrufal of Dr. Parr\'s Spital fermon, in which he fays with his \naccuftomed moderation, " Numerous and weighty indeed are \nthe reafons which induce far the greater part of enlightened \nChristians to believe, that the fcriptural paffages in which \n)j tyjs x\xc2\xa7i<rzuj$ yp&S&f o r what is fometimes equivalent, ij i}ue\xc2\xa3<% \nis mentioned, ihould be interpreted literally, and that the re- \nwards and punifhments of another life will be difpenfed judi- \ncially. There are, however, fome perfons, who, with equal \nfolicitude for the intereft of virtue, and equal reverence for \nthe authority of fcripture, contend, that the well-known prin- \nciple of dytjcuirfortdhicc may be applied to fuch paffages 5 and \nthat the jujlice of the Deity will be adminiftered by a regular \nferies of caufes and effefls, producing happinefs to the righteous, \nand mifery to the wicked." p. 152, 153. There may be fome \nfew queftions, political, moral, and religious, in which I do \nnot coincide in opinion with Dr. Parr j but, on all the great \nand fundamental principles of policy, morality, and religion, \nI truft that there are only fuch fhades of difference be- \ntween us, as there muft neceffarily be between perfons, who, \nequally attached to the interefts of truth, will not lurrender to \nothers the right \xc2\xabf thinking for themfelves. \n\nWhatever be the fubject which engages the attention of Dr. \nParr, whether it relate to the delicate refinements of philology, \nthe intricate abftraclions of metaphyfics, the plained truths in \nmorals, or the loftieft fpeculations in philofophy, we never fail \nof receiving equal instruction and delight from the variety of \nhis erudition, the depth of his refearch, the largenefs of his \nviews, the warinefs of his conclufions, and the richnefs of his \neloquence. The ornaments of his fiyle are often coftly, and \nfplendid, and gorgeous j but exquifitely wrought, nicely pro. \n\n\n\n( a8 7 ) \n\nnot, reafonably, detract from> r^ir moral approbation \nof each other; for it is of ?* f little confequence to \nthe great interefts of morally, and it can neither \nadd to, nor take from the common perfuafions to \nmoral obligation, whether the laft judgment be un- \nderflood, according to the popular opinion, in the \nftriclnefs of the letter, or whether, as intimating that \nevery individual will be perfonally judged, if I may \nfo fpeak, the moment that he dies ; that is, will pais \nimmediately after his diflblution, into that condition \nof happinefs or mifery, for which he is fitted by the \npad habits of his mortal life. \n\n1 8. Whether the lad fentence be pafTed colleftively \nand at the fame time, on all the individuals of all \ncountries and ages, or whether every particular in- \ndividual be, feparately> fentenced to receive accord- \ning to his works, is a queftion more curious than \nimportant; and the interefts of morality will not \nfuffer, whichsoever opinion we embrace. But when \nany individual profeiTes tenets which are entirely \nadverfe to the fundamental principles of true reli- \ngion, the cafe is altered ; our moral approbation of \nthe peribn vindicating fuch opinions is dirninifhed ; \nwe regard him not only as an alien from the houfe- \nhold of faith, but an enemy to the happinefs of \n\n\n\nportioned, and happily combined ; they refemble the exuberant \nmagnificence of an eaftern palace, difpofed with the fimple \ntafte of a Grecian artift. \n\n\n\n( 288 ) \n\nfociety. The mor^Lriiflatisfaftion, which we feel* \nchills the warmtl,v e ^ dihevolent fenfation, and re \npreffes the adtivity\'o/iv.ae benevolent principle. The \nclaim to compaflion is more weak, and the motives \nto fuccour are lefs ftrong. But we are to remember \nthat benevolence may be cooled, without malice \n"being inflamed; and that an union of the fentiments \ncan never be effected by an oppofuion of the paf- \nfions. There is no tendency, in the genius of con- \ntention, to refute errors, to extirpate prejudices, to \nfettle principles, or to harmonife opinions. Reafon \ndifallows, humanity profcribes, and religion forbids \nfuch methods of vanquifhing falfehood, or of aiding \nthe triumphs of truth. \n\n19. Thofe differences of opinion among Chrif- \ntians, which create fuch deadly animofities, feldom \nrelate to effential matters of belief, but to points, \nabout which we may differ, without erring from the \nway ofrighteoufnefs. As the members of the fame \nfamily may think very differently on many little \npoints of domeftic intereft, without any reafonable \ndeduction from thofe tender regards which the ties \nof family prefcribe ; fo, among Chriftians, diverfities \nof fentiment on many queflions of uncertain doc- \ntrine, as the co-eternity and co-equality of the three \nperfons in the godhead, the formalities of the future \njudgment, or the duration of future punifliments, \nought not to produce diffenfions, feparations, and \nfchifms in the great family of Chrift. \n\n\n\n( *\xc2\xb09 ) \n\n20. In order, as much as pofilble, to prevent \ndivifions in the church of Chrift, the apoftles ear* \nneftly enjoin us, cc to follow peace," Heb. xii. 14. \nto endeavour to <c live peaceably with all men/\' \nRom. xii. 18. to "follow righteoufnefs, faith, (that \nis, truth,) love, peace, together with thofe that call \non the Lord out of a pure heart." 1 Tim. ii. 22. In \nthis lad pafTage it particularly deferves our attention, \nthat peace> or the prefervation of amity and fellow- \nfhip with all good Christians *> is claiTed among the \nprimary Chriftian virtues, and placed by the fide of \njuftice, truth, and charity. And hence we may learn \nthe crying and damning fin of difturbing the peace \nof the houfehold of Chrift by mifchievous divifions \nand invidious diftinctions. The guilt of fchifm (for \nfchifm, being a violation of Chriftian charity, is cer- \ntainly a fin) is incurred, when thofe, who ought to \nagree in one communion, erect hoftile churches, and \nform feparate congregations, without fufficient rea- \nfons j\\ \n\n\n\n* Mera rwv sifiyiccXovu^vooy rov Kvoiov hi K6c$BLpa$ x&piiaf. \n\nf May I addrefs the prefent champions of ecclefiaftical \ndiflenfion in the eloquent interrogatories of the venerable Cle- \nment, the companion of St. Paul, and the fucceffor of St. Peter? \n\'* tX Iva ri zpeic, xai Svpo], xa} foxoo\'ra.cicu, xai a-yja-^ccroL, tfoXsuos \nre Iv uafv; n o-}yj \'hcc \xc2\xae\xc2\xa3ov %%pfj,sv 9 koa. \\v% Xpirrov; kcli gy \ntfVEvpot rvj$ yJ>-MTo<; ro ekVoQev s<f yySc, xai ^lOCKXyjrigsv Xpicrw, \nivart Ci2Av.ou.sv y.cci oicccirw^cy rx (xsAry rs Xpirrs, new G-roLcrid^opzy \n1:00s ro cuJlix ro /&ov, xai s$ roo-ccvrr^ dtfovoizv spyo^x, tiers \n\xc2\xa7iti\\a$&trfei rjpots art /xsPoj sfpsv aAXijAwyj" Vid, S. Clem, ad \n\nu \n\n\n\n( *9\xc2\xb0 ) \n\nSt. The only reafons which can juftify a ieceflion \nfrom the bofom of that church, or houfchold of \nfaith, which is eftablifhed in the country in which \nwe live, are either great and notorious corruptions in \nits doctrine, or in the practice of its members, fuch \nas caufed our anceftors to feparate from the com- \nmunion of papal Rome. But can any reafons, fimi- \nlar in kind, or equal in ftrength, be alleged to ex- \ncufe the prefent numerous feparations from the Pro- \nteftant Church of England ? Is her doctrine defiled \nwith the fame pollutions? Are her rites encumbered \nwith the fame mummeries, or her minifters dif- \ngraced by the fame enormities i If there be fome \nfuperfluities in her liturgy, or fome erroneous con- \nclufions in her articles, are they of fuch a nature as \nto afford a reafonable pretext to the majority of dif- \nfidents, for the defertion of her communion ? \n\n22. No liturgy can well be fo framed as to appear \nblamelefs to men of different opinions, or to fuit the \ntaftes and widiesof all fects^ but though the Englifh \nliturgy may be, and certainly is, liable to particular \nobjections, does it, notwithltanding, not deferve the \nfincere, if not the unqualified approbation, of all \nfeds of Chriftians ? In its detached parts, faulty paf* \n\nCorinth. Epift. i. 46. Coteier. Patr. Apoftol. vol. i. p. 174, 175. \nEd. Amftel. 1724. May I, at the fame time, and on the fame \nauthority, add? that " dyditr] c^ia-^a. o-x \xe2\x82\xac%-*, dyditrj ou \ncrocaridgsi, dyditt] itxvra, iroih zv o/xovo/a* and that \xc2\xa3<\'%& dydrfrjs \novtiev tudpso-riv hri rev \xc2\xa9ex-." p. l J6, \n\n\n\n( *9x ) \n\nfages may appear ; fome prejudices may be remarked \nwhich were not fo much the errors of the authors, \nas of the age in which they lived ; but, confidered \nas a whole, it breathes the moft liberal fentiments, \nthe moft enlightened piety, and the moft compre- \nhenfive charity: it contains petitions fuited to all the \nneceffities, and to all conditions of mankind; not a \nfupplication is wanting that we can ever have oc- \ncafion to utter, for our own good, or the good of \nothers ; and it can never be devoutly read, or atten- \ntively heard, without the moft beneficial influence \non our thoughts and actions, our hearts and lives. \nNone of the prayers are polluted by cant, or embar- \nrafTed by hypocrify; they afford the ftrongeft internal \nteftimony, that thofe who compofed them did not \nwrite what they did not feel 5 they are characterifed \nby fimplicity and fincerity; and hallowed by the \ngenuine afpirations of unaffected piety. In fuch a \nliturgy, fo far fuperior to all the extravagances of \nextemporaneous devotion, fo falutary in its tendency, \nfo benign in its fpirit, and fo fublime in its compo- \nfition, the particular defects are loft in the general \nbeauty; and fome few pafTages, which defer ve cen- \nfure, may well be forgotten in the many, on which \nit would be rank impiety not to beftow unqualified \napprobation. \n\n23. Thofe fects who pretend that the partial \nblemifhes or the particular defects, which they defcry \nin the Church of England, are the grounds of their \n\nU 2 \n\n\n\n( 292 ) \n\nieparation, ought furely to confider whether its ge- \nnet al excellence and its general ufefulnek might \nnot, with more reafon, become the grounds of their \nconformity. The latter furnifh ftronger arguments \nfor fupport, than the former for oppoficion ; the one \nftronger motives for afitnt, than the other for dif- \nfenfion. If the evil be more than balanced by the \ngood, the eftabliihment * is not to be leprobated, \n\n* No rational man will, I think, deny, ths? a ftate ought to \nguard the moral, with as much tendernefs and vigilance as the \ntemporal wtlfare of its fubje&sj to protect their hearts from \nthe inroads of vice, with as much circumfpeclion as topveferve \ntheir property from injuftice, or their lives from deftruction. \nIndeed, that government, which does not attend with fcrupu- \nlous anxiety to the morals of its people, appears to me crimi- \nnally indifferent to their profp^ity, and its own Security. In \nthe providential economy of the world, moral and phyficai \ngood feem intimately connected ; and, though this wife order \nof the divine government may often elude our fearch, or \nefcape our obfervation, in the affairs of individuals, it is very \napparent in thole difpenfations which regard the fortune of \nnations. In the vicifiitudes of nations, in their ebbings and \nflowings, their elevations and depreflions, a moral government \nof the world is too ftriking not to be remarked; and, accord- \ning to the eftablifhed laws of that government, the profperity \nwill, generally, be found to bear a certain relative proportion \nto the virtue of any people. Ancient hiftory, and more efpe- \ncially, the divine records of the Old Teftament, will furnifh us \nwith many memorable and impreffive examples of this falutary \ntruth. Confider the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, the deflruc- \ntion of Nineveh, of Babylon, and of Tyre; the depreflion of \nEgypt, the fubverfion of the Peril an and Macedonian empires; \nthe defolation of Jeruialem 3 the dcclenfion and the fall of \n\n\n\nf m ) \n\nbecaufe the good is not greater than it is, or fo great \n"s it might- be * for, of what civil, or what religious \n\n\n\nconfular, of imperial, and of papal Rome ! Even the phyfical \nftate of the atmofphere feems, according to fome fixed but in- \nfcrutable appointment of divine wifdom, to fympathife, if I \nmay fo exprefs it, with the moral ftate of man j and where \nfupemiifon has defcribed the malign influences of the planets, \nthe operations of genii, or the ravages of demons, the Chrif- \ntian philofopher, who labours to inveftigate the affinities of \nthe moral and the natural world, fees awful manifeftatibns of \nthe mora! government of God. How any changes in the \nmoral, do produce any thing like ccrrefponding changes in the \nnatural world, it may be impoffible to explain j.bul hiftory and \nobfervation will furnifh fome finking analogies to countenance \nthe fuppofition. Indeed I hardly fee how any fober and con- \ntemplative man, who has, for the laft few years, compared the \nflate of the earth with the figns in the heavens, the convulled, \ndifordered, and corrupt ftate of the nations, with the unwhole- \nfomenefs of the air, the unfruitfulnefs of the feafons, the \nftorms and tempefts, the droughts and rains, the blights and \nmildew, the dearth, and fever and difeafe, that have prevailed \nin different parts of the world, can doubt but that moral and \nphyfical evil are more clofely connected than is commonly \nimagined. The hifro.y of the Jews (if we fuppofe that hif- \ntory true, and what hiftory is true if that be falfe?) proves the \nintimate connexion fubfifting between the moral and the \nnatural world ; we fee the heavens opened or fhut, the feafons \nfruitful or unproductive, the air wholefome or peftilential, the \nland parched with drought or refrefhed with rain, according to \nthe righteoufnefs or the .depravity, the moral good or the \nmoral evil of the people. And, if there be, at prefent, any \ncQ7mexk?i fubfifting between the moral ftate of man, and the \nnatural ftate of the feafons, the air, the earth, and the ocean, \nit is certainly an argument of no fmall weight to prove how \n\nv 3 \n\n\n\n( 294 \' \n\ninftitutions, that ever exifted in the world, was the \ngood produced entirely anfwerable to the expecla- \n\n\n\nimportant it is for thofe governments which regard the happi- \nnefs of their fubjects, and the profperity of their country, to \nmake the interefts of morality a primary object of their policy. \nIt does not feem poffible for any government to keep up a \nlively fenfe of moral duty among the great mafs of its fubjects, \nwithout giving to moral precepts the authoritv of religious \nfanctions, and invigorating the practice by the l of \'reli- \ngious motives. Neither the blandifliments of phile phy, nor \nrhetorical pictures of the beauty of vice or the uglinefs of vir- \ntue, nor even the terrors of penal law, can, independent \nof the motives and fanctions of religion, give flrength and \nenergy, animation and conjiancy, to a fenfe of moral duty. \nWithout fome aid from the devotional habits of religion, our no- \ntions of moral duty will, notwithstanding the raoft affiduous \nendeavours to prevent it, wither and die ; fall off from the \nheart, and fade from the confeience. \n\nIt is not fo much by a dread of punifliment, as by a fenfe \nof duty, that a good and wife government will labour to check \nthe increafe of crimes, and to promote the growth of virtue. \nBut can a fenfe of moral duty by any artifice or fop hi ft ry be \nrendered frefh, vigorous, and lafting, without afibciate feelings \nof religious reverence, without any trufl in the being of a God, \n\ni \n\nwho will reward the righteous, and punim the wicked ? It is this \nperfuafion of thefe truths, that gives ftrength and confifter.cy \nto virtuous conduct ; that makes men fearful to tranfgreis, and \nanxious to do the will of God. Penal laws, for the moll part, \noperate as preventives of evil ; but religious perluafions as in- \ncentives to good. The hrft deter from crimes, the laft prompt \nto acts of virtue j perjury and injuftice may be difcouraged by \nthe one, but truth, and righteouinefs, and charity, are enli- \nvened by the other. And the influence of religious belief is \nmore conftant and permanent than that of penal law. When \n\n\n\n( *9S ) \n\ntion, to the capacity or the pofllbility? If it be \nobjected by Tome fects, that they cannot continue \n\n\n\na criminal fees the gallows before his eyes, on which fome \ndelinquent has paid the forfeit of his crimes, the image may \nimprefs a momentary terror on his heart, but it leaves no \nwholefome impreflion on his confcience. It produces fenla- \ntions of danger, but it does not trouble his foul with a fenfe \nof guilt j it does not excite his abhorrence of moral evil, nor \n, a conviction of moral good. It may generate caution, but it \ndoes not favour the growth of virtue. Penal laws may be, \nindirectly, but are never directly, beneficial. They contribute \na negative, not a pofitive quantity, to the fum of moral good- \nnefs. On the other hand, right perfuafions of religious duty \nnever deter from evil without inciting to good. They not \nonly mow us that we have no intereft in doing evil, but that \nwe have a great intereft in doing good. They operate on the \nfoul of man by the dread of furfering, and the hope of blifs. \nTaking hold of our ftrongeft feelings, hope on one fide, and \nfear on the other, whofe united ftrength, when combined in \ndue proportions, produces the greateft will to act, and the \ngreateft energy in action, they operate on the conduct by the \nftrongeft poffible motives, and render us unwearied in well \ndoing. Hence it will, I think, he evident of what vaft and \ninconceivable importance it is, to furnifh fuch a being as man \nwith religious motives to moral action. But. is it poilible to \nfurnifh religious motives without religious indruction ? and \nhow can any ftate diiTeminate religious belief, or fpread reli- \ngious inftruetion among the great mai\'s of its fubjects. with >ut \nthe intermediate aid of an order of men fpeciallv educated for, \nand fpecially devoted to, that important purpofe? As if aware \nof thefe int< refting truths, few have been the governments, \nwhich hiftory record?, who have not inftituted and n aintained \na particular clafs of men to keep up the fear of God among \nthe people, and to flrengthen the precepts of morality by the \n\nU 4 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n( 2 9 6 ) \n\nin communion with the Church of England, becaufe \nfhe holds tenets which they deem unfcriptural j may \n\n\n\nfandions of religion. And thofe governments which have not \nbeen bleflTed with the light of true religion, have, ufually, found \nit expedient to invent a fulfe; and forge divine fanctions \nto give ftability to human inftitutions. Ail religion has for \nits bafis the moral government of God, or, at leatt, fuppofes \nthat there are powers above which intereft themfelves in the \naffairs of the world below. Such a perfuanon, whether it be the \nproduce of fiction or of truth, muft be falutary; but, in thofe \ncountries, in which the will of God has been clearly evinced \nby the glorious light of revelation, it is incumbent on every \ngovernment- to make the truth of that revelation univerfally \nknown, and its precepts univerfally refpected. It may be laid, \nthat religious truths are fo congenial to the reafon, and reli- \ngious feelings fo entwined around the heart, that the belief \nand the practice of Chriftianity would be as prevalent without, \nas it is with an eftablifhed miniftry. To this, I would anfwer, \nthat the fact might poffibly be fo; but, that it probably would \nnot ; and that no government feeling a fatherly concern for the \ngood of its fubjects, ought to leave a matter of fuch infinite \nimportance, as the knowledge of religious truth and moral ob- \nligation, to uncertainty and accident. And we are to consider \nthat it is not only the duty of every government to communi- \ncate religious inftruction to its fubjecls, in order to prevent \nthe growth of immorality, but of fuperftition ; that their hearts \nmay not be depraved, nor their minds bewildered by religious \njugglers ; that they may be taught to confider religion, not as \na topic of contention, but a rule of life ; not as fupplying ali- \nment for diiTenfion, but motives to righteoufnefs. I (hall be \ntold, that religion, being entirely a perfonal concern, indivi- \nduals fhould be at liberty to choofe a religious paftor for them- \nfehes. Enlightened people may do this 5 but are the majorily \nthus enlightened? Are they capable of determining what are \n\n\n\n( * 9 7 } \n\nwe not, without offence, exhort them to confider \nthat tc charity is the bond of perfection ," and " the end \n\n\n\nthe qualifications bed fuited to a minifter of the gofpel of \nChrift ? Certainly not. if the religious minifters of the diffe- \nrent parithes throughout the kingdom were appointed by \nthe furl rage of the multitude, we mould have all our churches \nfilled, not with fober Chriftian teachers, but with brawling \nfanatics and canting hypocrites, who ufually poffefs thofe qua* \nliflcations which are more likely to win the attention, and to \nimpofe on the credulity of the multitude. Such preachers, \ninftead of inftrucling the people in moral duty, would caufe \nthem to wander far and wide from the ftraight track of corn- \nnoon fenfe, till they were loft in the wilds of myftery. Mo- \nrality would be driven, as fome profane and merely nominal \nChriftians have attempted to drive it, from the Chriftian fanc- \ntuaryj and the religion of Jefus would be evaporated in the \nheat of controverfy, or buried under a mafs of Pharifaic forms. \nThe fimple fayings and reafonable decrees of the Chriftian \nlawgiver, would be forgotten in a rigorous devotion to fuper- \nfiitious ordinances j and the milk of the gofpel would be \nconverted into the poifon of the afp. \n\nThe Frenc-h philofopbers committed a fignal error in policy, \nand lhewed an aftonifhing ignorance both of the nature and \nthe hiftory of man, when they fuppofed that the ftrength of, \ntheir civil, would be diminiihed, or their purity defiled by an \nalliance with religious inftitutions. Political power is always \nmoft ftable and fecure when it refts on the columns of religion. \nReligion, I mean not corrupt, but pure, undefiled religion, ren- \nders it venerable, and gives it an influence over the public \nwill and affections, which nothing elfe can beftow. Jt ferves \nto convert the political into a moral government ; it arms the \nfovereign with a power, in fome meafure, more than human; \nand makes obedience to the civil magiftrate a part of our duty \nto the God of heaven. The Chriftian religion, I am well con- \n\n\n\n( *9* ) \n\ncf the commandment ;" and that ecclefiaftical peace, \nwhich is dilturbed by their ichifms and broken by \ntheir divifions is a part of charity ? \n\n\n\nvinced. does not need the frail flay of civil power j but it is \nquite another thing to fuppofe that a date needs a religious \neftablifhment, and that religion needs a ftate eftablifhment. \nThe latter pofition may be falfe, and the former true; for \nhuman power and human inftitutions may want the aid of \nreligion, though religion may not want their aid. The alliance \nbetween church and ftate is for the benefit of both; but the \nadvantages of the union preponderate greatly in favour of the \nlatter. An eftablifhed church muft conduce to the preferva- \ntion of civil liberty. It fpreads over the country jufl and true \nand rational notions of the natural equality of mankind j it \nteaches the prince that, in the eyes of the Father of fpirits, he \nis no greater than the meanefl of his fubjecls j and it tends to \nmake the peafant contented by impreffing his fuperiors with \nhumility. It rcpreffes the two extremes of behaviour, which \nare equally adverfe to public liberty, abject fervility on the one \nfide, and hard-hearted infolence on the other. It infpires ten- \nements of independance; it cherifhes in every mind right \nnotions of the eftfcntial dignity of human nature ; it brings the \nrich and the poor together, and by teaching them their com- \nmon origin, and their common end, their mutual wants and \ninfirmities, their relative dependance on each other, and their \nabfolute dependance upon God, it promotes the growth aDd \nexpansion of all the focial virtues, which are the fource of fuch \na variety of happincis. The remarks, which I have here made, \non religious eftabltfhments, may be coniidered as fupplementil \nto thofe which 1 have inferred in " Morality united with Po- \nlicy - *." At fome future period, if a convenient opportunity \n\n* I particularly refer the reader to that pamphlet from page 85 line 17, to \npage 91 line iz. \n\n\n\n( 299 ) \n\n24- If the multiplication of fed: againft feet and \nchurch againft church keep on increafing in the \nfame rapid ratio in which it has increafed for the laft \nfew years, Christians will at laft be fplit into almoft \nas many fects as there are individuals ; and the ge- \nnuine fpirit, and the effential duties of Chriftianity \nwill be loft and forgotten under the cloud of their \ndiflenfions *. In order, as much as poflible, to flop \nthe progrefs and to counteract the mifchief of thefe \nendlefs divifions, let the fpirit of mutual charity and a \nbond of univerfal concord be eftablifhed among Chrif- \ntians of all feels and denominations by this important \nand tranquillizing confideration, that Christianity is \n\nNOTHING MORE THAN A RULE OF LIFE f j and that, \n\n(hall occur, I fhall not fhrink from a more full difcufiion of \nthis important fubjecl. At prefent I cannot help expreffing \nmy ardent wifh, that every national church were founded on \ntruly catholic principles, fuch as would allay the jealoufies of \nthe fectary, and appeafe the violence of religious animofity. \n\n* If the well meaning and honed difTenters of different feels \nand opinions fhould, inftead of erecting hoftile churches, think \nit more accordant with the fpirit of Chriftian charity, to af- \nfemble themfelves together in the bofom of the Church of \nEngland, ftrict orders fhould be given to the minifters of the \neftablifhment never to preach on any uncertain, difputed, and \nunprofitable doctrines 5 but to forfake the fpurious and pole- \nmical, for the genuine practical theology; and to make it their \nprimary ftudy to illuftrate and to enforce thefe great Chriftian \nvirtues which relate to the government ef the thoughts, the \naffections, and the conduct. \n\nt See Anti-Calvinift, 2d edit. p. 25\xe2\x80\x9428. Perhaps the \nreader, who may not like to aflent to this moH intereftirtg \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xb0o ) \n\nconfequently, thofe only are meet to receive the \nfavour of God in this world and in the next, who \n\nconclufion on the authority of the humble curate of Harbury, \nmay give it his cordial aflTent when it is prefented to him in \nthe words of Dr. Samuel Clarke. " Since," fays this great or- \nnament and fupport of the Englifh proteftant church, " God \ntruly and fincerely de fires to make men happy by the exercife \nof virtue ; and frnce that virtue, which is the condition of this \nhappinefs, is no other than the practice of thofe great moral \nduties of godlinefs, riglueoufnefs, and temperance, which are \nthe eternal and unchangeable law of God j it follows necef- \nfarily, that the great a?id ultimate defign r f all true religion can \nbe no other than to recommend thefe \'virtues, and to enforce their \npractice. Other things may be helps and ajjijlanccs of religion; \nmany external obfervances may, for wife reafons, be pofitively \ncommanded ; and may be of exceeding great ufe as means to \npromote devotion and piety: but the life and substance \n\nOF ALL TRUE RELIGION, THE END AND SCOPE IN WHICH ALL \nTHINGS ELSE MUST TERMINATE, CANNOT, POSSIBLY, BE ANY \nOTHER, THAN THE PRACTICE OF THESE GREAT AND ETERNAL \n\nduties." Clarke\'s Works, vol. iii. p. 587, 588. \n\n" The bell definition," fays Jeremy Taylor, \'\xe2\x80\xa2 I can give of \nit (Ghriftianity) is this; It is thf wisdom of God brought \n\nDOWN AMONG US TO DO GOOD TO MEN." See Supplem. tO \n\n"Taylor\'s Sermons, p. 5. That the Christians of the primitive \ntimes, confidered Chriftianity as nothing more than a rule of \'life , \nthe reader will readily di (cover by a peruial of Caves\' primitive \nChriftianity, parts 2 and 3; a book which I once heard very \nftrenuoufly recommended in a plain, judicious, and unaffrctcd \ncharge, delivered to the clergy by the Bifhop of Lichfield and \nCoventry. In Bifhop Watfon\'s excellent collection of theolo- \ngical tracts, the reader will find, in vol. vi. a work entitled, \n"The Defign of Chriftianity j" which may be perilled with \nadvantage by thofe who think that Chriftianity is either fome- \nthing Itfs or fomething more than a rule of life. \n\n\n\n( 30i ) \n\nfhow greater zeal in running the race of goodnefs \nthan the more vain and inglorious race of fpeculative \naltercation. When Chriftians mail embrace and \nhold fad this great reafonable and fcriptural truth, \nto which the diligent ftuJy of the doctrine of Chrirt, \nas it is intimated in the actions of his life, and de- \nclared in the words of his difcourfes, will inevitably- \nlead every honed inquirer -, the different fects of \nChnllians, feeing the little profit, and feeling the \ngreat impiety of their mutual contentions, will agree, \nnotwithstanding the countlefs variety of their opi- \nnions, to hold the unity of the fpirit in the bond of \npeace. Inftead of fomenting idle and caufelefs \nfchifms in the body of the church of Chrift, and \nneedle fs and infiJious feparations from each other, \nthey will coalefce into a benevolent and holy union, \nlifting up their hands in the fame houfe of prayer, \nbending their knees at the fame altar, cherifh- \ning in their hearts the precious recollection of the \nfounder of their faith, breathing the true fpirit of \nrighteoufnefs, and animated with the flame of uni- \nverfal charity. \n\n25. Though it be our duty to endeavour, by every \nargument which reafon approves, and every perfua- \nfion which charity fuggefts, to bring all Chriftians \nof all denominations, into the fellowmip of one com- \nmunion, we are to ufe no compulfory meafures what- \never in order to promote fo defirable an end. Their \nfellowfhip muft not be the effect of force, but the \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xb0* ) \n\nfruit of affection ; it muft be voluntary, that it may \nbe lading. We have no right whatever to the lead \ndominion over the private judgment of the meaneft \nindividual in matters of religion. All attempts to \nfetter the confciences of men is the ufurpation of a \npower, which it is arrogance to claim, and impiety \nto exercife. We are rather to conduit ourfelves \nwith gentlenefs towards thofe who oppofe them- \nfelves ; we are to bear with the froward, and to Ihew \npatience toward the ftubborn. \n\nq.6. When Chriftians come rightly to diftinguifh \nthe eflentials of true religion from things indifferent, \nthey will carefully avoid foolifh and unlearned ques- \ntions, which do gender ftrifes*. The eflentials \nof the pure unfophifticated Chriftian religion confift \nmfoherntfs, right eou[nefs y and godlinefs\\ -, to the habi- \ntual exercife of which we are incited by the awful \nprofpect of a day of judgment, and the hope of a \nhappy immortality. Sobernefs relates to the preven- \ntion of all excefs in the indulgence of our appetites \nand paffions ; to the due obfervation of temperance \nin act and in defire; rigbteoufnefs includes truth and \njuftice, and all thofe duties which cannot be violated \nwithout wrong being done to others; godlinefs com- \nprehends all our acts and expreffions of rJigious \nadoration; and it more particularly implies the \nimitation of God in the operations of his benefit \n\n* See 2 Tim. ii 23. f See Tit. ii, 1 1, 12. \n\n\n\n( 303 ) \n\ncence*. He, therefore, and he only, can be deno- \nminated truly religious, whofe appetites and pafiions, \nwhofe mind and afFe&ions, are under the heavenly \ngovernment of temperance, of truth, of juftice, and \nof charity. \n\n27. If fcbemefs, righteoufnefs, and godlinefs, be the \nonly effential p inciples of the true Chriftian religion, \nit will, I think, be found that all feparations are \ngroundlefs, and all fchifms contrary to the genius \nand temper of the Chriftian religion, which are not \noccafioned by fome glaring difference of opinion \nrefpecting the fanctity of the performance of thefe \neternal obligations. If Jobernefsy righteoufnefs y and \ngodlinefs y if temperance, truth, juftice, and mercy, the \nweighty matters of the Mofaic law, and the weightier \nmatters of the Chriftian gofpel, be the caufe for \nwhich we feparate from any national church, the \nground of our feparation is well founded, and ought \nto be maintained. Not to feparate for fuch reafons \nis impiety; to feparate on any other account feems \na want of charity f. \n\n* True and genuine piety, svospBHX, is the active imitation \nof the goodnefs of God. Hear St. James; " The religion \nwhich is pure and undefiled before our God and Father is this; \nto take care of orphans and widows in their affliction, and to \nkeep one\'s felf unfpotted from the world." \n\nf To feparate from any church becaufe the facrament is \nreceived kneeling inftead of ftanding, or {landing inftead of \nkneeling, becaufe there happens to be a picture of the cruel* \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xb04 ) \n28. If any national church authorize orexcufe any \ncorruptions, which are contrary to the immutable \nprecepts of the moral law, which tend to relax its \nhold on the confcience, or its influence on the life, \nit becomes a duty in every faithful follower "of Chrift \nJefus to abjure the communion of fuch a church, \nin which fuch immoralities prevail. If any church \nalTume a right to difpenfe with the obligations of \ntruth, juftice, and charity, if (he grant fpecial ex- \nemptions from the punifhment due to perjury, to \ninjuftice, to brutal cruelty, or brutal lull *, {he be- \ncomes an enemy to the glory of God, and the hap- \npinefs of mankind. She violates her vows, and be- \ntrays her trufL Then, the voice of confcience will \nexclaim to us, as it did to our anceftors of old, when \nthey renounced the church of Rome, " come out of \nher, my people -, that ye be not partakers of her \nplagues, and drink not of the cup of her abomina- \n\nfixion over the altar, becaufe the minifter wears a hood cr a \nfurplice, or becaufe the fo-m of church difcipline is not accord- \ning to the Calviniftic reprefentations of primitive leveritVj \xe2\x80\x94 to \nfeparate for thefe reafons, or reafons fiinilar to thefe, mews \ngreat imbecility of mind, and great contraction of heart. \n\n* It is well known that when the corruptions of the Romitri \nchurch were at their higheti, a licence might be purchafed \nfor the commillion of the moll atrocious crimes. I fnall men- \ntion only one in fiance, but a little fearch would eaiilv furnilh \na thoufand. The Cardinal of St. Lucia re\'queiled of Pope Six- \ntus IV. permiliion for himfeif and his family to commit \n****** during the three hot months in the year: to which \n7nocl"jl petition the indulgent father replied, " Fiat ut fctitur" \n\n\n\n( 305 ) \n\ntions." On fuch occafions, the prefervation of peace \nwith a fociety fo polluted and fo polluting, is to be \nfacrificed to the vital interefts of righteoufhefs. \n\n29. But, can it be pretended, with any colouring \nof reafon, even by the mod inveterate enemies of \nthe church of England, that her doctrine or her \nprayers, her institutions or her practice, do, in any \nway, difcourage the interefts of real virtue, or the \npractice of real piety? Her errors, whatever may be \nthe errors for which fo many abjure her fellowship, \nare not fubverfive of true righteoufnefs and godli- \nnefsj and confequently, are inefficient to jnftify \ntheir feparation. Though every good and every \nwife man muft fincerely wifh that fuch alterations \nwere made in our articles and our liturgy, as to re- \nmove every ftone of Humbling and caufe of offence, \nyet, I think, that even at prefent, there is not one \nfingle feet of difTenters, who can, on any broad and \nand liberal principles of reafon or of conscience, \nfquared by the meafures of Chriftian charity, refufe \nto addrefs the great Father of Spirits in our churches, \nand to celebrate the memory of his crucified Son at \nour altars. In the Englifh ritual all the weightier \nmatters of religion are powerfully recommended to \nthe attention, and impreffed upon the confeience, by \nthe moil fublime effufions of devotional piety ; and \nif, on fome myfterious points of faith, all fects can- \nnot affent to the tenets of the Englifh church, yet, \nvery different opinions on thofe tenets being clearly \n\nX \n\n\n\n( 3o6 ) \n\ncompatible with the culture and the practice of thefe \nfbvereign Chriftian virtues, fobernefs, righteoufnefs, \nand godlinefs, which are the alone conditions of fal- \nvation, ought neither to alienate their affections from \nher, nor her affections from them. Inftead of \nmaking every trifling cavil a pretext for dirtenfion, \nthe feparatifls from the church of England ou\xc2\xbbhc \nrather to forego their prejudices, and to facrifice their \nfcruples, when they are not fortifies relative to -points of \nmoral obligation^ in order to preferve the relations of \namity and good neighbourhood with the eftablifhed \nhoufhold of their fellow Chriftians; and to crow \nftrong in the fpirit, and the practice of that love \nwhich is the fulfilling of the law. Eager contentions \nabout forms that are infignificant, and myfteries that \nare infcrutable, profit nothing ; but> by cherijhing per- \n<ve?fenefs and engendering malignity \', they may bring de~ \nfirutlion on the foul; while ecclefiaflical peace, at the \nfame time that it contributes largely to prefent hap- \npinefs, is one of the modifications of that heavenly \ntemper which will cover a multitude of fins*. \n\n\n\n* It mull be confciTed that, without any breach of chari- \ntable fuppoiition, there are ftrong reafons for believing that \nmany late feparations from the Church of England have not \noriginated fo much in honeft fcruples of confcicnce, as in the \nwanton pride of oppofition ; not fo much in the love of truth, \nas the luft of Angularity j not fo much in the fervour of artlefs \npiety, as in the extravagance of a certain wild and prurient \ncnriol:ty. From thefc caufes, and caufes fimilar to thefe, reli- \ngious diilenfions have been be^jun in our towns, and fcattered \n\n\n\n( 307 ) \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 3\xc2\xb0- Some occafions there are, but they will rarely \noccur, in which a diverfity of opinions can reafon- \nably juftify a diminution of our benevolent regard. \nThe opinions of an individual may, indeed, be fo \nhoftile to the bed interefts of fociety, as to give our \nfentiments and affections a tendency to averfion, \ngreater than any tendency in our nature to more \n\n\n\nthrough our villages. Hence has arifen an hoft of fanatics, \nwho are grown powerful by our fupinenefs, and ftrong by our \ndivisions; and who have lately become objects of fearful appre- \nhenfion to the friends of rational Chriftianity, from the increafe \nof their numbers, and the clofenefs of their union. Such ter- \nrors may feem ideal ; but they are ideal only to thofe who \nhave not analyfed the genius of fanaticifm ; who have not efti- \nmated its energies, nor calculated its refources. Fanaticifm is \nalways dangerous; but when her votaries, inftead of being \nonly a few individuals, thinly fcattered over a large expanfe of \ncountry, incapable of co-operation, and without ftrength to co- \noperate with effect, are condenfed into large mafles in different \nparts of the kingdom; when the detached parts, obeying one \ncentre of action, may be made to combine with the greateft \nfacility in the moft definitive projects; then the terrors of \nfanatics and fanaticifm are not imaginary. They are not the \nterrors of hobgoblins or apparitions, of ihadows on the wall, or \nof warriors in the fire; they are the terrors of vifible, tangible, \ncorporeal realities. The fpirit of fanaticifm, particularly when \nreligious emotions give it birth, and the enrapturing vifions of \neternity increafe the delirium, imparts incredible excitement \nto the phyfical and the moral powers of the individual ; to the \nfaculties of the body, and the paffions of the foul; and per- \nhaps, one fanatic, thus excited, poflefles greater capacity to do \nmifchief, than can be counteracted by five ordinary men, not \nfo fublixned by airs from heaven, or by blafts from hell. \n\nX a \n\n\n\n( 308 ) \n\nbenevolent emotions, can counteract. But no opi- \nnions fhould chill our affection towards the indivi- \ndual, but thofe which indicate not only error in the \njudgment, but depravity in the heart; opinions which \nare advcrfe to the virtue and the welfare of ibciety * . \n\n* It was well l"iid, that one bad maxim is capable of doing \nmore mifchief than a hundred bad examples. The influence \nof a bad example is confined to the narrow fphere of agency \nwhich almoti: every individual occupies. The fpace is very. \nlimited in which it can become an object of imitation, or over \nwhich its baneful influence can be ipread. But one bad \nmaxim may diffufe its poifon over a wider circumference} it \nmay put in motion an indefinite number of agents, and em- \nbrace a vaft extent of attion. It may find admiflion into the \nminds and hearts of thoufands, who may not have fagacity to \ndetect its falfehood, to difcern its tendency, or to meafure its \neffects. Made attractive by eloquence, and captivating by its \nfavourable appeal to the ftrongeit pailions of human nature, it \nmay do mifchief which cannot be calculated, and, perhaps, \nnever be repaired. Such a principle as that which is dignified \nwith the name of the general good, would, if it were generally \nacted upon, hi the ivay that Mr. Godiv\'m recommends, be found \nmore definitive to the peace and happineis of the world, than \nall the plagues that ever defolated the earth. \n\nThe wm> morality, as it is called, though its progrefs has been \nchecked, and its virulence corrected by the united exertions of \nfeveral writers, has, I fear, been the ruin of thoo-fands. It mar \nbe agreeable to the tafte, it may be beautiful to the eye, but it \njs no fooner fwallowed than death enfues j the death of every \nprinciple that is upright or amiable, or praileworthy in the foul \nof man. Falfe theories of religion and of morals, ought to be \noppofed by every meafure tuhich is cwifijUnt ivith jujiicc a \nrvith charity, but the only force which, in fuch a fervice, we \ncan employ with prudence and fuccefs, is the moral force of \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xb0 9 ) \n\n31, If we meet with thofe, who think that pro- \nmifes are not binding any longer than while they \n\n\n\nreafon ; and reafon certainly can never be exerted in a caufe more \nagreeable to the will of him, by whom it was bellowed, than when \nit is exerted in the defence of genuine religion and morality. \nThe principles of morals, and the truth of religion, can receive \nno lading injury from the fulled and the freed difcufiion. The \nprinciples of morals are fo fixed in the immutable relations of \nthings, and fo congenial to the natural feelings and fympathies \nof human nature* that, though they may be occasionally ex- \npunged from the confeience of individuals, they can never be, \nentirely, erafed from the mind and the heart of the fpecies of \nman. They have been in exigence dnce the world began; \nand they will laft while the world lads. The intrinlic value \nof revelation depends entirely on its truth; and that truth, \nbeing a well-grounded probability, its approximation to cer- \ntainty can be afcertained only by a fober calculation of the \nweight due to the different arguments which have been, or \nwhich can be adduced againft it, or in its fupport. When the \nevidences are thus compared with the objections, the degree of \nprobability is, in fome meafure, reduced to a definite idea, and \nwe fee more didinctly and more forcibly the preponderance of \nthe proof. The writers in favour of revelation, are ufually \nredrained, as if by timidity, from dating in a plain and candid \nmanner, the objections of their adverfaries. Are thefe writers \nfearful of the ground on which they tread ? Have they any \nfecret fufpicion, any lurking dread that Chridianity is an illu- \nfion ? Do they not know that objections againd the truth of \nChridianity, if they are weak, will give it drength ; and that, \nif they are drong, they will have the fame effect, if they can \nbe fubverted by arguments which are dronger. Chridianity \nis not valuable only becaufe it is imagined to be truej but \nbecaufe it is actually true j and the actual truth can be made \nknown only by a full, and fair, and unreferved inveftigation \n\nx 1 \n\n\n\n( 3 l \xc2\xb0 ) \n\nhave an intereft in keeping them ; that gratitude for \nbenefits received is not to be cherimed * that reduc- \ntion is no fin ; and that chaftity may be violated as \noften as any wayward appetite prompt to the vio- \nlation ; we are not to fuffer a falfe delicacy, or a \nfpurious politenefs, to prevent us from flighting their \nintercourfe, and fhunning their fociety. In imita- \ntion of our Divine Matter, we may, and ought, not \nonly not to refufe, but to feek ad million into the \ncompany of the profligate, when there feems a fair \nprobability of reclaiming them by counfel, or of \nrelieving them by charity; but when we poflfefs no \n\nof the whole evidence. If Chriftianity be true, no arguments \ncan overturn it; they can only make the degree of the proba- \nbility more definite; and the more definite the probability is, \nthe better will people in general be able to eftimate the danger \nof not making its precepts the rule of their conduct, and the \nftandard of their intereft. If the accumulated objections againft \nthe truth of Chriftianity can be proved, as I am of opinion \nthat they might be proved, by a fair comparifon of the num- \nber and weight of oppofing probabilities, to be only as \xe2\x80\x94, \nthen the probable truth, or the approximation to certainty in \nthe evidences of revelation, would be as - 9 - 2 , or there would be \nninety nine chances in favour of the truth to one againft it. \nWould not fuch an argument, fully made out, and perfpi- \ncuoufly ftated, have a great influence on the private and the \npublic conduct, on the thoughts and actions of mankind ? \nWould they be fo ready to do evil in thought, word, or deed, \nwhen they were convinced that there were fo many probabi- \nlities in favour of a future judgment, when every fecret thing \nfhall be revealed, and men fhall receive according to the mea- \nfure of their righteoufnefs ? \n\n\n\n( 3" > \n\npower to do, or fee no chance of doing them any \nmoral or phyfical good, the love of virtue will caufe \nus to fhun the ways in which they walk, and the \nhoufe in which they dwell. To live in habits of \nfamiliarity with men, who contemptuoufly deride or \nviolate the known laws of God, is to countenance \ntheir principles, and to be accefTary to their impiety. \n\n32. It is a falfe notion that a man\'s conduct is \nnot, in moil cafes, aiVimilated to his opinions. If \nthe principles and the practice of men be often at \nvariance, they will, I truft, be found more often to \nagree. But, as we mark the variations more than \nthe agreement, we are too apt to draw general con- \nclufions from particular facts, and to imagine that \na man\'s conduct is not regulated by his princi- \nples, becaufe it does not accord with them in all in* \nfiances* A good man may occasionally act. wrong; \nand a bad man may occasionally act right. But if \na man\'s heart and confcience be imprefTed with right \nnotions of moral obligation, his actions will, in a \ngreat majority of cafes, accord with his opinions. \nHe will adhere to what he deems morally good, and \nfhun what he thinks morally evil. But, if a perfon \nreally believe the obligations of truth, juftice, gra- \ntitude, chaftity, to be only empty names, and not \nbinding on the confcience \\ what fruits can we expect \nto be the product of fuch opinions ? Mult we not \nexpect to find favours received without thankfulnefs, \n\nX 4 \n\n\n\n/ \n\n\n\n( 3** ) \n\npromifes broken without reluctance, juflice violated \nwithout remorfe, and chaftity without fhame ? \n\n23- To greet with the fmile of affection, or the \nright hand of friendfhip, men profeffing opinions \ninimical to the interefts of religion and morality, is \nto lend our individual aid to counteract the public \nopinion *, by which they are oppofed. Public opi- \nnion, when wifely directed, is one of the ftrongeft \nbarriers which virtue poffcffes againft the inroads of \nvice; for, hardened indeed mud: be the offender, who \ncan endure the general difapprobation of his fellow- \ncreatures. Thofe violations of the will of God, or \nof the decencies of fociety, againft which the public \nopinion fets fo ftrong, that he who commits them \nbecomes the theme of public reproach, and the mark \nof public fcorn, will always be lefs frequent than \nthey would be if no fuch difcouragement operated \nin favour of their prevention. \n\n34. Some offences are, perhaps, punifhed more \nfeverely, and prevented more effectually by the \npublic difapprobation, than by any other mode of \npunifhment, or means of prevention. Public dif- \napprobation condemns the culprit to the w T orft kind \nof folicude. It renders him, in a meafure, folitary \n\n* The ftate of public morals may generally be afcertalned \nby the ftate of the public opinion refpedting any particular \nviolations of moral duty. \n\n\n\n( 3*3 ) \n\nin the confluence of foeiety; and his fufFerings arc \nmore excruciating than if he were placed in a defert, \nbarren of inhabitants, where he could trace no foot- \nfteps but his own ; but where he could not read in \nthe countenance of others the fentence of his con- \ndemnation * ! \n\n35. The feeling of fhame is for the mod part a \npainful confcioufnefs of degradation in the eyes of \nothers ; a confcioufnefs of inferiority deierved, and \nbrought on ourfelves by the contempt of rules, to \nwhich we ouojit to have conformed our conduct. \nAnd this feeling is the ufual afTociate of thofe actions, \nwhich, being contrary to the public opinion, expe- \nrience the public difapprobation ; for, if thefe very \nactions, inftead of being the objects of pubiic aver- \nfion, were the topics of public praife, they would \nin all cafes, be perpetrated with lefs reluctance, and \noften with perfect felf- approbation. \n\n36. Self- approbation has, u/iially, Jome reference to \nthe approbation of others. In fome licentious com* \npanies, an unprincipled man will boaft, with no \nfmall degree of felf- approbation, of the number of \nvirtuous women he has feduced. In this cafe, the \nfelf-complacency which the perfon feels in recount- \ning the fuccefs of his rtratagems, or the fkilfulnefs \nof his addrefs, is, in a great meafure, occafioned by \n\n* See Adam Smith\'s Moral Sentiments, y. i. p, 210, 6th ed. \n\n\n\n( 3*4 ) \n\nthe applaufes of his aflbciates. Bur, place the fame \nman in any company where a juft fenfe of moral \nrectitude prevails; not one around him will fympa- \nthize with the vain recital of his guilty pleafures; \nnot one will echo the filthy jeft, or applaud the \nwanton tale. Inflead of the fmiles of bafe congra- \ntulation, he will fee on every forehead the frown of \nabhorrence, and in every eye the flafh of indignation. \nHardened, indeed, muft he be in iniquity, if, in fuch \na fituation, fome emotions of fliame do not agitate \nhis heart; and though his countenance may not be- \ntray any outward figns of remorfe, yet certain it is, \nhe will experience a fecret, inward ielf-difTaiisfaction. \nThere will be a fenfation of fclf-loathing ; a painful \nfeeling of unworthinefs ! \n\n37. Thefe confederations fhew how important it \nis for individuals, who regard the welfare of fociety, \nand who confider juft notions of religion and virtue \nneceflary to the peace and the happinefs of the world, \nnot to encourage, directly or indirectly, by their ap- \nprobation avowed or implied, any actions, or any \nprinciples, which are adverfe to genuine religion \nand found morals, to the endearing charities, or even \nthe elegant decencies and modefi proprieties official life, \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nThe Genius of Chrijiian Charity. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nI. X hat part of piety which regards our duty \ntowards each other, is comprehended in two words ; \njuftice and charity. Juftice and charity united, \nconftitute the perfection of morality; and the obli- \ngations of both are contained in that golden rule, \nwhich tells us to do to others what we would that \nothers mould do unto us. We cannot experience \ninjuftice or inhumanity, without fenfations of pain and \naverfion ; nor can we.acl: unjuftly or cruelly towards \nothers, without their feeling as we fhould feel in the \nlike circumftances. As this law of the gofpel teaches \nus to make our perceptions of fuffering, or fenfations \nof mifery, the ftandard by which we eftimate the \nfufFerings of our fellow-creatures, it fhows us how, \nin the beft poflible manner, to refrain from every \nviolation of juftice and humanity; and, at the fame \ntime, by enjoining us, in the varied tranfa&ions of \nlife, to place ourfelves in the fituation of our neigh- \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xab\xc2\xab ) \n\nbour, it perfuades us not to be regnrdlefs of his \nhappinefs and intereft, when we are purfuing our \nown. It identifies the relative obligations of juftice \nand charity in the mindj and it confecrates their \nunion in the heart. \n\n2, Juftice and charity are the fubftance of the \nlaw and the prophets. They are the pillars, on \nwhich the great fabric of piety is erected; and which \nmud inevitably crumble into duft when they are \ntaken away. For, once erafe juftice and charity \nfrom the duties of religion, and what will religion be \nbut a mifchievous fuperftition ? The practice, there- \nfore, of juftice and of charity, are the moft efTential \nparts of religion. They are the fundamental prin- \nciples of that law which God hath written on the \nconfeience of man, and eftablifhed iri the gofpel of \nChrift. \n\n3. The duty of charity is more often mentioned, \nand more (Irenuoufly inculcated in the gofpel, than \nthat of juftice, becaufe charity cannot exift where \njuftice is violated. When, then, our Lord and his \napoftles, infift on the obligations of charity, they \nalways ftippofe that thofe of juftice are already ful- \nfilled. Charity, as it is the greater duty, neccflarily \nincludes juftice, which is the lets. For this reafon, \ncharity is called in fcripture the bend < eft, \nbecaufe it contains in its capacious bofom all thole \nduties in which true ri^hteoufnefs confttls; while its \n\n\n\n( 3\'7 ) \n\nprefence gives them a luftre in the eye of man, and \na favour in the fight of the Father of Spirits, which \nthey could not otherwife poffefs. \n\n4. Charity is, as it were, the funfhine of moral \nexcellence; it gives it radiance and beauty; it in* \nvigorates its growth, and multiplies its fruits. Thus, \nSt. Paul, defcribing the comprehenfive efficacy of \ncharity, fays, " all the law is fulfilled in one wo?d>\xe2\x80\x94 \nthou Jhalt love thy neighbour as thy f elf" Gal. v. 14. \nIn another place he fays, " he that loveth another, \nhath fulfilled the law" Rom. xiii. and the reafon is, \nthat \xc2\xa3C love worketh no ill to his neighbour-, therefore \nlove is the fulfilling of the law." Rom. xiii. 10. Cha- \nrity excludes all moral corruption; adultery, murder, \ninjuftice, falfe witnefs, covetoufnefs, every evil \nthought, and every malevolent defire. \n\n5. Our Lord, on being afked which was the great \ncommandment in the law, anfwered, Thou malt love \nthe Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all \nthy foul, and with all thy mind ; this is the fir ft and \ngreat commandment; and the fecond is like unt.o it ; \nThou jhalt love thy neighbour as thyfelf On thefe two \nconrmaitdmentrhang all the law and the "prophets. Matt, \nxxii. 37 \xe2\x80\x94 40. Here, it is well worth our obferving, \nthat Jefus makes the love of our neighbour and the \nlove of God one and the fame indivinble principle \nof piety. He fays, <c the Je.cond commandment is like \nunto thefirft ;" thus he makes charity not an advenii- \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xabS ) \n\ntious party but the fubfl mice of true religion* He fup- \npofcs that the love of God cannot exiil in the foul \napart from the love of mankind. Genuine charity, \ntherefore, is genuine adoration; and the worfhip that \nis offered to the Father of Spirits, is acceptable only \nwhen it is breathed from a heart which benevolence \nwarms with its prefence, and hallows with its flame. \n\n6. Charity is denominated the bond of perfeclne/s, \nbccaufe it contains, in one word, the fubftance of \nthe two tables of the decalogue. The firft table of \nthe commandments is incomplete without the fe- \ncond ; the firft table points to the fountain; the laft \nexhibits the beneficent effects of true religion. The \nfirft exclaims glory to God ; the laft pronounces \ngood-will to man ; but charity, pure and undefiled, \nembraces both tables; it bows to God while it em- \nbraces man; it gives honour to the firft, while it \ndoes good to the laft; it places its hopes in the \nheavens above, while it fti ives to diminifh the mifery \nof the earth below. \n\n7. Charity is the perfection of godlinefs. As God \ndoes not need our homage, as he is not glorified \nby our prayers, nor benefited by our devotion, he \ncommands our worihip, that it may, by producing \njuft notions of our dependance on his will, make us \npoor in fpirit; and, by exciting a juft fenfe of his \ngoodnefs, render us kind in heart. The end of \nthankfgiving is to melt us with companion, and to \n\n\n\n( 3i9 ) \n\nincreafe our fympathy for the wants of others. Thus \nthe worfhip of God tends to infpire the fpirit of \nbenevolence ; and thus charity is the perfection of \ngodlinefs ; without which the adoration of God is \nvain ; which is the beft hymn of praife for his good- \nnefs, and the beft fong of thankfgiving for his \nmercies. \n\n8. Charity is the perfection of juftice. Juftice \nconfifts in giving to every one his due; charity im- \nparts to others that which belongs to itfelf, and to \nwhich others have no juft claim. Juftice teaches us \nto do no wrong to our neighbour; charity excites us \nto do him all the good in our power. Juflice con- \nfifts in preventing mifery; charity has a direct ten- \ndency to promote happinefs. Juftice regards only \nthe obligations of ftrict right; charity confults the \nfofter obligations of humanity. Charity is gratui- \ntous ; juftice is compulfory. The laws of fociety \nmay force us to be juft ; but chanty is a matter of \ndifcretion. Juftice is the fatisfaclion of a debt; \ncharity the conferring of a favour. Juftice ma\'y \nproduce veneration; but charity conciliates love. \nJuftice may fatisfy the confcience ; but charity cauJes \nhope and joy and tranfport in the foul. Juftice \ndeferves the meed of human refpect; but to chanty \nmore efpecially belongs the promife of eternity. \nJuftice receives the applaufe of the wife and the \ngood on earth ; but charity furvives the grave, and \nwill be welcomed into heaven by the hofannas of \nangels. \n\n\n\nC 320 ) \n\n9. Charity, in fcripture, denotes the external a<5b \nof beneficence, and the internal principle from which \nthofe acts fpring, and without which, they are vain. \nBy the internal principle of charity I mean the love \nof God ; which is the true benevolent principle, alive \nand vigorous in the foul, diffufing its influence over \nthe whole furface of the affections, and warming the \nvery core of our hearts. It is this principle of cha- \nrity which produces patience and meeknefs ; that fweet \ncomplacency of manner with which vanity is never \nmingled, and which envy does not canker; that fen- \nfitive, affectionate fympathy with the feelings, the \ninterefxs, with the hopes and fears, the joys and for- \nrows of our fellow-creatures, which befpeaks the \nabfence of every unkind thought and every male- \nvolent fenfation. This is the true charity, which \nnever faileth ; and which may flourifh in the heart \nin all fituations and circumftances ; in the ftorm of \nmisfortune, and the funfaine of profperity. \n\n10. Charity is that love of God, which excludes \nall doubt concerning his providential care; and \nwhich, confequently, generates refignation under fuf- \nfering, equanimity in danger, and hope in affliction. \nTo charity belongs that fenfe of dependance upon \nGod, which produces humility of foul ; that con- \nfcioufnefs of his protedtion, which, makes us feel \nthat vengeance is his ; which renders us placable \nwhen we have been offended, and eager to mStkc \nreflitution when we have given offence. To charity \n\n\n\nC 321 ) \n\nbelong thofe exalted notions of the great Father of \nthe univerfe, who maketh his fun to ihine and his \nrain to fall upon the juft and the unjuft; which make \nus willing to return blefTing for reproach, and to do \ngood, even where we have received evil. This is \nthat charity, without wnich, even the tongue of \nangels would be but as a founding brafs, or a tink- \nling cymbal ; without which, though we had faith fo \nthat we could remove mountains, we fhould be as \nnothing. \n\n11. The charity which is fo highly extolled by \nSt. Paul, in the thirteenth chapter of his firfl epiftle \nto the Corinthians, as the fummit of Chriftian per- \nfection, and the crown of moral excellence, does not \nbelong exclufively either to the mean or to the noble, \nto the poor or to the rich. A man may be opprefTed \nwith want, without a mite to beftow in alms, and \nyet be animated with the flame of a purer charity \nthan he, who, having thoufands, lavishes them on \nothers with indifcriminate prjfuienefs. A man may \neven give his body to be burned for the benefit of \nothers, and beftow all his goods to feed the poor; \nand yet, wanting the true principle of chanty, may \nfail of his reward. \n\n12. Actions, apparently the moil generous, and \nexertions of beneficence the mod extenfive, ftriking \nthe mind with admiration, and imprefiing the heart \nwith gratitude, may fpnug from motives which true \n\nY \n\n\n\nC 322 ) \n\ncharity difclaims. The dream may look clear, and \nyet fome deftru&ive mixture may be diflblved in \nthe waters ; the air may fcem pure and refrefhing, \nwhen fome peftilential vapour floats in every gale. \nVanity or malignity> the advancement of fome tempo- \nral end, or the indulgence of fome unlicenfed dtrfire, \nmay lurk at the bottom of the mod fplendid efforts \nof human charity. He, who mould endow alms- \nhoufes or build hofpitals, as he would erect temples \nor grottos, merely to gratify his vanity, or to attract \nthe gaze and admiration of the world, is not rich in \ncharity towards God. That charity which is de- \nfigned for a public fhow, is charity reviled. It wants \nthat elementary principle of religious love which \nconfecrates its worth. The very oftentatioufhefs of \nbeneficence may give it a value, and gain it a cur- \nrency among men ; but it is the fecret Rift which is \nmoft acceptable to God. He values not the offering \nof him who is panting for the noify breath of praile, \nfo much as that alms which is beftovved in filence, \nand is bellowed by him who looks not to man for \nhis recompence. Our Saviour flrongly forbad his \ndifciplcs to make vanity the groundwork of their \nbeneficence, by this forcible injunction, Let not thy \nleft hand know what thy right hand doeth. He made \nthe love of God, as the father of mankind, the foun- \ntain of charity; that we might do good to each \nother, not to obtain the applauie of men, which is \nvapid and tranficnt, but to conciliate his favour, \nwhich is everlafling. \n\n\n\n( 3*3 ) \n\n13. When the love of God is the root of charity, \nit excludes every evil thought and every malevolent \nfenfation. Genuine charity, therefore, whether re- \ngarded as a fingle act 3 or an accumulation of ads \nwrought into a habit, is inleparable from a benevo- \nlent (rate of the affections. He would not be truly \ncharitable, who mould make fuch a facrifice of felfc- \nlove, as to give his body to be burned for the fake \nof fome, while he cherifhed any ill-will in his heart \ntowards others. Charity loves its friends; but cha- \nrity is not vindictive towards its enemies. It pro- \nmotes the intereu: of the one; but without obftruct- \ning the welfare of the other. It fmothers its ani- \nmofities ; (tifles its refentments ; it feeds its enemy \nwhen he is hungry; fuccours him when opprefTed; \nand refrefhes him when faint. \n\n14. Acts of beneficence are fpurious, where the \nmalevolent principle is not extinguiflied. One (ingle \nact of charity, performed when the fpirit of forgive- \nnefs has got entire poffefilon of the heart, afcends to \nthe throne of mercy with a fragrance more fweet, \nand an influence more availing, than a thoufand alms \nwhich are beftowed when one malevolent wifh refts \nbrooding on the foul, or one particle of rancour pol- \nlutes the heart that pities, or the hand that gives. \nThe mite of the widow was accepted more than all \nthe coftly offerings of the rich, becaufe the bene- \nvolent principle that prompted the act was (Ironger \nin her foul than it was in theirs. In her no bitternefs \n\nY 2 \n\n\n\n( 3*4 ) \n\nwas to be found ; the love of God reigned fole So- \nvereign of her mind ; breathing on evcrv thought \nfhe entertained, and every defire fhe cherifhed, \ngood-wiil unfeigned, and charity undcfiled. \n\n15. Let no man, therefore, vainly fuppofe that he \nis excufed, or can be exempted by the meannefs of \nhis condition, or the penury of his circumftances, \nfrom the obligations of Chriftian charity. That \nimmortal principle of benevolence, without whofe \nSanctifying prefence all external acts of beneficence \nare, in the fight of God, nothing worth, may be \ncherifhed in as much purity, and burn with as much \nluftre, in the affections of the peafant, as of the \nprince. Though the poor man may not have it in \nhis power to beftow one mite upon one fuffering \nfellow creature, yet it is in his power to exercife that \ncharity, " which fuffereth long, and is kind, which doth \nnot behave itjelf unjeemly, which is not erfily provoked, \nwhich thinketh no evil-" that charity, in fliort, which \npreferves the mind from pollution, and prevents the \nheart from being cold; which cleunfes the thoughts \nof the one, and mollifies the fenfations of the other. \n\n16. Wherever wealth gives the means, there no \nplea can exempt from the exertions of actual bene- \nficence. Where providence has provided the re- \nsources, there nothing can privilege us from thofe \nSpecific acts of charity, by which the wants of the \npoor are relieved ; by which the naked are clothed, \n\n\n\nC 325 ) \n\nand the hungry fed ; by which the fatherlefs are \ncomforted, and the widow\'s heart is made to fing \nfor joy. Thefe are the fruits which the genuine \nbenevolent principle will always produce, wherever \nit finds a foil capable of their production. Thefe \na;e the fruits, by which it will delight to mow its \nlife, and to manifefl its reality. He, who is warmed \nwith the fpotlefs flame of Chriftian benevolence, will \nnot only do good, but will take pleafure in doing it. \nHe will not eftimate his own enjoyments like the \nfelfifh man, by their exclufivenefs ; he will appre- \nciate them by the degree in which they are made \nfubfervient ro the enjoyments of others; he will mea- \nfure his happ\'nefs by the happinefs which he im- \nparts, and the m.fery which he alleviates. He will \nnot drive to engrofs, but to diffufe blifs; and the \npleafurable fenfations that thrill in his own bofom \nwill\' be increafed in proponi >n to the number of \nprrfons with whom they a.e (hartd, and the wide- \nnels of the furface over which they are fpread. \n\n17. The object of our acts of charity is our neigh- \nbour ; a name, of which the fignification is fomewhat \ndifferent under the Mofaic and the Christian difpen- \nfations. Under the former, it more particularly de- \nnoted an Kraelite, a cerfon of the fame religion and \nnation ; though, on fome occafions, it was extended \nto the ftranger, the fatherlefs, and the widow of other \ncountries. But, under the Chrivtian difpenfation, \nthe diftinctions of Jew and Gentile are abolifhed, \n\nY 3 \n\n\n\n( 3^6 ) \n\nand ail national differences done away. The term \nneighbour, therefore, as it is employed in the new \ncovenant, has no partial, no local, nor circumfcribed \nmeaning; but relates, as we may infer from the \nparable of the good Samaritan, to every individual \namong the fcattered thoufands of mankind, who \nwants our relief, and whom we can relieve. \n\n1 8. The God of the Chriftians is no refpecler of \nperfons; but, in every nation, he that feareth him, \nand worketh righteoufnefs, is accepted with him. \nActs x. 34, 35. Under the difpenfation of the gof- \npel there is no invidious diftinction made between \nJew and Greek, bond and free, male and female ; \nfor we are ail one in Chrift Jefus, See Gall. vi. 28. \nBut though, according to the Chnftian fcheme, there \nis no diftinclion between perfons, places, and nations, \nthough there is neither Jew nor Greek, circumcifion \nnor uncircumcifion, bond nor free, but Cnrift is all \nin alh though Chriftian charity, animated by the \nenlarged views of the founder of Chriftianity, will \nembrace all who want its fuccour; yet, in its actual \noperations, it will make thofe wife and prudent dif- \ntinctions between kindred and flrangers, friends and \nenemies, which the genius of Chrillianity does not \ndifclaim ; and to which we are impelled by the dic- \ntates of realbn, and the fympathies of humanity. \n\n19. The glow of univerfal philanthropy will be \nwarm and vigorous in every Chriftian heart ; and he \n\n\n\n( 3*7 ) \n\nis no Chriftian, whofe bofom is infenfible to its ani- \nmated and animating flame. But, as the means of \nactual charity, even in the moft opulent individuals, \nare fcanty indeed compared to the aggregate of hu- \nman woe, fo it is neceffary for every individual, in \nthe diftributions of beneficence, to pay a more efpe- \ncial regard to the ties of family and of kindred, of \nfriend (hip, of religion, and of country. Where other \ncircumftances are the fame, and where, in other re- \nfpects, the degree of want or the claims to com- \npanion may be equal, thefe ties are rational grounds \nof preference, which it is inhumanity to violate, and \nimpiety not to reverence. Thefe grounds of pre- \nference we are not contemptuoufly to deride, but \naffectionately to cherifh \xe2\x80\xa2, not coldly to neglect, but \ndiligently to obferve; as we are connected with each \nother by the endearments of blood and friendfhip, \nor the more diftant affinities of a common religion, \nor a common country. \n\n20. We cannot do good to all men ; we muft, \ntherefore, be contented with doing good to indi- \nviduals ; and, in fnccouring the wants, relieving the \nneceffities, promoting the interefts, or alleviating the \nmiferies of individuals, we mud pay a juft attention \nto the ftrength of their refpective claims. We mud \nregard the degree of their relationship, and, if I may \nfo exprefs it, of their proximity to our affections; \nand, often, even to our homes. In the diftributions \nof beneficence, we are to regard thofe firft who are \n\nY 4 \n\n\n\n( 3*8 ) \n\npoor and deftitute in our own family j then amoncr \nour friends; then among our acquaintance. We are \nto iuccour a difheffed citizen of our own country \nbet >re a foreigner, and a Chriftian ihould relieve a \nfuifcriiig Chriftian before a fuffering Heathen. \n\n21. That boafted practice of univerfal philan- \nthropy, which has been extolled as the pe rfr^ion of \nmorals, is vain in theory, and impoflible in practice. \nHe who forgets the fiifFcring individuals to whom \nnature or iy.i pathy has given a claim on his affec- \ntions, while he is vainly attempting to embrace a \nwider fphere of beneficence, or is fpeculating on \nfome airy fcheme of univerfal good, is like a man \nwho fhould abandon the wife of his bofom, or the \nfriend of his heart, to perifh with hunger, while he \nvainly attempted to convey food to all the nations \non the globe, by featuring a few bafkets of bread \nupon the ocean. \n\n22. Chriftianity, wifely attending to the narrow \nlimits of our capacity, and to the vaft fum of human \nwants, enjoins us, not only, as far as we have oppor- \ntunity, to do good unto all men-, but, especially, unto \nthem who are of the houfhold of faith. While it \nenjoins us to do univerfal good in the degree in \nwhich we are capable cf doing it, it does not fanc- \ntion the illufions of promifcuous benevolence. It \norders us to attend to the diftinctions of family and \nreligion. We are to calculate the claim upon our \n\n\n\n(-3*9 ) \neompaflion not only by the degree of diftrefs, bat \nby the degree of relation and affinity. \n\n23. As the apoftle tells us more especially to do good \nto thofe, who are of the houfehold of faith y we fhould \nbeware not to make this exhortation a pretext for \ncherifhing religious animofity. Though we are to \nprefer thofe who profefs the Chriftian faith to thofe \nby whom it is oppofed, yet we are not to foiter a \nnarrow fpirit of fectarian antipathy and bitternefs. \nWe are not only to cherifh fentiments of regard for, \nbut are to live in habits of amity with all Chriflians \nof all fects and denominations, however diflimilar \ntheir modes of worfhip or of dodlrine may be from \nour own, as long as their tenets are not repugnant to \nthe genius, or their lives do not reflect a Jcandal on the \nfrofeffion of Chrifiianity. \n\n24. Though thofe who profefs the Chriftian re- \nligion will generally have a claim to our fympathy, \nand 3 if diftrefied, to our alms, fuperior to thofe who \ndo not profefs it, we are not to permit our zeal for \nChrifiianity to make us indifferent to the happinefs or \nto the interefts of the reft of mankind. Though \nChrifiianity, by incorporating us as members of the \nfame body, under one head, Chrift Jefus, has formed \na clofe bond of relationfhip among Chriftians j yet we \nare to remember that Chrifiianity was not jent to make us \naliens from the great and univ erf al family of mankind. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWe are to confider that God made of one blood, \n\n\n\n( 33\xc2\xb0 ) \n\nall nations that dwell on the face of the whole earth ; \nand that, confequently, we are not to look with fullen \naverfion or malignant fcorn on the followers of Con- \nfucius or of Mahomet. We are to love without hy- \npocrify, even Jews, Turks, and infidels* we are to \nbehold with a compaffionating regard all thoie, who, \nin the blindnefs of their minds, or in the folly of \ntheir hearts, bow the knee to idols made of wood \nand (lone ; or who worfhip the fun by day and the \nmoon by night. We are to pray, with that fervor \nof charity, which will give to the fupplications of \nman the eloquence of cherubim or feraphim, that \nfuperflition may be banifhed from the earth -, that \nall mankind may at lad come into one fold, under \none fliepherd, Jefus Chrift the Lord. \n\n25. Chriftianity, though it directs the free and \nunreftrained exercife of the benevolent affections, \nrequires them to be exercifed in their due order and \ncherifhed in their due proportions. Our affections, \nas if by a law of our nature, gravitate mod forcibly \ntoward thofe with whom we have the clofefl com- \nmunion of intereits and fenfations ; in whofe good \nor bad fortune, in whofe joys or forrows, we are in \nfome meafure perfonally concerned. The intercfts \nand fenfations of our relations, of our parents, our \nwives, our children, are moll nearly identified with \nour own. Their profperity or adverfity, their fick- \nnefs or their health, come, if I may lb exprefs it, \nmore in contact with our feelings, than the profperity \n\n3 \n\n\n\n( 33i ) \n\nor the adverfitv, the ficknefs or the health of others. \nHence they have and ought to have a ftronger hold \non our affections, than thofe, in the variation of \nwhofe circumfUnces, or interefts, or fenfations, we \nare lefs concerned. \n\n26. Affections are generally the ftrongeft where \nthe reciprocations of pleafure and pain are the mod: \nfrequent, where they are the fooneft excited and \nthe mod forcibly fcit. Hence, in mod cafes, accord- \ning to the common courfe of nature, which it has \noften \'>een the aim of metaphyfical fubtilty to invert, \nor of falfe philofophy to deftroy, the reciprocations \nof pleafure and pain muff, generally be more frequent, \nand comequcntly more forcible, between kindred \nthan betwten friends, between friends than between \nftrangers> between the inhabitants of the fame town \nthan the inhabitants of the fame country, between \nthe inhabitants of the fame country than foreigners, \nbetween fubjects of the fame government than thofe \nof a different, between members of the fame, than \nthofe of a contrary communion. \n\n27. The power of what I call the reciprocations of \npleafure and pain in producing affection, and in in- \nvigorating it when produced, is very vifible in the \ngrowth of maternal love. The mother who fuckles \nher child at her own bread:, and often fondles it in \nher own arms, who watches its fleeping and its wak- \ning hours, who plays with it in health and tends it \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xab* ) \n\nin ficknefs, has alwavs a warmer and Wronger affec- \ntion tor it, than that more un latural mother, who \ncommits her offspring to be reared at the bread and \nnurild in the arms of a drang"r. The affection of \nthe firiL has a fource of drength and a means of in- \ncreafe which the other wan;s. The one reciprocates \nmore with the pleafjres and the pains of its child \nthan the other. \n\n28. Where ftrength of benevolence is mod \nwanted, there Providence has taken mod care to \nfavour its production ; to render its growth mod \neafy and its increafe mod certain. We fee this, par- \nticularly in the aff clion between parents and chil- \ndren} for the 1 elation between parents and children \noccafions fuch a continual reciprocation of pleafures \nand pains, of Iv^pes and fears, of joys and forrows, \nfuch an unremitted interchange of fympathies, as \nmuft neceiTaiily produce parental love on one fide, \nand filial on the other. Family love was intended \nas a day to the helpleflhefs of individuals, as a ftaff \nto the aged and a pillow to the young ; as a fuccour \nto the indigent, and a confolation to the miferable. \nStrength of benevolent affe&ion is therefore highly \nneceflary among kindred ; and the providential dif- \npoficions of nature tend to plant it in our boloms, \nand to fix it in our hearts. It begins in the early \nintercourfe of brothers and fillers, and it is gradually \ndiffufed to the remotcd branches of relationfhip. \nBrothers and Oilers foon learn to iympathize with \n\n\n\nC 333 ) \n\neach others wants and embarraffments. Their fuf- \nferings, their pains and pleafures are often mutual ; \nand the happinefs of the one is generally affrciated \nwith that of the other. Hence, by degrees, they \nlearn to feel for and with each other, in circum- \nfiances in which there could be no participation of \nactual fuffering between them ; in circumftances, in \nwhich fympathy could not be prompted by felfifhnefs, \nor by any dread of wanting the aid we give, and the \nconfolaticn we be (low. \n\n29. The feeds of kindred love, which are fown in \nthe nurfery, when properly cultured, fpring up into \na tree of luxuriant verdure and {lately growth, from \nwhich depend the bloffoms arid the fruits of all the \nbenevolent affections. Though kindred love may \nbe contracted in its expanfion, nipped in its buds, \nor withered in its leaves, by injudicious management \nor unpropitious circumftances ; yet it is a plant of lo \nhardy a nature, and the circumftances of life in which \nwe muft be placed do neceflarily fo favour its pro- \nduction, it takes fuch deep root in the heart, and \nfpreads its fibres fo clofelv over the furface of the \naffections, that there is rarely a bofom on which it \nhas not made fome imprefiions or on which it exerts \nno influence. \n\n30. There can hardly help being more frequent \nreciprocations of pleafure and pain, ftronger affocia- \ntions and fympathies, and confequently ftronger af- \n\n\n\n<( 334 ) \n\nfections between relations than between ftrangers* \nThe interefts and fenfations of kindred muft come \nmore into contact with our own than thofe of per- \nfons not allied to us by blood, nor connected with us \nby intercourfe. Family love commonly fjws the \nfirft feeds of benevolence, which are afterwards ma- \ntured into all the focial virtues. \n\n31. Before the benevolent affections can flourifh, \nthe fclfi Ti principle mud be brought under proper \nregulations. The felfih principle counteracts the \ngrowth of the benevolent affections j and the bene- \nvolent affections abate the rancour and prevent the \nincreafe of the felfifh principle. The more our in- \nterefts are, as it were.; divided, the more the fenfations \nof our hearts are communicated to others ; and the \nmore the fenfations of others vibrate in our own, the \nlefs we are abforbed in the purfuit of exclufive gra- \ntifications. Family love makes the firft divificn in our \ninterefts and fenfations, by mingling them with the in- \nterefts and fenfations of others, \n\n32. The maturation of the benevolent principle \nis greatly affiled by marriage, by friendfhip, and \nfociety ; till the foul, animated with the flame of be- \nnevolence, is difpofed to fympathize with the interefts \nof all mankind. Marriage, on Chriftian principles, \nin a more efpecial manner encourages the expan- \nfion of the benevolent affections. It weakens the \nforce of the felfilh principle, by making our own \n\n\n\n( 335 ) \n\nintereft one and indivifible with that of another; and \nwhen it gives. birth to children, it ftill farther pro- \nmotes the increafe of benevolence, by rendering \nour intereft one and the fame with that of many \nothers. The benevolent principle will, in general, \nfor thefe reafons be feldom found fo ftrong in un- \nmarried as in married people. \n\n33. Friendfhip is another foil very genial to the \ngrowth of the benevolent affections, and, indeed, \ntrue friendfhip never warmed a heart that true be- \nnevolence did not warm. True benevolence gives \nbirth to the moft fincere, the moft ardent and lafting \nfriendfhip. A benevolent man mud have friends, \nbecaufe he muft be friendly. The benevolent man \nloves his kind ; and even the experience of treachery, \nof favours ill requited, or kindnefs not returned, will \nnot chill his bofom, or indifpofe it to delight in the \ngood of others. The benevolent affections teach us \nhow to overcome evil with good ; they teach us \nhow to conquer without righting for victory, to con- \nciliate the vindictive, to bend the (lubborn, and to \nappeafe the paflionate. , \n\n34. The happinefs of nations muft be the greater \nthe more that the benevolent affections warm the \nbreads of individuals. Nations are only families on \na larger fcale ; and the happinefs of the great family \nof nations is only an aggregate of the happinefs of \nall the individuals who compofe it. The more in- \n\n\n\n( 336 ) \n\ndividuals are happy, the greater is the public happi- \nnefs. The benevolent affections infpire the indivi- \nduals whom they animate, with zeal and vigour in \npromoting the hnppinefs of others, of their kindred, \nof their friends, of thofe connected with them bv \nblood or acquaintance, by the ties of religion, of \nneighbourhood, or country -, or by any of thofe \nfympathies that bind man with man in all the na- \ntions of the earth, and through the whole circum- \nference of humanity. The more individuals there \nare in a fingle family, in whofe bofoms the benevo- \nlent affections glow, the lefs flrife, the lefs envy, and \nthe lefs ill-will there will be in each condiment part; \nand confequently the greater tendency to promote \nthe happinefs of the whole. If every member of a \nfamily were animated by the benevolent affections, \nno mifery could well be felt. One would be a (lay \nto the other. The bitternefs of family hate would \nbe loft in the fweet intercourfe of family affection. \nJealoufy between brothers and filters, between near \nand more diftant kindred, and which fpring from a \ndivided intereft, would be at an end. They would \nbe united by a reciprocity of interefts and fenfations. \nThe rich would not (hun the intercourfe, or be in- \nfenfible to the wants of their relations in diftrefs. \nThe profperity or adverfity of the one, would in \nforne meafure be the profperity and adverfity of the \nother. They would be fcen together in the fun- \nfhine and in the dorm. \n\n\n\n( 237 ) \n\n35\xc2\xab True benevolence, though it will bear pref- \n\n"ti \n\nfure, loves expanfion. It breaths the moft exhila- \nrating fweetnefs over the adjoining region of the af- \nfections ; but it alfo fcatters its fragrance far and \nwide, from thofe who have the nearer! claims on the \nheart, to thofe whofe claims are more remote. It \nfpreads from the wife of our bofom, or the child of \nour hope, from the father, who was the flay of our \ninfancy, or the brother who was the companion of \nour youth, to the friends, with whom we have taken \nfweet counfel together, to the companions with \nwhom we have travelled in the road of life ; to thofe, \nwhofe fields and homes border on our own \\ to thofe, \nwho kneel with us at the fame altar ; or who are \nunited in the intereft or endeared by the name of \none common country, till it embraces the whole \npeopled world. \n\n36. Whenever a fpirit of benevolence (hall ani- \nmate the councils of nations, and the governments \nof the earth, public oppreffion will ceafe, and want \nwill be felt no more. Liberty, pure and genuine, \nfuch as is worthy of a rational nature, that liberty \nwhich impofes no reftraints on harmlefs or innocent \ngratification, which allows freedom of fpeech and \nliberty of inquiry, which encourages the growth of \nreafon and the growth of virtue, which protects the \nrich from the ravage of the poor, and the poor from \nthe infults and extortions of the rich ; this liberty \nwould flourifh in all its beauty, not like that tree of \n\nZ \n\n\n\n( 33* ) \n\nliberty, which, in thefe calamitous clays, has (6 often \nbeen planted by the fword j which has been watered \nby the tears of the widow and the orphan ; whofc \ntrunk has been fattened with flaughter ; and whofe \nboughs have been hung with the trophies of outraged \nhumanity and violated juftice. That liberty which \nwould naturally grow out of the fovereign fway of \nthe benevolent affections, would fhelter the father- \nlefs and the widow ; under its fpacious boughs the \nrich and the poor might dwell fafely; humanity \nwould tend its growth, juftice would prune its \nbranches, and the favour of heaven, fmiling on Co \nfair a plant, would protect its leaves from the canker, \nand harden its trunk againft the florm. \n\n37. Under a government where the benevolent \naffections prefided, fwaying the fceptre of policy \nand moderating the feverity of juftice, infurredlions \ncould not happen , for mankind, by a fort of in- \nflictive impulfe, neceflarily love a government \nthat confults their happinefs, that protects their pro- \nperty, that is tenderly alive to the fecurity of their \nrights and the prefervation of their freedom. A \npeople, that was animated by the true principle of \nbenevolence, would cherifh fuch a government with \na more than filial affection, and would be ready to \nfpend their laft (hilling for hs neceffities, and fpill \ntheir laft drop of blood for its fupport. \n\n9 \n\n\n\n( 339 ) \n\n38. In whatever nation a fpirit of benevolence \nanimated the people and the government, the hearts \nof individuals and the councils of the (late, that na- \ntion would, as far as in it lay, remain at peace with \nall the world. It would not lightly or wantonly un- \niheach the fword j it would engage in no wars of \naggrefiion or ambition ; and, if attacked by another \npower, it would not carry on hoftilities with rancour \nor malevolence ; but would efteem the reftoration \nof peace of more importance to the happinefs of its \npeople, than the vain boafts of conqueft, or the idle \ntrophies of ambition. \n\n39. The Divine Author of Chriftianity, by en- \njoining the benevolent affections fo forcibly in his \ndoftrine, and, above all, by his example, by fo power- \nfully enforcing their cultivation, and by lending the \nfanctions and promifing the bleffings of eternity to \ntheir practice, acted as the bed friend of man. Con- \nfcious of our wants, fenfibie of our diftreffes, and un- \nequalled in wifdom and in goodnefs, he propofed in \nhis counfels, and recommended by his life, that \nremedy, which alone can wipe all tears from all eyes, \nand drive heavinefs from all hearts. Whenever \nChriftianity fhall be univerfally profefied in all its \ntruth, and practifed in all its purity, the world will \nbe one univerfal monarchy under the reign of Love. \nTruth and Juftice will dwell among the nations ; and \nBenevolence will cover the earth as with a fhield, \n\nZ a \n\n\n\nRELIGION WITHOUT CANT. \n\n\n\nMoral good the great eft good, or the nature, tendencies, \nand effefts of moral aclion, theologically defcribed, \nphilosophically dif cuffed, and praclic ally enforced. \n\ni.VJod gives to his intelligent creatures various \nfaculties, of which he requires a right ufe. The right \nufe of the faculties, which we poflefs, confifts in their \nconformity to the end for which they were defigned ; \nor, in other words, in their conformity to the will of \nhim by whom they were bellowed. \n\n2. Of the faculties which God gives to his intelli- \ngent creatures, he does not interfere, by any imme- \ndiate a\xc2\xa3t of power, to controul the agency; for this \nwould render the faculties of intelligent beings like \nthe wheels of a piece of machinery, which are put in \nmotion by a power foreign to the machine itielf. \n\n3. Of thofe laws, according to which God directs \nbut does not compel our faculties to be employed, \n\n\n\nhe gives us reafon to difcover the utility, or he \nmakes their exiftence fo plain by their effects, that \nthey cannot be unknown. It is in conformity to \nthefe laws, or in obedience to the will of the lawgiver, \nthat our happinefs confifts \xe2\x99\xa6, and we cannot violate \nthem, without taking fomething from the fum of \nour happinefs, or adding fomething to that of our \nmifery. \n\n4. We cannot violate thofe laws of temperance, \nto which God defires the faculties of our bodies to be \nkept fubfervient without impairing our health ; and \nthough the effect of a fingle act of intemperance may \nnot be apparent, it is not the lefs real ; it feems not to \nadmit the relations of quantity, but, if often repeated, \nit foon accumulates to a fum of phyfical evil, under \nthe preffure of which the health difappears and the \nbody decays. It is probable, in like manner, that \nwe cannot violate the great laws of truth and juftice, \nby whofe immutable decrees our words and actions \nought to be governed, even in a fingle inftance, \nwithout deducting fomething from the fum of good, \nwhich would otherwife be our portion. Though \nthe effect be not immediate nor palpable, its influence \noperates, though it operates unfeen. It falls in, as it \nwere, with the great and powerful ftream of moral \ncaufes, which are in a ftate of continual motion; and \nwhich invariably tend to carry evil to him by whom \nevil has been done. \n\n\n\n( 34* ) \n\n5\xc2\xbb Every immoral adl, or act of difobedience to \nthe divine will, (for I confider morality in no other \nlight than the will of God,) has a necefTary and uni- \nform tendency to bring us, as it were, within the con- \nfines of mifery *. As phyfical evil is hurtful to the \nbody, fo moral evil is destructive to the foul of \nman. \n\n6. Why does God require us to obferve the moral \nlaw, but becaufe he wills us to be happy ? And why \ndoes he require us not to violate ic, but becaufe he \nwills that we mould not be miferable ? The moral \nlaw is an emanation of his goodnefs, and the practice \nof it was commanded for the good of his creatures. \nThe good of his creatures is the object of the will of \n\n\n\n* Oh that kings and governments would remember this ! \nThat they would confider themfelves as the fervants of God \nupon earth, whofe duty it is to execute his will rather than \ntheir oxvti! Let the defpot, before he ififues his arbitrary " fiat," \nconfider whether it be agreeable to the law of the moral Gover- \nnor of the world. No governments fhould enact any laws, ad- \nverfe in their fpirit, or hoftile in their tendency, to thofe of the \nGreat King of heaven and earth. They mould make the moral \nlaiv the bafis of the civil and criminal laws of the land. They \nfhould make a conformity to it, the ftandard of their intereft \nand the pillar of their policy. Then nations would be happy, \nand the governors of nations would erect their power on the \nimmoveable rock of truth, of juftice, and of mercy 3 inftead of \nrailing it on the fluffing fand of Machiavelian firatagem cruelty, \nand injuftice. See " Morality united with Policy," pp. 4cj \xe2\x80\x94 52. \nPrinted for White, Fleet Street. Price 2s. 6d. \n\n\n\n( 343 ) \n\nGod ; for God in fcripture is ftiled love, to denote \nhis benevolent concern for his creatures, and his dif- \npofition to contribute to their happinefs. And as \nthe moral law is the will of God, a conformity to its \ndecrees mud tend to make us happy ; for God, who \nis love, cannot will his creatures to be miferable. \n\n7. God has appointed laws for the government of \ntheflefh and of the fpirit; laws to direct our agency, \nas we are animals, fufceptible of pleafure and of \npain j and laws to govern us, as we are moral agents, \nrefponfible in another life for our behaviour in this. \nOn our conformity to thefe laws, our prefent and \nour future happinefs depends. The firft relate to \ngood, circumfcribed within the period of this life 5 \nthe lad to good, that extends beyond it. \n\n8. Every deviation from the laws of the flelh, or of \nour animal conftitution, muft indeed, in fome mea- \nfure, be a deviation from the laws of the fpirit or of \nour moral conftitution, for both originate from the \nfame divine will, and a deflection from one is an \noffence againft the power that appointed the other. \nWhat (inks us lower in the fcale of animality, de- \nprefTes us proportionally in that of intelligence ; the \nexcefs of the animal is the depravation of the moral \nman. \n\n9. Every fenfual excefs, as far as it is the acl: of a \nrational being, pofTeffing a diftinct fenfe of right and \n\nz 4 \n\n\n\n( 344 ) \n\nwrong, is a deduction from the fum of prefent and of \nfuture good ; from that good, which is hounded by \nthe horizon of mortality, and that which awaits the \nrighteous after death. A man may, indeed, deviate \nfrom the lavvb of his animal nature, he may be guilty \nof excefs in eating and drinking, and in criminal plea- \nfures, and which may have a direct influence on his \nprefent phyfical good ; but he may not be confcious, at \nthe time, that he is doing any thing morally wrong; \nand therefore, the act, not being a wilful breach of \nany moral obligation, may have no connection with \nhis condition in another life. It may not be a tranf- \ngreflion for which he will be called to account ; for \na man may offend againft thofe laws, by which a \ndue moderation of all the appetites is made fubfer- \nvient to his prefent intereft, without knowing that he \nis finning againft the will of a fuperior power, which \nit is his duty to obey ; and therefore the tranfgrefiion, \nthough it may be phyfically injurious, may not be \nmorally deft ructives though it may, from the natural \naffociation of caufe and effect, be hurtful to the body \nin this world, it may not affect the ftate of the foul \nin the next. \n\nio. Nothing will operate againft the happinefs of \nman in another life, but moral difobedience in this ; \nand moral d ; fobedience implies a perverfe applica- \ntion of that faculty by which we difcern evil from \ngood, and good from evil. A man may trefpafs \nagainft the wife laws of his animal conftitution, by \n\n\n\n( 345 ) \nwhich pain is affociated with excefs of indulgence, \nand yet not fin againft the moral law, becaufe he may \nnot know, or be capable of knowing, that there is \niuch a law in being. \n\nii. Before any man, as a being accountable to \nGod for his actions, can do what is morally wrong, \nthere mufl be a fenfe of what is morally right and \nmorally wrong upon his conference ; or he mult have \na faculty of difcerning their differences, which it is \nhis duty to exert ; or the differences themfelves \nmuft have been obliterated by long continuance in \niniquity. No man can be excufed for doing what is \nmorally evil, becaufe he neglects the ufe of the power \nwhich he poffefles to difcover what is morally evil ; \nor becaufe he has fuffered the moral fenfe to wade \naway through difufe, or to be para\'yfed by wicked- \nnefs. \n\n12. The laws which relate to the prefent animal \neconomy of man are inflexible and univerfal in their \noperation. Neither the tool nor the wife man can \ntrefpafs againft them with impunity. When an idiot \ntranfgreffes the laws of health, the effect follows the \ncourfe; the aggregate of phyfical good, which he \ncould otherwife have enjoyed, experiences a certain, \nthough not an immediate and vifible diminution *. \n\n* The idiot wants reafon, but he poffeffes fenfation ; and \nfenfation alone will teach the necefiity of temperance. The \n\n\n\n( 34<S ) \n\nBut, if another perfon, who has a right ufe of his \nrational faculties, and on whofe conference the dif- \ntinctions of right and wrong, of moral good and \nmoral evil are engraven, mould be guilty of the \nfame offence, the confluences may be extended \nbeyond this fphere of things. \n\n13. Wherever there is a faculty of making juft \ndiftinctions between right and wrong, there moral \nand phyfical good are the fame ; there prefent is \nidentified with future good; there the interefts of \ntime are incorporated with thole of eternity. The \nintemperance of the idiot, who has no right fenfe of \nmoral obligation, may affect only his preient good j \nbut the intemperance of a wifer man may be a de- \nduction from his future. \n\n14. The laws which relate to the government of \nthe flefh, or the animal economy of man, embrace \nthe whole fentient human race; but thofe laws \nwhich relate to the government of the fpiric, of the \nthoughts, the affections, and the whole moral eco- \nnomy of man, can concern only thofe who know the \ndifferences between good and evil, and understand \nthe weighty matters of moral obligation. But, as in \n\nignorant may, in many cafes, draw conclufions from lenfation \nwithout any intermediate fteps of rea facing, as well as the \nphilofopher can by the more laborious proctls of ratiocination. \nSenfation often difcovers wife axioms of conduft, by bringing \n\'is as it were, into contact with their benefits. \n\n\n\n( 347 ) \n\nthe firft cafe, every deviation from the laws of our \nanimal nature, takes fomething from the fum of \nphyfical good, which we mould otherwife enjoy, fo \nit is highly probable from analogies in nature, and \nfrom the intimations of fcripture, that every indivi- \ndual deviation from the laws of our moral nature \nmuft fubtract fomething from the fum of our future, \nor what 1 call moral and eternal, in oppofition to our \nprefent, phyfical, and tranfient good. \n\n15. It feems the exprefs doctrine of fcripture, \nthat the more righteous, or the more obedient to \nGod\'s will men are in this life, the more happy they \nwill be in another. Now, as every individual act of \ndifobedience takes fomething from the fum total of \nour righteoufnefs, and confequently fomething from \nthe fum of our future happinefs, fo every individual \nact of obedience adds fomething to the fum total of \nour righteoufnefs, (for a righteous life is only an ac- \ncumulation of many particular acts of obedience,) \nand confequently will make fome addition to the \nfum of our biifs, in that ftate to which this life is \nleading us. Thefe are weighty confederations,, and \nhighly neceffary for us to cherifh, that we may not \nmake a mock of fin, and count any one act of difo- \nbedience to the divine will a matter of little mo- \nment. \n\n16. A righteous life is only an accumulation of \nmany particular acts of obedience ; and, on the con- \n\n\n\n( 34* ) \n\ntrary, an unrighteous life is only an accumulation of \nmany particular acts of di (obedience. How many \nparticular acts of obedience or of difobedience will \ncaufe us, through the mercy of God operating in \nthe atonement ofChrift, to appear juft in his divine \nprefence on the one hand, or will occafion cur ex- \nclulion from his favour on the other, we cannot af- \ncertain, nor does it become us to inquire -, but this \nweighty truth it is highly important for us to know \nand to remember, that every individual act of good \nor of evil, of obedience or of difobedience, will have \nfome influence on our eternal deftiny. Oh that we \nwould lay this truth to heart ! That we would medi- \ntate on it ere we deep at nights and ponder it well \nwhen we wake in the morning ! \n\n17. The greateft good which man can feek on \nearth, or enjoy in heaven, which can animate his ex- \nertions here, or reward his labours hereafter, is the \nfavour of God. And the only condition, by which \nthis perfect gift can be obtained, or to the perform- \nance of which it is appended, is a conformity to the \nmoral law, the law of righteoufnefs and true holinefs. \nEvery act of immorality, being a tranfgrefTion of \nthe will of God, muft caufe a diminution of his fa- \nvour towards us. As God is a perfect being, and \nall his perfections of power, of wifdom, of juftice, \nand goodnefs, though confidered feparately by us, \nin order that they may be brought more within the \ngrafp of our narrow apprehenfions, are, in fict, only \n\n\n\n( 349 ) \n\none and indivifible, the will and the favour of God \nmud coincide. The only way to obtain his favour \n"is to do his will; and thofe who mod zealoufly \ndrive to perform the one, will enjoy the greateft por- \ntion of the other. \n\n1 8. The will of God, confidered as operating in \nthe moral world, fuperintending its government, and \ndifpofing its whole economy for the encouragement \nof moral good, and the punifhment of moral evil, \nmay be confidered as a {trait line, pointing to our \ngreateft happinefs, and ftretching through this life \ninto eternity. The more we violate the divine pre- \ncepts, the more we recede from this line, and the \nfarther we depart from happinefs ; and, if inftead of \nfleering our way through life by its direction, we \nkeep removing farther and farther from it, from the \ntime when the power of making juft diftinctions \nbetween right and wrong commences to the period \nwhen it ends, we may lofe the favour of God, with- \nout being reftored to it again for ever * ! \n\n\n\n* If this fuppofition be true, the punifhments denounced \nin tcripture againft the wicked, may be not only figuratively \nbut literally accomplished. They may be eternal l Here, O finful \nman! paufe and consider thy danger before thou rufheft into \nirretrievable deftru&ion ! \n\nIn the Picture of Christian Philofophy, 3d edit. pp. 58 \xe2\x80\x94 60. \nt have fuggefted that the puniinment of the wicked in another \nworld will probably be of long, but not of infinite duration; \nand I have laid that an eternity of punifhment for temporal \n\n\n\n( 3S\xc2\xb0 ) \n\n19. Continual a<5h or habits of goodncfs caufe us, \nas it were, to keep a courie parallel with the will of \n\noffences appears repugnant to any enlarged notions of the \njuftice and the goodnefs of God. At the moment I am writing \nthis note, (Friday morning, Jan. 2d, 1801,) 1 do earneftly hope \nthat all, even the greateft Turners may, and I do furmife that \nthey ivill be Hived. I have many reafons for believing that \nthe punifhment of the wicked will tend, though flowly, and \nthrough a long feries of fullering, to extirpate the evil habits, \nwhich they have formed, and to bring about their reconciliation \nwith the God whom they have offended. But then this belief \nis rather the expreflion of hope, than the aflurance of certainty j \nrather a conjecture which I love to indulge, than a position \nwhich the fcripture gives me any exprefs authority to fupport. \nThe language of the facred writers upon the fubject hardly \nwarrants the conclusion which I with to draw 5 and though \nthat language may poflibly be, and probably is, only the com- \nmon inflation of the eaftern idiom, yet when I confider that \nthis life is a ftate of trial for eternity, and that when this pro- \nbationary fcene of things is over, it may never be fucceeded by \nanother, in ivh\'ich there ivill be any room left for repentance or for \npardon, and that, confequently, in this cafe, the finner would \nretain to all eternity the corrupt habits in which he left the \nworld, and would thus remain for ever unfit for the communion \nof the juft ; when T confider this, I dare not pronounce rafhly \non fo weighty a queftion. And this truth it behoves us feri- \nouily to weigh, and attentively to remember, that whether the \npunifhment referred for the (inner in \'another life be temporal \nor eternal, godlinefs in this ivorld ?mijl he great gain -with refpeel \nto another. Reader, whoever thou art, or to whatever feci thou \nmayeft belong, if thou haft turned afide from the path of good- \nnefs, which, believe me, is the only path of happinefs, let me \nconjure thee as a friend, interefted in thy welfare, to meafure \nback thy way, ere the long night fet in, and the thick darknefs \noverwhelm thee! \n\n\n\n( 3$* ) \n\nGod ; or, at lead, with only fome occafional and \ntranfient deviations from it, fuch as are hardly to be \navoided by human imperfection. But from fuch de- \nviations to moral evil, a return is eafy to moral good, \nwhen the principle of righteoufnefs is fixed in the \nmind and engraven on the heart. And even the (in- \nner who has made not only fome few and occafional \ndeflections, but who has long continued in a (late of \ndefle&ion from the (trait line of obedience, though \nhe may never, in this life, be able to attain to that \npoint of obedience, at which, if he had not fo often \nor fo long erred, he might have arrived *, yet he \nmay approach it in an indefinite degree ; fo as to \nefcape the being carried after death into the abyfs \nof mifery. But every (lep that a finner removes \nfarther from the line of religious obedience, the \n\n\n\n* How great, how incalculable is the importance of early \nimpreliions of piety ! Impreflions, which, by a careful culture, \nmay be confolidated into habits that the company of the diflb- \nlute cannot afterwards deprave, nor the arts of the infidious \nundermine. A man may turn to God in his old age ; but habits \nof righteoufnefs begun at that late period, though they may \ndeliver from the wrath to come, cannot be fo productive of \nfuture happinefs, as thofe habits of righteoufnefs, of which the \nfeeds were fown in youth. Ye guardians of the young, before \nall other accomplishments, labour to inftrucl: their minds in the \nknowledge, and to imbue their affections with the fpirit of \ntrue religion ! Ariftotle fays with great truth, a [uxgov sv 8ia.$e\xc2\xa7ei \nto tstwg rj 8tou$ eu\xc2\xa7v$ ek vsuvv s\xc2\xa7i%E<r&a.i aXXa, Tta^itoXv, waXXov Ss j \nto itav. Ariftot. Eth. Nicom. lib. ii, c. 1. Ed. Pet. Victor. 4to. \n\n\n\nFrancofurti 1584. p. 22, line 1?. \n\n\n\n( 35* ) \n\nmore difficult it will be for him to retrace his way to \nthe point of deviation ; for the momentum of bad \nhabit increafes as he proceeds, and die more his pace \nis accelerated towards destruction. \n\n20. Every Tingle act of fin is a deflection from the \nftrait line of duty, and confequently deducts fome- \nthing from the happinefs which we frVuld other- \nwife enjoy ; for duty is conformity to the will of \nGod, and to this conformity his favour is appended, \nin which alone true happinefs conjifts. Hence we fee \nthe neceflity of abftaining, with all the vigilance, \nwhich we can exert, even from thofe fmall indivi- \ndual tranfgrelTions which we are too apt to regard \nas matters of little moment ; which feem not at the \ntime to fubtract any thing from our happinefs, or \nadd any thing to our mifery. But, habitual fins, \nthough they may be habitual violations of only one of \nthe leaft of the commandments* are a continual infraction \nof the will of God ; a continual turning from our \nduty, and, confequently, a continual facrifice of our \nonly real and fubftantial intereft and glory. \n\n21. The mod: righteous in this world will make \nfome occafional deflections from their duty ; but \nthofe mult be the happielt who make the feweft. \nThe nearer we approach that line of perfect obe- \ndience and abfolute fubmiffion to the will of God, \nwhere true glory and happinefs begin and end, or, in \nother words, the more our habits of goodnefs in this \n\ni \n\n\n\n( 353 ) \n\nlife advance in ftature and increafe in flrength, the \ngreater will be our portion of blifs in the life to \ncome ; and if the righteous grow, as they probably \nwill grow in goodnefs to all eternity, they mud in- \ncreafe in happinefs to all eternity. \n\n22. The felicity of the righteous muft keep pace \nwith their moral improvement > and the one may ad- \nvance perpetually like the other. Eternity does not \nadmit the relations of time -, but as it is poflible to \nfuppofe any given portion of time capable of end- \nlefs accumulations, fo it is poflible to imagine any \nparticular portion of virtue or of happinefs to be \nincreafed, and to go on increafing through all eternity. \n\n23. The perfections of God, being infinite, can \nnever be changed 5 they admit of no limitations or \nadditions ; they cannot be enlarged or diminifhed in \nnumber or in fize ; but the perfections (perhaps I \nought rather to fay the imperfections) of man being \nonly a finite quantity, may be continually augmented, \nor continually diminifhed ; continually ameliorated \nor continually depraved. The increafing perfections \nof man bear a conflant relation to his paft imper- \nfections. And the comparative perfections of the \ncreature may keep continually growing in vigour and \nin fize, without ever becoming infinite j they may \nbe extended to an immeafurable diftance from the \npoint of imperfection at which they kt out, and yet \nattain no nearer to the infinite perfections of God, \nthan they were at the beginning. What is finite, \n\n.A a \n\n\n\n( 354 ) \n\nhowever vaft it may feem to what is, if I may \\o \nexprefs it, more finite than itfelf, can bear no pofftble \nproportion to what is infinite; no, not fo much as \na mite does to the fubftance of the world. \n\n24. The will of God, in a conformity to which \nmorality confifts, is the perfection of his power, of \nhis wifdom and his goodnefs. When God, by his \nfimple volition, created light, his will was the \nimage of his attributes, of his power, his wifdom, \nand his goodnefs. The moral law, by which he \ngoverns the intellectual world, and the relations \nof which muft have exilted in the divine mind \nfrom the beginning of time, was as much the refult \nof his fimple volition, as the creation of light, \nor the eftablifhment of the laws which regulate the \nuniverfal fyftem. The moral law fhews his wifdom \nin contriving it, his power in fixing and perpetuating \nits relations, and his goodnefs in fo arranging the \nwonderful economy of caufes and effects, of actions \nand their confequences, as, without controuling the \nfree agency of man, makes obedience to its decrees \nalways ultimately productive of good and affociated \nwith happinefs. \n\n25. The more we obferve the moral law, the \nmore we do the will of God ; and the more we do \nhis will, the more we approach his perfections; for \nthe divine will and the divine perfections are identi- \nfied. The will of God, according to the different \nlights in which it is wiewed, is the abftract idea, th* \n\n\n\n( 3SS ) \ncolle&ive fum or the aclive force of all his perfec- \ntions. And the moral law, according to the differ- \nent relations in which it is confidered, may be re- \ngarded as a provifion made by the divine wifdom, \npower, and goodnefs, for the happinefs of the whole \nrational creation. The moral perfectionning* of man \nconfifts in the increafing conformity of his conduct \nto the moral law, or in his increafing obedience to \nthe will of God. We cannot do all his will, for that \nfuppofes infinite perfection ; but we may keep on* \nthrough all eternity, improving in the faculty of \ndoing it f. \n\n16. In the whole univerfe, there can be but one \nperfeclj being, and that is God 5 for every created \n\n* Had the philofophers Condorcet, Godwin, and others, \nconfidered perfectibility not as an acquifition of phyfical and \nintellectual powers, which can never be attained by individual \nman in his mortal ftate -, but as a gradual growth in goodnefs, \na continual increafe in our fingle acts of obedience to the \ndivine will, and a confequent approximation to the divine \nimage ; a moral perfectionning begun in this world and con- \ntinued in the next ; who could have objected to their hypo- \nthefts? Who could have derided fuch a Speculation ? Who \ncould have difputed its great practical utility ? The mind of \nman can entertain few reflections more ufeful or more juft. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2f- We are not to fuppofe that man will continue ftationary \nin that ftate to which death will lead him; it is more reafon- \nable to fuppofe, that he will keep through all eternity advan- \ncing from one ftate of intelligence to another, and from one \ndegree of glory to a higher. \n\n% Here the word perfect is taken in its abfolute fignification, \nas excluding every idea of imperfection ; and not as before, \n\nA a 2 \n\n\n\n( 356 ) \n\nbeing (and every being is and muft be created, \nGod alone excepted) muft be imperfect ; and though \nthere may be many, nay infinite degrees of imper- \nfection, when one created being is viewed in its re- \nlations to or confidered in comparifon with another, \nyet as the difference between that which had a be- \nginning, and that which had none, is infinite, all \ncreated beings muft be placed equally diftant from \nhis perfections, in whofe eyes the heavens are not \nclean, and who chargeth his angels with folly. \n\n27. But though the imperfections of man, con- \nfidered in their ftrict philofophical relation to the ab- \nfolute perfections of God, may always continue in the \nfame date of inferiority, though no created nature \ncan, in any period of its improvement* though that \nimprovement fhould be carried on through an endlefs \nfuccefiion of ages, ever \'approach ivithin any given \ndijlance of the infinite power by which it was pro- \nduced ; yet the perfections of man, viewed either as \nrelative to the pail ftate of the individual, or in com- \nparifon with the ftate of other created natures, may \nkeep continually improving; and it is in the perpe- \ntual accumulation of that improvement that moral \nperfectionning confifts. We are to ufe the utmoft \nendeavours, and make the molt ftrenuous exertions, \n\n\n\nwhen I was fpeaking of the perfe&ions of man, where the \nword is taken as relative to fomething greater or fomething \nleft. \n\n\n\n( 357 ) \nnever to be ftationary in the race of moral improve- \nment. Not looking back, but preffing forward, we \nare to labour continually to go beyond that point in \nthe race of goodnefs, at which we lad arrived. We \nare to drive to excel both ourfelves and others, who \nare running the fame courfe, and panting to reach, \nthe fame goal, in the great work of obedience to the \nwill of God -, and we are to confider that obedience \nas the greatefl good, which we can purfue, or which \nwe can attain. \n\na8. It may be objected, that obedience to the will \nof God does not always conftitute our greateft good, \nbut is often productive of great pain and inconve- \nnience. If, indeed, the connection between morality \nand intereft were terminated by the grave, obedience \nto the will of God might not always be our intereft; \nfor circumftances may occur, in which one act of \njuftice or one exertion of humanity may coft a man \nhis life. But, as the relations between morality and \nintereft are carried beyond the grave, and though they \nare very clofe and eafily difcoverable here, they will \nbe indiflbluble and felf-evident hereafter -, and though \nthey are fubject to certain contingencies in this world, \nthey will be liable to no interruptions in the next ; the \nconformity of our conduct to the moral law or the \nwill of God, muft always, in all circumftances, and \nunder all poftibie combinations of prefent good or \nevil, be our greateft good ; for the greateft good^ \nwhich it is poftibie to attain in this fhort life, can \n\nAaj \n\n\n\n( jH ) \n\nbear no proportion to the eiTenrial and endlefs good \nthat is promifed in another. \n\n29. The more narrowly and attentively we fook \ninto the moral economy of the univerfc, a field of \nfpeculation well fitted for the rational powers of man, \nwhere they may range with the greater!: freedom, and \nexert their vigour with the greateft fuccefs j where \ntruths of the higheft importance to the welfare of the \nworld are to be explored ; and where alone that true \nphilofophy is to be found which connects earth with \nheaven, and elevates rational man to the precincts of \npure intelligence j the more we fhall find that God \nhas, in the moral order of things, made as immutable \ndistinctions between right and wrong, between truth \nand falfehood, juftice and injuftice, as he has made \nin the phyfical order of things, between fweet and \nbitter, pain and pleafure, mifery and happinefs. \n\n30. Pleafurable fenfation in a moderate degree \nis always phyfical good ; but animal pleafure may \nbe fo long continued as to cloy, or fo often repeated \nas to produce a pain greater than itfclf can counter- \nact; but obedience to the will of God, which is \nmoral good *, can never be too long in duration, or \n\n* Moral good in this acceptation of the words, is fpiritual \njoy; and joy so truly spiritual, never springs from any \nother source. The Calviniils think that fpiritual joy can \nflow only from the wild orgafnis Qf devotion; but. in the moral \n\n1 \n\n\n\nC 3S9 ) \ntoo intenfe in degree. It teems with delight that \nnever tires j with pleafure that never cloys. Moral \npleafures, or pleafures refulting from the practice of \ntruth, of juftice, and of charity, are not iubjedt to \nany repletion of enjoyment. They admit an infinite \naugmentation, and the more often they are tailed, \nthe greater becomes their capacity to give pleafure \nand ours to receive it. Senfual pleafures are ufually \ngreater in the fond illufions of anticipation than in \nthe reality of pofTefiion. But moral pleafures, being \nno> illujion, the reality only can delight ; they are there- \nfore little known till they are experienced, and the \nexperience always furpaiTes the higheft expectation. \nSenfual pleafures flourifh mod in the bloom of youth, \nbut moral pleafures increafe with increafing years. \nEndued with an immortal principle, they charm \nwhen the glow of phyfical fenfibility expires ; they \nextend their delight even to our hoar hairs ; and \npromife to the dying an eternity of blifs. \n\n31. Our nature is fb conftituted, that, as what is \nfweet is agreeable to the tafte, or what is fmooth to \nthe touch, lb what is morally good, inftantly, and \nwithout any labour of preparation, gratifies both the \nmind and the heart. As a tafte for what is fweet is \nnatural, and a tafte for what is bkter artificial, fo a \n\n\n\nimprovement of their conduct \', they would find joys more fweet and \n?nore genuine, raptures more delicious but /nore rcafonabU\\ and f \nthough more tranquil, more fublime. \n\nAa4 \n\n\n\n( 36o ) \n\ntafte for moral good is the inftindtive propenfity of \nthe foul, and a tafte for moral evil is the product of \nhabit. \n\n32. Pleafurable fenfation is the primary object of \nman; but pleafurable fenfation, the pureft in kind \nand the greater! in degree, is connected with and \nrefults from acts of goodnefs. Thus God has given \nto our nature a bias to moral good in preference to \nmoral evil * ; and our fenfations themfelves are, in \nfome meafure, capable of diftinguifhing their differ- \nences. The practice of truth, juftice, and mercy, \nfeems a natural fource of agreeable fenfation, to \nwhich the reafon cannot deny its allent nor the heart \nits fanction. But the practice of falfehcod, of in- \njuftice, and of cruelty, is a natural caufe of painful \nfeelings f, for it is abhorrent to the plain dictates \n\n\n\n* Juft in the fame manner as he has given us a defire of \nhappinefs in preference to mifery. Moral good is happinels, \nmoral evil mifery ; though perverfe aiTociations and a rapa- \ncioufnefs of pre lent pleafure make us blind to this truth, and \nindifferent to the confequences. \n\n-f If painful feelings be not always produced by falfehood, \ninjuflice, &c. it does not follow that they have not a natural \ntendency to produce them. For, the tafte of tobacco and of \nmany other things has a 7iatural tendency to produce naufca \nand excite averfion ; though it fometimes produces neither the \none nor the other, but quite the contrary. In the hift cafe, the \nphyfical tafte is impaired, or a new and unnatural one has been \nSuperinduced by habit; and whenever vice is relimed, or virtue \n\n\n\n\n\n\n( 36 1 ) \n\nof common fenfe, and the unvitiated fenfiblllties of \nhumanity *. \n\n\n\nloathed, the natural healthy moral tajle has been corrupted from its \n\noriginal fimplicity. \n\n* There feems a ftrong propensity in mankind to be fpefcta- \ntors of fcenes of mifery Children, as I have often obferved, \naffemble in greater crowds to fee a funeral than a wedding, \nand the populace will always quit a puppet ibow to attend a \ncriminal to the gallows. Sympathy, when it is ftrong and \nvivid, always forcibly attracts us towards the object; and it is \nthis fympathy which carries men to witnefs an execution in \npreference to other fcenes apparently more agreeable. It muft \nnot be fuppofed, that becaufe men are thus powerfully im- \npelled, by a certain principle in their nature, to be fpectators \nof others fufferings, they feek to derive, or that they actually \ndo derive pleafurable fenfations from the fufferings of their \nfellow-creatures j for the principle of fympathy which, if I \nmay fo fpeak, accelerates our fteps to fome fcene of mifery, \n\xe2\x80\xa2was made thus operative in our brcajls on purpofe iojlimulate us to \nrelieve it. It may be afked, how can fympathy impel us to be \nfpectators of mifery, which we have no profpect of relieving, \nto fee pain inflicted and anguifh felt, which we can neither \nprevent nor alleviate ? But the principle of companion, which is \none of the aboriginal principles of the human nature, always \npoffeffes a general tendency to attract us towards objects of \nmifery; and this paffive Hate of companion ufually precedes \nits active operations. In a populous city, when the news of \nany terrible accident or calamity is made known, multitudes \ninfiantly rufh to the fpot ; but in this cafe, I do not believe that \nthe majority are actuated more by emotions of curiofity, than \nby the principle of companion. When companion impels us \nto take a near view of the pains and fufferings of others, it \nfeems to do it in order that thofe pains and fufferings may excite \nour benevolence into action. Mifery which is feen, is more \n\n\n\n( .362 ) \n\n33\xc2\xbb We derive pleafure from the practice of \ntruth, of juftice, and of mercy, abftradted from the \n\n\n\nlikely to make ins \'Vive to relieve the fufferer, than that mifery \nwhich, being out of our fight, does not fo powerfully aft on our \nfeiifations. A few, indeed, will gaze icily on the fufferer and- \npafs on, but the many will make fome effort to relieve him, and \nwhere circumftances render relief impolTible, the delireof afford- \ning it will be expreffed on the countenance and felt in the \nheart. The miniftration of comfort to the dejecled, or help to \nthe needy, affords pieafure ; and the fimple but heart-felt de- \nlire of adminiftering it, produces a pleafurable flate of felf-fa- \ntisfa&ion. Thus fympathy feems the principle which fo forci- \nbly impels men to be fpe&ators of executions, of fights of \nwretchednefs, and fcenes of woe; and in general, except in \ncafes of atrocious guilt, or in one or two individuals, who may \nleek to gratify the paffion of revenge in beholding the fuffer- \nings of an enemy, it will be found, that the fpe&ators do not \nonly companionate the fufferer, but feel a ftrong defire to avert \nor to abate his fufferings. \n\nIn beholding the fufferings of others, we may, in fome cafes, \ninvoluntarily feel a fort of negative pleafure in the confciouf- \nnefs of perfonal fecurityj for the fight of mifery may induce \nus to make agreeable companions in our own favour. But \nthough the motive which impels men to be fpectators of the \nfufferings of others may often be of a very mixed and complex \nkind, compafiion is always, in the great majority of cafes, one \nof its principal confiituents ; and perhaps its force is more than \nequal to that of all the reft. Thus the wifdom and goodnefs \nof God are very obfervable in his having made compaliion one \nof the mafter-principles of our nature, and to the influence of \nwhich fo many others are fubfervient. \n\nIt has been faid that our active habits are ftrcngthened, and \nour paffive weakened by exercife. Thus the pain which is \nfelt at the fight of miserable obje&s, is diminithed by the fre- \n\n\n\n( 3*3 ) \n\nconfideration of any perfonai advantage, to which \nthey may tend, or with which they may be con- \n\nquency of the fpectacle; but if the active principle of com- \npanion be exercifed as well as the paffive, the willingnefs to \nrelieve objects of mifery is increafed in proportion as the pain \nwhich they canfe becomes lefs, or as the difagreeable impreflions, \nwhich they make on the fyftem, wear away. Hence it is right \nnot only to indulge a paffive fympathy, but, as much as poffible, \nto cheriih and to exert the principle of active beneficence"} for, \nby this means, the painful feelings which a miferable Object \ncaufes, will become lefs in degree, while the pleafurable feel- \nings derived from active gooduefs will increaie as the habit \nis matured. But if we cheriih only the paffive feeling, with- \nout exerting the active energies of compaffion, the difpofition \nwill receive a tendency to cruelty ; for the impreflions which \nfights of wretchednefs make, being diminifhed in ftrength by \nfamiliarity, and the decay of the paffive not being aflbciated \nwith a proportionate increafein the active habit of benevolence, \nthe perfbn will at laft come not only to be affected with no \npainful feelings from, but to take pleafurein the fpectacle, and \nperhaps even in the production of mifery. Hence we may \neafily learn, how, in many cafes, that character which is termed \ncruel is formed. The feeling of compaffion is, by degrees, \nweakened, and the active principle of beneficence is not pro- \nportionably ftiengthened, till the raifery of others ceafing to \nexcite pain, caufes at laft pofitive pleafure. I need not, I truft, \nanticipate the fagacity of the reader, in applying fome of the \nremarks, which I ha\\e made in this note to the practice of \neducation^ nor need I remind him, that they tend to iliow in \nwhat manner the habit of fentimental and pathetic novel- \nreading, while it feems to foften, tends in fact to harden the \nheart; and I think that they will furniih a clue to difcover \nwhy Roufleau, Sterne, and other writers, who were fo remark- \nable for a paffive fenfibility, were fo deficient in practical bene- \nficence. \n\n\n\n( 3*4 ) \n\nnected ; but when we derive pleafure from the \npractice of falfehood or injuftice, the pleafure is not \nproduced by the tranfgreffion, but by the emolu- \nment with which it may be connecled, or the intereft \nwhich it may promote. The mind always difap- \nproves the practice of falfehood or injufttcej though \nits difapprobation may have lefs influence on the \nwill, than the gratification with which the vice flatters \nthe fenfes. We never approve faifehood as falfe- \nhood, or injuftice as injuftice, though fome tempo- \nrary advantages connecled with the practice, or fome \nanimal pleafure refulting from it, may make us blind \nto their deformity and infenfible to their tendency. \nBut, on the other hand, we always approve juftice as \njuftice, and truth as truth ; they want no aiTociated \ncircumftances to give them an intereft in our hearts; \nthey need no adventitious ornaments to make them \npleafe, no artificial luftre to make them captivate ; \nand pleafures, pure and exquifite, always flow from \nan inviolable adherence to their obligations. \n\n34. All the pleafure that can be derived from the \nmod fuccefsful violations of truth and juftice, is ani- \nmal pleafure ; and which is always diminished, it not \nentirely deftroyed, by moral dijjathfciuion. On the \nother hand, when, refilling the allurements of falfe- \nhood or injuftice, we make any confiderable facri- \nfices at the fhrine of truth and juftice, our ftnfations, \nruffled, perhaps, for a fhort feafon, always ultimately \nfettle into that \\ leafurable ftare of moral fatitfacUon, \n\n\n\n( 3^5 ) \n\nwhich converts the lofs into gain *, and infpires that \nfeeling of confeious rectitude, of which the poiTeffion \nis better than all the accumulated interefts of unn>ht- \n\no \n\neoufnefs. And though, on fome occafions, we may \nbe required to cut of an arm, to pluck out an eye, \nor to part even with life itfelf, for the fake of truth, \nof juftiee, and humanity, we ought not to ihrink \nfrom the facrifice ; for if it diflblve our connection \nwith the fleeting interefts of time, it will confolidate \nit with the interefts of eternity. He, fays the Lord, \n<who lofes his life for my fake fh all fdve it \\ that is, he \n\n\n\n* If God have made morality our intereft, if he have im- \nplanted in the mind, fuch a ftrong fenfe of its utility, that we \nnever can, rationally, approve falfehood and injustice, and never \nrationally condemn truth and juftiee, how can it be faid that \nwe are born altogether corrupt and abominable, radically dif- \npofed to evil and indifpofed to good ? For, it appears, that if \nany constitutional bias be laid on our choice, it is rather in fa- \nvour of virtue than of vice. When pain and pleafure are \nrightly diftinguimed, we always prefer pleafure to pain; and \nwhen moral right and wrong are offered to the choice, the \nmind always prefers moral good to moral evil, unlefs when it \nis corrupted by the dominion of fenfual appetites and perverfe \naflbciations. Moral good, rightly conjnlered, is the higher! and \nmod refined corporeal pleafure ; and it is the fweetefi: pleafure \nwhich we can tafte, for it is pleafure, in conformity to thole \nlaws of the author of our being, in whofe favour is life, and \nwithout nvhofe regard there can beno Tajting meafiire. Con rider \nthis, ye (ticklers for the innate moral corruption of man ! Con \xe2\x80\xa2 \nfider this, and no longer make the great Father of fpirits the \ncontriver and abettor of human depravity ! - \n\n\n\n( 366 ) \n\nwho keeps my fayings, and is obedient to my laws, \neven unto death, fhall receive his recompenfe in a \nbetter world. Blefied, therefore, thrice bleffed are \nthofe, who are undefiled in the way, and walk in the \nlaw of the Lord. Truth and juftice, falfehood and \ninjuftice, are not mere matters of human convention; \nthey are not the random conjectures of the ignorant, \nor the barren fpeculations of the wife; their relations \ndo not originate in the mind of man, but in the will \nof God; and inftead of being dependant on the ver- \nfatile changes of opinion or of policy, they have been \neflablifhed and incorporated in the nature of things, \nby a decree which cannot alter, which has been fixed \nfrom the beginning, and will continue to the end of \ntime. \n\n35. Chriftianity, by \'placing human conduct in \nits true relation to the interefts of eternity, proves \nthat moral good is our greateft good, and moral evil \nour greateft evil. By promifing to recompenfe us \naccording to cut works *, it fhows that the ftate which \nwe fhall pafs into after death, has a clofe connection \nwith our prefent habits ; for when Chrift declares \nthat he will judge us according to our works, we \ncannot fuppofe that the fentence which he will pafs \nupon us, will be determined fo much by a few fingle \nacts as by the general habits of our lives. He will \ntake a large and impartial furvey of our whole con- \n\n* Matt. xvi. 27. Rom. xi, 6*. \n\n\n\nC \' 367 ) \n\nduct from the beginning to the end of our^days. The \nmore pet feci therefore our habits of obedience to the \nlaw of God have been, the greater will be our hap- \npinefs after death. He that foweth fparingly, Jhall reap \nalfofparingly. Now the only feed which we can fovr \nin this life, preparatory to a rich harveft of future \nglory in the next, is acts of obedience and righteouf- \nnefs gradually ftrengthening into an habitual confor- \nmity of the conduct to the will of God. The more \nnumerous our acts of obedience are, or the lefs inter- \nruption they experience from acts of a contrary ten- \ndency, the more robuft and vigorous is the habit 5 \nand confequently the greater will be the capacity of \nthe individual for immortal blifs. \n\n36. Every fingle ad of obedience to the divine \nwill may probably have fome influence on our fu- \nture happinefs, as far as it adds fomething to the in- \ntenfity of thofe habits of righteoufhefs, which are con- \nditional qualifications for eternal glory. An habit of \nreligious obedience may be confidered as formed of \nmany particular and individual acts of obedience, \neach of which has Jome Jhare in its formation. Thus, \ntherefore, the power of the habit muft increafe in \nproportion to the number of the particular acts of \nobedience from which it refuks, of which it is the \ncollective growth and the accumulated force. \n\n37. Every particular act of religious obedience \ncarries on the increafe of the habit in the foul, and \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xab3 ) \n\ncaufes our moral energies to expand more and more \nto the fulnefs of the ftature of Chrift. Habits of \ntruth, of juftice, and of temperance, grow, as it were, \nout of the many particular occafions in which truth \nhas been fpoken, and juftice and temperance prac- \ntifed ; or in which the temptations to falfehood, to \ninjuflice, and intemperance, have been refilled. The \nhabit of righteoufnefs advances with an accelerated \npace, according to the number of the individual acts \nof righteoufnefs that we have performed and the \nflrength and number of the temptations which we \nhave fubdued. \n\n38. Every temptation withftood by the reafon, \nand made fubject by the confcience, is not only fo \nmuch power taken from the flrength of fin, but fo \nmuch added to that of righteoufnefs ; and, in the \nfame manner, every particular act of obedience to \nthe law of righteoufnefs tends to augment the force \nof the habit, and confequently to abolilh the law of \nfin which may reign in our members. Hence, it \nmay be readily underftood, how every particular act \nof religious obedience adds fomething to the inten- \nfity of the habit of obedience -, and hence, we fee the \nneceflity of ufing our utmofl endeavours to abflain \nfrom every particular violation of the law of righ- \nteoufnefs, and even from the infrafHon of thofe fmaller \nmoral obligations, which we are wont to tranfgrefs \nwith indifference, and think to tranfgrefs with impu- \nnity. But as every fingle act of obedience adds ibme- \n\n\n\n( Sh ) \n\nthing to the intenfity of the habit, and every act of \ndiibbedience takes fomething from it, fo the infrac- \ntion of what our Lord calls the leail commandments \nmud have fome influence on the moral character ; \nand confequently on the preparation of the heart for \nanother life, \n\n39. The more intenfe our habits of religious obe- \ndience are, the greater mud be our fitnefs for future \nhappinefs; for a future life will be, according to the \nintimations of fcripture and the fuggeftions of reafon, \naflate of moral retribution - 9 when glory and honour \nihall be rendered to him who hath done good, and \ntribulation and anguifh to him who hath done evil. \nA future life being therefore aflate of moral retribu* \nHon, its happinefs mud be proportioned to the de- \ngree of moral obedience in the individual, or to the \nintenfity of his habits of righteoufnefs *. The more \nintenfe and vigorous the habit is, or the nearer ap- \nproach that the individual makes, proportioned to the \nopportunities which he enjoys, to the goodnefs which \nwas manifeiled in the life of Chrifb Jefus, the greater \n\n\n\n* The intenfity of the habit muft bear a certain determinate \nrelation to the time allotted to the individual to acquire it. \nThus, habits of righteoufnefs acquired by an individual, who \nperiihes in his youth, may be considered in relation to the time \nallowed for the acquisition, as intenfe, and contain a reafonable \nfitnefs for as high a Hate of future happinefs, as the habits of \nrighteoufnefs acquired by another who lived to a good old age. \n\nBb \n\n\n\n( 37\xc2\xb0 ) \n\nwill be his capacity for happinefs in the life to \n\n\n\ncome. \n\n\n\n40. The word of God bears fruit, in different \ndegrees, in different perfonsj in fome it brings forth \nthirty, in others fixty, in others ninety fold ; but \nthofe who, with equal opportunities, make it yield the \ngreateft increafe, will receive the largeft recompence \nat the refurrection of the juft. Thofe in whom the \ndoctrine of Jefus has been mod prolific of righteouf- \nnefs, will occupy the higheft ftation among the fpirits \nof good men in heaven. Though there feems no \ntruth lefs regarded, yet there is none in the whole \ncompafs of fcripture more clear than this. In the \nparable of the ten pieces of money, (Lukexix.) he \nwho had converted the one pound which he had re- \nceived into ten pounds, received authority over ten \ncities; he, who with one pound, had gained five \npounds, received authority over five cities ; while he \nwho kept his pound laid up in a napkin, not only \nreceived no reward, but was deprived of all that he \nhad ; as in the parable of the talents, (Matt, xxv.) \nthe unprofitable fervant was caft into outer darknefs, \nwhere there is weeping and gnafhing of teeth. So \nwill it be at the great day of retribution ! O ponder \nthis ! ye, who either make a mock at fin, or do not \nftrive with that diligence and zeal,, which become \nmen who are one day to give an account of their \nthoughts, words, and actions, to improve in habits of \nobedience, to the will of the only Juft, the only \n\n\n\n( 37i ) \n\nWife, and the only Good ! O ponder this ! ye who \nhold the truth in unrighteousness! Confider, before \nit be too late ! that every a 61 of difobedience is a \nHep towards mifery and detraction. O ponder \nthis ! and labour to advance in the race of righteouf- \nnefs ; the only race in which true happinefs is to be ob- \ntained or lofting glory to be won ! \n\n41. The more we do the will of God, the more \nwe become like God \xe2\x80\xa2, for to do the will of God, is \nto imitate the perfections of God, whofe will is the \nftimofhis perfections. In whatever he wills, his \ninfinite wifdom, power, and goodnefs, are engaged. \nAll his works are contrived with wifdom, executed \nwith power, and perfected in goodnefs. The voli- \ntions of man are ofcen feparated from wifdom, power, \nand goodnefs. Man often wills to do that which he \nhas not fagacity to devife, or ftrength to execute, or \nof which the execution anfwers no good end. There \nis often folly in the beg : nning, weaknefs in the pro- \ngrefs, and detraction in the confummation of his \nfchemes. When man wills any thing, fome interval \nof time, greater or lefs, always elapfes between the \nvolition and the accomplishment; but when God \nwills any thing, we cannot imagine the intervention \neven of a fecond time between his fiat and the exe- \ncution. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n42. When we fay that God wills our obedience to \nthe moral law, we do not mean that God has, by any \n\nB b 2 \n\n\n\n( 37* ) \n\nabfolute decree, impofed on man the neceflity of \nobeying it, any more than he has impofed the necef- \nfity of violating it. This would be to enflave the \nhuman will, and to deftroy the morality of human \nactions, by making them the refult of a mechanical \ncompulsion. We do not therefore allert that God \nwilled our obedience to the moral law in the fame \nmanner as he willed the creation of light, ( cc let \nthere be light, and there was light;") but that he \nhas appointed to the moral agency of man barriers, \nwhich cannot be paffed with impunity ; that he has efta- \nblifhed an order of things, by which obedience to the \nmoral law becomes the intereft, and difobedience to \nit the bane of man -, that He has made a clofe and \npermanent connection between truth, juftice, bene- \nvolence, and happinefs ; and between falfehood, in- \njuftice, malevolence, and miiery ; and that thefe re- \nlations which the All Wife, and All Good, has or- \ndained for the promotion of human virtue, and the \nextenfion of human happinefs, though they fome- \ntimes appear imperfect, broken and difordered here, \nwill take place without any confufion, any failure or \nimperfection hereafter. \n\n43. Morality, or a conformity of our conduct to \nthe will of God, does not, in this world, for wife and \ngood purpofes, always conduct to prefent happinefs ; \nbut the occafional miiery which it experiences \nfhould be regarded as the fatherly correction of the \nmoral Governor of the uaiverfe^ defigned to extend \n\n\n\n( 373 ) \n\nthe expectations of the individual towards another \nlife, and at the fame time to increafe the fitnefs for \nits enjoyment. Though God has eftabliflhed the \nmoral law, he does not fo conftrain the human will, \nas to force the performance of its obligations. He \ngives man a faculty to difcern between right and \nwrong, and an inward monitor to keep their differ- \nences alive in his fenfations, and he then caufes his \nhappinefs to depend on the choice which he makes. \nIf God have fixed a clofe, and eafily perceptible \nconnection between morality of conduct and prefent \ngood, and an indiflbluble connection between righ- \nteoufnefs and future good, it is plain that he wills \nthe morality of our actions, as a kind father wills \nthe welfare of his children, without controuling their \nchoice, or annihilating their freedom. Morality \nmuft therefore be our greateft good ; end every act \nof immorality muft be a dereliction of our greateft \nintereft. \n\n44. True, plain, rational morality *, whofe obli- \ngations, when clearly explained and forcibly incul- \ncated, come directly home to the bufmefs and the \nbofoms of all mankind, is the perfection of natural \nreligion, which confifts in the imitation of God j and \n\n\n\n* I do not mean the morality of the metaphyfician or the \ncafuift, of which the practical efficacy is loft in the clouds of \nfpeculation, in the fubtleties of evafion, or the perplexities of \ningenious impofture. \n\nb b 3 \n\n\n\n( 374 ) - \n\nthe fame morality is the perfection of revealed re- \nligion, which qonflfts in the imitarion ofChrift. \n\n45. Natural reafon, by investigating the attributes \nof God, as they are difpiayed in the natural, or as \nthey may be deduced from the order of the moral \nworld, may form a fort of abftraft model of excel- \nlence, in the imitation of whole virtues the beauty \nand perfection of natural religion will confift i but \nin revelation we behold, as it were, all the divine per- \nfections embodied in an individual. In revelation, \nwe fee exhibited a diftinct, corporeal model of prac- \ntical righteoufhefs, exciting the admiration of the \nmind, and warming the fenfibilines of the heart. It \nis a model on which the virtuous look with love, and \nwhich the vicious cannot hate. The molt illiterate \ncannot be infenfible to its beautv, and the wileft are \ndifmayed in the contemplation of its majefty. It is \na fpcclacle interefting to the philofopher, who, like \nNewton, has furveyed the fpacious heavens, or who, \nlike Bacon and Locke, or Hartley and Butler, has \ninveftigated the moral economy of man ; and it is \nequally interefting to him, whofe ideas do not foar \nabove the preffure of his animal neceflitics, and \nwhofe affections are in a great degree circumfcribed \nby his privations. It is, in one word, interefting to \nall, who poffefs the common feelings of humanity. \nIt is a model of perfection, not too depreffed for the \nhigh, nor too elevated for the low - t it is fuited to the \nimitation of man in all regions and climes, under all \n\n\n\n( m ) \n\nchanges of manners and opinions, and all poffibie va- \nrieties of laws and governments*. In the imitation \n\no \n\n\n\n* Nothing can more Strongly Show the truth of Chriftianity, \n\xe2\x80\xa2than the Angularly Striking adaptation of Chrift\'s character, as \na pattern of excellence and a model of imitation to univerfal \nman. Had the character been fictitious, taken from no living \narchetype, copied from no corporeal reality, can we imagine it \npoflible for ignorant people, like the Evangelifts, to have fa- \nihioned it with the niceft philofophical accuracy and discrimi- \nnation, fo as to fuit all the neceffities of man ? \xe2\x80\x94 a pattern of \nexcellence for the human race in all ages and nations, and abs- \ntracted from all considerations of place and time j whofe practi- \ncal ufefulnefs can never befuperfeded by the progreflion of the \nworld in wifdom, or by its improvement in virtue; which is \ncalculated to excite love the more it is Studied, and to diftufe \nhappinefs the more it is imitated. All the accumulations of \nhistorical proof that have been fo induftrioufly collected by \nLardner, and fo judicioufly arranged by Paley, do not amount \nto half that fulnefs of proof in fupport of the truth of revela- \ntion, .as the confideration of Chrift\'s character alone will furniih \nto a thinking mind. Were I a iked on what particular part of \nthe evidence I would reft the truth of Chriftianity,, I fhould \ninflantly reply, on the tranfcendant excellence of Chrift\'s cha- \nracter^ confidered as an inimitable reprefentation of every mu- \ntable virtue ; and compared with the circumftances of the \nauthors, by whom it was drawn, and with the manners and genius \nof the people, among whom the glorious original lived and \ndied. On the imitation of this character, which we not only \nread, but fee, in the memoirs of the Evangelists, the moral per- \nfcctionning of man depends; and the more its virtues are ab- \nferbed into the manners, the difpofition, and the conduct of the \nhuman fpecies, the lefs muft be the fum of its imperfections. \nAnd in proportion as the practical excellencies of Chrift\'s cha- \nracter are receded from, the greater muft be the deviation of \n\nBb 4 \n\n\n\n( 376 ) \n\nof this character, the character and the virtues of \nJefus of Nazareth, who is God with us *, the per- \nfection of revealed religion confifts j and thcfe who \n\n\n\nindividuals and of nations from the path of true happinefs and \nglory. \n\nOn the external evidence of Chriflianity all feems to have \nbeen laid that can be laid ; but the internal evidence has not \nyet been exhaufted by the refearch of the learned, or the re- \nflections of the wife. Some juft, and inftructive, and acute \nobfervations, may be found in Wakefield\'s Evidences of Chrilti- \nanity. I do not coincide with Mr. Wakefield in all his theo- \nlogical or political opinions, but I admire his learning, and I \n-revere his virtues. \n\n* Without meaning to enter into the dark controverfy \nabout the doctrine of the Trinity, which I leave to older theo- \nlogians, and more recondite fcholars, I cannot help remarking, \nthat all the perfections of the Godhead, power, wifdom, good- \nnefs infinite, did refide in a bodily form, in the perfon of Jefus \nof Nazareih; and that, confequently, he wis, according to the \ndoctrine of the church of England, perfect God and perfect \nman But whether the divine attributes which he exercifed \nwere hypottically and eternally inherent, according to the Tri- \nnitarian, or only delegated according to the Unitarian fcheme, \nwhether he were God per fe, or inverted with the power, and \nwifdom, and goodnefs of God, as his reprefeutative, ftill it muft \nbe conferled that he was God manifested in the flesh. \nOn this fubject, the moft difficult in the whole compafs of \ntheological inquiry, let us not be bitter towards others for think- \ning differently- from ourfelves. Let the zealous Trinitarian con- \nlidcr, that though he underfland all myfterics, and have not \ncharity, he is nothing. \n\n\n\n( 377 ) \n\nendeavour to make it confift in any thing \xc2\xa3fe y will only \nmar its beauty and deftroy its ufefulnefs *. \n\n46. The divine perfections, as they are difplayed \nin the vaft and magnificent fyftem of creation, are \nbeyond the utmoft ftretch of mortal comprehenfion. \nOf the works of God, of the operations of his pro- \nvidence, the exertions of his power, the contrivances \nof his wifdom, and the confummations of his good- \nnefs, it may truly be faid that their effulgence dazzles \n\n\n\n9 May I exprefs a few fentiments very genial to my heart, \nin the words of Epiicopius? " Veram theologiam credimus \nmere practicam efie, et proinde quaecunque in ea traduntur, eo \nunice referenda, ut ad officium fuum fedulo faciendum, et \nmandata Jefu Chrifti obfervandum acrius aptiufque homo in- \nflammetur atque animetur. Arida enim, efFaeta, fterilis, et pro- \ninde fpuria eft theologia, qne intra inanem fpeculationem, et \ncontemplationem meram confiltit, quaeque poftquam diu mul- \ntumque vigilantiffimi cujufque induftriam fatigavit, atque inge- \naium folum operofe exercuit, ad voluntatem tamen non pene- \ntrat, et debitum Deo obfequium in ea non gignitj eoque nee \nveram ac falutiferam Dei Chriftique notitiam in nobis efficit. \n" Qui enim dicit, fe Deum norTe, et mandata ejus non fervat, \nmendax eft et in eo Veritas non eft." Prima igitur ac praecipua \ntheologize laus in eo fita eft, ft animum hominis in obfequium \nDei fie&at, et earn noftri partem, quam libertate naturali dona- \nvit Deus, et quafi fui juris atque arbitrii fecit, ita inclinet, ut \nDeo fefe totam fponte fua iterum fubjiciat, et abdicato priftino \nlibertatis fuae abufu, du&um divinae tantum voluntatis fequa- \ntur. Cetera 07nnia> niji ad hunc fcnpimi dirigantur i coram Deo \nvana Junt etfrivola, et per fe minimi prccii, adcoque gene nihili \nducenda" Prefat. ad ConfefT. Remonft. p. 73. \n\n\n\n( 373 ) \n\nour fight, and their obfcurity mocks our penetra- \ntion ; that their variety eludes our fearch, anJ their \nfublimiry exceeds the utmoft elevation of the human \nfaculties. But, in the perfon of Chnft, we behold, \nas it were, thefe inconceivable perfections reduced \nto the fize of our aprrehcnfion, and brought within \nthe angle of our fight. We behold a pattern of ex- \ncellence, of which we can, in fome degree, meafure \nthe dimenfions, and which we are capable of imi- \n\n\n\ntating* \n\n\n\n47. In the character of Chnft, we fee the higheft \nabftraiftions of goodnefs, which the mind can feign, \nmoulded into a certain diftinct figure and fhape \xe2\x96\xa0> in \nhis life and in his doctrine we obferve every fpecies \nof moral excellence, that can be attained in practice, \nor imagined in [peculation *. \n\n48. If there be any part in ChrinVs charadter, \nwhere all is purity without a fpot, and fplendour \n\n* Hence the great fuperiority of the Chriftian over every \nother fyftem of theology. In all other fyftems, fuch an ex- \nample is wanting, and no other fyftem befides polfclTes the \neffential cbaracteriftics of, and the neceffary fitnefs for an uni- \nverfal religion. True religion admits not the narrow limita- \ntions of time and place, of cufloms, manners, &c. 5 but on what \nreligion but the. Chriftian can this piaife be beftowed? All the \nnations and governments of the earth may live, and move, and \nhave their being, under its influence. Jr puts nothing out ol \ni i.- place, it promotes good will inliead of itriie, and calm \nacouiefcence initcad of factious. difcontent. \n\n\n\n( 379 ) \n\nwithout a cloud, which more particularly excites \nour love and engages our efteem, it is the conftancy \nof his benevolence. The benevolent affections give \nmorality its fragrance, virtue its attractions, and re- \nligion its ufefulnefs. There is no place, and there \ncan be no clrcumftances, in which their cultivation \nis not required for the good, and in which their \npractice is not effential to the happinefs of mankind. \nThey produce content, and cheerfulnefs, and mirth, \nin the filent hamlet and in the obftreperotis city; in \nthe vale of ieclufion and in the throng of fociety; \nin the affairs of families ana in the councils of nations. \nThey alone make the eye to fparkle with genuine \njoy, and the heart to thrill with lafting pleafure. \nThefe affections, fo aufpicious in their influence, \nand fo inexhauftible in their benefits, (hone with an \ninimitable lultre in the fentiments and in the con- \nduct of Jefus; and nothing can fo powerfully pro- \nmote their growth in the heart, and their diffufion \nthrough the world, as the vigorous and general imi- \ntation of his character. \n\n49. Chriftianity, by being delivered in the form of \na hiftory, and that hiftory containing the delineation \nof a perfect character, mowing the man Jefus an un- \nrivalled example of humility, meeknef , and every \nvirtue, enduring infults with gentlenefs, injuries uith \nforbearance, fubduing oppreffion by patience, and \nmalevolence by charity, endeavours to keep a pat- \ntern of righteoufnefs conftantly fixed before our eyes. \n\n\n\n( 38o ) \n\nHad the precepts * been delivered in a more dry \nand abftracT: form, without being fo diftinctly per- \nfonified in a corporeal reality, or had they been tranf- \nmitted to us in the fhape of a philofophical treatife, \ndiftinguifhed by the nicety of the arrangement, and \nthejuftnels of the reafoning, by the eloquence of \nthe ftyle, and the conclufivenefs of the deductions, \nand had this treatife even been confirmed, at its ori- \nginal publication, by certain miraculous appearances, \nyet it could not have excited fo much intereft, or \nbeen affociated with fo much good, as the fimple \nnarrative of the Evangelifts ; in which we meet with \nhiflorical relation inftead of elaborate difcufiion j \nwith accidental difcourfes inftead of premeditated \norations; with fhort authoritative fayings inftead of \nlogical argumentation. The character gives weight \nand dignity to the precepts, and the precepts add to \nthe intereft and the authority of the character; the \nforce and juftnefs of the one, and the beauty and the \nfitnefs of the other, imprefs a convi&ion on the \nmind, and gain an afcendency in the heart, which \ncould not eafily have been produced by the more \nabftrufe and lefs popular method of philofophical \ninquiry. \n\n50. Chriftianiry, bv holding a model of fuch per- \nfection before our eyes, takes the fureft and the \n\n* The precepts nre a perfect rule of life; but it is the cha- \nracter which gives them fo much beauty and effect, which ren- \nders them fo perfuaiive and fo interefting. \n\n\n\n( J8i ) \n\nihorteit way to facilitate our improvement in righ- \nteoufnefs, to animate our exertions, and to accelerate \nour progrefs. The view of a character fo excellent \ntends to produce that jufl fenfe of our own inferio- \nrity, which generates humility, and, at the fame time, \nit infpires an honed zeal, and inftigates to vigorous \nefforts to attain perfection. \n\n51. The imitation of any individual, confpicuous \nfor wifdom or for virtue among our fellow-creatures, \ntends to improve the character. It generates a \nhearty defire to get rid of our own imperfections, to \namend what is evil, and to improve what is good; \nto ftrengthen what is weak, and to eftablifh what is \nftrong. But, in the wifeft and the bed of men, \nthough there may be much to imitate, there will be \nfomething to ihun. There will be fome blemifhes to \nabate our admiration, and to excite our companion, \nif not our fcorn. But, in the character of Chrift, \nwhich is perfection abfolute, integrity without blemifh, \nand innocence without guile, there is nothing which \nwe may not love and ought not to imitate. There \nis nothing to extenuate regard or to produce difguft; \nthere is no littlenefs to take off from the greatnefs ; \nthe goodnefs is not debafed by one particle of evil ; \nand the wifdom is not blurred by the prefence of a \nfingle abfurdity. We behold a perfon like ourfelves, \na man pofTefTing all the characteristics of humanity, \nwithout any of thofe defects which excite averfion,and \nwith all thofe virtues which generate cordial eflecm \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xab2 ) \n\nand every pleafurable fenfation. We fee nothing \nbut perfection ; but it is the perfection of mortality. \nIt is a perfection exactly fuited to our apprehenfions; \nit is not an indefinite, imaginary fomething, which \nour minds cannot grafp, or with which our hearts \ncannot fympathize. We behold Jefus endued with \nthat wifdom which bears with the froward and in- \nftrudta the fimple, and with that beneficence which \ncondoles with the fad and rejoices with the happy. \nHe appears, indeed, inverted with the fceptre of \nthe power of God, but his power does not excite \ndread fo much as love, for he exerts it only in doing \ngood. \n\n52. In the natural world, we may difcern nume- \nrous appearances, from which to deduce and collect \nnumerous arguments, by which to eftablifh the good- \nnefs of God ; but we do likewife obferve fome things \nwhichy^;/? to indicate an indifference to the happi- \nnefs of mankind. We behold evident marks of a \ndefign to impart happinefs; but do we not difcover \nfomething like the features of a being that delights \nin mifery ? We fee, and we feel a great deal of good, \nbut it is, at lead to our grofs perceptions, mingled \nwith a great deal of evil. We behold the wifcft and \nthe kindeft arrangements made for the prefervation \nof man -, but there are others which feem contrived, \nas if, in mere wantonnefs, for his deftruction. In \ncontemplating the Deity, in the natural and moral \neconomy of the world, we meet with certain mani- \n\n\n\n( 3*3 ) \n\nfeitations of great regard for his creatures ; but we \nfometimes obferve good and evil difpenfed with a \nfort of fortuitous extravagance. We fee all things \nhappening alike to all, and the rain and the dew \nfalling on the righteous and the (inner. The fields \nof the liberal are fometimes parched with drought; \nwhile thofe of the covetous are fertilized by conti- \nnual mowers. The property of the fimple and in- \nduftrious peafant is fwcpt away by a torrent, while \nthat of his corrupt and luxurious neighbour feems \npurpofely exempted from its violence. We fee the \nhopes of the upright withered and decayed, while \nthe fraudulent flourifo beyond their mod fanguine \nexpectations. The earth is decorated with flowers \nand enriched with fruit ; but whole cities are fome- \ntimes buried under the eruptions of volcanoes ; and \nthe innocent are not fpared in earthquakes and con- \nvulfions. Man occafionally enjoys, as it were, the \nfull funlhine of the divine benevolence ; but he often \nmourns under the (hadow of adverfity, and groans \nunder the oppreffion of the Mod High. In (hort, \nthe goodnefs of God, many as are the proofs of it, \nwhich are palpable to fenfe and obvious to inquiry, \nis liable to objections, which may well prevent ac- \nquiefcence in his decrees and refignation to his will; \nunlefs we take a future life into our view of this > and\' \nconfider the prejent evil world as a paffage to a better* \n\n53. If the good which there is in the world, and \nwhich is fufficient to prove the benevolence of the \n\n\n\n( 384 ) \n\nCreator, were more predominant than it is, men could \nnot reafonably expect a future life; and if the pro- \nportion of evil were much greater than it is, they \ncould feel little pleaiure in the contemplation. For, \nif the evil abounded much more than it does at \np relent, the proofs of the divine benevolence would \nbe proportionally diminifhed ; and in this cafe, even \non the fuppofuion that there were a future life, fa \nfor would the probability be decreafed of that life\'s \nbeing a ft ate of happintfs. Bur, under the prefent \nfyftem of things, the good is juft fo predominant as \nftrikingly to demonftrate a difpofition to produce \nhappinefs, and juft enough evil is mingled with it, \nto cherifh the expectation of a better, a lefs preca- \nrious, and lefs miierable exiftence*. \n\n\n\n* It is a vain attempt to reafon men out of their fenfations \nby abftraft propofuions. That there is much pain and mifery \nin the world cannot be denied : but then I think that every one \n\xe2\x96\xa0will acknowledge them to be terms of degree and of compa- \nrifonj and that in the individual they maybe considered as \nrelative to what is paft and to what is to come. A greater \npain abforbs a lefs, and a lefs following a greater is comparative \npleafure. Whether the Deity could not have constituted this \nworld without any intermixture of pain and mifery it is ufelefs \nto inquire ; nor does it belong to us to meafure the pollibilities. \nBut, taking .the world as it is, we are to confider whether \nmarks of benevolent defign be not widely fcattered through the \nwhole fyttem, and whether the portion of pain and lbrrow \nwhich we do experience, and under which creation often feems \nto groan, do not, on the whole, increafe the balance of enjoy- \nment; and, by divcrjifying the fenfations of man augment his hap- \n\n\n\n( 3\xc2\xab5 ) \n\n54. Were there much lefs mifery than there is m \nthe world, were the good lefs allayed with evil, were \n\nfinefi. It may, indeed, very fairly be afked, whether, in a \nbeing fo conuituted as man, there could be a fenfe of happi- \nnefs without any acquaintance with mifery, or a confcioufnefs \nof pleafure, if there were a total inconfcionfnefs of pain ? Bat \nhowever this may be, certain it is, that the experience of pain \nalways heightens the relith for pleafure. The fcheme of the \nuniverfe is probably fo ordered, that every intelligent being is \nrendered capable of a continual and endlefs progrefflon in hap- \npinefs j and this progreffion, with refpect to the individual, \nmay be an interminable feries of comparifons in the experience \nof fucceiiive dates of happinefs. In our future exigence, there \nmay be always fomething beyond us to animate exertion j \nand this fomething obtained, new deiires may fucceed as the \nold are gratified. Thus we may keep on for ever and ever \nadvancing from one degree of excellence and of blifs to another, \nin a perpetual and never ceating approximation to the un- \nclouded fun (hine of the glory of God. The ftate of the fpiri- \ntual man in heaven, of the mortal cloatheu" with immortality, \ncannot be fuppofed a ltateof torpid quiefcence but of increafed \nactivity j a ftate in which defire mall never ftagnate and im- \nprovement never end. \n\nHappy would it be for us, if we would confider the feveral \ndegrees of pain and mifery which we meet with in this world, \nas relative to pleafure and happinefs, either in the life which \nnow is, or in that which is to come. This would teach us to \nbear afflictions with patience, and to be cheerful when all looks \ndifmal around us. It would keep hope freih and the fpirits \ngay. We mould reflect that the various forrows and troubles \nwhich we meet with in life (thofeonly excepted which are \nowing to our vices) are neceffary ingredients in our condition j \nand that in the difpenfations of providence, nifry often be- \ncomes the {hortelt way to the temple of blifs. In this world, \nwe begin our being, in a ftate of things in which there is a \ngreat mixture of affliction, and of which no fon of man eve.r \n\nC c \n\n\n\n( 336 ) \n\nthis mortal life lefs chequered with uncertainty and \nmisfortune, this (late of things would furnifh fuch \nftrong arguments for, and fuch powerful perfuafions \nto frefent acquiefcence and unmingled JatisfaElion, as \nwould make the mind too well contented, and the \nheart too much delighted with its prefent fituation. \nThere would not be that longing after immortality, \nthat bufy expectation of fomething to come after \ndeath, which there now is. Man rinding this world \na ftation of eafe and reft, not oppreflfed with diffi- \nculties nor faddened with care, would take up his \nreft here. He would fay to his foul, " Soul ! take \n\nfalls into the grave without experiencing his (hare. But when \nthis life is coniidered as connected with, and preparatory to \nother happier modes and ftates of exigence, all, even its fe- \nverefl miferies, dwindle into infigniricance, and become lighter \nthan air upon the balance. Thefe confiderations prove that \nthe mifery which there is in the world,, viewed in the light in \nwhich 1 have placed it, inftead of being any argument againft, \nis one of the ftrongeft arguments for the divine benevolence; for \nthe goodnefs of God muft be infinite, even as exerted towards \nthe leait unit of intelligent nature, if he have fo arranged the \neconomy of the univerfe, that every individual intelligent \nbeing is made fufceptible of an endless progression in \nhappiness. That a created being cannot, like the one un- \ncreated God, enjoy infinite happinels, is a truth that will not \nbe contefted. How then is fuch a being to be made moft \nhappy ? Certainly not by being allotted to his greaielt degree \nof happinefs at once, and there kept liationary ; but, by being \nrendered progrcilive in blils, and lb progrcilive, that though \never tending to, he may never arrive at that point where blifs \nwill no more inereafe. In this note I have attempted to give \na plain and intel igible folution to many difficulties, which \nhave often perplexed the moiaiift and the divine. \n\n\n\n( 38? ) \n\nthy full glut" of pleafure ; eat, drink, and be merry, \nfor there is nothing; to come hereafter !" But the \nvexations and uncertainties of this prefent life do not \npermit this unclouded tranquillity of the mind, and \nthis unruffled joy of the heart. Man is born to \ntrouble ; and feeing no Jure refuge from forrow on \nthis fide the grave, he naturally looks to one beyond \nit. Obferving virtue often diftrefTed and vice pros- \nperous, the wicked riding in triumph, and the righ- \nteous proftrate in the dud, and yet beholding amid \nall this apparent confufion, finking and irrefragable \nproofs of the moral government of the world, he can \ndifcover no end to his perplexity, and no refolution \nto his doubts, but in the fuppofition of a future life. \nThe prefent ftate of things, therefore, furnifhes ar- \nguments for a future life, in which the mind may \nreafonably acquiefce ; by which the incredulous may \nbe Satisfied, and the forrowful confoled *. \n\n\n\n* The reader will obferve that, in this paffige, I am consider- \ning the probabilities which natural reafon may difcover in \nfavour of a future and happier life ; where good thall be lefs \nchequered with evil, pleafure lefs balanced with pain; where \nthe wicked fball ceaff from troubling and the weary be at reft. \nBut all the moil profound deductions of reafon on this impor- \ntant fubjeft, are very infrrior in ftrength toconvince, and in in- \ntereft to perfuade, to that palpable proof of it, which the refur- \nre6tion of Jefus affords ; and the probabilities in favour of the \nfadt of his refurrection, greatly exceed any probabilities which \nreafon can adduce in favour of a future ftate, when unaftifted \nby that light which the Chriftian revelation has fpread over \nthe world. \n\nC C 2 \n\n\n\n( 383 ) \n\n$5- In fending his Ton into the world, the exprefs \nimage of his perlbn, the fchechinah of his prefence, \nand the reprcfentati ve of nib glory, God has diitini5r.lv, \npalpably, and incontrovertibly, manifefted the per- \nfection of his goodnefs. In Jefus we behold good- \nnefs which no argument can invalidate, and no faris \nor occurrences in his hulory can dimini h. Chrift, \ntherefore, is the Divine Goodnefs, difplayed in a \nvifible and tangible model of peifcction. And as \ngoodnefs is the elTential principle of morality, with- \nout which it is rotten and lifelefs ; fo the perfection \nof morality mut confift in the imitation of the cha- \nracter of Chrift, who is perfect goodnefs -, in whofc \nheart was no malice and no guile. \n\n56. That morality which confifts in the imitation \nof Chrift, in the practice of his virtues, and the ob~ \nfervance of his fayings, while it is more pleafing to \nGod than all the fubtle (peculations of all the wife \nmen of this world, has likewife a flronger tendency \nthan any fyftem of morality, formed on any other \nmodel, or regulated by any other laws, can have to \nmake us happy. Of the Chriftian virtues, while the \nprinciple forcibly inclines us to love our fellow-crea- \ntures, the exertion naturally inclines them to love \nus. It is not fufEcieat to object that the proud will \ntrample on the humble, that the infolent will opprefs \nthe meek, the vindictive the forgiving, and the hard- \nhearted the benevolent; for the practice of that pure \nmorality which confifts in humility, meeknefs, for- \ngivenefs, brotherly kindnefs, charity, muft, by the \n\n\n\n( &9 ) \n\npowerful operation of natural caufes, by the invifible, \nbut in a great meafurc irrefillible agency of the com- \nmon fympathies of humanity, in a vail majority of \ninftances, occafion the warm and artleis reciproca- \ntions of efteem and love *. \n\n57. The Chriftian virtues, having no tendency to \nexcite envy or fear, but tending to produce a ftate of \nthe fenfations, totally oppofite to the experience of \nthole baleful paffions, pave the way for the intro- \nduction of all the kind fentiments into the heart. \nWhere neither hate, nor envy, nor fear, have died \ntheir mildew on the bread, benevolence will eafily \nkindle its holy flame. Thofe amiable and inoffen- \nfive qualities ; thofe ferene, unoftentatious, and in- \nterefting graces, the culture of which the Chriftian \ndoctrine cherifhes and matures, and the practice of \n\n* There is nothing like what is commonly called philosophical \nreafoning in the gofpelj yet the rules of life there delivered are \nall philofophically juji ; and the more they are "analy fed into their \nelementary principles, and the more they are traced through all \ntheir ramifications and tendencies, through their near and their \nremote confequences, the more they will be found conformable \nto the moft elaborate abftra&ions of philofophy. By the phi- \nlofophy here mentioned, 1 do not mean fuch philofophy as that \nof Voltaire, Diderot, or Godwin ; bat that philofophy which is \nconfecrated by the illuftrious names of Bacon, Locke, Clarke, \nHartley, Butler, &c. Thefe men were true philofophers, and \ntheir writings are a fpaeious, and I truft a lafting refervoir of \nfalubrious philofophy. The term philofophy has of late been \ngreatly abufed 5 but let not therefore the thing itfelf be held \nin derifion. \n\n\n\n( 3$P ) \n\nwhich \xc2\xb0u r Lord fo ftrcnuouflv recommended by the \ncaptivating eloquence of hisdifcouries, and the more \neloquent captations of his example, by cleanfmg \nthe affections from every ienfacion of ill-will towards \nothers, muft operate, with no ordinary efficacy, tq \nextrude every fenfation of ill-will from the hearts of \nothers towards us*, \n\n* The love of God is the only firm and lafting foundation of \nbenevolence. The love of God is not like the principle of the \ngeneral good, a cold abftraftion, but a warm reality. The fenfe \nof the Divine Prefence, as Bilhop Butler has moft ably taught \nus, may be realized, fixed in the mind, and embodied in the \nheart; and when it is thus brough\', as it were, into contact \nwith the thoughts and fenfations, who can doubt the falutary \ninfluence which it mutt exercife on the benevolent affections? \nWhere be; evolence does not reft on this immutable principle, \n(the love of God,) it is furject to the moft capricious variations, \nliable to be chilled by ingratitude, and to be extinguished by \nperfecutioq. It is not, it cannot be fixed or permanent; it \nmay fubfide into apathy, or be converted into hate; but the \nlove of God gives it vigour and conftancy, breathing into it \nthe fpirit to ac\\ and producing confiftency in action. Ani- \nmated by love divine, cherifhed by its flame, and hallowed by \nits prefence, the benevolent principle lofes its frail and peri (li- \nable nature. Tt ftrikes root in the foul, and it bears fruit in the \nconduct. No blaft withers its leaves, and no ftorm (hakes its \ntrunk. \n\nHence, we fee the wifdom of our Lord in commanding us \nfirft to love God and then to love mankind; thus making the \nreligions principle the root of the benevolent, making that \nprinciple which prompts our adoration and binds our hearts to \nthe Father of fpirits, give life and ftrength to the benevolent \naffections; which attach us to the intra ft of our fellow -crea- \ntures\'; which pcrfuade us to minifter comlort to the wretched \nand relitf to the diflrefted. \n\n\n\n( 39* ) \n\n58. The genuine principles of Chriftianity* \nwhether in their immediate operations, or their in- \n\nThe love of God, particularly when affifted by thofe increafed \nmotives to love him, which are furnifhed by revelation, re- \nfreshes the benevolent affections with a fecret but conftant \nafpiration. Natural religion, or that theory of our intereft and \nour duty, which reafon forms from the light of nature, urges \n11s to love God as the author and preferver of our being; but \nrevelation teaches us to love him, not only as the giver of life, \nbut a deliverer from death j not only as the author of all the \ngood things which we enjoy here, but of a glorious immortality \nwhich is referved for us hereafter. Revelation fhows us in a \nmanner more clear and by arguments more convincing than \nunailifted reafon could fuggeft, that the regard which God has \nfor man, is not confined to this ihort life, but extends through. \nall eternity. \n\nWithout the pervading, the cherifhing, and preferving flame \nof theopathy, the benevolent affections foon expire. Hence the \nbenevolence of an atheift, if, from fane happy imprejjions made \non him in his infancy, tvhofe influence remains ivhen the caufe is \nforgotten, it be poj/iblefor an atheift to be benevolent, can be only \nan occasional emotion of goodnefs, in which the favage fpecu- \nlations of his reafon difappear in the fympathies of his huma- \nnity. But the benevolent principle itfelf, in the heart of an \natheift, mufl want vigour and conftancy; one ill requited kind- \nnefs, or one fpark of enmity, will wafle its ftrength or fufpend \nits operations. The majority of atheifts, of whom, happily, \nthere are not many in the world, are feldom warmed even by \none glow of the benevolent principle ; their hearts are either one \ntranflent chill and uniform expanfe of apathy, or one torrid mafs \nof malicioufnefs. They are either totally infenfible to the mifery \nof others, or they delight in beholding, and glory in promoting \nit. Were the world governed by atheift rulers and legiilators \nfor about a century, more than half the human fpecies would \nprobably be exterminated by the end of it. \n\nC c 4 \n\n\n\n( 39* ) \n\ndirect influence, have a tendency to extinguifri hate, \nand to kindle love, and conh-queiuly to duiinifh \n\nlet not Mr. Godwin, the terror-ttriking fceptick of the day, \nwho has attempted to rear a ly item of benevoience on a mcta- \nphyiical abttraction, imagine that any fyltem which will effec- \ntually counteract the mtlevolent, and diffuie the benevolent \nfpirit among men, can be erected on an>\' other principle than \nthat which the Divine Found\' r of Chriuianity recommended. \nLet Mr. G (tody (and, as a minitter of the gofpel, 1 mo ft affec- \ntionately exhort him to ftudy the motives to action, and the \nincitements to beneficence, which are to be found in the fimpie \nand incorrupt doctrine of Chrilt; let him confid^r the perlua- \nfions by which it prompts to the production of individual and \ngeneral good ; and he will then difcover that the pealant of \nGalilee, who was not inftructed in the fubtleties of logic, or \nin the refinements of metaphyseal fpecnlation, in the art of \nobfeuring what is clear, or perplexing what is plain, was a \ngreater philofopher than Helvetius, Voltaire, Diderot, Rouifeau, \nD\'Alembert, Condorcet, or any of his favouiite French authors. \nIn Mr. Godwin\'s St. Leon, 1 perceive, and I perceive with \npleafure, traces of a difpohtion to return from the wilds of \nmctaph)fic\xc2\xbb into the regions of common fenfe; and to retract \nthofe pernicious tenets which he once propagated with lo much \ninduiiry and fo much zeal. God gnnt that the converfion of \nMr. Godwin, which feems begun, may be happily tmithed! \nMa) he look on Him, wholt religion he has pitted wi\'h infults, \nwhole name he hat> loaded with reproaches | May repentance \ntouch his heart ! and may the angi 1 ot favour mini Iter peace to \nhis troubled foul ! \n\nRefpecting the literary merits of Mr. Godwin\'s St. Leon, I am \nhappy to coincide in opinion with Mils Seward of Lichfield^ a \nlady, whofe genius can furnith amufemem tor the idle, reflection \nfor the ferious,and instruction for the wife ; whofe poetry unites \ndelicacy of fentiment with vigour ot expreflion ; the hmplieity \nof nature with the polilh of art; a tafle fenfitive, difcrimina- \ntive, correct, with an imagination various, expanded, ancj \nfnblime. l \n\n\n\n( 393 ) \n\nxtiifery and to generate happinefs. The experience \nof oenevolence always gives an agreeable flow to the \ncurrent of our fenfations ; whofe frefhnefs malevo- \nlence taints, and whofe ferenicy it difturbs. That \ndifpofition of the foul, which belt fits us to commu- \nnicate happinefs to others, at the fame time beft \nprepares us for the perception of happinefs ourfelves. \nTrue benevolence, therefore, which mod favours the \nproduction of focial, mod favours the increafe even \nor fclfifh bills What tends to make the individual \ncontribute largely to the happinefs of his feilow- \ncreatures, will be found, when rightly underftood, \nmolt inftrumental to his own. Hence, when the \nfounder of Chriftianity gives us this rule of life, to \nlove our neighbour as ourfelves, he delivers a precept, \nwhich, whenever it be generally acted upon, will be \nfo nd to contribute more to the folid enjoyment of \nhim, who praclifes it, than any other more feififh \nmode of conduct, or more exclufive and narrow \nfcheme for obtaining happinefs. \n\n5q. The Chriftian morals, which in their begin- \nning originate, and in the whole circumference of \ntheir action gravitate to this great principle, cc Then \nJbalt love thy neighbour as thy f elf" or what, in its \npractical tendency, comes to the fame thing, " Thou \nJbalt love the Lord thy God, with all thy heart, and all \nthy Joul*" are nicely adapted to produce not only \n\n* Matt. xxii. 36\xe2\x80\x9430. \n\n\n\n( 394 ) \n\nindividual but general good, to make every man ad- \nvance his own intereft and the intereft of his fpecies. \nHence we fee the profound intelligence of Jefus, \nTheChrift; whohas exhibited in theChriftianfcheme, \nthat comprehenfion of view, and that minutenefs of \ndetail, that vaftnefs of de.fign in the whole, and that \nnicety of proportion in every part, to which we find \nmany correfponding anal ^gics in the conftitution of \nthe natural world j and which may well incline us to \nbelieve that He who made the ftars in the firmament \nabove, and arranged this fair and beautiful order of \nthings on the earth below, was likewife the provi- \ndential author of the Chriftian revelation. His \nwifdorn planned it, his power eftablifhed it, and his \ngoodnefs will bring it to a happy confummation. \n\n60. That goodnefs of heart and life which the \nprinciples of Chriftianity, whenever they are atled \nupon> will invariably produce, muft tend, in all in- \nfiances, to promote the good of others ; and in the \nmajority of inflances, it will be found, even in the \nprefent degenerate ftate of public morals, to be mod \nfavourable to the increafe of our own individual fa- \ntisfa\xc2\xa3tion and enjoyment. Goodnefs, which tends to \ndiffufe happinefs, not only gives the individual a \ngreater capacity for happinefs, but greatly multiplies \nthe probabilities of his being happy. \n\n61. The principle of gratitude is natural to manj \nit is homogeneous with his frame and fhoots up fpon- \n\n\n\n( 39S ) \n\ntajieoufly in his foul -, and, ranch as may be faid \nabout the rarenefs of the virtue, or the infrequency \nof the practice*, it will, I b lieve, be found in ninety, \nnine inftances out of an hundred, that men never re- \nceive any benefits from others, without having fen- \nfations of gratitude excited in their biealls. \'I hefe \nfenfations may not indeed always ripen injro action; \nthey may die away with the pleaiure which the be- \nnefit produces \xe2\x96\xa0, but if they be always, or aimoft \nalways felt, this fact alone is fufficient to prove that \nthere is in the heart of man a natural tendency to gra- \ntitude \\. The fenfation of gratitude which is oica- \nfioned by any benefit received, is afTociated witn a \ncertain pleafurable idea of him who conferred it; \nand this idea is thps brought into contact with the \naffections, and Jome dejire of remuneration is excited. \nSuch a defire mud not be fuppofed not to be (dt, \nwhen it is not exprefted by words or indicated by \nany outward figns; for though when there is a fenle \nqf favours received impreiTcd upon the heart, it will \nufually burfl trom the lips in praties, and acknowledge- \nments, and.good withes \xc2\xa3, yet the true feat of graci- \n\n* The complaint will be found mod common with tbofe, in \nuhofe difpohtion there is an acerbity. to I ich favours oi mian- \nthropy ; or who e.p S. more than a quid pro ^uo, a fair retribu- \ntio7i proportioned to the means \xc2\xaefjhe indiyiuual \n\nf May 1 refer the reader to my Picture of Christian Philo- \nfophy, 3d edit. p. 105. \n\n| I do not mean the cant or mechanical acknowledgments of \nbeggars and vagrants; but mankind in general, when they re- \nceive favours, can feldom retrain irem the vocal expreffion of \n\n\n\n( 396 ) \n\nrude is in the affections, and that gratitude, is fome- \ntimes moft forcibly felt, which works in fecrei in the \nfoul, but which the tongue want* eloquence to utter. \n\n62. Many are the caufes which cenfpire to prevent \nthe pofnive remunerations of beneficence, and the \nactive operations of gratitude; but there is a princi- \nple in what Sir Mathew Hale calls the crafis of man, \nwhich gives birth to the fenfation, and which nothing \ncan deltroy. It is interwoven with the phyfical or- \nganization, and it is a condiment part of the moral \neconomy of man. The alleviation of our wants, or \nthe removal of our pains, the increafe of our happi- \nnefs, or the diminution of our mifery, mud necefla- \nrily caufe pleafurable emotions in the mind, and \npleafurable fenfations in the heart \\ and thefe plea- \nfurable fenfations and emotions can feldom be un- \nconnected with a kind difpoficion towards the author \nof them ; and what is gratitude but a kind difpofuion \ntowards its object ? The fenfe of benefits conferred \non us, does, in mod cafes, except where fome per- \nverfe afTociations of pride or envy interpofe, work \nas agreeably on the moral part of man, as food taken \ninto the domach does on his phyfical conditution. \n\n63. True Ghriftian goodnefs, whether confidered \nin its pallive influence on the heart and as adbciated \nwith meeknefs, humblenefs of mind, an unwilling- \n\npraife and love, of a confeioufnefs of hnppinefs imparted, and \na reciprocal defi re of imparting happinefs, eveniohcn the bene- \nfactor is not prefeht, and when thc\\- can be no \xc2\xa3<fjible temptation \nto make a J/ioiv of \' thank) \'ultnj\'s which is not felt. \n\n\n\n( 397 ) \' . \n\nnefs to offend, and a readinefs to be reconciled, or \nconfidered in its active Rate, as roufing the vigorous \nexertions of beneficence, mud directly tend to in- \ncreafc our own happinefs and the happinefs of \nothers*. And whatever produces or aflifts in the \nproduction of happinefs, favours the growch of gra- \ntitude. Gratitude feems, in its incipient (late, nothing \nmore than a certain agreeable feeling of kindnefs \ntowards its object; but, as its influence is fpread over \nthe affections, it calls forth, as opportunity offers, \nthe active reciprocations of beneficence. \n\n64, The Divine Founder of Chriftianity, whofe \nplain authoritative fayings, whether we confider their \nphilofophical juftnefs, or their practical ufefulnefs, \nthe accumulated wiidom of ages will never excel, \nwas well acquainted with that tendency, which there \nis in the human heart, when not incruftcd by pride, \nby jealoufy, and prejudice, to abforb fenfations of \ngratitude, and in the human mind to call them into \naction ; and it is very obfervable, that he lays the \ngreateft ftrefs on that morality, whole operations, \nmanifefling our good- will towards others, do, by \ntheir natural influence on the moral organization of \n\n*\xe2\x96\xa0 What may be called, or what is often called the indirect ac- \ntion of moral caufes, is often ftronger than the dire6t. Thus \nthe exertions of a charitable difpofition directly tend to the \ngood of others ; but they probably always, though indirectly, \nand by a fort of re-action, do a greater good to onrfelves. He \nthat hath pity upon the poor hndeth unto the Lord. The inference \nis plain ; but the confederation of this fubject in all its relations \nand bearings would lead me into too wide a field of difcuflion. \n\n\n\n( 398 ) \n\nman, naturally excite the good-will of others towards \nus. Thus the Chriftian graces, meeknefs, gentlenefs, \nforbearance, humblenefs of mind, complacency of \nmanners *, and love unfeigned, which diffufe a plea- \nfurable influence over the whole fphere of their \nagency, do tend, in mofl in/lances, to produce a prefent \nremuneration to the individual, \n\n6$. If the Chriftian virtues will feldom be found, \nin refpect even to the production of prefent happi- \nnefs, not to yield an ample compenfation to thofe \nwho cukivate them, their cultivation mud be highly \nneceflary as a means of increafmg our prefent good ; \n(for nothing elfe will be found to yield fenfations fo \npleafurable or blifs fo exquifuej) but mod important \nmuft it be to us to cherifh their growth and to en- \ncourage their expanfion, when we confider their in- \ntimate connection with our futuie glory and happi- \nnefs in that world, of which every moment that glides \naway is carrying us nearer to the confines. \n\n\xc2\xab \n\n* In the fermon on the mount all thofe qualities are recom- \nmended which contiitute true politenefs; that peaceablenefs \nand ferenitv, and unarTe&ed mildnefs of behaviour, which pre- \nvents ftrife and conciliates affection. The more man becomes \ncivilized, the more he will fee the neceffity of cultivating, and \nthe more he will cultivate the patiive but truly magnanimous \nqualities by which our Lord was fo eminently diftiiujuifhed, \nand by which he enjoined his followers to labour to attain dif- \ntin&ioo. We mull learn of him, who was meek and lowlv in \nheart, if we wiih to hnd red to our fouls; if we with to lafte or \nto communicate unmingled iatisfa&ion. \n\n\n\nC 399 ) \n\n66, Every individual ad of obedience to Che \nChriftian precepts has probably fome influence on \nour happinefs; but individual acts of obedience, \n(trengthened into habits of rjghteoufnefs, muft pro- \nmote our happinefs in a high degree here, and in the \nhigher! degree hereafter. As our funefs for the bills \nof another life will be proportioned to the goodnefs \nwhich we manifcft in mind and heart, in thought, in \nword, and deed, in the life which now is, our capa- \ncity for future enjoyment mud be greater the more \nperfect our habits of obedience have been, or the \nfewer tranfgreffions we have committed, by which \ntheir continuity has been broken and their operations \ninterrupted. \n\n67. In another life we fhall probably have a \nnearer view of the divine perfections 5 but it is only \nthat goodnefs which is an approximation to the na- \nture of God, that can enable us to enjoy his prefence, \nor to behold him as he is. " Without holinefs no \nman (hail fee the Lord." God is loves he is good- \nnefs abfolute and perfect 5 and goodnefs is the only \nobject of love,; but nothing but goodnefs can really \nlove goodnefs*. In proportion as a man grows in \ngoodnefs the love of God will expand within his foul ; \nand the more God is loved, the more beneficent will \nthe individual become. \n\n* For this reafon, a malevolent man cannot love God ; and \nif ever he do love him, he muft ceafe to be malevolent, for ma- \nlevolence and the love of God are two fenfations that can never \n\n\n\n( 4\xc2\xb0^ ) \n\n6ft. Tn the perfou and character of Jefus of Na- \nzareth we behold the divine goodnef>, as it were, in \na boJi y fhape; and therefore to love G >d with all \nour heart and all our foul, is to endeavour wit ! i all \nour heart and all our foul to iirrtate the conduct of \nhis earthly reprefentative, or, in other words, to put \non the Lord Jefus, This is that morality, which is \nthe fum and fubftance of Chriftianity, and which \nalone can recommend us to the favour of God, be- \ncaufe it alone can generate a conduct agreeable to \nhis will. \n\n69. Let u< con fider that in the favour of God \nour only true happinels confiits; and that every in- \ndi-idual tranfg Hi m is iome deduction from that \nportion of his favour, which we mould otherwife \nenjoy, and that if individual tranfgrehVns be re- \npeated till they harden into habits of fin, our cafe is \ndefperace. If we die in hah;ts of unrighteoufnefc, \nwe die in a flate of difpleafme with God ; and, after \ndeath, we (hall be aliens .rorn hispreience, and Gran- \ngers in the outer darknejs. \n\nexift m the fame hearty at the fame t!we> Our Lord was well ac- \nquainted with this truth, and there feems to have been a moft \npowerful perfuafioh of its importance on the heart of the diiciple \nwhom he ioved ; for throughout the firft epitile of fbhn, there \nis conftant and earned endeavour to impreis it on thole whom \nheaddreifed. \n\nTHE END. \n\nT. Bfci":ry, Printer, Eolt Court, Fleet Street. \n\n\n\n( 4\xc2\xb0 J ) \n\n\n\nADDITIONS. \n\nTo come after " homicidia," p. 5, L 23, note. \n\n" Haec eft, piorum confolatio," faid they, \n" non ilia pecca fortiter, fed crede fortius ; et \nnihil tibi nocebunt centum homicidia et mille \nftupra." " Peccata ilia, qualia Davidis, id eft \nhomicidia et adulteria elect! s non imputari verba \nfunt Marlorati. Dicitis quidem," fays Grotius, \naddrefTing the Calviniftic champions of religious \ndifcord, " in juftificatis omnibus pcenitentiam \nfemper fequi : quod ego verum non arbitror. \nEt deinde quae eft ilia pcenitentia ? vivere at \nlubet : deinde inftante morte dicere Miniftro, \nNollem factum, et credo juftitiam Chrifti mihi \nimputari, idque verum eiTe, quia id credo. Cum \nhoc viatico ftatim ille in ccelum evolat : deque eo \ndubitare Stygise eft incredulitatis." Vid. Grot, \ntorn. III. 676. \n\nAdditions to the note printed p. 25(3. \n\nOn the doctrine of the Holy Trinity the reader \nwill, I think, derive both inftruction and delight \nfrom the following pafTages in the works of Jeremy \nTaylor; and which fhow at once the depth of \nhis refearch, and the folidity of his judgment. \n" As the doctrine of the Holy Trinity is fet down \n\nD d \n\n\n\n( 4\xc2\xb02 ) \n\nin fcnpture, and in the Apoftles creeds I know- \nno difficulties it hath ; what it hath met withal \nfince, proceeds from the too curious handling of \nthat which we cannot nnderfland. The lchool- \nmen have fo pried into this fee ret, and have fo \nconfounded themfclves and the articles, that they \nhave made it too unintelligible, inexplicable, in- \ndefenfible in all their minuits and particularities ; \nand it is too iadly apparent in the arguments \nof the AntitrinitarianS) whofe foplufms againft the \narticle itfelf, although they are moft eafily an- \nfwercd, yet as they bring them againft the \nmhmtia and impertinences of the fchool, they \nare not fo eafily to be avoided. Concerning \nGcd we know but very few things ; and con- \ncerning the myjterious Trinity that which is re- \nvealed is extremely little ; audit is general, with- \nout defcending to particulars : and the difficulty \nof the feeming arguments againft that, being \ntaken from our philofophy, and the common \nmanner of fpcaking, cannot be apportioned and \nfitted to fo great a fecret ; neither can that at all \nbe meafurcd by any thing here below. When \nthe church, for the underiianding of this fecret \nof the Holy Trinity, hath taken words from \nmetaphyseal learning, as ferfon, hypoftufis, confub- \nJiantidliiy, o^osuio:, and fuch like, the words of \nthemfclves were apt to change their iignifica\'ion, \nand to put on the fenfe of the prefent fchook \nBut the church was forced to ufe fuch words as \n\n\n\n( 403 ) \n\nHie had, the higheft, the neareft, the moil fepa- \nrate and myfterious. But when fhe frill kept \nthefe words to the fame myftery, the words \nfwelled or altered in their fenfe ; and were ex- \nacted according to what they did lignify among \nmen in their low notices ; this begat difficulty in \nthe doctrine of the Holy Trinity. For better \nwords fhe had none, and all that which they did \nlignify in our philofophy could not be applied to \nthis myftery ; and therefore we have found diffi- \nculty ; and fhall for ever, till, in this article, the \nchurch returns to her ancient limplicity of ex- \npreffion." Taylor\'s Polem. Difc. third edition, \np. 242, 243. " He that goes about to fpeak of \nand to underftand the myfterious Trinity, and \ndoes it by words and names of man\'s invention, \nor by fuch which lignify contingently, if he \nreckons this myftery by the nlythology of num- \nbers, by the cabala of letters, by the diftinclions \nof the fchool, and by the weak inventions of dif- \nputing people -, if he only talks of effences and \nexiftences, hypoflafes and personalities, diftinc- \ntions without difference, and priority in cocqua- \nlities, and unity in pluralities, and of fuperior \npredicates of no larger extent than the inferior \nfubjecls, he may amufe himfelf, and find his \nunderftanding will be like St. Peter\'s upon the \nmount of Tabor at the Transfiguration : he may \nbuild three tabernacles in his head, and talk \nfomcthing he knows not what. But the good \n\n\n\n(* 404 ) \n\nman, that feels the paver of the i r. and lie to \nwhom the Son is become wifdom> right < on fnefs, \nJ ancliji cation, and redemption ; lie in zvhqfe heart \nthe love of the Spirit of God is fpread, to whom \nGod hath communicated the Holy Ghojl, the Com- \nforter -, this man, though he understands nothing \nof that which is unintelligible, yet he only under- \nstands the myfterioufnefs of the Holy Trinity. \nNo man can be convinced well and wifely of the \nArticle of the Holy, Blejfed, and Undivided Trinity, \nbut he that feels the mightinefs of the Father \nbegetting him to a new life, the wifdom of the \nSon huildhtg him up in a mojl holy faith, and the \nlove of the Spirit of God, making him to become \nlike unto God." Taylor\'s Suppl. Scrm. p. 91. \nOf this laft pafTage I truft I may affert, without \nexaggeration, that he is deftitnte of piety who is \nnot imprefTed by its devoutnefs; and of taflc, who \nis not ravifhed with its eloquence. \n\n\n\nLately publi/Jjed by the fame Author, and printed for \n\nJ. White, Fleet Street, \n\nA Pi\xc2\xa3ture of Chriftian Philofophy, Third Edition, Price \n6s." Boards \n\nThe Anti-Calvinift, Second Edition, printed in the fame- \nform as the above. Price is. \n\nMorality united with Policy. Price 2s 6d. \nAn Addrefs to the People. Price is. 6d. \n\n\n\nT. Benfley, Printer, Bolt Court, ricct Street, Loudon. \n\n\n\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process. \nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide \nTreatment Date: April 2005 \n\nPreservationTechnologies \n\nA WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION \n\n1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive \nCranberry Township, PA 16066 \n(724)779-2111 \n\n\n\n'