5^^3 LIBRARY OF THE Theological Seminary, PRINCETON, N. J. , BV A500 .L407 1838 Law, William, 1686-1761. A serious call to a devout and holy life \ SELECT CHRISTIAN AUTHORS, WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS. N^30. SERIOUS CALL TO A DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, ADAPTED TO THE STATE AND CONDITION OF ALL ORDEKS OF CHRISTIANS. WILLIAM LA¥, A.M. WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, BY THE REV. DAVID YOUNG, PERTH. FOURTH EDITION. GLASGOW: WILLIAM COLLINS, 155, INGRAM STREET; OLIVEE & BOYD, WM. WHITE & CO., AND WM. OLIPHANT & SON, EDINBURGH; WM. CURRY, JUN., & CO., DUBLIN; WHITTAKER & CO., HAMILTON, ADAMS, & CO., AND SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., LONDON. 1838. Wm. Collins & Co., Printers, Candlerigg Court, Glasgow. VVj INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. " Law's Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life" is a masterpiece in its department. Taking up his position on the principles of a sound theology, in- structed and illumined from the word of God, he shows his reader, with a most arousing force of argu- ment, that devotion is not an affair of circumstances and seasons and ceremonies, but the business of a lifetime, or the consecration of a man, in soul and body and spirit, and amidst all the incidents which checker his lot, to the spiritual service of the Father of spirits — that piety and pure moraUty are not de- tached but correlate attainments, arising; from the same source, bearing on the same end, tending to foster each other in their growth to perfection, and waxing or waning in company — that the all-pervad- ing cause of a partial or total impiety is the obstinate atheism of the human heart — that nothing short of a purpose of piety, deliberately formed and vigorously prosecuted as the great end of human life, can be pleasing to God, or accordant with the dictates of sound wisdom, or warrant the hope of shelter from the wrath which is to come. He further shows, that while every person, whatsoever be his station, has access to the means of piety, and is sacredly bound to exemplify its emotions, yet the better classes, who have a large command of time and fortune, and taste and erudition, must either appear on an eminence of godliness which corresponds with their superior faci- lities, or make themselves monuments of guilt and infamy — that in despite of all attempts to depreciate religion, and to hide the deformities of its opposite, a life of piety is a life of enjoyment the purest and most permanent, while every species of departure from it embodies in itself, and nurses by its workings, the elements of human misery — that if piety is to subsist and prosper, there must be a persevering attention to those seasons and forms, and helps to devotion, which correspond with its nature — that in order to render the spirit of piety lively and influential, the tempers of this world must be wrought off, and the humiliating sentiment of want and wretchedness not only impressed on the heart, but made to pervade the soul — that the popular modes of juvenile education, whether of males or females, is a powerful obstruc- tion to the right formation of religious character — that Christian piety, viewed as an exercise of mutual intercession and fervid social benevolence, is a most efficient instrument of general reformation — that a lifetime spent in conformity with these principles, so far from being an index of ignorance or bigotry or want of refinement, is at once the most enlightened and liberal and dignified. Such is a summary of the topics which are spread out over the following pages, but no adequate ira- Vll pression of the author's pecuUar power can be con- veyed in a sketch of this kind. The outline which he fills up is composed, as it must needs be, of nearly the same materials which have employed the pens of didactic writers in almost every age ; a multitude of whom may be perused with advantage. But Law's pre-eminence seems to consist in that happy vigour of conception, and sanctified earnestness of spirit, which gives out, with renewed power, the very same thought which others have seen but dimly or felt but coldly, and of course expressed in tamer language. He has imparted a new interest to common sentiments, and a darker aspect to current impiety ; nor is this eflPected by giving latitude to that wantonness of fancy which conceals sentiment amidst the tinsel of elo- quence, instead of unfolding its intrinsic irradiations, but by that chastened rigidity of thinking which suppresses illusion, and brings out the native grandeur of solemn moral realities. He soared high into the heights of theology, and contemplated with steady eye the moral majesty of the Godhead, till his soul was filled, beyond the common measure, with a sense of the obligation by which mortals are bound to adore. He has penetrated the history of man — the depra- vities of his nature, maxims, fashions, thoughts, pur- suits, and indulgences, with an eagerness of research and accuracy of discrimination, which have shown the sinner to himself in all that is absurd and perverse, as well as deformed and fearful, in his cherished and prevalent impieties. Nor has he soared in the one case, or dived in the other, in the vehicle of subtile abstraction, but by a method of thought which is easy, brief, and forcible; usually coupled with an VIU illustration so fitly chosen, and so well applied, as to render it at once convincing and impressive. Law was a moral philosopher as well as a theolo- gian ; and the man who would combat his statements, or escape from his practical conclusions, has more to do than shut his eyes to the evidence of revelation. The credit of his understanding is at stake, and he must either do violence to the firmest principles of moral science, and the wisest laws of human thought, which m.odern improvement has estabhshed, or stand committed to the manner of life which is here pointed out to him ; for, without formally discussing the point, the spirit of the volume makes it fully out, that just because there is a God, the creature of his hand ought to love and adore him. We like the rationality of this admirable treatise, not because we fear the want of this auxiliary, or at all feel the need of it to eke out the insufficiency of Christianity's other creden- tials, but because it assaults impiety in its stronghold, and leaves it utterly defenceless where it thinks itself most secure. It is painful to look at the extent to which reason and good sense are claimed by the im- pious as authorities for their irreligion, and saddening to witness the shifts which are every day adopted to propagate the notion, that these endowments can never coalesce with these imagined finical punctilioes of piety and saintship, with the ruinous encourage- ment which is thus taken to substitute common de- cency in the room of a heavenly mind. But here an appeal is made to all that is sound in the produce of human thought, as well as commanding in the cha- racter of the Godhead; and most convincingly is it IX made manifest, that any course of life which holds not every thing secondary to the exercises of devotion, is just as irrational as it is unsaintly — that rehgion and good sense, piety and honour, impiety and de- gradation, are not only reconcilable, but in native alHance ; and of course, that to speak of rank or taste or genius or learning as incompatible with the strict- est piety is to trifle in logic as well as to err in heart. Next to the perspicuity of its style — if not indeed stiil more than by this — the power of this volume to interest the reader, as well as to fortify its own state- ments, is mightily encreased by the sketches of living character with which it is interspersed. We say sketches of living character^ because we believe that they were at first and may be viewed still as indebted to fancy for scarcely any thing but proper names. For the most part, the characters are not only in life, but in ordinary life ; they are not the desperadoes of war or gallantry or plunder or fanaticism or vulgar eccentricity, by the wildness of whose adventures the witchery of modern fiction has lured away the vola- tile from the concerns of that world in which they were born, and where they are destined to live and die. They are the creatures of common times, a fair specimen of every-day man, and introduced with such felicity, that if the reader has begun to flatten, or has lost the force of the argument in plodding through a page or two of heavier discussion, he is speedily relieved by seeing its deductions delineated before him in living characteristics. It is this so- hrieiy of fiction, if fiction at all be its name, which enables tiie Christian moralist to carry home his ex- hortations to the real conditions of men. Whatever a2 IS shown in this way, like attested facts in philosophy, must be admitted as unanswerable; for just because Miranda was pious, and made her rank and her for- tune to aid her in behig so, is it shown to be possible for all of her class to copy her example : and, on the other hand, they who convert their fortunes into a medium of gayety and flutter and freakishness and spleen must see themselves ridiculous, in the incon- testable fact, that Flavia was utterly a fool. But we must proceed to tell the reader, that while this volume is commended to his perusal by all the attractions of intellect and genius and piety for which its author was so distinguished, the purposes which it is fitted to serve are the most important which can ever occupy the attention of man. Would you wish to see the nature of a life of piety, as well as its lati- tude and pervasive influence, set before you in glow- ing description — or the vanity of this world, even in its best estate, with the guilt and folly and ruin of living according to the course of it, honestly pointed out to you — or the indefeasible obligation under which you lie, in virtue of your creation, to regulate all your pleasures and all your pursuits by the will of God, rescued from the neglect of multitudes and re- stored to its proper place — or the pure and exquisite and lasting enjoyment which must result from a life of godliness, evinced in its reality and exhibited in living specimen — or the precepts of Christianity, as the standard by which its professors are to frame their lives and try their characters, expounded with con- vincing clearness, and applied with unbending fidelity — or the supremacy which Christian piety demands for itself, and must exercise wherever it exists in its XI life and power, asserted and vindicated — or the utter worthlessness of professions and services which are not animated by love to God, or not substantiated by the extension of that love over all your pursuits and enjoyments, detected and exposed — or the gross in- consistency of calling yourselves Christians in the absence of all the humility and all the self-denial and all the devotedness in which Christianity consists made obvious as the light of day — would you wish to see these things, each or all of them, discussed and amplified, and pressed on your notice in all their in- trinsic magnitude — then you have before you your heart's desire, in a style of execution which is aptly calculated to rectify your understanding and interest your heart. Among other purposes, in present times, which the *' Serious Call" is likely to promote, there are two which stand very prominent. The one is the con- vincing of many professors of religion, on grounds which cannot be easily evaded, that they are not religious, and of course, so far as practice is con- cerned, are absolutely untaught in the very first prin- ciples of the oracles of God. The false motives which actuate professors, with the maxims which guide their conduct, and the expedients by which they quench conviction, are so searchingly pursued ; while that in which piety consists is so clearly de- fined, as well as urged upon the conscience, with such a power and prominence and cogency of appeal, as to dissipate the illusion which betrays the multitude, and bring them to see themselves as they really are. And how seasonable is such an antidote to a state of Xll things like ours, where so fair a religious reputation can be acquired at so little expense — where the standard of religious character has sunk so low as if, by an authorised remodeling of the system, Chris- tianity were now a different thing from what it was in the days of its apostles, and can easily amalgamate with the spirit of the world ; and where, in conse- quence of this, there is to be found among us, in wide and woful prevalence, a delusive hope of heaven, a cherished ease of mind, and a tampering with the claims of piety, which are perhaps entailing on mul- titudes a ruin which they little suspect. The other leading purpose which this work is fitted to promote is a conviction, in the minds of many true Christians, that tlieir characters are defective to an extent of which they are probably not aware, — that, in point of fact, they are farther than ever they thought they were from requiting the Lord accord- ing to the multitude of his loving-kindnesses, — that not only are they distant, exceedingly distant, from that perfection which they see and aspire after as the attainment of another state, but are lingering among the very elements of that which is attainable here, and ought to be exemplified in their present circum- stances,— that there are many indulgences and many omissions, which, in compliance with the usages of a relaxed and frivolous generation, they reckon allow- able, although really and grievously sinful, offensive to their God, opposed to their religious prosperity, and dismally obstructive of their usefulness in general society, — and that by all this they are yielding their sanction, unconsciously it may be, but really and truly, to the negative piety of the nominal professor, XIU thus contributing inevitably, if he or they repent not, to effectuate his ultimate destruction. We must forbear to expatiate on these things, however, as well as on the importance of reproducing them, to the grave consideration of the Christian public ; but the reader may count on it, that in per- using the following pages he will meet with no an- noyance from what he may call the commonplaces of practical theology. He will meet, it is true, with the material of the subject, and this must be met in one shape or other by every man who owns a reasonable soul, but he will meet it in the weight of its authority, in the nerve of its argument, and in the glory of its paramount dominion. And if he likes to see the truth in this sublime department maintained on its own resources, reasoned invincibly with the conscien- ces of men, and illumined and brightened up by the scintillations of genius — if this be the manner of enforcing piety, on which alone he sets any value, we blame his fastidiousness, but we know of nothins more to his mind than the treatise which is now before him. It gave an impulse to its own times which broke the slumbers of thousands, and produced an awakened seriousness which led to the happiest re- sults ; and much is it needed, for purposes very similar, by many thousands more who are now upon the earth. This treatise, however, is far from being faultless. There is nothing said, so far as we remember, of the benefits to be derived from association among Chris- tians for prayer and religious conference, as an ex- ercise intermediate between the forms of worship in XIV the sanctuary and those of the merely domestic circle. The tendency of such association to enhghten and foster the spirit of devotion, as well as to extend its influence and give scope and excitement by means of it to the operation of brotherly affection, has been attested by the experience of ages, while the prin- ciple of the exercise itself, as a Christian duty is ex- pressly recognised in the word of God ; and consider- ing the power with which our author was capable of delineating its excellence and displaying its many utilities, especially as it came so aptly in his way, we cannot but regret that it did not appear as the sub- ject of a separate chapter. To the apportioning of hours for devotion, which our author thought so necessary for the mainte- nance of a holy life, many, we fear, may be disposed to object. The plan is excellent were it generally workable and somewhat more diversified, but so pre- cise a fixture of season and so minute a specification of topic and mode as this scheme involves is utterly impracticable to many of the wisest and godliest of men. Although it were practicable in point of time, we doubt its utility, and dread its sickening effects, as a liturgy for daily life. It it altogether too monkish and unearthly for that wise commixture of diligence in business, with fervour in spirit, which the great Christian Lawgiver so explicitly enjoins; and it had its origin, we have little doubt, in that theory of what is called modern mysticism, of which the pious author was at once so strenuous an advocate and so conspicuous an example. A simple caution to the reader on this head is perhaps more than the case requires, as the spirit of our age must be mightily XV changed before we are in any hazard of deserting the world or shutting ourselves up in monastic seclusion. At the same time it is to be remembered, that real reformation can never be promoted by mistaken views or a false colouring either of sin or duty. The Chris- tian is placed, by the supreme Disposer, amidst the socialities and comforts and afflictions and temptations of the present critical state of things, and it is by en- joying what is good and enduring what is evil in a proper spirit, but not by shunning the one or the other, that he can hope to be disciplined for immor- tality. In saying, however, that this volume is far from being faultless, our weightiest reason for the asser- tion has yet to be named. Law tells the reader what he ought to be, but not how he is to attain it. He delineates the beauty and glory and certain felicity of an elevated piety in the finest of colouring, but he fails egregiously in sketching the way to it. He says what is sufficient to overwhelm the sinner amidst the guilt, pollution, and accumulating ruin of his ungod- liness, but the mere disciple of his volume has often, we doubt not, been heard to exclaim, " I have re- ceived the spirit of bondage, awakening me to fear; but where is the Spirit of adoption, whereby to cry, Abba — Father?" Now this, it is obvious, is a grievous deficiency, obstructing the author's most pious intentions and defeating the practical results of his clearest argumentation. To inform the child of wretchedness of a region of wealth and happiness, and to convince him that emigration to it is his only source of relief, is to do for him little else than add XVi mockery to his miseries, unless you direct him in the way to that region, and show him accessible resources for encountering the toils and difficulties of the way. This, we admit, is attempted by the author in the honesty of the purest friendship ; but the attempt, we regret to say, has been utterly without success. His system seems to be the too common one, of en- deavouring to do our best, in the confident expecta- tion, that if we persevere in doing our best, the Most High will pardon our deficiencies, and meet us with the visitations of his mercy. To this system we could have no objection, provided it were understood that the instant we put our hands to the doings of Christianity we cast ourselves also on lis gracious sup- plies^ depending on itself or its own intrinsic efficacy for strength and excitement to employ its means, as well as to gain the ends to which they conduct us. Endeavours to do our best in this way, are just the spirit of Christianity within a man, contending, and gradually prevailing in the contest, for the subjuga- tion of sin, and the ascendancy of Christian holiness ; and of all such endeavours there is no harm in affirm- ing, that, when duly persevered in, their deficiencies will be pardoned and their assiduities repaid by the awards of a gracious Providence; for what do they exhibit but the efforts of a fallen creature to " work out his own salvation ;" because " it is God who work- eth in him both to will and to do of his good pleasure?" But if, by doing our best, be meant the efforts of a fallen creature apart from the grace of God, and in an attitude of mind which precludes it for the present, and only contemplates it as a thing to be fallen in with at the end of a course of previous perseverance, xvu then do we hold it to be a species of doing the most painful and hopeless that ever perplexed the faculties of man. It is not in coincidence but in direct col- lision with the spirit of the gospel ; and although it is very easy for a person to weary himself with it " in the greatness of his way," yet his soul must assume a different attitude and be actuated by different views before he can arrive at the solid acquirement to which our author was so eager to conduct him. Now this latter meaning, we fear, is what a ma- jority of readers have either found or imagined they found in the general spirit of the treatise before us. Such a fear is more than warranted, not only by the almost total absence of any thing like a specific refer- ence to the grand remedial spring of Christian piety, coupled with the use of language,* here and there, which seems to deteriorate or underrate the efncacy of the waters which flow from that spring, but chiefly is it warranted by the principles which throughout are introduced as the most attractive motives or kind- liest inducements to the duties recommended. They are such as these; the sublime character of the God- head, as shining forth upon us in his infinite power, his unspotted holiness, and his unbounded goodness — the intrinsic excellence oi piety, as constituting the proper business of man — and the honour and happi- ness to which it tends, by restoring to him the use of a rightly constituted mind. With such principles we can have no quarrel as in themselves irrelevant. On the contrary, we plead that they ought to be sufncient to annihilate impiety and establish its op- * Most of the expressions referred to are noticed in foot notes as they occur. xvm posite, from the rising to the setting sun. But the question here is, Are they sufficient or can they pos- sihly be so in the present state of man ? Does either Scripture or experience allow the assertion, that the speaker or the writer who confines himself to these principles, and holds them continually in the fore- ground, with all their collaterals of allurement and terror, will ever succeed, among beings like us, to the production of what the Bible calls anew creature? If they do, then why was it said to the Jews, with such solemnity of asseveration and pointedness of appeal, " Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in you ?" The principles referred to are powerful principles, lying at the foundation and pervading the details of all that is true in religion ; but powerful as they are, they are not now in affinity with the heart of man, and nothing can reinstate them in his heart, or make them to govern his conduct, but the very specifics of that economy which founds the renewing of his mind on the expiation of his trespasses. Piety and holiness are intrinsically excellent, their charm is the fehcity of angels, they are set before us in the brightest example, and the means of attaining them are easily known; but what is beauty to the blind, or example to the dead, or the price of wis- dom in the hand of a fool ? To tell us of these thin ITS, or exhort us to bestir ourselves under their influence, while we remain uniformed about that which declares them, and gives them all their ex- citing power, is to mistake the very essence of the Christian remedy, and, unintentionally it may be, but with most injurious effect, to contravene the word XIX of God. For there it is broadly stated, that " the carnal mind is enmity against God," and of course against all the motive of a general theology, " and is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be." We may descant on the reason of the things, or the cogency of motive, till we are weary of descanting; but we err egregiously if we ever suppose that an effort of this kind can ever overset that moral resistance which is so firmly established in the heart of man ; for nothing is plainer or truer to experience than that, in order to give power to the develop- ments of theology or effective force to exemplified piety, there must be the production of a previous congeniality between the thing exemplified and the mind on which it acts. Without this, how often, alas ! is it seen, that excellence is impotent, and ex- ample a thing of nought ; and the realizing of this the Scriptures uniformly ascribe to the efficacy of atonement through the death of Christ, " who gave himself yor us, that he might redeem us from all ini- quity, and purify to himself a peculiar people zealous of good works." It is this great principle which our author has overlooked, and the want of which is the characteristic blemish of his volume. He does indeed refer to the sufferings of Christ, and few have done greater justice to the example of his humihation, as exhibit- ing a beautiful contexture of all that is meek and majestic, resolute and yet resigned, in a life and death of afilicted innocence. But, in bringing all this to the test in a practical way, the reader who is uninstructed must experience a most disheartening deficiency. His anxious inquiry cannot fail to be. XX how is this example to be rendered available ? I see it to be perfect and beautiful and worthy of the closest imitation, but ray view of it is cold and distant and inefficient; and whatsoever be its excellence or the propriety of following it, I feel that, in despite of it, there is " a law in my members warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members." Is it so then, that there is no provision made for associating me, in the affections of my heart, with the spirit of this illustrious sufferer, as the basis of conformity to his image ? Is it my destiny to trace the history of my Saviour from his birthplace to his grave, as a splendid achievement of righteousness, maintaining itself erect, and glowing with the fervours of the purest piety, and encircled by the milder virtues, and holding on its way amidst hosts of resistance and storms of calamity, while I cannot perceive in it, from first to last, either merit to expiate my guilt, or power to slay my enmity, or energy of restoring love to form me into a new creature ? Is there nothing, in short, in the nature of the work, of which this example is composed, which is appeasing to heaven, or destruc- tive of depravity, or directly productive of sanctified principle ? If not, I must continue as I have hitherto been, the enemy of God by wicked works. You have shown me a form of godliness, but where are the forthgoings of its power ? Such we take to be the dilemma into which an ingenuous but ill-instructed mind is apt to be thrown by our author's scheme of thought. He furnishes the means of a fearful conviction, but not the materials XXI of conversion. On this admission, however, we may be blamed for attempting to keep the volume afloat among the reading public; and why, it may be plausibly asked, since these are its deficiencies, do you not allow it to sink into oblivion, leaving the age to the tuition of a less obnoxious class of authors? Our brief reply to this inquiry is twofold. In the first place it will not sink. It is sustained by a buoyancy of genius, or has risen to a rank of merited favour with the intellectual and the tasteful and the men of practical research which no neglect or vitu- peration on the part of its adversaries can possibly overcome. Such we believe to be its standing, that, although it had no redeeming qualities, and were only fraught with deception and danger, the question with the wise would not be, how shall we put it down, but what can be done to counteract its mischief? But, in the second place, it is not desirable that it should sink. Its faults, speaking generally, are short-comings, not positive transgressions. If all the duties of a guide to piety are not performed by it, in performing some of them it remains unrivaled. It has unfolded the rationalia of its subject, and exposed the sophistries of a temporising humour, and disarmed if not silenced the apologist of a worldly spirit ; and in a state of things like ours, where the firmness of Christian decision is so apt to be con- founded with the obstinacy of a bigot, and the man of a thorough-going piety stigmatized as unreason- ably precise — a state of things, in short, where taste and intellect and range of thought are still supposed, by very many, to be on the side of a coalition with the world in its tempers and frivolities, if not in its XXll weightier delinquencies ; while a life of godliness in the depth and pervasiveness and supremacy of its character is handed over to the weak and vulgar. In such a state of things, it lays in upon the public mind the very subject of thought and kind of dis- cussion which are most urgently called for, taking up the question at the very point where the multi- tude practically mistake it, and leaving them no alternative between amendment of life on the one hand, or the grossest moral stupidity on the other. Such is our apology for attempting to give a new impulse to the circulation of this volume, and we leave it unamplified with the discerning reader. What is wanted, we conceive, to obviate the defi- ciencies of the volume, and render it safe and ser- viceable to the honest inquirer after godhness, is a caution against some of its expressions, and a fuller disclosure than it has furnished of the resources of piety, as these are set forth in the scriptural " doc- trine of grace." To the former of these, the reader will find some attention paid as he gets along, and the latter shall be the subject of what remains of this Essay. The gospel, strictly taken, is not a system of ge- neral morality, but of special remedial privilege, adapted to man as guilty and depraved, and proposing a plan for his restoration to purity and happiness. In combination with this, however, it prescribes the duties both of piety and social virtue, holding them forth in all their fullness, and meditating nothing less than an entire performance of them in the perfected subjects of its influence. At the same time, it as- XXlll sumes the fact, or rather grows out of the fact, that, between the purity of its precepts and the moral con- dition of man, there is a contrariety which no efforts of his own can ever reconcile ; and while it sustains the precept in the full force of its authority, and in all the latitude of its inflexible demand, it furnishes a provision by which his heart is changed and brought into a moral conformity with the spirit of that pre- cept. This provision is the grace of the gospel, and is to be found in the efficacy of that atonement which Jesus Christ effectuated when he put away sin by the sacrifice of himself. " For what the law could not do," either in its morals or its system of cere- monies, " in that it was weak through the flesh, God, sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and officiating by sacrifice about sin, condemned sin in the flesh ; that the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh but alter the Spirit." Such is the source of that obedience which the Scriptures denominate Christian. Nor is there any other obedience, however legitimate in its forms or minute in its details or severe in its mortifications or steady and thorough-going in its continuance, which can entitle any man to the ap- pellation of a follower of Jesus Christ. It is " not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy" that "he saveth us " — from disobedience as well as from destruction, "by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost, which he shed on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our Saviour." To the question, then. What is it about Christ which christianizes a man, or renews him again to XXIV obedience ? we answer, It is all that he is, viewed as concentrated in his atoning sacrifice. And to this position we soUcit the reader's most earnest attention, as an introduction to the instructive perusal of the following volume. It is here, as already stated, that its author has stopped short, and if we can succeed in supplying his deficiency, it is allowable to hope, that, at least in some instances, the alarm which he has sounded over the camp of ungodliness may be followed by a joy which the Scriptures designate " unspeak- able and full of glory." By atonement we understand that obedience unto death, in the room of his people, which Jesus Christ presented unto God to appease his offended justice and rescue them from that curse which sin had en- tailed on them — that gift of himself in sacrifice which he intended and which God accepted as a ransom for sinners. Under obedience we include piety to God, as well as justice and kindness to man, as these stand together in the system of Heaven's morality, while, at the same time, they constitute the spirit and are enjoined under the sanction of Christian law. And it is easy to see that the very essence of obe- dience, in either the one or the other of these branches, is love. God himself is love. His law ori- ginally was the grand expression of his love ; and obedience to that law was just the legitimate egress of love on the part of human intelligencies. In the days of primitive innocence, the Creator and his crea- ture met in the spirit of the moral law — the one dis- closing his goodness in the nature of his commands, and the other expressing his sense of that goodness in the alacrity of his obedience; and it was in this XXV species of intercommunion, this challenging and re- sponding of love according to the relative standing of each, that the glory of God and the happiness of man were comhined and promulgated. Man could never fall from obedience till he had first fallen from love. The first and innermost element of his de- fection was a forming sentiment of dislike to the law of his moral life ; and nothing but the appearance of such an element could have forfeited the friendship or incurred the frown of the God that gave them be- ing. Thus it is that love in the primitive state of things was the spirit of duty — the pure and vital principle of human allegiance; while disaffection in heart was the origin of disobedience and rebelHon. Nor could it be otherwise as the matter stood. The law was a rich and splendid epitome of the Creator's moral excellence, and man was created not only with the power of obeying such a law, as an animal obeys his instincts, but with the power of looking at it, and appreciating its excellence, and deriving enjoyment the purest and most exalted from following out its enactments. Obedience was thus his element, pre- serving the pulse of life in its proper tone of vigour, and rewarding him, in every act of it, with a renewed experience of pure and felicitous existence. Such was the order of original innocence, and the nature of obedience is not changed. Nothing can change it but an alteration in the moral attributes of the Lawgiver, and as this is impossible, so his claims on his rational offspring must continue the same. The argument is universally conclusive, that " he who loveth not knoweth not God: for God is love:'* and it is a Christian sentiment, although older than B 30 XXVI Christianity, that " love," to this present hour, " is the 'fulfilling of the law." There may be an obe- dience of form, or an obedience of habit, or an obe- dience of moral decency, or an obedience of terrific coercion, and any of these may mingle itself pro- fitably or unprofitably with the progress of Christian sanctification, but it is only in so far as the heart of the subject is coincident with the spirit of the law, and with the character of the Lawgiver, and of course with the interests of his administration, that his con- duct corresponds with the claims of the Christian statute. The workings of love may not be purely contemplative, or conversant only with the disclosures of the Creator's intrinsic excellence. On the con- trary, it may be mixed with solicitude, or disturbed by depravity, or show itself only in gratitude for mercies promised or received. But still it must operate in one form or other, for it is the breath of the Christian's life, the inspiration of his piety, the vital nourishment of all his social virtues, and for him to offer as obedience that which is destitute of love, whatsoever be its other ingredients, is to insult the Majesty of heaven, and substitute a counterfeit for that which his law demands. Viewing the term obedience, then, in the above latitude of meaning, and taking love to be the spirit of it, we go on to show, that a strict and proper atonement is not only compatible with obedience, but that nothing can produce it, among the fallen sons of men, but the efficacy of such an atonement; and, of course, that every effort at obedience, which is not grounded on this, is misleading in its tendency, and XXVll disappointing in its results. The following conside- rations may contribute to the establishing of this. I. The atonement removes the great judicial ob- stacle to obedience. The disaster which has befallen our race, and involved them in disobedience, is moral, not physical, in its character. Whatever be the ex- tent to which our bodies are enfeebled, or our minds disordered, or our prospects overcast in our present condition, this primarily, is not the cause of our un- godliness, but the effect of it. We have fallen by iniquity, and the penal results of iniquity have come down upon us in fearful visitation. When as yet there was no sin, it was the sanction of the precept, that " in the day thou sinnest thou shalt surely die ;" and now that sin has been committed, the sentence has gone forth " cursed is every one who continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them." This curse, the severities of which are but the native result of human trespass, has blasted our nature, extinguished love to God in the conscious loss of his favour, hung up around us the flaming images of wrath, withered every thing within us which is holy or obediential, and left no- thing in its place but a rooted enmity and habi- tual insubordination. " The carnal mind is enmity against God, and is not subject to his law, neither indeed can be." Sin has thus become the parent of a twofold terrible calamity. In its guilt we see the entail of an endless perdition, and in its pollution we see the seeds of a most inveterate alienation. Can obedience spring up from such a soil as this, or pene- trate obstructions so repulsive and formidable ? Most XXVIU certainly it never can, if the germ of it be love. The Saviour could continue obedient, while the bitterness of the curse was experienced by him, although he did so in unutterable anguish, with deprecations and en- treaties, and strong crying and tears; and what an innocent creature might do, were he placed in such circumstances, it is useless to enquire. But there is no hazard in asserting, that the man who is embued with the depravity and lying under the curse of his own sin, although that curse, in the execution of it, be partially suspended, is incapable of obeying. He may contrive to take his ease in the interval of cle- mency, or to parry off the thought of his accumulat- ing wretchedness, or amuse himself with a shadow of piety which originates in ignorance and deceit ; but to bring himself up to the throne of the Eternal, with a pure offering in righteousness, is just as im- possible as to change the spirit of moral precept, and bring it into conformity with the genius of iniquity. And if he takes the precept as it stands, allowing its light and authority and powerfully convicting effi- cacy to enter his soul, he will find to his cost that, instead of being carried out to obedience, the spirit of inborn depravity will take occasion from this very thing to work in him all manner of polluted desire. It is in the very nature of the thing, that the man who is under the curse of God cannot love him, and of course cannot obey him, because this curse is in- tended not for the recovery of its victim but for his destruction. The thing which it contemplates is not relief but retribution. It proceeds on the principle, that the power of obeying is not only lost, but, so far as man is concerned, irrecoverably lost, — that the XXIX sinner has rendered himself useless for all directly holy purposes, and must therefore be cast out from the abodes and the fellowships and the moral employ- ments of all holy intelligencies and consigned over to interminable woe. Its very essence is " destruc- tion " (judicial destruction) "from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power." Here, then, is an arrest put upon obedience throughout the length and breadth of created human existence, for all are condemned, because all have corrupted their way — an arrest which is the result of trespass, as committed under the reign of inflexible righteous- ness— an arrest which must continue to lie on it, immovably and fatally, and in despair of all relief, unless something, which the sinner can never ac- complish, be done to ease him of its pressure and carry it away. The sinner is the enemy of God, marked and disowned by the sentence of condemnation, and for this one reason, which in fact as well as argument is fearfully sufficient, he is cut off as the child of disobedience. Now it is manifest, that for such a state of things there is no aspect of Christianity which is so appropriate as that which exhibits the death of Christ as an atonement for sin. What is wanted to meet the case is deliverance, not only from danger or difficulty or evil in prospect, although all these belong to it, but from destruction actually incurred : and as the entail of destruction is a righteous entail, it must be canceled by righteousness; for it cannot be set aside by a simple deed of clemency, without invading the supremacy of righteousness in the moral administration of Heaven. The Judire of all the XXX earth can never be merciful at the ^expense of his essential justice, and where sin is committed its award must be borne either by the sinner or his ac- cepted substitute. Here however the atonement appHes in all the adequacy of its vast provisions. It is indeed a wonderful thing, but it is certain truth, that the Son of God " was made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law." He occupied the place of the guilty, and " became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross," "bearing the griefs and carrying the sorrows" which sin had brought down on the actual trans- gressors. " He redeemed them from the curse of the law, being made a curse for them ;" and " being justified by faith," in all this "we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ," "who was thus delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justification." Nay, "we joy in God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we have received the reconciliation." Such is the declaration of Heaven on this momen- tous topic, as digested in the experience and pub- lished under the commission of one who was at once its subject and apostle — who felt the power of what he uttered and spoke as he was moved by the Holy Ghost. And whatever excludes this or evades it, or blends it with human effort as the ground of ac- quittal, or simply lets it alone, is not the gospel, but a device of men. The justification thus acquired, with its fruits of joy and peace and love, is not spoken of as an attainment, at which a man may ar- rive after finishing a course of separate reformation, but as a privilege, to which his access is free and immediate, however deeply depraved or heinously guilty he may previously have been. " God com- mendeth his love toward us," by this very circum- stance, " that while we were yet sinners," guilty and unreformed — and looking at us in this precise point of view, " in due time Christ died for the ungodly." Nor yet is this spoken of as an appendage to the gospel, v^hich may or may not be adverted to, ac- cording to the tastes or likings of men, but as the gospel itself, in its soul and substance — in the very essence of its tidings of gladness ; the reception of which, by a simple act of Christian belief, is re- demption in its principle; and thus a complete security for redemption in its consummation. But it is very manifest, that had the death of Christ not been a real atonement for sin, that is, had he not been accepted as a surety for his people, and put in their place, and endured and survived the suffering which was due to them — had he stood isolated in his suflPerings, sustaining no relation of suretyship for the guilty, and bearing none of their responsibilities — had he suffered for himself or for any conceivable purpose which came short of atonement, or gone be- yond or diverged from it in any way, and thus left it unaccomplished, the sentence of condemnation, with all its attendant enmities and horrors and obstruc- tions to obedience, must still have been unrepealed. On such a supposition, he died in vain, so far as we are concerned : we are yet in our sins. It was a propitiation, true and proper, and up to the terms of the sentence pronounced against the sin of the human transgressor, by the righteous Lawgiver; and if such a propitiation was not given, every thing effective re- xxxu mained undone for the perishing children of men. Nor is it of any moment here, whether the necessity of atonement, as the only condition of man's acquit- tal, originated in the nature of the Lawgiver, or in a simple dictate of his sovereign will; for, whether he was bound by the necessity of his nature, or bound himself by a righteous purpose, the principle is fixed immovably — it is the law of the case, which is not to be altered, that " without shedding of blood there is no remission." But if it be true that the relationship with the guilty which was thus so indispensable was assumed by the Saviour, and the atoning sacrifice which this involved realised in his sufferings unto death — if this was approved of, and pronounced sufficient, by the Judcje of all the earth — if g-uilt was thus re- moved, and condemnation abolished, by one offering in righteousness — then do we see in it a foundation laid, which is broad and solid, and ever-during, for applying to the conscience of the sinner whatever is necessary for its thorough purification. Heaven is fully satisfied, and, instead of menacing destruction, is ready to bless. The quarrel of righteousness with the offender is prosecuted to its end, and set for ever at rest ; the cause of that terror which impelled him to hide himself from the Almighty is effectually removed ; and enmity itself, that deep and deadly foe of obedience, is deprived of its every subterfuge, and left exposed to the counteraction of ineffable love. We cannot stay to expatiate at large on the moral effect of so mighty a change in the condition of the sinner, every part of which is the result not only of the death of Christ, but of that death in the character XXXlll of an atonement for sin. But were it not that rea- sonings here are rebuked and rectified, by what we feel within us or see around us of obstinate depravity, we might be led to conclude, that in the remission of sins by the blood of Christ there is efficacy suffi- cient not only for opening the springs of obedience, but for making them instantly to flow with the utmost regularity. For what is justification, or what in reality has it done for the man whom grace has made its happy subject? Why, it has detached him from an inheritance of perdition, and established him an heir of immortality. It has done for him, in point of legal standing, all that his nature could admit of. It has carried him judicially from the lowest extreme of possible wretchedness to the loftiest pinnacle of liberty and hope. It has translated him from the dungeon of outcasts to a place among the sons of God. And is it possible but that, just in proportion as the evidence of this inestimable blessing is realised to his heart, he must feel himself in a new world, and inclined to new activities? It is not possible. We are awfully capable of evading the blessing, and of deadening our souls to its influence; but if v,e know it in its power, it cannot be without feeling its sanctifying tendencies. The condemnation is death — moral death — and of course the extinction of holy feeling ; but the acquittal is life from the dead, and thus the embryo of sanctified affection. Now, this great privilege, be it remembered, is acquired by faith in Jesus Christ, considered not generally as a Mediator or a Saviour, but specially as one who was delivered^r our offences, and raised again for our justification. W^hat we have from b2 XXXIV him is redemption^ and that redemption is through his blood; and while this blood is thus its origin, its proper object is not the man who has been previously reformed in whole or in part, but a sinner. It is a redemption prepared for sinners ; the word of the truth of its gospel is inscribed to sinners, and were it possible for a man to reform himself, or to find reformation any where else, he would thereby only obstruct his access to it ; for the person on whom it takes effect must be found by it in a state of ungod- liness. " Christ is become of no effect unto you, — whosoever of you are justified by the law ye are fallen from grace." Thus it is that justification by faith in the substitutionary atonement of Christ, is the only basis on which the fabric of Christian obe- dience can possibly be reared. Let the gospel be divested of this atonement — let it be studied merely as a pure and sublime and well exemplified system of morals; and the more of sublimity you see in it, the more of the Godhead you find it disclosing — the more hopelessly inaccessible do its requirements ap- pear to the man who is yet unpardoned. From such a man, if you wish him to be comfortably although fruitlessly active, you must conceal the character of God under a veil of indefinite clemency, and gloss away the point and spirituality of his law in the language of generalization ; for, if you speak the truth, and get him to feel the truth — if you show him the theology of obedience in all the grandeur of its moral sublime — if you tell him especially of that love^ in the entireness of his heart and soul and mind and strength, which the precept so explicitly demands, you overwhelm him, unless you bring out, XXXV along with this, and set near him in its foreground, the message of reconcihation. But, might he not form a coalition between the amount of his own competency, whatever that may be, and the merits of Christ for his justification? For any thing we know, he might, could he produce any thing which is fit to be united with that blood which was shed for the remission of sins ; for crenuine obedience, and expiatory suffering, are precious things in the eye of Heaven, and not a particle of them shall be lost on any account whatever. But has he ever obeyed, in any one instance, according to the pure spirit of the precept. Has he looked at God as he really is, and even but once succeeded in setting his heart to approach unto him, in the absence of all iniquity, and actuated entirely by the inspiration of love — has he borne so much as a fraction of the curse in such sort as that, while digesting the bitterness of its complicated anguish, he were conscious of nothing but pure devotion to the God who was smiting him in wrath ? Experience tells him that he never did, and the word of God that he never can; for "by the deeds of the law," either in whole or in part, " shall no flesh be justi- fied in his sight." The clean thing, in his case, has not come out of the unclean. His very righteous- ness is as filthy rags ; and the pride which dictates so impious an endeavour, as to share in the honours of moral expiation, is a dark symptom of working depravity, although mitigated somewhat by the consideration, that he knows not what he is doing, for it is because men are " ignorant of God's righ- teousness," that " they go about to estabhsh their XXXVl own, not submitting themselves to the righteousness of God." Did they know what it is to keep the law, or to endure its penalty for a single moment, they would shrink from both in utter amazement. But although a conjunction between the sinner's righteousness and that of Christ be thus found im- practicable, might not the hope of pardon through his blood be the means of influencinfy a man to obe- dience before he has actually received the atonement ? Or can there be no obedience prior to justification ? None whatever which deserves the name. A man's person must be accepted before his services are ac- cepted. This is the order of Scripture, and it is the order of common sense. Deeds develope the man ; and while the agent stands rejected, how can his actions be received? He may relinquish the practice of open delinquency while he remains the victim of justice, and thus accomplish an outward reformation. Along with this there may be a vigo- rous struggle within him, between the dictates of righteousness and the clamours of evil propensity, or a false tranquility, produced by supposing that re- straint on the energies of evil is equivalent to posi- tive ooodness : but nothin^^ of this kind can be counted obedience, for this single reason, although there were no other, that it is the working of a heart which is still in a state of rebellion. And as for the hope of pardon referred to, that hope either springs from a belief in the atonement or it does not. If it does, the man has received the atonement; for Christian belief, in any one principle of revealed truth, is the reception of that principle, with all the benefit which it contains; and having received it, he XXXVll is pardoned, and therefore placed in the posture of acceptance both for his person and services. But if he has not received it, as by the supposition must be the case, his hope is visionary, and such also must be the texture of the works which flow from it. It may be the case, or it may not, that he shall be par- doned at a future time ; but most obviously this is no part of divine revelation ; and to repose on so frail a resting place is absolute madness, so long as we have the assurance, clear and solid and immediate, that " now is the accepted time, and now the day of sal- vation." To cast ourselves thus on the resources of conjecture, while the certainty of promise is at present before us, is in fact to sin — it is to "turn aside from explicit statement as it stands recorded in the word of God ; and surely that which is it- self rebellion can never give origin to acceptable ser- vice. The Christian who has obtained pardon may often be found in doubt of the fact, and may live in hope that at a future time his perplexities shall be cleared away ; but even he, in such circumstances, is actuated to obedience, not by the power of so loose a hope — for its influence is lethargic, not quickening — • but by the efficacy of the atonement working on his conscience amidst many perplexities, and urging him on with fear and trembling. So general a reliance on the merits of Christ, then, is utterly useless for all effective practical purposes : it may afford us ease in sin, but it cannot stimulate to Christian duty. God himself has come to particulars, and he re- quires a corresponding particularity of approach and reception and habitual reliance from all who shall partake of his special mercy. The grand initiatory XXXVIU secret of Christianity is surrender, simple and im- mediate, to the terms of the gospel; and without such a surrender we cannot enter her temple, nor enjoy her immunities, nor4nhale her moral spirit, nor gaze with transforming effect on her manifold glories. II. The atonement presents the docrines of obe- dience in the most impressive point of view. We are far from maintaining the sufficiency of any kind of moral instruction, however pure in itself or fa- vourably administered, for reclaiming the children of men, unless it be enforced by a power which is su- pernatural; and were Christianity nothing more than a system of mere tuition, its ultimate moral triumph might well be despaired of. But still there must be instruction, and instruction too which possesses a moral fitness for gaining the end proposed, where- ever we hope for success; for a man must have light in his head before he can have love in his heart, and he must have a measure of both before he can begin to obey. The Saviour opened the eyes of the blind by applying clay to the organs of sight — an appli- cation whose natural tendency was rather to injure than improve so delicate a structure ; but in restoring the organ of moral vision, he always resorts to an instrumentality which exactly tallies with the end proposed. The reason is obvious. In the one case the cure was miraculous ; and the more unlikely the means, the more striking the effect intended ; but in the other there is no miracle, and therefore he chooses the best means of accomplishing his end. Moral instruction, then, whether sound or unsound, pos- sesses, in all cases, an intrinsic fitness for producing XXXIX a moral effect, either favourable or unfavourable to the service of God. Man has always exhibited, in less or more, the likeness of his moral instruction ; and moralists, in every age, have had each his mea- sure of success in propagating the spirit of his speculations, or sending them out into practice ac- cording to the extent of his influence. Nay, the great moral apostacy itself may be very profitably considered as a broad and dismal illustration of the power of instruction to modify the character of man, Satan acquired his dominion over men by forming them into his own image, in error, iniquity, and spiritual pollution ; and in consequence of this, men have ever since appeared in the moral likeness of devils — a likeness so inveterate that no arts of out- ward polish nor any force of counteracting precept can altogether hide its deformity. This change, we are expressly told, was the effect of instruction — false, it is true, but still instruction — it was purely the effect of it, without any primary aid from evil pro- pensity; for there could be no original bias to evil in the minds of the innocent. Satan taught the man to err in heart, and thus prepared him for erring in conduct. He infected his mind with the principles, and embued these principles with the spirit by which himself was actuated; and so awful is the result that perhaps there is no stronger reason why men are not equal to devils, in point of moral depravity, than that this was forbidden by the limits of their nature. The principle which is thus so general has a very specific bearing on the subject before us. The doctrines of Christianity, considered in themselves, and apart from the other provisions of the system, xl liave to do with that change which she is destined to realize on the earth. Althou^jh insufficient for producing the change in this detached view of them, they possess an intrinsic fitnesss for the production of it, they put forth a moral power which operates ex- clusively in this direction. New obedience is the fruit of which they are the seed ; and, whatsoever be the characteristics or minuter specialities of the doc- trines, we may expect to see a corresponding spe- ciality distinctly developed in the practical results in which they terminate. An example or two will illus- trate this. The doctrines of Christianity reveal the Godhead, in the attributes of his moral nature as well as in the extent and minuteness of his presid~ ing providence, to a far greater extent than any other system which man has ever heard of. They are more richly impregnated than any other with the principles and spirit of the true theology; and of course we may expect that the obedience to which they lead shall be characterized, more than any other, by what is strictly called godliness of life. Again, they are embued with a holiness which is so deep and pervasive and repellent of all iniquity as to give them the pre-eminence in this point of view, and hence we may argue, that purity of heart will be another conspicuous feature in the character which they form. Again, they possess a clearness and a force of moral argument to which no other doctrines have any pretensions; and from this wo may anticipate a corresponding effect to accompany or follow their promulgation on the earth — an evidence, for in- stance, of their heavenly verity, lodged in themselves and tending supremely to their propagation — a xli power to awe the consciences of men — a detecting and confutation if not an'i^ expulsion of iniquity in all its forms and modes of working, and a cordial acquiescence in the authority of the doctrines among all who really believe them. These things, it has been said, we might expect to appear as prominences in that character which is formed on the doctrines of Christianity ; and there are many others, for we have given but a specimen. Now we find, in point of fact, that they do appear in exact accordance with the expectation; for apart from mere pretenders to Ciu'istianity, whose cases, however numerous, have nothing to do with the point in hand, it is manifest that enlightened godliness, and progressive purity of heart, and habitual subjection of conscience to the moral reasonings of revelation, are uniformly cha- racteristic of her genuine subjects. These effects result from the intrinsic properties or moral spirit of the system, although more than this, as we have yet to see, is necessary to realize them. They come from a spirit which is the system itself, or as inseparable from it as holiness from the nature of Jehovah, and with this spirit every exhibi- tion of it to man is necessarily animated; so that he cannot share in Christian privilege, in any possible way, without sharing, at the same time, in that which tends to the death of sin, and the consequent resur- rection of righteousness unto God. This is a matter of very easy inference, for if Christianity shall deign to look on us at all, how can she look but according to the dictates of her own heart and the true expres- sion of her own complexion ? She discloses not an attribute, but the Godhead entire; and therefore we xlii must see in her the Godhead entire. If her eye be sufFused with unction of pity, it is sublimated too by the grandeur of holiness. If she be the herald of peace, she is also the herald of righteousness in com- bination with peace. It is not in her nature to look compassion without embuing that look with celestial purity; and wherever she settles on a heart, in the power of her special instruction, the very first impres- sion of her gathering influence is formative of the image of the God from whom she came. Such is the general tendency of the doctrines of Christianity, viewed simply as a system of moral in- struction ; and our assertion is, that the atonement presents these doctrines in the most impressive point of view. They have a fitness in themselves for dis- cipHng man independently of a belief in the atonement, and are proven to have it by their effects both on the converted and the unconverted; but it is of impor- tance to know whether this fitness be augmented or diminished, or whether it be left entirely uninfluenced by the 5^maZ consideration, that the death of Christ, their great Author, was intended by himself and accepted by his Father as a vicarious expiation of his people's guilt. In maintaining that it is not only influenced but vitally influenced by this consideration, we make an assertion which the reader must see to merit his closest attention, inasmuch as it goes very near to the turning-point of right and wrong, or success and failure, in his practical use of the doc- trines of grace. We have already spoken of the judicial benefit of atonement, in delivering the sin- ner from condemnation, and restoring him to a standing among the accepted subjects of Heaven's Xllll legislation ; but we are now to speak of its moral benefit, as flowing from tbis througb tbe medium of Christian doctrines and tbe spirit of Christian law. Now, although it is a general truth that whatever is excellent has power to interest us just because it is so; yet, in the department of moral excellence especially, almost every thing depends on the state of mind which it is fitted to command, and the precise form in which it is set before us. Tbe very same moral principles, which in one aspect of them are known but almost entirely disregarded, may be quite sufficient in another respect to arrest attention and secure the deepest veneration ; for truth makes its way to the conscience of man, and stimulates his moral faculties, by first of all engaging his heart. The same remark is applicable to a system of admi- nistration, whether involving privilege which is ten- dered for our acceptance or promulgating authority which we are called upon to recognise. To see it in the abstract is not enough where there is a prior feeling of aversion to it ; but, to overcome this aver- sion, it must be made to bear on our interests and touch our sympathies, and in this way work itself into alliance with the afiections of our hearts. We like to hear of a civil constitution which defines the sphere of the ruler and secures the rights of the subject, embodying throughout its structure the soundest maxims of political wisdom, although the scene of it be far remote from our local interests and operations. We like it better if it be the inheritance to which, as Britons, we were born heirs. But we like it best of all if, after being placed in jeopardy and likely to be lost for ever, it has been rescued and made sure by the patriotism of a venerated ancestry — who, inspired xliv by the love of it and emboldened by the generous purpose of transmitting it to us, bade defiance to danger and bought it with their blood. In this lat- ter case there is an appeal to the national mind, the most cogent and effective that can well be conceived of; for so is it ordered by Him who made us, that nothing tends so powerfully to endear to us a benefit as the death, to procure it, of those whom we highly esteem. And in proportion to the evidence we have, that such a death was voluntary, or that they who endured it had their eye upon us, and felt themselves identified with us in all that they did and suffered, so much the deeper is the impression which it is thus fitted to produce. Such is human nature, as felt in all experience and described in all history, whether national or in- dividual. Death is the king of all our terrors ; and he who has met it for our sakes has done the utmost that can be done to gain the monarchy of our hearts. Now, on the principle that the death of Christ was an atonement for sin, we see the system of Christian instruction, as administered by him, to be furnished v.^ith all these advantages, whether we view it as pro- curing privilege or as enacting law. Nay, on this principle, we see that system carried forward to a 'vantafje-ground, for arresting attention and conciliat- ing love, which is far in advance of the above hypo- thesis or of any other which human affairs can furnish — commanding f:icilities for gaining its end simply as a mode of moral instruction which are altogether peculiar to itself. The system is intrinsically excel- lent, and commends itself to admiration, merely as a general theorem of authority tempered with clemency, or righteousness blended with love. It possesses an xlv acknowledged pre-eminence, which eclipses the glory and refutes the pretensions of every opposing expe- dient. It is brought near to us as a practical system, associated with our nature, touching its tenderest sympathies, bearing specifically on our present miseries, and concentrating all its resources on our melioration and relief. It thus belongs to us, in contradistinc- tion from every other order of beings who may either have fallen into sin or are honoured to owe a rational obedience to the God and Father of all. And on these grounds alone it may be confidently asked. Where is its superior, or its equal, in point of claim or general fitness for bringing us back to God ? But if we go beyond this, and take our standing on the doctrine of atonement, we see the whole system unveiled anew — becoming greater and grander and richer ineffably in gracious disclosure ; commending itself to our complacent feelings by a vastly deeper endearment. For what is the connection between the doctrines of Christianity and the death of its Author, viewing that death as an atonement for sin ? Why, " he suffered for" his people, " the just for the unjust, that he might bring" them " to God." He descended into their place, having assumed their nature, and made their guilt his guilt, their con- demnation his condemnation, and their suffering his suffering, in all the extent to which innocence could be legally identified with sinners, or the claims ot Heaven's retribution prevent a righteous require- ment. He bore their griefs and carried their sor- rows, till they had no griefs to bear nor any sorrows to carry but such as belong to the gracious discipline bv which thev are formed for immortalitv. xlvi But, had the essential doctines of Christianity, or the great principles of immutable righteousness which characterise that system, nothing to do with this suffering? Undoubtedly they had much to do with it; for the salvation of sinners is a thinfj of nought when put in competition with their high prerogative. He suffered for these principles as really as for his people, although in a different sense of the language. It was the intrinsic excellence of their principles, or the moral glories of the invisible God dwelling in them and shining around them, with the paramount necessity of maintaining them inviolate throughout his moral administration, which rendered suffering, in the above defined view of it, and under a dispen- sation of mercy to sinners, a measure absolutely in- dispensable. To merge such principles as these, or to hold them secondary in any measure of clemency, however splendid or captivating, would be to hide the Monarch of the universe from the creatures of his power, and to foster that wanton atheism of thought which is already so rampant among the human family. But they are not merged even in the great love wherewith God hath loved us. Not only are they revealed and amplified and enforced and set on high by the Spirit of inspiration, but the death of Christ is a revelation of them in blood. In that death they were distinctly recognised and triumphantly vindicated. It was for their sakes that he made himself of no re- putation, and bled and groaned and died an excru- ciated spectacle of infamy and woe: for had the holi- ness of the Godhead presented no obstacle to the egress of his mercy to guilty men, an expiation of this kind would not have been called for, and never xlvii have been made. It was to these holy principles that he became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. He loved them to an extent which far surpassed the amount of his love to man. His heart was set on them, as the essence of heaven's theology and the glory of the moral universe. He retrieved the dishonour done to them, with the mightiest of his energies and from the innermost of his soul. They were the law of his humihated life ; their inspiration was the soul of his obedience; and it is just the consideration, that the God of these principles found in his one offering an ample satis- faction for all oflPences done against them by those for whom he died, which gives its peerless moral sublime to the fact of his crucifixion. It is this latter view of it which elevates the wh'ole transaction, pervading its minutest details and causing them to converge, ascending as they approximate into one conspicuous point — redeeming them, in short, from the littleness of ordinary isolated individual obedience, and setting them on a moral eminence which is the wonder of highest angels and the eternal gloriation of ransomed men. But, in the administrations of heaven, the great- ness of that event must ever argue the greatness of that which occasioned it; for the congruity of his works is the perfection of wisdom; and if righteous- ness stood in the way of man's salvation so inflexibly that, as the fact has proven, nothing could remove the obstacle short of the sacrifice in human nature of him who is the Son of God, then how great are the claims of that righteousness ! how exceedingly mag- nified and made awful by this one stupendous fact ! xlviii They must at least have been equal in value in the eye of him who cannot err to the life which was sur- rendered to do them homage. But this, as has just been said, was the life of him who is God in our nature, although not the life of the Godhead ; and by this one circumstance are we taught to infer, that tlie righteousness for which it was given is the righ- teousness of God — an attribute of his very nature, and so essential to the perfection of his being that, if we detach it from him in religious beHef, or sup- pose it capable of invasion or compromise, we tarnish the glory of the incorruptible God, and make to our- selves an image like unto corruptible man. The wavs of God are ever equal; and there could not fail to be a moral equivalence between the Christian sacrifice and tlTe end to be gained by it. If God was so eminently in the sacrifice that it was made in the person of his Son, the connection must be equally close between his nature and that righteousness for the sake of which it was prepared and offered. His nature is divinity, the summit of all greatness ; and every thing righteous in the universe, whether in principle or in suffering for principle, is great or little as it approaches more or less to that which ie him- self or is near or distant in resemblance to him. What then do we see in the atonement but the great God himself come out of his place, and manifest in flesh amidst the wrecks of human apostacy, and de- monstrating to all, but especially to us, the greatness of his Godhead as set forth in the glory of his moral attributes ? Was this appearance singular in its character, or deep in its mystery, or immense in its efHcacy, or awful in its monitory import ? Does the xlix history of it baffle our calculations, and strike out from the analogy of Heaven's ordinary administration, forbidding us to try it by the ordinary rules of ordi- nary human thought? It does most assuredly, for the new and the extraordinary with which it is in- vested are not disguised but revealed and attested in the oracles of truth. But these are the very things which indicate its moral efficiency; for in whatsoever respects it rises in greatness above the other works of the great God does it exceed them also in power to indoctrinate man in the duties of holy obedience. Its every peculiarity is a department of this power, and viewed as a whole, its stands unrivaled as a de- claration of Heaven's unbending righteousness ; but, for this very reason, it has no equal among all the other modifications of moral administration for en- forcing the authority of Heaven on the consciences of men. They may mistake or pervert it, by turn- ing it presumptuously into a ministration of sin ; but perversions of it are not itself; and wherever it is seen in its own light, and received in its true spirit, this is its native and necessary tendency. It will not, we hope, be supposed that, in speak- ing thus of the atonement as an offering to right- eousness, we are opposing the language of Scripture, which so often describes it as an expression of love to sinful men ; for this is the very kind of reasoning which opens the import of such language, and makes ns to feel it in the emphasis of its truth. " God so loved the world as to give his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish but have everlasting life." This is wonderful. But what makes it so? Nothing surely so much C 20 I as the consideration that, in following out the end for which he was given, the Son of God, in his own human nature, presented that sacrifice on behalf of the world, on the footing of which alone it was possible for his Father to be just while he justified the ungodiy. The love of God to sinful men derives its brightest glories from this one characteristic view of it that, when the love of righteousness, which dwelt in the bosom of the Godhead along with it, directly opposed its egress and threatened to oppose it for ever, the atonement was found sufficient to haimonize these conflicting principles, and bring them forth in effective conjunction to the rescue of a perishing world, making grace to reign, not apart from righteousness but through righteousness, unto eternal life. Hence the argument of Christian experience, w^hich is worth a world of speculation, and attested withall by the Spirit of truth : " Plerein is love ; not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." But there is another aspect of Christian doctrine which must at least be glanced at here. Christ is uniformly described in Scripture, as at one with the subjects of his saving grace. He dwells in them and they in him. He is the vine and they are the branches, and as the branch cannot bear fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, no more can they except they abide in him. But this union is moral in its nature. It is not a nominal thinpr|i],}Yfl>rld. ni. The atonement supplies us with the most powerful motives to obedience. This observation ivi 25 a sequel to the former, and intended only to bring its import more distinctly into view. Moral prin- ciples in the mind of man, however powerful in themselves, or impressive in the aspect given to them, can only stimulate practice, according to the power of argument or feeling with which they bear upon the conscience. It is in conformity with this maxim that the Scriptures, in teaching us piety or morals, invariably deal with us according to the laws of our rational nature. They recognise the prin- ciple, and proceed on it throughout, that it is only in so far as the reasons of duty are seen and felt by us that we can ever obey. It is true enough that we are bound to obey, whatever be the defects of our knowledge, because these defects are the result of sin, and culpable ignorance can never invalidate moral obligation; but, although the claims of duty remain in force, irrespective of our culpabilities, it is impossible that we can fulfill them till we are en- lightened and influenced to voluntary efforts. Deeds of blindness, even when right in the matter of them, are not obedience, for this plain reason, that the mind of man is intelligence and not mechanism. Now the doctrine we have been teaching, namely the doctrine of Christ's vicarious sacrifice for the remission of sins, illumines the path of duty, and supplies us with motives for urging the discharge of it, the clearest and most cogent which can possibly actuate the mind of man. To contemplate an enu- meration of these, or illustrate any one of them at sufficient length, is more than can be at present attempted. The following may be taken as a spe- cimen. Ivii 1. It gives the most attractive display oF the cha- racter of the Godhead. It is a very obvious thing, that whatever magnifies the Lawgiver in the eyes of his subjects tends to promote obedience; and what- ever depreciates him undermines obedience. Ex- alted conceptions of the object of worship are so essential to genuine piety, that it does not appear possible for us to err in the practice of piety till we have first erred about its principles. The arch-ad- versary of human nature is skilful in the arts of as- saulting it ; but, in the depths of his infernal sagacity, he did not propose to our primitive parents an act of positive disobedience till he had fastened the impeachment of selfishness and artifice on the cha- racter of the God that made them. He first lowered their estimate of their Maker, and then succeeded in teaching them to sin. " Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden, lest ye die ! Ye shall not surely die ; hut God doth know, that in the day ye eat thereof then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." Now, this primary fallacy is the per- vading one till this day. The system is not altered. Between the first departure from the line of moral rectitude and all our subsequent obliquities there is a dismal consistency. Men prepare themselves for entering upon sin, or for living in it afterwards, by previously cherishing views of God which are false and unworthy. They err in their conduct, because they have previously erred in their hearts ; and the former, if we trace it to its elements, will ever be found to be the offspring of the latter. But if this be the root of the evil, its opposite is doubtless the c 2 Ivi'ii spring of the remedy. If error in sentiment Ue tlic soil of trespass, then soundness of sentiment must be the basis of righteousness. But how is this sound- ness of sentiment to be arrived at ? Shall we seek for it in the law of God, as summed up in the ten com- mandments, or diffused throughout the Bible in liv- ing and lucid detail? That law is absolutely perfect, delineating the very image of the Godhead, as in- flexible in righteousness, incorruptible in truth, and immaculate in the beauties of holiness. The view which it thus gives us of its Author is comprehensive, just, and adequate, presenting the duties of human obedience, in their principle, form, and spirit, and in all the diversity of their adaptation to the- circum- stances of social life. But still it is inadequate to the excitement required. In cases not a few, it ex- asperates tlie conscience till the motions of sin are provoked by it to bring forth fruit unto death ; and to the very best conditioned of our fallen race it is like argument without unction, or thought without feelino;, or like the cloudless firmament of a winter's midnight, cold and clear and overawing, attracting his eye by its distant splendour, but failing utterly to warm his heart. The thing wanted, then, to supply the dehciencies of the law as a manifestation of the Godhead, and to bring his glories near to us, in all their expanding greatness, that we may feel their attractive influence while we see their rising splendour, and be inspired with living sentiment as well as furnished with just conceptions, is a suffusion of grace. It is this alone which converts the chilliness of the midnight into the warmth of noon — displaying the countenance of lix the Godhead, in a smile of benignity which mellows without abridixint; the <^randeur of his sterner attri- butes, and thaws the heart of the most obdurate into contrition anmust in its proper way, be done with the same regard to the glory of God, and agreeably to the principles of a devout and pious mind. 145 CHAPTER V. Persons that are free from the necessity of lahour and employments are to consider themselves as devoted to God in a higher degree. Great part of" the world are free from tlie necessities of labour and employments, and have their time and fortunes in their own disposal. But as no one is to live in his employment according to his own humour, or for such ends as please his own fancy, but is to do all his business in such a manner as to make it a service unto God ; so those who have no particular employment are so far from being left at greater li- berty to live to themselves, to pursue their own hu- mours, and spend their time and fortunes as they please, that they are under greater obligations of living wholly unto God in all their actions. The freedom of their state lays them under a greater necessity of always choosing and doing the best things. They are those of whom much will be re- quired, because much is given unto them. A slave can only live unto God in one particular way, that is, by religious patience and submission in his state of slaver}^ But all ways of holy living, all instances and all kinds of virtue, lie open to those who are masters of themselves, their time, and their fortune. It is as much the duty, therefore, of such persons, to make a wise use of their liberty, to de- vote themselves to all kinds of virtue, to aspire after every thing that is holy and pious, to endeavour to be eminent in all good works, and to please God in G SO U6 the highest and most perfect manner; it is as much their duty to be thus wise in the conduct of them- selves, and thus extensive in their endeavours after holiness, as it is the duty of a slave to be resigned unto God in his state of slavery. You are no la- bourer or tradesman, you are neither merchant nor soldier, consider yourself, therefore, as placed in a state in some degree like that of good angels, who are sent into the world as ministering spirits, for the general good of mankind, to assist, protect, and mi- nister for them who shall be heirs of salvation. For the more you are free from the common necessities of men, the more you are to imitate the higher per- fections of angels. Had you, Serena, been obliged, by the necessities of life, to wash cloaths for your maintenance, or to wait upon some mistress that demanded all your labour, it would then be your duty to serve and glorify God, by such humility, obedience, and faithfulness, as might adorn that state of life. It would then be recommended to your care, to improve that one talent to its greatest height. That when the time came, that mankind were to be rewarded for their labours by the great Judge of quick and dead, you might be received with a " well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." But, as God has given you five talents, as he has placed you above the necessities of life, as he has left you in the hands of yourself, in the happy liberty of choosing the most exalted ways of virtue; as he has enriched you with many gifts of fortune, and left you nothing to do but to make the best use of a variety of blessings, to make the most of a short life, 147 to study your own perfection, the honour of God, and the ffood of vour nei;Thbour: so it is now your duty to imitate the greatest servants of God, to en- quire how the most eminent saints have lived, to study all the arts and methods of perfection, and to set no bounds to your love and gratitude to the bountiful Author of so many blessings. It is now your duty to turn your five talents into five more, and to consider how your time and leisure and health and fortune may be made so many happy means of purifying your own soul, improving your fellow-creatures in the ways of virtue, and of carrying you at last to the greatest heights of eternal glory. As you have no mistress to serve, so let your own soul be the object of your daily care and attendance. Be sorry for its impurities, its spots, and imperfec- tions, and study all the holy arts of restoring it to its natural and primitive purity. Delight in its service, and beg of God to adorn it with every grace and perfection. Nourish it with good works, give it peace in solitude, get it strength in prayer, make it wise with reading, enlighten it by meditation, make it tender with love, sweeten it with humility, humble it with penance, enliven it with psalms and hymns, and comfort it with frequent reflections upon future glory. Keep it in the presence of God, and teach it to imitate those guardian angels, which, though they attend on human affairs, and the lowest of mankind, yet " always behold the face of our Father which is in heaven." This, Serena, is your profession. For as sure as God is one god, so sure it is that he has but one command to ^]] mankind, whether they be bond or 148 free, rich or poor: and that is, to act up to the ex- cellency of that nature which he has given them, to live by reason, to walk in the light of religion, to use every thing as wisdom directs, to glorify God in all his gifts, and dedicate every condition of life to his service. This is the one common command of God to all mankind. If you have an employment, you are to be thus reasonable and pious and holy in the exercise of it ; if you have time and a fortune in your own power, you are obliged to be thus rea- sonable and holy and pious in the use of all your time and all your fortune. The right religious use of every thing and every talent, is the indispensable duty of every being that is capable of knowing right and vvrong. For the reason why we are to do any thing as unto God, and with regard to our duty and relation to him, is the same reason why we are to do every thing as unto God, and with regard to our duty and relation to him. That which is a reason for our being wise and holy in the discharge of all our business, is the same reason for our being wise and holy in the use of all our money. As we have always the same natures, and are every where the servants of the same God, as every place is equally full of his presence, and every thing is equally his gift, so we must always act according to the reason of our nature ; we must do every thing as the servants of God ; we must live in every place as in his presence ; we must use every thing as that ought to be used which belongs to God. Either this piety and wisdom and devotion is to go through every way of life, and to extend to the use of every thing, or it is to go through no part 149 of life. If we might forget ourselves, or forget God, if we might disregard our reason, and live by humour and fancy, in any thing, or at any time, or in any place, it would be as lawful to do the same in every thing, at every time, and every place. If, therefore, some people fancy that they must be grave and solemn at church, but may be silly and frantic at home ; that they must live by some rule on the Sunday, but may spend other days by chance ; that they must have some times of prayer, but may waste the rest of their time as they please : that they must give some money in charity, but may squander away the rest as they have a mind ; such people have not enough considered the nature of religion, or the true reasons of piety. For he that upon principles of reason can tell why it is good to be wise and heavenly-minded at church, can tell that it is always desirable to have the same tempers in all other places. He that truly knows why he should spend any time well, knows that it is never allowable to throw any time away. He that rightly understands the rea- sonableness and excellency of charity, will know that it can never be excusable to waste any of our money in pride and folly, or in any needless expenses. For every argument that shows the wisdom and excel- lency of charity, proves the wisdom of spending all our fortune well. Every argument that proves the wisdom and reasonableness of having times of prayer, shows the wisdom and reasonableness of losing none of our time. If any one could show that we need not always act as in the divine presence, that we need not con- sider and use every thing as the gift of God, that we 150 need not always live by reason, and make religion the rule of all our actions ; the same arguments would show, that we need never act as in the presence of God, nor make religion and reason the measure of any of our actions. If, therefore, we are to live unto God at any time, or in any place, we are to live unto him at all times and in all places. If we are to use any thing as the gift of God, we are to use every thing as his gift. If we are to do any thing by strict rules of reason and piety, we are to do every thing in the same manner. Because reason and wisdom and piety are as much the best things at all times and in all places, as they are the best things at any time or in any place. If it is our glory and happiness to have a rational nature, that is endued with wisdom and reason, that is capable of imitating the divine nature, then it must be our glory and happiness to improve our reason and wisdom, to act up to the excellency of our rational nature, and to imitate God in all our actions, to the utmost of our power. They, there- fore, who confine religion to times and places, and some little rules of retirement, who think that it is being too strict and rigid to introduce religion into common life, and make it give laws to all their ac- tions and ways of living, they who think thus, not only mistake, but they mistake the whole nature of of religion ; for they surely mistake the whole nature of religion who can think any part of their life is made more easy for being free from it. They may well be said to mistake the whole nature of wisdom, who do not think it desirable to be always wise. He has not learned the nature of piety, who thinks 151 it too much to be pious in all his actions. He does not sufficiently understand what reason is who does not earnestly desire to live in every thing according to it. If we had a religion that consisted in absurd su- perstitions, that had no regard to the perfection of our nature, people might well be glad to have some part of their life excused from it. But as the reli- gion of the Gospel is only the refinement and exalta- tion of our best faculties, as it only requires a hfe of the highest reason, as it only requires us to use this world as in reason it ought to be used, to live in such tempers as are the glory of intelligent beings, to walk in such wisdom as exalts our nature, and to practise such piety as will raise us to God ; who can think it grievous to live always in the spirit of such a religion, to have every part of his life full of it, but he that would think it much more grievous to be as the anffels of God in heaven ? Further, as God is one and the same being, al- ways acting like himself, and suitably to his own nature, so it is the duty of every being that he has created, to live according to the nature that he has given it, and always to act like itself. It is there- fore an immutable law of God, that all rational beings should act reasonably in all their actions; not at this time, or in that place, or upon this occasion, or in the use of some particular thing, but at all times, in all places, at all occasions, and in the use of all things. This is a law that is as unchangeable as God, and can no more cease to be, than God can cease to be a God of wisdom and order. When, therefore, any being that is endued with reason does an unreason- 152 able thing at any time, or in any place, or in the use of any thing, it sins against the great law of its na- ture, abuses itself, and sins against God, the Author of that nature. They, therefore, who plead for indulgences and vanities, for any foolish fashions, customs, and hu- mours of the world, for the misuse of our time or money, plead for a rebellion against our nature, for a rebellion against God, who has given us reason for no other end than to make it the rule and measure of all our ways of life. When, therefore, you are guilty of any folly or extravagance, or indulge any vain temper, do not consider it as a small matter be- cause it may seem so if compared to some other sins ; but consider it as it is acting contrary to your nature, and then you will see that there is nothing small that is unreasonable ; because all unreasonable ways are contrary to the nature of all rational beings, whe- ther men or angels. Neither of which can be any longer agreeable to God than so far as they act ac- cording to the reason and excellence of their nature. The infirmities of human life make such food and raiment necessary for us as angels do not want; but then it is no more allowable for us to turn these necessities into follies, and indul^je ourselves in the luxury of food, or the vanities of dress, than it is allowable for angels to act below the dignity of their proper state. For a reasonable life, and a wise use of our proper condition, is as much the duty of all men, as it is the duty of all angels and intelligent beings. These are not speculative flights, or ima- ginary notions, but are plain and undeniable laws, that are founded in the nature of rational beings, who 153 as such are obliged to live by reason, and glorify God by a continual right use of their several talents and faculties. So that though men are not angels, yet they may know for what ends and by what rules men are to live and act, by considering the state and perfection of angels. Our blessed Saviour has plainly turned our thoughts this way, by making this petition a constant part of all our prayers, " Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven." A plain proof, that the obedience of men is to imitate the obedience of angels, and that rational beings on earth are to live unto God, as rational beings in heaven live unto him. When, therefore, you would represent to your mind, how Christians ought to live unto God, and in what degree of wisdom and holiness they ought to use the things of this life, you must not look at the world, but you must look up to God, and the society of angels, and think what wisdom and holiness is fit to prepare you for such a state of glory. You must look to all the highest precepts of the Gospel, you must examine yourself by the Spirit of Christ, you must think how the wisest men in the world have lived, you must think how departed souls would live if they were again to act the short part of human life; you must think what degrees of wisdom and hohness you will wish for when you are leaving the world. Now all this is not over-straining the matter, or proposing to ourselves any needless perfection. It is but barely complying with the apostle's advice, where he says, " Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever g2 154 things are pure, whatsoever things arc of good report ; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." For no one can come near the doctrine of this passage, but he that proposes to himself to do every thing in this life as the servant of God, to live by reason in every thing that he does, and to make the wisdom and holiness of the Gospel the rule and measure of his desiring and using every ilift of God. CHAPTER VI. The great obligations and the great advantages of mak- ing a wise and religious use of our estates and fortunes. As the holiness of Christianity consecrates all states and employments of life unto God, as it requires us to aspire after a universal obedience, doing and using every thing as the servants of God, so are we more especially obliged to observe this religious exactness in the use of our estates and fortunes. The reason of this would appear very plain, if we were only to consider, that our estate is as much the gift of God as our eyes or our hands, and is no more to be buried or thrown away at pleasure, than we are to put out our eyes or throw away our limbs as we please. But besides this consideration, there are several other great and important reasons, why we should be religiously exact in the use of our estates. First, because the manner of using our money, or spending our estate, enters so far into the business of every day, and makes so great a part of our com- 155 moil life, that our common life must be much of the same nature as our common way of spending our estate. If reason and religion govern us in this, then reason and religion hath got great hold of us ; but if humour, pride, and fancy, are the measures of our spending our estate, then humour, pride, and fancy, will have the direction of the greatest part of our life. Secondly. x\nother great reason for devoting all our estate to right uses, is this : because it is capable of being used to the most excellent purposes, and is so ffreat a mean of doinc*; ijoocl. If we waste it we do not waste a trifle, that signifies little, but we waste that which might be made as eyes to the blind, as a husband to the widow, as a father to the orphan ; we waste that which not only enables us to minister worldly comforts to those that are in distress, but that which might purchase for ourselves everlasting treasures in heaven.* So that, if we part with our money in foolish ways, we part with a great power of comforting our fellow-creatures, and of making ourselves for ever blessed. If there be nothing so glorious as doing good, if there is nothing that makes us so like to God, then nothing can be so glorious in the use of our money, as to use it all in works of love and goodness, mak- miX ourselves friends and fathers and benefactors to all our fellow-creatures, imitating the divine love, * No beneficence of ours can purchase for us treasures in hea- ven. The language may liave a sound meaning when used in a fi^^ure, but taken strictly it conveys a mistake. The treasures of heaven are treasures of grace, and therefore not a matter of pur- chase; and our chanties liave done tlieir utmost when, coming out of a christian heart, they give evidence that we are the heirs of lieaven D. Y. 156 and turning all our power into acts of generosity, care, and kindness, to such as are in need of it. If a man had eyes and hands and feet t hat he could give to those that wanted them; if he should either lock them up in a chest, or please himself with some needless or ridiculous use of them, instead of giving them to his brethren that were blind and lame, should we not justly reckon him an inhuman wretch ? If he should rather choose to amuse himself with furnishing his house with those things, than to entitle himself to an eternal reward by giving them to those that wanted eyes and hands, might we not justly reckon him mad? Now money has very much the nature of eyes and feet ; if we either lock it up in chests, or waste it in needless and ridiculous expenses upon our- selves, whilst the poor and the distressed want it for their necessary uses ; if we consume it in the ridi- culous ornaments of apparel, whilst others are starv- ing in nakedness, we are not far from the cruelty of him that chooses rather to adorn his house with the hands and eyes than to give them to those that want them. If we choose to indulge ourselves in such expensive enjoyments as have no real use in them, such as satisfy no real want, rather than to entitle ourselves to an eternal reward, by disposing of our money well, we are guilty of his madness that rather chooses to lock up eyes and hands than to make himself for ever blessed, by giving them to those that want them. For after we have satisfied our own sober and reasonable wants, all the rest of our money is but like spare eyes or hands; it is something that we cannot keep to ourselves without 15T being foolish in the use of it, somethhig that can only be used well by giving it to those that want it. Thirdly, If we waste our money, we are not only guilty of wasting a talent which God has given us, we are not only guilty of making that useless which is so powerful a mean of doing good, but we do ourselves this further harm, that we turn this useful talent into a powerful mean of corrupting ourselves ; because so far as it is spent wrong, so far it is spent in the support of some wrong temper, in gratifying some vain and unreasonable desires, in conforming to those fashions and pride of the world which, as Christians and reasonable men, we are obliged to renounce. As wit and fine parts cannot be trifled away, and only lost, but will expose those that have them into greater follies, if they are not strictly devoted to piety ; so money, if it is not used strictly according to reason and religion, can not only be trifled away, but it will betray people into grater foUies, and make them live a more silly and extravagant life, than they could have done without it. If, there- fore, you do not spend your money in doing good to others, you must spend it to the hurt of yourself. You will act like a man that should refuse to give that as a cordial to a sick friend, though he could not drink it himself without inflaming his blood. For this is the case of superfluous money ; if you give it to those that want it, it is a cordial ; if you spend in upon yourself in something that you do not want, it only inflames and disorders your mind, and makes you worse than you would be without it. Consider again the forementioned comparison ; 15S if the man that could not make a right use of spare eyes and hands, should, by continually trying to use them himself, spoil his own eyes and hands, we might justly accuse him of still giater madness. Now this is truly the case of riches spent upon our- selves in vain and needless expenses ; in trying to use them where they have no real use, nor we any real want, we only use them to out great hurt, in creatine^ unreasonable desires, in nourishing ill tempers, in indulging our passions, and supporting a worldly, vain turn of mind. For high eating and drinking, fine cloaths and fine houses, state and equipage, gay pleasures and diversions, do all of them naturally hurt and disorder our hearts ; they are the food and nourishment of all the folly and weakness of our nature, and are certain means to make us vain and worldly in our tempers. They are all of them the support of something that ought not to be supported; they are contrary to that sobriety and piety of heart which relishes divine things; they are like so many weights upon our minds, that make us less able, and less inclined to raise up our thoughts and affections to the things that are above. So that money thus spent is not merely wasted or lost, but it is spent to bad pur- poses and miserable effects, to the corruption and disorder of our hearts, and to the making us less able to live up to the sublime doctrines of the Gospel. It is but like keeping money from the poor, to buy poison for ourselves. For so much as is spent in the vanity of dress, may be reckoned so much laid out to fix vanity in our minds. So much as is laid out for idleness and 139 iiidulgeijce, may be reckoned so much given to ren- der our hearts dull and sensual. So much as is spent in state and equipage, may be reckoned so much spent to dazzle your own eyes, and render you the idol of your imagination. And so in every thing, when you go from reasonable wants, you only support some unreasonable temper, some turn of mind which every good Christian is called upon to renounce. So that on all accounts, whether we consider our fortune as a talent and trust from God, or the great good that it enables us to do, or the great harm that it does to ourselves if idly spent ; on all these great accounts it appears, that it is absolutely necessary to make reason and religion the strict rule of using all our fortune. Every exhortation in Scripture to be wise and reasonable, satisfying only such wants as God would have satisfied — every exhortation to be spiritual and heavenly, pressing after a glorious change of our nature — every exhortation to love our neighbour as ourselves, to love all mankind as God has loved them, is a command to be strictly religious in the use of our money. For none of these tempers can be complied with, unless we be wise and reasonable, spiritual and heavenly, exercising a brotherly love, a godlike charity, in the use of all our fortune. These tempers, and this use of our worldly goods, is so much the doctrine of all the New Testament, that you cannot read a chapter without being taught something of it. I shall only produce one remark- able passage of Scripture, which is sufficient to justify all I have said concernin": this religious use of all :>ur fortune. 160 *' When the Son of man will come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory : and before him shall be gathered all nations ; and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth the sheep from the goats : and he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom pre- pared for you from the foundation of the world : for 1 was an hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in ; naked, and ye clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me. — Then shall he say unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels : for I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and ye took men not in ; naked, and ye clothed me not; sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. — These shall go away into everlasting pun- ishment, but the righteous into life eternal." I have quoted this passage at length, because if one looks at the way of the world, one would hardly think, that Christians had ever read this part of Scripture. For what is there in the lives of Chris- tians, that looks as if their salvation depended upon these good works ?* And yet the necessity of them * Salvation depends not on works of ours, whether good or evil, but is the gift of God through Jesus Christ. At the same time, we must strive to attain it, not as a reward to be wrought for, but as a pure gratuity, which tlie perversity of our nature renders difficult of access. And after it is attaiiied in its princi- 161 is here asserted in the highest manner, and pressed upon us hy a lively description of the glory and terrors of the day of judgment. Some people, even of those who may be reckoned virtuous Christians, look upon this text only as a general recommenda- tion of occasional works of charity : whereas it shows the necessity not only of occasional charities now and then, but the necessity of such an entire charitable life as is a continual exercise of all such works of charity as we are able to perform. You own, that you have no title to salvation, if you have neglected these good works; because such persons as have neglected them are, at the last day, to be placed at the left hand, and banished with " Depart, ye cursed." There is, therefore, no salva- tion but in the performance of these good works. Who is it, therefore, that may be said to have per- formed these good works? Is it he that has some time assisted a prisoner, or relieved the poor or sick r* This would be as absurd as to say, that he had per- formed the duties of devotion, who had some time said his prayers. Is it, therefore, he that has several times done these works of charity ? This can no more be said, than he can be said to be the truly just man, who had done acts of justice several times. What is the rule, therefore, or measure of perform- ing these good works? How shall a man trust that he performs them as he ought ? pie, we must give it scope in works of goodness, in homage to him who bestows it, and as his appointed expedient for rearing it to perfection. Our author's zeal for working is a righteous zeal, but be errs, we fear, about the motive which should animate exertion. Works which are really good, are the effect, not the cause of conversion to God D. Y 162 Now the rule is very plain and easy, and such as is common to every other virtue, or good temper, as well as to cliarity. Who is the humble, or meek, or devout, or just, or faithful man ? Is it he that has several times done acts of humility, meekness, devotion, justice, or fidelity? No. But it is he that lives in the habitual exercise of these virtues. In like manner, he can only be said to have per- formed those works of charity, who lives in the habitual exercise of them to the utmost of his power. He only has performed the duty of divine love, who loves God with all his heart, and with all his mind, and with all his strength. And he only has per- formed the duty of these good works, who has done them with all his heart, and with all his mind, and with all his strength. For there is no other mea- sure of our doing good than our power of doing it. The apostle St. Peter puts this question to our blessed Saviour : " Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him ? till seven times .'' Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Untill seven times, but Untill seventy times seven." Not as if after this number of offences, a man might then cease to forgive ; but the expression of seventy times seven is to show us, that we are not to bound our forgiveness by any number of offences, but are to continue forgiving the most repeated offences against us. Thus our Saviour saith in another place, "if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him." If, therefore, a man ceases to forgive his brother, because he has forgiven him often already; if he excuses himself 163 from forgiving this man because he has forgiven several others; such a man breaks this law of Christ concerning the forgiving one's brother. Now the rule of forffivinff is also the rule of giving; you are not to give, or do good to seven, but to seventy times seven. You are not to cease from giving, because you have given often to the same person, or to other persons; but must look upon yourself as much obliged to continue relieving those that continue in want, as you was obliged to relieve them once or twice. Had it not been in your power, you had been excused from relieving any person once ; but if it is in your power to relieve people often, it is as much your duty to do it often, as it is the duty of others to do it but seldom, because they are but seldom able. He that is not ready to for- give every brother, as often as he wants to be for- given, does not forgive like a disciple of Christ. And he that is not ready to give to every brother that wants to have something given him, does not give like a disciple of Christ. For it is as necessary to give to seventy times seven, to live in the con- tinual exercise of all good works to the utmost of our power, as it is necessary to forgive untill seventy times seven, and live in the habitual exercise of this forgiving temper towards all that want it. And the reason of all this is very plain, because there is the same goodness, the same excellency, and the same necessity of being thus charitable at one time as at another. It is as much the best use of our money to be always doing good with it, as it is the best use of it at any particular time; so that that which is a reason for a charitable action, is as 164. good a reason for a charitable life. That which is a reason for forgiving one offence, is the same rea- son for forgiving all offences. For such charity has nothing to recommend it today, but v*'hat will be the same recommendation of it tomorrow ; and you cannot neglect it at one time without being guilty of the same sin as if you neglected it at another time. As sure, therefore, as these works of charity are necessary to salvation, so sure is it, that we are to do them to the utmost of our power ; not today, or tomorrow, but through the whole course of our life. If, therefore, it be our duty at any time to deny ourselves any needless expenses, to be moderate and frugal, that we may have to give to those that want, it is as much our duty to do so at all times, that we may be further able to do more good. For if it is at any time a sin to prefer needless vain expense to works of charity, it is so at all times ; because charity as much excels all needless and vain expenses at one time as at another. So that if it is ever necessary to our salvation, to take care of these works of charity, and to see that we make ourselves in some degree capable of doing them, it is as necessary to our salvation, to take care to make ourselves as capable as we can be, of performing them in all the parts of our life. Either, therefore, you must so far renounce your Christianity, as to say, that you need never perform any of these good works ; or you must own, that you are to perform them all your life in as high a degree as you are able. There is no middle way to be taken, any more than there is a middle way betwixt pride and humility, or temperance and intemperance. If you do not strive to fulfill all 1G5 diaritable works, if you neglect any of tliem tliat are in your power, and deny assistance to those that want what you can give, let it be when it will or where it will, you number yourself amongst those that want Christian charity. Because it is as much your duty to do good with all that you have, and to live in the continual exercise of good works, as it is your duty to be temperate in all that you eat and drink. Hence also appears the necessit}'' of renouncing all those foolish and unreasonable expenses, which the pride and folly of mankind have made so com- mon and fashionable in the world. For if it is ne- cessary to do good works, as far as you are able, it must be as necessary to renounce those needless ways of spending money, which render j^ou unable to do works of charity. You must therefore no more con- form to these ways of the world, than you must con- form to the vices of the world; you must no more spend with those that idly waste their money, as their humour leads them, than you must drink with the drunken, or indulge yourself with the epicure: because a course of such expenses is no more con- sistent with a life of charity, than excess in drinking is consistent with a life of sobriety. When, there- fore, any one tells you of the lawfulness of expensive apparel, or the innocency of pleasing yourself with costly satisfactions, only imagine that the same per- son was to tell you, that you need not do works of charity; that Christ does not require you to do good unto your poor brethren, as unto him ; and then you will see the wickedness of such advice. For to tell you, that you may live in such expenses as make it 166 impossible for you to live in the exercise of good works, is the same thing as telling you, that you need not have any care about such good works themselves. CHAPTER VIL How the imprudent use of an estate corrupts all the tempers of the mind, and fills the heart with poor and ridiculous passions, through the whole course of life ; represented in the character of Flavia. It has already been observed, that a prudent and religious care is to be used, in the manner of spend- ing our money or estate, because the manner of spending our estate makes so great a part of our common life, and is so much the business of every day, that according as we are wise or imprudent in this respect, the whole course of our lives will be rendered either very wise or very full of folly. Persons that are well affected to religion, that re- ceive instructions of piety with pleasure and satis- faction, often wonder how it comes to pass, that they make no greater progress in that religion which they so much admire. Now the reason of it is this : it is because religion lives only in their head, but some- thing else has possession of their heart ; and there- fore they continue from year to year mere admirers and praisers of piety, without ever coming up to the reality and perfection of its precepts. If it be asked, why religion does not get posses- sion of their hearts, the reason is this ; it is not 167 because they live in gross sins or debaucheries, for their regard to rehgion preserves them from sucli disorders. But it is because their hearts are con- stantly employed, perverted, and kept in a wrong state by the indiscreet use of such things as are lawful to be used. The use and enjoyment of their estate is lawful, and therefore it never comes into their heads to imagine any great danger from that quarter. They never reflect, that there is a vain and imprudent use of their estates, which though it does not destroy like gross sins, yet so disorders the heart, and supports in such sensuality and idleness, such pride and vanity, as makes it incapable of re- ceiving the life and spirit of piety. For our souls may receive an infinite hurt, and be rendered inca- pable of all virtue, merely by the use of innocent and lawful things. M^hat is more innocent than rest and retirement ? and yet what more dangerous than sloth and idle- ness ? What is more lawful than eating and drink- ing? and yet what more destructive of all virtue, what more fruitful of all vice, than sensuality and indulgence ? How lawful and praiseworthy is the care of a family ! and yet how certainly are many people rendered incapable of all virtue, by a worldly and solicitous temper ! Now it is for want of reli- gious exactness in the use of these innocent and lawful things, that religion cannot get possession of our hearts. And it is in the right and prudent management of ourselves, as to these things, that all the art of holy living chiefly consists. Gross sins are plainly seen and easily avoided by persons that profess religion. But the indiscreet and dangerous 168 use of innocent and lawful things, as it does not shock and offend our consciences, so it is difficult to make people at all sensible of the danger of it. A gentleman that expends all his estate in sports, and a woman that lays out all her fortune upon her- self, can hardly be persuaded that the spirit of reli- gion cannot subsist in such a way of life. These persons, as has been observed, may live free from debaucheries, they may be friends of religion, so far as to praise and speak well of it, and admire it in their imaginations ; but it cannot govern their hearts, and be the spirit of their actions, till they change their way of life, and let religion give laws to the use and spending of their estates. For a woman that loves dress, that thinks no expense too great to bestow upon the adorning of her person, cannot stop there. For that temper draws a thousand other follies along with it, and will render the whole course of her life, her business, her conversation, her hopes, her fears, her taste, her pleasures, and diversions, all suitable to it. Flavia and Miranda are two maiden sisters, that have each of them two hundred pounds a-year. They buried their parents twenty years ago, and have since that time spent their estate as they pleased. Flavia has been the wonder of all her friends, for her excellent management, in making so surprising a figure on so moderate a fortune. Several ladies, that have twice her fortune, are not able to be always so genteel, and so constant at all places of pleasure and expense. She has every thing that is in the fashion, and is in every place where there is any diversion. Flavia is verv orthodox ; she talks 169 warmly against heretics and schismatics, is generally at church, and often at the sacrament. She once commended a sermon that was against the pride and vanity of dress, and thought it vvas very just against Lucinda, whom she takes to be a great deal finer than she need to be. If any one asks Flavia to do something in charity, if she hkes the person who makes the proposal, or happens to be in a right temper, she will toss him half a crown, or a crown, and tell him, if he knew what a long milliner's bill she had just received, he would think it a great deal for her to give. A quarter of a year after this, she hears a sermon upon the necessity of charity; she thinks the man preaches well, that it is a very proper subject, that people want much to be put in mind of it; but she applies nothing to herself, because she remembers that she gave a crown some time ago, when she could so ill spare it. As for poor people themselves, she will admit of no complaints from them; she is very positive they are all cheats and liars ; and will say any thing to get relief, and there- fore it must be a sin to encourage them in their evil ways. You would think Flavia had the tenderest conscience in the world, if you were to see how scrupulous and apprehensive she is of the guilt and danger of giving amiss. She buys all books of wit and humour, and has made an expensive collection of all our English poets. For she says, one cannot have a true taste of any of them, without being very conversant with them all. She will sometimes read a book of piety, if it is a short one, if it is much commended for style and language, and she can tell where to borrow it. Flavia is very idle, and yet H 30 170 very fond of fine work : this makes her often sit working in bed untill noon, and be told many a long story before she is up ; so that I need not tell you, that her morning devotions are not always rightly performed. Flavia would be a miracle of piety, if she was but half so careful of her soul as she is of her body. The rising of a pimple in her face, the sting of a gnat, will make her keep her room two or three days, and she thinks they are very rash people that do not take care of things in time. This makes her so over careful of her health, that she never thinks she is well enough; and so over indulgent, that she never can be really well. So that it costs her a great deal in sleeping-draughts and waking- draughts, in spirits for the head, in drops for the nerves, in cordials for the stomach, and in saffron for her tea. If you visit Flavia on the Sunday, you will always meet good company, you will know what is doing in the world, you will hear the last lampoon be told, who wrote it, and who is meant by every name that is in it. You will hear what plays were acted that week, which is the finest song in the opera, who was intolerable at the last assembly, and what games are most in fashion. Flavia thinks they are atheists that play at cards on the Sunday, but she will tell you the nicety of all the games, what cards she held, how she played them, and the history of all that happened at play, as soon as she comes from church. If you would know who is rude and ill-natured, who is vain and foppish, who lives too high, and who is in debt: if you would know what is the quarrel at a certain house, or who and who are in love: if you would 171 know how late Belinda comes home at nicrht, what cloaths she has bought, how she loves compliments, and what a long story she told at such a place : if you would know how cross Lucius is to his wife, what ill-natured things he says to her when nobody hears him ; if you would know how they hate one another in their hearts, though they appear so kind in public: you must visit Flavia on the Sunday. But still she has so great a regard for the holiness of the Sunday, that she has turned a poor old widow out of her house, as a profane wretch, for having been found once mending her cloaths on the Sunday night. Thus lives Flavia; and if she lives ten years longer, she will have spent about fifteen hundred and sixty Sundays after this manner. She will have worn about two hundred different suits of cloaths. Out of this thirty years of her life, fifteen of them will have been disposed of in bed ; and of the remain- ing fifteen, about fourteen of them will have been consumed in eating, drinking, dressing, visiting, con- versation, reading and hearing plays and romances, at operas, assemblies, balls, and diversions. For you may reckon all the time that she is up thus spent, except about an hour and a half, that is disposed of at church, most Sundays in the year. With great management, and under mighty rules of economy, she will have spent sixty hundred pounds upon her- self, bating only some crowns, half-crowns, or shil- lings, that have gone from her in accidental charities. I shall not take upon me to say, that it is impos- sible for Flavia to be saved ; but this much must be said, that she has no grounds from Scripture to think 172 she is in the way of salvation. For her whole life is in direct opposition to all those tempers and prac- tices which the Gospel has made necessary to salva- tion. If you were to hear her say, that she had lived all her life like Anna the prophetess, who de- parted not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers, night and day, you would look upon her as very extravagant ; and yet this would be no greater an extravagance, than for her to say, that she has been striving to enter in at the strait gate, or making any one doctrine of the Gospel a rule of her life. She may as well say, that she lived with our Saviour when he was upon earth, as that she has lived in imitation of him, or made it any part of her care to live in such tempers as he required of all those that would be his disciples. She may as truly say, that she has every day washed the saints' feet, as that she has lived in Christian humihty and poverty of spirit; and as reasonably think, that she has taught a charity school, as that she has lived in works of charity. She has as much reason to think that she has been a sentinel in an army, as that she has lived in watching and self-denial. And it may as fairly be said, that she lived by the labour of her hands, as that she had given all diligence to make her calling and election sure. And here it is to be well observed, that the poor, vain turn of mind, the irreligion, the folly, and vanity of this whole life of Flavia, is all owing to the man- ner of using her estate. It is that has formed her spirit, that has given life to every idle temper, that has supported every trifling passion, and kept her from all thoughts of a prudent, useful, and devout life. 173 When her parents died, she had no thought about her two hundred pounds a-year but that she had so much money to do what she would with, to spend upon herself and purchase the pleasures and gratifi- cation^ of all her passions. And it is this setting out, this false judgment and indiscreet use of her fortune, that has filled her whole life with the same indiscretion, and kept her from thinking of what is right and wise and pious in every thing else. If you have seen her delighted in plays and ro- mances, in scandal and backbiting, easily flattered, and soon affronted; if you have seen her devoted to pleasures and diversions, a slave to every passion in its turn, nice in every thing that concerned her body or dress, careless of every thing that might benefit her soul, always wanting some new entertainment, and ready for every happy invention in show or dress, it was because she had purchased all these tempers with the yearly revenue of her fortune. She might have been humble, serious, devout, a lover of good books, an admirer of prayer and retirement, careful of her time, diligent in good works, full of charity and the love of God, but that the imprudent use of her estate forced all the contrary tempers upon her. And it was no wonder that she should turn her time, her mind, her health, her strength, to the same uses that she turned her fortune. It is owing to her be- ing wrong in so great an article of life, that you can see nothing wise or reasonable or pious in any other part of it. Now though the irregular trifling spirit of this character belongs, I hope, but to few people, yet many may here learn some instruction from it, and 174. perhaps see something of their own spirit in it. For as FJavia seems to be undone by the unreasonable use of her fortune, so the lowness of most people's virtue, the imperfection of their piety, and the dis- orders of their passions, is generally owing to their imprudent use and enjoyment of lawful and innocent things. More people are kept from a true sense and taste of religion, by a regular kind of sensuality and indulgence, than by gross drunkenness. More men live regardless of the great duties of piety, through too great a concern for worldly goods, than through direct injustice. This man would perhaps be devout, if he was not so great a virtuoso. An- other is deaf to all the motives to piety, by indulging an idle, slothful temper. Could you cure this man of his great curiosity and inquisitive temper, or that of his false satisfaction and thirst after learning, you need do no more to make them both become men of great piety. If this woman would make fewer visits, or that not be always talking, they would neither of them find it half so hard to be affected with reli- gion. For all these things are only little when they are compared to great sins : and though they are little in that respect, yet they are great, as they are impediments and hinderances of a pious spirit. For as consideration is the only eye of the soul, as the truths of religion can be seen by nothing else, so whatever raises a levity of mind, a trifling spirit, renders the soul incapable of seeing, apprehending, and relishing the doctrines of piety. Would we therefore make a real progress in re- ligion, we must not only abhor gross and notoriousl sins, but we must regulate the innocent and lawful 175 parts of our behaviour, and put the most common and allowed actions of life under the rules of discre- tion and piety. CHAPTER VIII. How the wise and pious use of an estate naturally car- rieth us to great perfection in all the virtues of the Christian life; — represented in the character of Miranda. Any one pious regularity of any one part of our life is of great advantage, not only on its own ac- count, but as it uses us to live by rule, and think of the government of ourselves. A man of business, that has brought one part of his affairs under certain rules, is in a fair way to take the same care of the rest. So he that has brought any one part of his life under the rules of religion, may thence be taught to extend the same order and regularity into other parts of his life. If any one is so wise as to think his time too pre- cious to be disposed of by chance, and left to be de- voured by any thing that happens in his way — if he lay himself under a necessity of observing how every day goes through his hands, and obliges himself to a certain order of time in his business, his retire- ments, and devotions, it is hardly to be imagined, how soon such a conduct would reform, improve, and perfect the whole course of his life. He that once thus knows the value and reaps the advantage of a well ordered time, will not long be a stranger to the value of any thing else that is of any real con- cern to him. A rule that relates even to the 176 smallest part of our life is of great benefit to us, merely as it is a rule. For, as the proverb saith, " He that hath begun well, hath half done :" so he that has begun to live by rule, has gone a great way towards the perfection of his life. By rule must here be constantly understood, a religious rule, observed upon a principle of duty to God. For if a man should obHge himself to be moderate in his meals, only in regard to his stomach ; or abstain from drinking, only to avoid the head- ache ; or be moderate in his sleep, through fear of a lethargy, he might be exact in these rules, without beinxT at all the better man for them. But when he is moderate and regular in any of these things, out of a sense of christian sobriety and self-denial, that he may offer unto God a more reasonable and holy life, tlien it is that the smallest rule of this kind is naturally the beginning of great piety. For the smallest rule in these matters is of great benefit, as it teaches us some part of the government of our- selves, as it keeps up a tenderness of mind, as it presents God often to our thoughts, and brings a sense of religion into the ordinary actions of our common life. If a man, whenever he was in company where any one swore, talked lewdly, or spoke evil of his neighbour, should make it a rule to himself, either gently to reprove him, or if that was not proper, then to leave the company as decently as he could, he would find, that this little, like a little leaven hid in a great quantity of meal, would spread and extend itself through the whole form of his hfe. If an- other should oblige himself to abstain on the Lord's 177 (lay from any innocent and lawful things, as travel- ing, visiting, common conversation, and discoursing upon worldly matters, as trade, news, and the like ; if he should devote the day, besides the public wor- ship, to greater retirement, reading, devotion, in- struction, and works of charity ; though it may seem but a small thing, or a needless nicety, to require a man to abstain from such things as may be done without sin, yet whoever would try the benefit of so little a rule, would perhaps thereby find such a change made in his spirit, and such a taste of pietv raised in his mind, as he was an entire stranger to before. It would be easy to show, in many other in- stances, how little and small matters are the first steps, and natural beginnings of great perfection. But the two things which of all others most want to be under a strict rule, and which are the greatest blessings both to ourselves and others, when they are rightly used, are our time and our money. These talents are continual means and opportunities of doing good. He that is piously strict, and ex- act in the wise management of either of these, can- not be long ignorant of the right use of the other. And he that is happy in the religious care and dis- posal of them both, is already ascended several steps upon the ladder of christian perfection. Miranda (the sister of Flavia) is a sober, reason- able Christian ; as soon as she was mistress of her time and fortune, it was her first thought, how she might best fulfill every thing that God required of her in the use of them, and how she might make the best and happiest use of this short life. She de- H 2 ]78 pends upon the truth of what our blessed Lord hath said, " there is but one thing needful," and therefore makes her whole Hfe but one continual labour after it. She has but one reason for doing or not doing, for liking or not liking any thing, and that is, the will of God, She is not so weak as to pretend to add, what is called the fine lady, to the true Chris- tian : Miranda thinks too well, to be taken with the sound of such silly words ; she has renounced the world to follow Christ in the exercise of humility, charity, devotion, abstinence, and heavenly affection,* and that is Miranda's fine breeding. Whilst she was under her mother, she was forced to be genteel, to live in ceremony, to sit up late at nights, to be in the folly of every fashion, and always visiting on Sundays ; to go patched and loaded with a burden of finery to the holy sacrament ; to be in every polite conversation; to hear profaneness at the play-house, and wanton songs and love intrigues at the opera; to dance at public places, that fops and rakes might admire the fineness of her shape, and the beauty of her motions. The remembrance of this way of life makes her exceeding careful to atone for it by a con- trary behaviour.* Miranda does not divide her duty between God, her neighbour, and herself; but she considers all as due to God, and so does every thing in his name, * For an injury done to civil, society, she might atone by her subsequent life, but to suppose that tlie moral evil of her past con- duct, as sin against God, could be done away with in this way, would have been only to enter on a new course of less outrage- ous disobedience. "God hath set forth Christ to be a propitia- tion through faith in his blood, for the remission of sins that are past," and every other expedient for this, is sin against his me- thod of mercy. — D. Y. 179 and for his sake. This makes her consider her for- tune as the gift of God, that is to be used as every thing is that belongs to God, for the wise and reasonable ends of a christian and holy life. Her fortune therefore is divided betwixt herself and several other poor people, and she has only her part of relief from it. She thinks it the same folly to indulge herself in needless, vain expenses, as to give to other people to spend in the same way. There- fore, as she will not give a poor man money to go see a puppet-show, neither will she allow herself any to spend in the same manner; thinking it very proper to be as wise herself as she expects poor men should be. For it is a folly and a crime in a poor man, says Miranda, to waste what is given him in foolish trifles, whilst he wants meat, drink, and cloaths. And is it less folly, or a less crime in me, to spend that money in silly diversions, which might be so much better spent in imitation of the divine goodness, in works of kindness and charity towards my fellow- creatures and fellow- Christians? If a poor man's own necessities are a reason why he should not waste any of his money idly, surely the necessities of the poor, the excellency of charity, which is received, as done to Christ himself, is a much greater reason why no one should ever waste any of his money. For if he does so he does not only do like the poor man, only waste that which he wants himself, but he wastes that which is wanted for the most noble use, and which Christ himself is ready to receive at his hands. And if we are angry at a poor man, and look upon him as a wretch when he throws away that which should buy his own bread, how must we appear in 180 the sight of God, if we make a wanton idle use of that which should buy bread and cloaths for the hungry and naked brethren, who are as near and dear to God as we are, and fellow-heirs of the same state of future glory ? This is the spirit of Miranda, and thus she uses the gifts of God ; she is only one of a certain number of poor people, that are reheved out of her fortune, and she only differs from them hi the blessedness of giving. Excepting her victuals, she never spent ten pounds a-year upon herself. If you were to see her, you would wonder what poor body it was, that was so surprisingly neat aud clean. She has but one rule that she observes in her dress, to be always clean, and in the cheapest things. Every thing about her resembles the purity of her soul, and she is always clean without, because she is always pure within. Every morning sees her early at her prayers, she rejoices in the beginning of every day, because it begins all her pious rules of holy living, and brings the fresh pleasure of repeating them. She seems to be as a guardian anc^el to those that dwell about her, with her watchings and prayers blessing the place where she dwells, and making intercession with God for those that are asleep. Her devotions have had some intervals, and God has heard several of her private prayers, before the light is suffered to enter into her sister's room. Miranda does not know what it is to have a dull half day; the returns of her hours of prayer, and her religious exercises, come too often to let any considerable part of time lie heavy upon her hands. When you see her at work, you see the same 181 wisdom that governs all her other actions ; she is either doing something that is necessary for herself, or necessary for others who want to he assisted. There is scarcely a poor family in the neighbourhood but wears something or other that has had the labour of her hands. Her wise and pious mind neither wants the amusement nor can bear with the folly of idle and impertinent work. She can admit of no such folly as this in the day, because she is to answer for all her actions at night. When there is no wisdom to be observed in the employment of her hands, when there is no useful or charitable work to be done, Miranda will work no more. At her table she lives strictly by this rule of holy Scripture, whe- ther ye eat, or drink, or whatever ye do, do all to the glory of God. This makes her begin and end every meal, as she begins and ends every day, with acts of devotion : she eats and drinks only for the sake of living, and with so regular an abstinence, that every meal is an exercise of self-denial, and she humbles her body every time that she is forced to feed it. If Miranda was to run a race for her life, she would submit to a diet that was proper for it. But as the race which is set before her is a race of holiness, purity, and heavenly affection, which she is tc^ finish in a corrupt, disordered body of earthly passions, so her every day diet has only this one end, to make her body fitter for this spiritual race. She does not weigh her meat in a pair of scales, but she weighs it in a much better balance ; so much as gives a proper strength to her body, and renders it able and willing to obey the soul, to join in psalms and prayers, and lift up eyes and hands towards heaven 182 with greater readiness, so much is Miranda's meal. So that Miranda will never have her eyes swell with fatness, or pant under a heavy load of flesh, untill she has changed her religion. The holy Scriptures, especially of the New Tes- tament, are her daily study ; these she reads with a watchful attention, constantly casting an eye upon herself, and trying herself, by every doctrine that is there. When she has the New Testament in her hand, she supposes herself at the feet of our Saviour and his apostles, and makes every thing that she learns of them so many laws of her life. She re- ceives their sacred words with as much attention and reverence, as if she saw their persons, and knew that they were just come from heaven, on purpose to teach her the way that leads to it. She thinks, that the trying of herself every day by the doctrines of Scripture, is the only possible way to be ready for her trial at the last day. She is sometimes afraid that she lays out too much money in books, because she cannot forbear buying all practical books of any note, especially such as enter into the heart of reli- gion, and describe the inward holiness of the chris- tian life. But of all human writings, the lives of pious persons, and eminent saints, are her greatest delifjht. In these she searches as for hidden trea- sure, hoping to find some secret holy living, some uncommon degree of piety, which she may make her own. By this means Miranda has her head and heart so stored with all the principles of wisdom and holiness, she is so full of the one main business of life, that she finds it difficult to converse upon any other subject; and if you are in her company, when 183 she thinks it proper to talk, you must be made wiser and better, whether you will or no. To relate her charity would be to relate the his- tory of every day for twenty years; for so long has all her fortune been spent that way. She has set up nearly twenty poor tradesmen that had failed in their business, and saved as many from failing. She has educated several poor children, that were picked up in the streets, and put them in a way of an honest employment. As soon as any labourer is confined at home with sickness, she sends him, till he recovers, twice the value of his wages, that he may have one part to give to his family, as usual, and the other to provide things convenient for his sickness. If a family seems too large to be supported by the labour of those that can work in it, she pays their rentj and gives them something yearly towards their clothing. By this means, there are many poor families that live in a comfortable manner, and are from year to year blessing her in their prayers. If there is any poor man or woman, that is more than ordinarily wicked and reprobate, Miranda has her eye upon them ; she watches their time of need and adversity ; and if she can discover that they are in any great straits, or affliction, she gives them speedy relief. She has this care for this sort of people, because she once saved a very profligate person from being carried to prison, who immediately became a true penitent. There is nothing in the character of Miranda more to be admired than this temper. For this tenderness of affection towards the most abandoned sinners, is the highest instance of a divine and god- I8i like soul, Miranda once passed by a house, where the man and his wife were cursinxy and swearincj at one another, in a most dreadful manner, and three children crying about them ; this sight so much af- fected her compassionate mind, that she went the next day, and brought the three children, that they might not be ruined by living with such wicked parents; they now live with Miranda, are blessed with her care and prayers, and all the good works which she can do for them. They hear her talk, they see her live, they join with her in psalms and prayers. The eldest of them has already converted his parents from their wicked life, and shows a turn of mind so remarkably pious, that Miranda intends him for holy orders — that being thus saved himself, he may be zealous in the salvation of souls, and do to other miserable objects as she has done to him. Miranda is a constant relief to poor people in their misfortunes and accidents ; there are sometimes little misfortunes that happen to them, which of themselves they could never be able to overcome. The death of a cow, or a horse, or some little robbery, would keep them in distress all their lives. She does not suffer them to grieve under such accidents as these. She immediately gives them the full value of their loss, and makes use of it as a mean of raising their minds towards God. She has a great tenderness for old people that are grown past their labour. The parish allowance for such people is very seldom a comfortable maintenance ; for this reason they are the constant objects of her care ; she adds so much to their allowance as somewhat exceeds the wages they got when they were young. This she does to 185 comfort the infirmities of their age, that being free from trouble and distress, they may serve God in peace and tranquihty of mind. She has generally a large number of this kind, who, by her charities and exhortations to holiness, spend their last days in great piety and devotion. Miranda never wants compassion, even to common beggars; especially towards those that are old, or sick, or full of sores, that want eyes or limbs. She hears their complaints with tenderness, gives them some proof of her kindness, and never rejects them with hard or reproachful language, for fear of adding afflictions to her fellow-creatures. If a poor old traveler tells her, that he has neither strength, nor food, nor money left, she never bids him go to the place from whence he came, or tells him that she cannot relieve him, because he may be a cheat, or, she does not know him; but she relieves him, for that reason, because he is a stranger, and unknown to her. For it is the most noble part of charity, to be kind and tender to those whom we never saw before, and perhaps never may see again in this life. " I was a stranger, and ye took me in," saith our blessed Saviour; but who can perform this duty that will not relieve persons that are unknown to him ? Miranda considers that Lazarus was a common beggar, that he was the care of angels, and carried into Abraham's bosom. She considers, that our blessed Saviour and his apostles were kind to beggars; that they spoke comfortably to them, healed their diseases, and restored eyes and limbs to the lame and blind ; that Peter said to the beggar that wanted 186 an alms from him, " Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee : in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." Miranda, therefore, never treats beggars with disregard and aversion, but she imitates the kindness of our Sa- viour and his apostles towards them ; and though she cannot, like them, work miracles for their relief, yet she relieves them with that power that she hath ; and may say with the apostle, " such as I have give I thee in the name of Jesus Christ." It may be, says Miranda, that I may often give to those that do not deserve it, or that will make an ill use of my alms. But what then? Is not this the very method of divine goodness? Does not God " make his sun to rise on the evil and on the good ?" Is not this the very goodness that is recom- mended to us in Scripture, that by imitating of it, we may be children of our Father who is in heaven, " who sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust?" And shall I withhold a little money, or food, from my fellow-creature, for fear he should not be good enough to receive it of me ? Do I beg of God to deal with me, not according to my merit, but accord- ing to his own great goodness ; and shall I be so absurd as to withhold my charity from a poor brother, because he may perhaps not deserve it? Shall I use a measure towards him which I pray God never to use towards me ? Besides, where has the Scrip- ture made merit the rule or measure of charity? On the contrary, the Scripture saith, " If thy enemy hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, give him drink." Now this plainly teaches us, that the merit of per- sons is to be no rule of our charity; but that we are 187 to do acts of kindness to those that least of all de- serve it. For if I am to love and do good to my worst enemies — if 1 am to be charitable to them, notwithstanding all their spite and malice, surely merit is no measure of charity. If I am not to withhold my charity from such bad people, and who are at the same time my enemies, surely I am not to deny alms to poor beggars, whom I neither know to be bad people, nor any way my enemies. You will perhaps say, that by this means I en- courage people to be beggars. But the same thoughtless objection may be made against all kinds of charities, for they may encourage people to depend upon them. The same may be said against forgiving our enemies, for it may encourage people to do us hurt. The same may be said even against the goodness of God, that by pouring his blessings on the evil and on the good, on the just and on the unjust, evil and unjust men are encouraged in their wicked ways. The same may be said against cloth- ing the naked, or giving medicines to the sick, for that may encourage people to neglect themselves, and be careless of their health. But when the love of God dwell eth in you, when it has enlarged your heart, and filled your bowels with mercy and com- passion, you will make no more such objections as these. When you are at any time turning away the poor, the old, the sick, and helpless traveler, the lame, or the blind, ask yourself this question. Do I sincerely wish these poor creatures may be as happy as Laza- rus, that was carried by angels into Abraham's bo- som ? Do I sincerely desire that God would make 18R them fellow-heirs with me in eternal glory? Now if you search into your soul, you will find that there is none of these motions there, that you are wishing nothing of this. For it is impossible for any one to heartily wish a poor creature so great a happiness, and yet not have a heart to give him a small alms. For this reason, says Miranda, as far as I can, I give to all, because I pray to God to forgive all : and I cannot refuse an alms to those whom I pray God to bless, whom I wish to be partakers of eternal glory ; but am glad to show some degree of love to such as I hope will be the objects of the infinite love of God. And if, as our Saviour has assured us, it be "more blessed to give than to receive," we ought to look upon those that ask our alms, as so many friends and benefiictors, that come to do us a greater good than they can receive, that come to exalt our virtue, to be witnesses of our charity, to be mo- numents of our love, to be our advocates with God, to be to us in Christ's stead, to appear for us at the day of judgment, and to help us to a blessedness greater than our alms can bestow on them. This is the spirit and this is the life of the de- vout Miranda ; and if she lives ten years longer, she will have spent sixty hundred pounds in charity ; for that which she allows herself, may fairly be reckoned amongst her alms. When she dies, she must shine amongst apostles and saints and martyrs ; she must stand amongst the first servants of God, and be glo- rious amongst those that have fought the good fight, and finished their course with joy. 189 CHAPTER IX. Some Reflections wponthe Life of Miranda^ and showing how it may and ought to be imitated by all her sex. Now, this life of Miranda, which I heartily recom- mend to the imitation of her sex, however contrary it may seem to the way and fashion of the world, is yet suitable to the true spirit, and founded upon the plainest doctrines of Christianity. To live as she does, is as truly suitable to the Gospel of Christ, as to be baptised, or receive the sacrament. Her spirit is that which animated the saints of former ages ; and it is because they lived as she does, that we now celebrate their memories, and praise God for their examples. There is nothing that is whimsical, trifling, or ■unreasonable, in her character, but every thing there described, is a right and proper instance of a solid and real piety. It is as easy to show, that it is whimsical to go to church, or to say one's prayers, as that it is whimsical to observe any of these rules of life. For all Miranda's rules of living unto God, of spending her time and fortune, of eating, working, dressing, and conversing, are as substantial parts of a reasonable and holy life as devotion and prayer. For there is nothhig to be said for the wisdom of sobriety, the wisdom of devotion, the wisdom of charity, or the wisdom of humility, but what is as good an argument for the wise and reasonable use of 190 apparel. Neither can any thing be said against the folly of luxury, the folly of sensuality, the folly of extravagance, the folly of prodigality, the folly of ambition, or idleness, or indulgence, but what must be said against the folly of dress. For religion is as deeply concerned in the one as in the other. If you may be vain in one thing, you may be vain in every thing ; for one kind of vanity only differs from another, as one kind of intemperance differs from another. If you spend your fortune in the needless, vain finery of dress, you cannot condemn prodigality, or extravagance, or luxury, without con- demning yourself. If you fancy that it is your only folly, and that therefore there can be no great matter in it, you are like those that think they are only guilty of the folly of coveteousness or the folly of ambition. Now, though some people may live so plausible a life, as to appear chargeable with no other fault than that of covetousness or ambition ; yet the case is not as it appears, for covetousness or ambition cannot subsist in a heart in other respects rightly devoted to God. In like manner, though some people may spend most that they have in needless expensive ornaments of dress, and yet seem to be in every other respect truly pious, yet it is certainly false ; for it is as im- possible for a mind that is in a true state of religion, to be vain in the use of cloaths, as to be vain in the use of alms or devotions. Now to convince you of this from your own reflections, let us suppose that some eminent saint, as for instance, that the holy virgin Mary was sent into the world, to be again in a state of trial for a few years, and that you were 191 going to her, to be edified by her great piety : Would you expect to find her dressed out, and adornsd in fine and expensive cloaths ? No. You would know in your own mind, that it was as im- possible as to find her learning to dance. Do but add saint, or holy, to any person, either man or woman, and your own mind tells you immediately that such a character cannot admit of the vanity of fine apparel. A saint genteelly dressed, is as great nonsense as an apostle in an embroidered suit ; every one's own natural sense convinces him of the incon- ststency of these things. Now what is the reason, that when you think of a saint, or eminent servant of God, you cannot ad- mit of the vanity of apparel ? Is it not because it is inconsistent with such a right state of heart, such true and exalted piety ? And is not this, therefore, a demonstration, that where such vanity is admitted, there a right state of heart, true and exalted piety, must needs be wanted? For as certainly as the holy virgin Mary could not indulge herself, or conform to the vanity of the world in dress and figure, so certain is it, that none can indulge themselves in this vanity but those who want her piety of heart ; and consequently it must be owned, that all needless and expensive finery of dress is the effect of a dis- ordered heart, that is not governed by the true spirit of religion. Covetousness is not a crime because there is any harm in gold or silver, but because it supposes a foolish and unreasonable state of mind, that is fallen from its true good, and sunk into such a poor and wretched satisfaction. In like manner, the expen- •192 sive finery of dress is not a crime, because there is any thing good or evil in cloaths, but because the expensive ornaments of clothing, shows a foolish and unreasonable state of heart, that is fallen from right notions of human nature, that abuses the end of clothing, and turns the necessities of life into so many instances of pride and folly. All the world agree in condemning remarkable fops. Now what is the reason of it ? Is it because there is any thing sinful in their particular dress, or affected manners ? No : but it is because all people know that it shows the state of a man's mind, and that it is impossible for so ridiculous an outside to have any thing wise, or reasonable, or good within. And indeed, to suppose a fop of great piety, is as much nonsense, as to suppose a coward of great courage. So that all the world agree in owning, that the use and manner of cloaths, is a mark of the state of a man's mind, and consequently, that it is a thing highly essential to religion. But then it should be well considered, that as it is not only the sot that is guilty of intemperance, but every one that transgresses the right and religious measures of eating and drinking ; so it should be considered, that it is not only the fop that is guilty of the vanity and abuses of dress, but every one that departs from the reasonable and religious ends of clothing. As therefore every argument against sottishness, is as good an argument against all kinds of intem- perance; so every argument against the vanity of fops, is as good an argument against ail vanity and abuse of dress. For they are all of the same kind, and only differ, as one degree of hitemperance may 193 differ from another. She who only paints a little, may as justly accuse another, because she paints a great deal, as she that uses but a common finery of dress accuse another that is extensive in her finery. For as in the matter of temperance, there is no rule hut the sobriety that is according to the doctrines and spirit of our religion ; so in the matter of ap- parel, there is no rule to be observed but such a right use of cloaths as is strictly according to the doctrines and spirit of our religion. To pretend to make the way of the world our measure in these things, is as weak and absurd as to make the way of the world the measure of our sobriety, abstinence, or humility. It is a pretence that is exceedingly absurd in the mouths of Christians, who are to be so far from conforming to the fashions of this life, that to have overcome the world is made an essen- tial mark of Christianity. This therefore is the way that you are to judge of the crime of vain apparel : you are to consider it as an offence against the proper use of cloaths, as co- vetousness is an offence against the proper use of money ; you are to consider it as an indulgence of proud and unreasonable tempers, as an offence against the humility and sobriety of the Christian spirit; you are to consider it as an offence against all those doc- trmes that require you to do all to the glory of God, that require you to make a right use of your talents : you are to consider it as an offence against all those texts of Scripture that command you to love your neighbour as yourself, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, and do all works of charity that you are able ; so that you must not deceive yourself by say- I 30 194 ing, Where can be the harm of cloaths? ibr the covetous man might as well say, Where can be the harm of gold or silver? but you must consider, that it is a ffreat deal of harm to want that wise and reasonable and humble state of heart which is ac- cording to the spirit of religion, and which no one can have in the manner that he ought to have it who indulges himself either in the vanity of dress, or the desire of riches. There is therefore nothing right in the use of cloaths, or in the use of any thing else in the world but the plainness and simplicity of the Gospel. Every other use of things (however polite and fashionable in the v/orld) distracts and dis- t>rders the heart, and is inconsistent with that in- ward state of piety, that purity of heart, that wisdom of mind, and regularity of affection, which Chris- tianity requireth. If you would be a good Christian, there is but one way, you must live wholly unto God; and if vou would live wholly unto God, you must live ac- cording to the wisdom that comes from God; you must act according to right judgments of the nature and value of things ; you must live in the exercise of lioly and heavenly affections, and use all the gifts of God to his praise and glory. Some persons perhaps, who admire the purity and perfection of this life of Miranda, may say, How can it be proposed as a common example? How can we who are married, or we who are under the direction of our parents, imitate such a life ? It is answered, Just as you may imitate the life of our blessed Savi- our and his apostles. The circumstances of our Saviour's life, and the state and condition of his 195 apostles, were more different from yours than is that of Miranda's; and yet their hfe, the purity and perfection of their behaviour, is the common exampk^ that is proposed to all Christians. It is their spirit, therefore, their piety, their love of God, that you are to imitate, and not the particular form of their life. Act under God as they did. direct your com- mon actions to that end which they did, glorify your proper state with such love of God, such charity to your neighbour, such humility and self-denial, as they did; and then, though you are only teacliing vour own children, and St, Paul is converting whole nations, yet you are following his steps, and acting after his example. Do not think, therefore, that you cannot or need not be like Miranda, because you are not in her state of life; for as the same spirit and temper would have made Miranda a saint, though she had been forced to labour for a maintenance, so if you will but aspire after her spirit and temper, every form and condition of life will furnish you with sufficient means of employing it. Miranda is what she is, because she does every thing in the name and with regard to her duty to God; and when you do the same, you will be exactly like her, though you are ever so different from her in the outward state of your life. You are married, you say ; therefore you have not your time and fortune in your power as she lias. It is very true; and therefore you cannot spend so much time nor so much money in the man- ner that she does. But now Miranda's perfection does not consist in this, that she spends so much time or so m.uch money in such a manner, but that 196 she is careful to make the best use of all that time, and all that fortune, which God has put into her liands. Do you, therefore, make the best use of all that time and money which is in your disposal, and then you are like Miranda. If she has two hundred pounds a-year, and you have only two mites, have vou not the more reason to be exceedingly exact in the wisest use of them ? If she has a great deal of time, and you have but a little, ought you not to be the more watchful and circumspect, lest that little should be lost? You say, if you were to imitate the cleanly plain- ness and cheapness of her dress, you should offend your husbands. First, Be very sure that this is true before you make it an excuse. Secondly, If your husbands do really require you to patch your faces, to expose your breasts naked, and to be fine and expensive in all your apparel, then take these two resolutions : 1st, To forbear from all this, as soon as your husbands will permit you. 2dly, To use your utmost endeavours to recom- mend yourselves to their affections by such solid vir- tues, as may correct the vanity of their minds, and teach them to love you for such qualities as will make vou amiable in the sight of God and his holy angels. As to this doctrine concerning the plainness and modesty of dress, it may perhaps be thought by some, to be sufficiently confuted by asking, whether all persons are to be clothed in the same manner ^ These questions are generally put by those who had 197 rather perplex the plainest truths than be obhged to follow thera. Let it be supposed, that I had recoramended a universal plainness of diet. It is not a thing suffi- ciently reasonable to be universally recommended? But would it thence follow, that the nobleman and the labourer were to live upon the same food ? Sup- pose I had pressed a universal temperance, does not religion enough justify such a doctrine ? But would it therefore follow, that all people were to drink the same hquors, and in the same quantity? In like manner, though plainness and sobriety of dress is recommended to all, yet it does by no means follow, that all are to be clothed in the same manner. Now what is the particular rule with regard to temperance? How shall particular persons that use different liquors, and in different quantities, preserve their temperance ? Is not this the rule ? Are they not to guard against indulgence, to make their use of liquors a matter of conscience, and allow of no re- freshments but such as are consistent with the strict- est rules of Christian sobriety ? Now transfer this rule to the matter of apparel, and all questions about it are answered. Let every one but guard against the vanity of dress, let them but make their use of cloaths a matter of conscience, let them but desire to make the best use of their money, and then every one has a rule that is sufficient to direct them in every state of life. This rule will no more let the great be vain in their dress than intemperate in their liquors ; and yet will leave it as lawful to have some difference in their apparel as to have some difference in their drink. 198 But now you will say, that you may use the finest richest wines when and as you please — that you may be as expensive in them as you have a mind, because different liquors are allowed. If not, how can it be said, that you may use cloaths as you please, and wear the richest things you can get, because the bare difference of cloaths is lawful? For as the lawful- ness of different liquors leaves no room nor any ex- cuse for the smallest degrees of intemperance in drinking, so the lawfulness of different apparel leaves no room, nor any excuse for the smallest degrees of vanity in dress. To ask what is vanity in dress is no more a puzzling question, than to what is intem- perance in drinking. And though religion does not here state the particular measure for all individuals, yet it gives such general rules, as are a sufficient direction in every state of life. He that lets religion teach him, that the end of drinking is only so far to refresh our spirits, as to keep us in good health, and make soul and body fitter for all the offices of a holy and pious life, and that he is to desire to glorify God by a right use of this liberty, will always know what intemperance is, in his particular state. So he that lets religion teach him, that the end of clothing is only to hide our shame and nakedness, and to secure our bodies from the injuries of weather, and that he is to desire to glorify God by a sober and wise use of his necessity, will always know what vanity of* dress is, in his particular state. And he that thinks it a needless nicety, to talk of the religious use of apparel, has as much reason to think it a needless nicety to talk of the religious use of liquors. For luxury and indulgence in dress, is as great an abuse 199 as luxury and indulgence in eating and drinking. And there is no avoiding either of them, but bv making religion the strict measure of our allowanct? in both cases. And there is nothing in religion to excite a man to this pious exactness in one case, but what is as good a motive to the same exactness in the other. Further, as all things that are lawful are not therefore expedient, so there are some things lawful in the use of liquors and apparel which, by abstain- ing from them for pious ends, may be made means oF great perfection. Thus for instance, if a man should deny himself such use of liquors as is lawful; if he should refrain from such expense in his drink as might -be allowed without sin ; if he should do this not only for the sake of a more pious self-denial, but that he might be able to relieve and refresh the help- less, poor, and sick; if another should abstain from the use of that which is lawful in dress, if he should be more frugal and mean in his habit than the ne- cessities of religion absolutely require ; if he should do this not only as a means of a better humility, but that he may be more able to clothe other people : these persons might be said to do that which was highly suitable to the true spirit, though not abso- lutely required by the letter, of the laws of Christ. For if those who give a cup of cold water to a dis- ciple of Christ, shall not lose their reward ; how dear must they be to Christ, who often take water to them- selves, that they may be able to give wine to the sick and languishing members of Christ's body ! But to return. All that has been here said to married woman, may serve for the same instruction 200 to such as are still under the direction of their parents. Now though the obedience which is due to parents does not obhge them to carry their virtues any higher than their parents require them ; yet their obedience requires them to submit to their direction in all things not contrary to the laws of God. If, there- fore, your parents require you to live more in the fashion and conversation of the world, or to be more expensive in your dress and person, or to dispose of your time otherwise than suits with your desires after greater perfections, you must submit, and bear it as your cross, till you are at liberty to follow the higher counsels of Christ, and have it in your power to choose the best ways of raising your virtue to its greatest height. Now although, whilst you are in this state, you may be obliged to forego some means of improving your virtue, yet there are some others to be found in it, that are not to be had in a life of more liberty. For if in this state, where obedience is so great a virtue, you comply in all things lawful, out of a pious, tender sense of duty, then those things which you thus perform, instead of being hinderances of your virtue, are turned into means of improving it. What you lose by being restrained from such things, as you would choose to observe, you gain by that excellent virtue of obedience, in humbly complying against your temper. Now what is here granted is only in things lawful; and therefore the diversion of our English stage is here excepted; being elsewhere proved, as I think, to be absolutely unlawful. Thus much to show how persons, under the direction of others, may imitate the wise and pious life of Mi- randa. 201 But as for those who are altogether in their own hands, if the Hberty of their state makes them covet the best gifts, if it carries them to choose the most excellent ways, if they, having all in their own power, should turn the whole form of their Hfe into a regu- lar exercise of the highest value, happy are they who have so learned Christ. All persons cannot receive this saying. They that are able to receive it, let them receive it, and bless the Spirit of God, who has put such good motions into their hearts. God may be served and glorified in every state of life. But as there are some states of life more de- sirable than others, that more purify our natures, that more improve our virtues, and dedicate us unto God in a higher manner, so those who are at liberty to choose for themselves, seem to be called by God to be more eminently devoted to his service. Ever since the beginning of Christianity, there have been two orders or ranks of people amongst good Christians. The one that feared and served God in the common offices and business of a secular worldly hfe. The other, renouncing the common business and common enjoyments of life, as riches, marriage, honours, and pleasures, devoted themselves to voluntary poverty, virginity, devotion, and retire- ment, that by this means they might live wholly unto God, in the daily exercise of a divine and heavenly life. This testimony I have from the famous ecclesiastical historian Eusebius, who lived at the time of the first general council, when the faith of our Nicene Creed was established, when the Church was in its greatest glory and purity, when its bishops were so many holy fathers and eminent saints. I 2 202 " Therefore," saith he, " there iiath been insti- tuted ill the Church of Christ two ways or manners of Uving. The one, raised above the ordinary state of nature and common ways of living, rejects wed- lock possessions and worldly goods, and being wholly separate and removed from the ordinary conversation of common life, is appropriated and devoted solely to the worship and service of God, through an ex- ceeding degree of heavenly love. " They w^ho are of this order of people, seem dead to the life of this world, and having their bodies only upon earth, are in their minds and contempla- tions dwelling in heaven : from whence, like so many heavenly inhabitants, they look down upon human life, making intercessions and oblations to Almighty God, for the whole race of mankind. And this not with the blood of beasts, or the fat, or smoke and burning of bodies, but with the highest exercises of true piety, with cleansed and purified hearts, and with a whole form of life strictly devoted to virtue. These are their sacrifices, which they continually offer unto God, imploring his mercy and favour for themselves and their fellow-creatures. Christianity receives this as the perfect manner of life. The other is of a lower form, and suiting itself more to the condition of human nature, admits of chaste wedlock, the care of children and family, of trade and business, and goes through all the em- ployments of life under a sense of piety, and fear of God. Now they who have chosen this manner of life have their set times lor retirement and spiritual exercises, and particular days are set apart for their hearing and learning the word of God, And this 203 order of people are considered as in the second state of piety."* Thus this learned historian. If, therefore, per- sons of either sex, moved with the life of Miranda, and desirous of perfection, should unite themselves into little societies, professing voluntary poverty, virginity, retirement, and devotion, living upon bare necessaries, that some might be relieved by their charities, and all be blessed with their prayers, and benefited by their example; or if, for want of this, they should practise the same manner of life, in as high a degree as they could by themselves ; such persons would be so far from being chargeable with any superstition, or blind devotion, that they might be justly said to restore that piety, which was the boast and glory of the Church, when its greatest saints were alive. Now, as this learned historian observes that it was an exceedingly great degree of heavenly love that carried these persons so much above the common ways of life, to such an eminent state of holiness : so it is not to be wondered at, that the rehgion of Jesus Christ should fill the hearts of many Christians with this high degree of love. For a relio-ion that opens a scene of glory, that discovers things so in- finitely above all the world, that so triumphs over death, that assures us of such mansions of bliss, where we shall soon be as the angels of God in heaven ; what wonder is it, if such a religion, such truths and expectations, should, in some holy souls, destroy all earthly desires, and make the ardent love of heavenly things be the one continual passion of their^hearts ? * Euseb. Dem. Evan. lib. 1, c. 8. 501 If" the religion of Christians is founded upon the infinite humiliation, the cruel mockhigs and scourg- ings, the prodigious sufferings, the poor, persecuted life and painful death of a crucified Son of God; what wonder is it, if many humble adorers of this profound mystery, many affectionate lovers of a cru- cified Lord, should renounce their share of worldly pleasures, and give themselves up to a continual course of mortification and self-denial, that thus suf- fering with Christ here, they may reign with him hereafter ? If truth itself hath assured us that '' there is but one thing needful," what wonder is it, that there should be some amongst Christians so full of faith, as to believe this in the hig-hest sense of the words, and to desire such a separation from the world that their care and attention to the one thinff needful may not be interrupted? If our blessed Lord hath said, " if thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come and follow me;" what wonder is it, that there should be amongst Christians some such zealous followers of Christ, so intent upon heavenly treasure, so desirous of per- fection, that they should renounce the enjoyment of their estates, choose a voluntary poverty, and relieve all the poor that they are able? If the chosen vessel, St. Paul, hath said, " he that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord : and that there is this dif- ference also between a wife and a virgin ; the un- married woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and spirit;" what wonder is it, if the purity and perfection of the virgin 205 state hath been the praise and glory of the Church in its first and purest ages — that there have always been some so desirous of pleasing God, so zealous after every degree of purity and perfection, so glad of every means of improving their virtue, that they have renounced the comforts and enjoyments of wed- lock, to trim their lamps, to purify their souls, and wait upon God in a state of perpetual virginity? And if in these our days, we want examples of these several degrees of perfection — if neither clergy nor laity have enough of this spirit — if we are so far departed from it, that a man seems, like St. Paul at Athens, a setter forth of strange doctrines, when he recommends self-denial, renunciation of the world, regular devotion, retirement, virginity, and voluntary poverty — it is because we are fallen into an age, where the love not only of many, but of most, is waxed cold. J have made this little appeal to antiquity, and quoted these few passages of Scripture to support some uncommon practices in the life of Miranda; and to show that her highest rules of holy living, her devotion, self-denial, renunciation of the world, her charity, virginity, voluntary poverty, are founded in the sublimest counsels of Christ and his apostles, suitable to the high expectations of another life, pro- per instances of a heavenly love, and all followed by the greatest saints of the best and purest ages of the Church. — *' He that hath ears to hear, let him hear." 206 CHAPTER X. How all orders and ranks of men and women, of all ages, are obliged to devote themselves unto Gcd, I HAVE, in the foregoing chapters, gone through the several great instances of Christian devotion, and shown that all the parts of our common life, our employments, our talents, and gifts of fortune, are all to be made holy and acceptable unto God, by a wise and religious use of every thing, and by directing our actions and designs to such ends as are suitable to the honour and glory of God. I shall now show, that this regularity of devotion, this holiness of com- mon life, this religious use of every thing we have, is a devotion that is the duty of all orders of Chris- tian people. Fulvius has had a learned education, and taken his degrees in the university; he came from thence, that he might be free from any rules of life. He takes no employment upon him, nor enters into any busi- ness, because he thinks that every employment or business calls people to the careful performance and just discharge of its several duties. When he is grave, he will tell you that he did not enter into holy orders, because he looks upon it to be a state that requires great holiness of life, and that it does not suit his temper to be so good. He will tell you that he never intends to marry, because he cannot oblige himself to that regularity of life, and good behaviour, which he takes to be the duty of those that are at the head of a family. He refused to be godfather to 207 his nephew, because he will have no trust of any kind to answer for. Fnlvius thinks that he is conscientious in this conduct, and is, therefore, content with the most idle, impertinent, and careless life. He has no religion, no devotion, no pretences to piety. He lives by no rules, and thinks all is very well, because he is nei- ther a priest, nor a father, nor a guardian, nor has any employment or family to look after. But, Ful- vius, you are a rational creature, and as such, are as much obliged to live according to reason and order, as a priest is obliged to attend at the altar, or a guardian to be faithful to his trust; if you live contrary to reason, you do not commit a small crime, you do not break a small trust, but you break the law oFyour nature, you rebel against God who gave you that nature, and put yourself amongst those whom the God of reason and order will punish as apostates and deserters. Though you have no em- ployment, yet as you are baptized into the profession of Christ's religion, you are as much obliged to live according to the holiness of the Christian spirit, and perform all the promises made at your baptism, as any man is obliged to be honest and faithful in his calling. If you abuse this great calling, you are not false in a small matter, but you abuse the pre- cious blood of Christ ; you crucify the Son of God afresh; you neglect the highest instances of divine goodness; you disgrace the church of God; you blemish the body of Christ; you abuse the means of grace, and the promises of glory; and " it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon, at the day of judgraent,'than for you." 208 It is, therefore, great folly for any one to think himself at liberty to live as he pleases, because he is not in such a state of life as some others are : for if there is any thing dreadful in the abuse of any trust ; if there is any thing to be feared for the neglect of any calling; there is nothing more to be feared than the wrong use of our reason, nor any thing more to be dreaded, than the neglect of our Christian calling; which is not to serve the little uses of a short life, but to redeem souls unto God, to fill heaven with saints, and finish a kingdom of eternal glory unto God. No man, therefore, must think himself ex- cused from the exactness of piety and morality, be- cause he has chosen to be idle, and independent, in the world ; for the necessities of a reasonable and holy life are not founded in the several conditions and employments of his life, but in the immutable nature of God, and the nature of man. A man is not to be reasonable and holy, because he is a priest, or a father of a family; but he is to be a pious priest, and a good father, because piety and goodness are the laws of human nature. Could any man please God, without living according to reason and order, there would be nothing displeasing to God in an idle priest, or a reprobate father. He, therefore, that abuses his reason, is like him that abuses the priest- hood ; and he that neglects the holiness of the Chris- tian life, is as the man that disregards the most im- portant trust. If a man was to choose to put out his eyes, rather than enjoy the light and see the works of God ; if he should voluntarily kill himself by refusing to eat and drink; every one would own, that such a one 209 was a re I 'bel against God, that justly deserved his highest indignation. You would not say, that this was only sinful in a priest or a master of a family, but in every man as such. Now, wherein does the sinfulness of this behaviour consist? Does it not consist in this, that he abuses his nature, and refuses to act that part for which God had created him? But if this be true, then all persons that abuse their reason, that act a different part from that for which God created them, are like this man, rebels against God, and on the same account subject to his wrath. Let us suppose that this man, instead of putting out his eyes, had only employed them in looking at ridiculous things, or shut them up in sleep; that, instead of starving himself to death by not eating at all, he should turn every meal into a feast, and eat and drink like an epicure ; should he be said to have lived more to the glory of God ? Could he any more be said to act the part for which God had created him, than if he had put out his eyes, and starved himself to death ? Now do but suppose a man acting unreasonably ; do but suppose him ex- tinguishing his reason, instead of putting out his eyes, and living in a course of folly and impertinence, instead of starving himself to death ; and then you have found out as great a rebel against God. For he that puts out his eyes, or murders himself, has only this guilt, that he abuses the powers that God has given him ; that he refuses to act that part for which he was created, and puts himself into a state that is contrary to the divine will. And surely this is the guilt of every one that lives an unreasonable, unholy, and foolish life. As, therefore, no parti- 210 cular state, or private life, is an excuse for the abuse of our bodies, or self-murder, — so no particular state, or private life, is an excuse for the abuse of our reason, or the ne£jlect of the holiness of the Chris- tian religion. For surely it is as much the will of God, that we sliould make the best u^e of our ra- tional faculties, that we should conform to the purity and holiness of Christianity, as it is the will of God, that we should use our eyes, and eat and drink for the preservation of our lives. Till, therefore, a man can show, that he sincerely endeavours to live according to the will of God, to be that which God requires him to be ; untill he can show, that he is striving to live according to the ho- liness of the Christian religion ; whosoever he be, or wheresoever he be, he has all that to answer for that they have who refuse to live thus, who abuse the greatest trusts, and neglect the highest calling in the world. Every body acknowledges, that all orders of men are to be equally and exactly honest and faithful ; there is no exception to be made in these duties, for any private or particular state of life. Now, if we would but attend to the reason and nature of things ; if we would but consider the nature of God, and the nature of man, we should find the same necessity for every other right use of our reason, for every grace, or religious temper, of the Christian life ; we should find it as absurd to suppose, that one man must be exact in piety, and another need not, as to suppose that one man must be exact in honesty, but another need not. For Christian humility, sobriety, devo- tion, and piety, are as great and necessary parts of 211 a reasonable life, as justice and honesty. And on the other hand, pride, sensuality, and covetousness, are as great disorders of the soul, are as high an abuse of our reason, and as contrary to God, as cheating and dishonesty. Theft and dishonesty seem indeed, to vulgar eyes, to be greater sins, because they are so hurtful to civii society, and are so severely punished by human laws. But if we consider mankind in a higher view, as God's order or society of rational beings, that are to glorify him by the right use of their reason, and by acting conformably to the order of their na- ture, we shall find, that every temper that is equally contrary to reason and order, that opposes God's ends and designs, and disorders the beauty and glory of the rational world, is equally sinful in man, and equally odious to God. This would show us, that the sin of sensuality is like the sin of dishonesty, and renders us as great objects of the divine displeasure. Again; if we consider mankind in a further view, as a redeemed order of fallen spirits, that are bap- tized into a fellowship with the Son of God; to be temples of the Holy Ghost ; to live according to his holy inspirations ; to offer to God the reasonable sacrifice of an humble, pious, and thankful life ; to purify themselves from the disorders of their fall ; to make a right use of the means of grace, in order to be sons of eternal glory : if we look at mankind in this true light, then we shall find, that all tempers that are contrary to this holy society, that are abuses of this infinite mercy ; all actions that make us unlike to Christ, that disgrace his body, that abuse the means of grace, and oppose our hopes of glory, have 212 evorv thing in them that can make us for ever odious unto God. So that though pride and sensuality, and other vices of the like kind, do not hurt civil society, as cheating and dishonesty do ; yet they hurt that society, and oppose those ends, which are greater and more glorious in the eyes of God, than all the societies that relate to this world. Nothing therefore can be more false, than to imagine, that because we are private persons, that have taken upon us no charge or employment of life, that therefore we may live more at large, indulge our appetites, and be less careful of the duties of piety and holiness; for it is as good an excuse for cheating and dishonesty. Because he that abuses his reason, that indulges himself in lust and sensu- ality, and neglects to act the wise and reasonable part of a true Christian, has every thing in his life to render him hateful to God, that is to be found in cheating and dishonesty. If, therefore, you rather choose to be an idle epicure, than to be unfaithful; if you rather choose to live in lust and sensuality, than to injure your neighbour in his goods ; you have made no better a provision for the favour of God, than he that rather chooses to rob a house than to rob a church. For the abusing of our own nature is as great a disobedience against God, as the injur- ing our neighbour; and he that wants piety towards God, has done as much to damn himself, as he that wants honesty towards men. Every argument, there- fore, that proves it necessary for all men, in all sta- tions of life, to be truly honest, proves it equally necessary for all men in all stations of life, to be truly holy and pious, and do all tilings in such a man- ner as is suitable to the glory of God. 213 Again ; another argument to prove, that all orders of men are obhged to be thus holy and devout in the common course of their lives, in the use of every thing that they enjoy, may be taken from our obliga- tion to prayer. It is granted, that prayer is a duty that belongs to all states and conditions of men : now if we enquire into the reason of this, why no state of life is to be excused from prayer, we shall find it as good a reason, why every state of life is to be made a state of piety and holiness in all its parts. For tlie reason, why we are to pray unto God, and praise him with hymns and psalms of thanksgiving, is this, be- cause we are to live wholly unto God, and glorify him all possible ways. It is not because the praises of words, or forms of thanksgiving, are more particularly parts of piety, or more the worship of God than other things ; but it is, because they are possible ways of expressing our dependence, our obedience, and devo- tion to God. Now if this be the reason of verbal praises and thanksgivings to God, because we are to live unto God all possible ways, then it plainly follows, that we are equally obliged to worship and glorify God in all other actions, that can be turned into acts of piety and obedience to him. And as actions are of much more significancy than words, it must be a much more acceptable worship of God, to glorify him in all the actions of our common life, than with any- little form of words at any particular times. Thus, if God is to be worshipped with forms of thanksgivings, he that makes it a rule to be content and thankful in every part and accident of his life, because it comes from God, praises God in a much higher manner, than he that has some set time for 214 singing of psalms. He that dares not say an ill- natured word, or do an unreasonable thing, because lie considers God as every where present, performs a better devotion, than he that dares not miss the church. To live in the world as a stranger and a pilgrim, using all its enjoyments as if we used them not, making all our actions so many steps towards a better life, is offering a better sacrifice to God, than any forms of holy and heavenly prayers. To be humble in all our actions, to avoid every appearance of pride and vanity, to be meek and lowly in our words, actions, dress, behaviour, and designs, in imitation of our blessed Saviour, is worshipping (iod in a higher manner, than they who have only times to fall low on their knees in devotions. He that contents himself with necessaries, that he may give the remainder to those that want it; that dares not to spend any money foolishly, because he con- siders it as a talent from (^od which must be used according to his wish, praises God with something that is more glorious than songs of praise. He that has appointed times for the use of wise and pious prayers, performs a proper instance of de- votion ; but he that allows himself no times, nor any places, nor any actions, but such as are strictly con- formable to wisdom and holiness, worships the di- vine nature with the most true and substantial devo- tion. For who does not know, that it is better to be pure and holy, than talk about purity and holi- ness? Nay, who does not know, that a man is to be reckoned no further pure, or holy, or just, than as he is pure, and holy, and just in the common course of his Hfe? But if this be plain, then it is 215 also plain, that it is better to be holy, than to have holy prayers. Prayers, therefore, are so far from being a sufficient devotion, that they are the smallest parts of it. We are to praise God with words and prayers, because it is a possible way of glorifying God, who has given us such facukies as may be so used. But then as words are but small things in themselves, as times of prayer are but little, if com- pared with the rest of our lives : so that devotion which consists in times and forms of prayer^ is but a very small thing, if compared to that devotion which is to appear in every other part and circumstance of our lives. Again : as it is an easy thing to worship God with forms of words, and to observe times of offering them unto him, so it is the smallest kind of piety. And, on the other hand, as it is more difficult to worship God with our substance, to honour him with the right use of our time, to offer to him the continual sacrifice of self-denial and mortification ; as it requires more piety to eat and drink only for such ends as may glorify God, to undertake no labour, nor allow of any diversion, but where w^e can act in the name of God; as it is more difficult to sacrifice all our corrupt tempers, correct all our passions, and make piety to God the rule and measure of all the actions of our common life: so the devotion of this kind is a much more acceptable service unto God, than those words of devotion which we offer to him either in the church or in our closet. Every sober reader will easily perceive, that I do not intend to lessen the true and great value of prayers, either public or private ; but only to show 216 him, that they are certainiy but a very slender part of devotion, when compared to a devout life. To see this in a yet clearer light, let us suppose a per- son to have appointed times for praising God with psalms and hymns, and to be strict in the observance of them ; let it be supposed also, that in his common life he is restless and uneasy, full of murmurings and complaints at every thing, never pleased but by chance, as his temper happens to carry him, but murmuring and repining at the very seasons, and having something to dislike in every thing that happens to him. Now can you conceive any thing more absurd and unreasonable than such a character as this? Is such a one to be reckoned thankful to God, because he has forms of praise which he offers to him ? Nay, is it not certain, that such forms of praise must be so f^ir from being an acceptable de- votion to God, that they must be abhorred as an abomination? Now the absurdity which you see in this instance, is tlie same in any other part of our life ; if our common life hath any contrariety to our prayers, it is the same abomination, as songs of thanksijivincr in the mouths of murmurers. Bended knees, whilst you are clothed with pride; heavenly petitions, whilst you are hoarding up trea- sures upon earth ; holy devotions, whilst you live in the folHes of the world; prayers of meekness and charity, whilst your heart is the seat of spite and resentment; hours of prayers, whilst you give up days and years to idle diversions, impertinent visits, and foolish pleasures, are as absurd, unacceptable services to God, as forms of thanksgivings from a person that lives in repinings and discontent. So 217 that, unless the common course of our lives be ac- cording to the common spirit of our prayers, our prayers are so far from being a real or sufficient degree of devotion, that they become an empty lip- labour, or, what is worse, a notorious hypocrisy. Seeing therefore we are to make the spirit and temper of our prayers the common spirit and temper of our lives, this may serve to convince us, that all orders of people are to labour and aspire after the same utmost perfection of the Christian life. For as all Christians are to use the same holy and heavenly devotions, as they are all with the same earnestness to pray for the Spirit of God ; so is it a sufficient proof, that all orders of people are to the utmost of their power, to make their lives agreeable to that one Spirit, for which they are all to pray. As certain, therefore, as the same holiness of prayers requires the same holiness of life, so certain is it, that all Christians are called to the same holiness of life. A soldier or a tradesman is not called to minister at the altar, or preach the Gospel; but every soldier or tradesman is as much obliged to be devout, hum- ble, holy, and heavenly-minded in all the parts of his common life, as a clergyman is obhged to be zealous, faithful, and laborious in all parts of his profession. And all this for this one plain reason, because all people are to pray for the same holiness, wisdom, and divine tempers, and to make themselves as fit as they can for the same heaven. All men therefore, as men, have one and the same important business, to act up to the excellency of their rational nature, and to make reason and order K SO 218 the law of all their designs and actions. All Chris- tians, as Christians, have one and the same caHing, to live according to the excellency of the Christian spirit, and to make the sublime precepts of the Gospel the rule and measure of all their tempers in common life. The one thing needful to one, is the one thing needful to all. The merchant is no longer to hoard up treasures upon earth ; the soldier is no longer to fight for glory ; the great scholar is no longer to pride himself in the depths of science ; but they must all, with one spirit, " count all things but loss, for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus." The fine lady must teach her eyes to weep, and be clothed with humility. The polite gentleman must exchange the gay thoughts of wit and fancy, for a broken and a contrite heart. The man of quality must so far renounce the dignity of his birth, as to think himself miserable till he is born aojain. Servants must consider their service as done unto God. Masters must consider their servants as their brethren in Christ, that are to be treated as their fellow members of the mystical body of Christ. Young ladies must either devote themselves to piety, prayer, self-denial, and all good works, in a virgin state of life ; or else marry, to be holy, sober, and prudent in the care of a family, bringing up their children in piety, humility, and devotion, and abounding in all other good works, to the utmost of their state and capacity. They have no choice of any thing else, but must devote themselves to God in one of these states. They may choose a married or a single life; but it is not left to their choice, whether they will make either state a state of holi- 219 ness, humility, devotion, and all other duties of the Christian life. It is no more left in their power, because they have fortunes, or are born of rich parents, to divide themselves betwixt God and the world, to take such pleasures as their fortune will afford them, than it is allowable for them to be sometimes chaste and modest, and sometimes not. They are not to consider, how much religion may secure them a fair character, or how they may add devotion to an impertinent, vain, and giddy life ; but must look into the spirit and temper of their prayers, into the nature and end of Christianity, and then they will find, that whether married or unmarried, they have but one business upon their hands, to be wise and pious and holy, not in little modes and forms of worship, but in the whole turn of their minds, in the whole form of all their behaviour, and in the daily course of their common life. Young gentlemen must consider what our blessed Saviour said to the young gentleman in the Gospel : he bade him sell all that he had and give it to the poor. Now though this text should not oblige all people to sell all ; yet it certainly obliges all kinds of people to employ all their estates in such wise and reasonable and charitable ways, as may sufficiently show, that all that they have is devoted to God, and that no part of it is kept from the poor, to be spent in needless, vain, and foolish expenses. If, there- fore, young gentlemen propose to themselves a life of pleasure and indulgence, if they spend their estates in high living, in luxury and intemperance, in state and equipage, in pleasures and diversions;, in sports and gaming, and such like wanton griitifi- 220 cations of their foolish passions, they have as much reason to look upon themselves to be angels as to be disciples of Christ. Let them be assured, that it is the one only business of a christian gentleman, to distinguish himself by good works, to be eminent in the most sublime virtues of the Gospel, to bear with the itrnorance and weakness of the vulgar, to be a friend and patron to all that dwell about him, to live in the utmost heights of wisdom and holiness, and show through the whole course of his life a true re- ligious greatness of mind. They must aspire after such a gentility as they might have learnt from seeing the blessed Jesus, and show no other spirit of a gentleman but such as they might have got by living with the holy apostle. They must learn to love God with all their heart, with all their soul, and with all their strength, and their neighbour as them- selves : and then they have all the greatness and dis- tinction that they can have here, and are fit for an eternal happiness in heaven hereafter. Thus in all orders and conditions, either of men or women, this is the one common holiness, which is to be the common life of all Christians. The mer- chant is not to leave devotion to the clergyman, nor the clergyman to leave humility to the labourer ; women of fortune are not to leave it to the poor of their sex to be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, to adorn themselves in modest apparel, shamefacedness, and sobriety ; nor poor women leave it to the rich to attend at the worship and service of God. Great men must be eminent for true poverty of spirit, and people of a low and afHicted state must greatly re- joice in God. The man of strength and power is 221 to forgive and pray for his enemies, and the innocent sufferer that is chained in prison, must, with Paul and Silas, at midnight sing praises to God. For God is to be glorified, holiness is to be practised, and the spirit of religion is to be the common spirit of every Christian, in every state and condition of life. For the Son of God did not come from above to add an external form of worship to the several ways of life that are in the world, and so to leave people to live as they did before, in such tempers and en- joyments as the fashion and spirit of the world ap- proves ; but as he came down from heaven altogether divine and heavenly in his own nature, so it was to call mankind to a divine and heavenly life ; to the highest change of their whole nature and temper; to be born again of the Holy Spirit ; to walk in the wisdom and light and love of God; and be like him to the utmost of their power : to renounce all the most plausible ways of the world, whether of great- ness, business, or pleasure ; to a mortification of all their most agreeable passions; and to live in such wisdom and purity and holines, as might fit them to be glorious in the enjoyment of God to all eternity. Whatever therefore is foolish, ridiculous, vain, or earthly or sensual, in the life of a Christian, is some- thing that ought not to be there ; it is a spot and a defilement that must be washed awav with tears of repentance.* But if any thing of this kind runs * It is truly dangerous to substitute cause for effect, in prescrib- ing duty to a Christian. Tears of repentance, if they take their rise in a feeling or fear of the misery of sin, without any regard to its nature, as committed against God, have no religion in them, and are good for nothing in the Christian life. If, however, they 222 through the course of our whole life, if we allow ourselves in things that are either vain, foolish, or sensual, we renounce our profession. For as sure as Jesus Christ was wisdom and holiness, as sure as he came to make us like himself, and to be baptized into his spirit, so sure is it that none can be said to keep to their Christian profession but they who, to the utmost of their power, live a wise and holy and heavenly life. This and this alone is Christianity, a universal holiness in every part of life, a heavenly wisdom in all our actions, not conforming to the spirit and tempers of the world, but turning all worldly enjoyments into means of piety and devotion to God. But now, if this devout state of heart, if these habits of inward holiness be true religion, then true religion is equally the duty and happiness of all orders of men ; for there is nothing to recommend it to one that is not the same recommendation of it to all states of people. If it be the happiness and glory of a bishop to live in this devout spirit, full of those holy tempers, doing every thing as unto God, it is as much the glory and happiness of all men and women, whether young or old, to live in the same i>pirit. And whoever can find any reasons why an ancient bishop should be intent upon divine things, turning all his Hfe into the highest exercises of piety, wisdom, and devotion, will find them so many rea- are expressive of evangelical sorrow for sin, they are precious, as much as they are the fruits of gracious influence, and a pleas- ing indication that the process of washing is going on. But it is "the blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God," which "cleanseth from ail sin ;" and to imagine that tears of ours can have any effi- cacy whatever for gaining this end, is to turn away from the only fountain which God has opened for sin and for uncleanness — D. Y. 223 sons why he should, to the utmost of his power, do the same himself. If you say that a bishop must be an eminent example of Christian holiness, because of his high and sacred calling, you say Tight. But if you say, that it is more to his advantage to be ex- emplary than it is yours, you greatly mistake. For there is nothing to make the highest degrees of holiness desirable to a bishop, but what makes them equally desirable to every young person of every family. For an exalted piety, high devotion, and the religious use of every thing, is as much the glory and happiness of one state of life as it is of another. Do but fancy in your mind what a spirit of piety you would have in the best bishop in the world, hov/ you would have him love God, how you would have him imitate the life of our Saviour and his apostles, how you would have him live above the world, shin- ing in all the instances of a heavenly life, and then you have found out that spirit which you ought to make the spirit of your own life. I desire every reader to dwell a while upon this reflection, and perhaps he will find more conviction from it than he imagines. Every one can tell how good and pious he would have some people to be; every one knows how wise and reasonable a thing it is in a bishop to be entirely above the world, and be an eminent ex- ample of Christian perfection ; as soon as you think of a wise and ancient bishop, you fancy some ex- alted degree of piety, a living example of all those holy tempers which you find described in the Gospel. Now if you ask yourself, what is the happiest thing for a young clergyman to do ? You must be 224 forced to answer, that nothing can be so happy and glorious for him, as to be like that excellent holy bishop. If you go on and ask, what is the happiest thing for any young gentleman or his sisters to do? The answer must be the same — that nothing can be so happy or glorious for them as to live in such habits of piety, in such exercises of a divine life, as this good old bishop does. For every thing that is great and glorious in religion, is as much the true glory of every man or women as it is the glory of any bishop. If high degrees of divine love, if fervent charity, if spotless purity, if heavenly affection, if constant mortification, if frequent devotion, be the best and happiest way of life for any Christian, it is so for every Christian. Consider again ; if you were to see a bishop in the whole course of his life living below his character, conforming to all the foolish tempers of the world, and governed by the same cares and fears which govern vain and worldly men, what would you think of him ? would you think that he was only guilty of a stnall mistake ? No, you would condemn him, as erring in that which is not only the most but the only important matter that relates to him. Stay a while in this consideration, till your mind is fully convinced, how miserable a mistake it is in a bishop to Hve a careless worldly life. Whilst you are thinking in this manner, turn your thoughts towards some of your acquaintance, your brother, or sister, or any young person. Now if you see the common course of their lives to be not according to the doctrines of the Gospel, if you see that their way of life cannot be said to be a sincere endeavour to enter in at the strait gate, you see 225 something that you are to condemn, in the same degree, and for the same reasons. They do not commit a small mistake, but are wrong in that which is their all, and mistake their true happiness, as much as that bishop does who neglects the high duties of his calling. Apply this reasoning to yourself; if you find yourself living an idle, indulgent, vain life, choosing rather to gratify your passions than to live up to the doctrines of Christianity, and practise the plain precepts of our blessed Lord, you have all that blindness and unreasonableness to charge upon your- self that you can charge upon any irregular bishop. For all the virtues of the Christian life, its perfect purity, its heavenly tempers, are as much the sole rule of your life as the sole rule of the life of a bishop. If you neglect these holy tempers, if you do not eagerly aspire after them, if you do not show yourself a visible example of them, you are as much fallen from your true happiness, you are as great an enemy to yourself, and have made as bad a choice, as that bishop who chooses rather to enrich his family than to be like an apostle. For there is no reason, why you should think the highest holiness, the most heavenly tempers, to be the duty and happiness of a bishop, but what is as good a reason why you should think the same tempers to be the duty and happiness of all Christians. And as the wisest bishop in the world is he who lives in the greatest heights of holiness, who is most exemplary in all the exercises of a divine life, so the wisest youth, the wisest wo- man, whether married or unmarried, is she that lives in the highest degrees of Christian holiness, and all the exercises of a divine and heavenly life, K 2 226 CHAPTER XL Hoio great devotio7i Jills our lives with the greatest peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this world. Some people will perhaps object, that all these rules of holy livuig unto God in all that we do, are too great a restraint upon human life; that it will be made too anxious a state, by thus introducing a regard to God in all our actions. And that by depriving ourselves of so many seemingly innocent pleasures, we shall render our lives dull, uneasy, and melancholy. To which it may be answered : First, That these rules are prescribed for, and will certainly procure, a quite contrary end. That instead of making our lives dull and melancholy, they will render them full of content, and strong satisfac- tions of our vain and sickly passions, for the solid enjoyments and real happiness of a sound mind. Secondly, That as there is no foundation for comfort in the enjoyments of this life, but in the assurance that a wise and good God governeth the world, so the more we find out God in every thing, the more we apply to him in every place, the more we look up to him in all our actions, the more we conform to his will, the more we act according to his wisdom, and imitate his goodness, by so much the more do we enjoy God, partake of the divine nature, and heighten and encrease all that is happy and comfortable in human life. Thirdly, He that is endeavouring to subdue and 227 root out of his mind all those passions of pride, envy, and ambition, which religion opposes, is doing more to make himself happy, even in this life, than he that is contriving means to indulge them. For these passions are the causes of all the disquiets and vexations of human life : they are the dropsies and fevers of our minds, vexing them with false appetites, and restless cravings after such things as we do not want, and spoiling our taste for those things which are our proper good. Do but imagine that you somewhere or other saw a man, that proposed reason as the rule of all his actions, that had no desires but after such things as nature wants and religion approves, that was as pure from all the notions of pride, envy, and covet- ousness, as from thoughts of murder ; that in this freedom from worldly passions, he had a soul full of divine love, wishing and praying that all men may have what they want of worldly things, and be par- takers of eternal glory in the life to come. Do but fancy a man living in this manner, and your own conscience will immediately tell you, that he is the happiest man in the world, and that it is not in the power of the richest fancy to invent any higher hap- piness in the present state of life. And on the other hand, if you suppose him to be in any degree less perfect; if you suppose him but subject to one foolish fondness, or vain passion, your own conscience will again tell you, that he so far lessens his own happi- ness, and robs himself of the true enjoyment of his other virtues. So true is it, that the more we live by the rules of religion, the more peaceful and happy do we render our lives. 22S Again ; as it thus appears that real happiness is only to be had from the greatest degrees of piety, the greatest denials of our passions, and the strictest rules of religion, so the same truth will appear from a consideration of human misery. If we look into the world, and view the disquiets and troubles of human life, we shall find that they are all owing to our violent and irreligious passions. Now all trouble and uneasiness is founded in the want of something or other; would we therefore know the true cause of our troubles and disquiets, we must find out the cause of our wants ; because that which creates and encreaseth our wants does in the same degree create and encrease our trouble and disquiets. God Almighty has sent us into the world with very few wants; meat and drink and clothing are the only things necessary in life ; and as these are only our present needs, so the present world is well furnished to supply these needs. If a man had half the world in his power, he could make no more of it than this ; as he wants it only to support an animal life, so is it unable to do any thing else for him, or to afford him any other happiness. This is the state of man, born with few wants, and into a large world very capable of supplying them. So that one would reasonably suppose, that men should pass their lives in content and thankfulness to God, at least, that they should be free from violent disquiets and vexations, as being placed in a world that has more than enough to relieve all their wants. But if to all this we add, that this short life, thus furnished with all that we want in it, is only a short passage to eternal glory, where we shall be clothed 229 with the brightness of angels, and enter into the joys of God, we might still more reasonably expect, that human life should be a state of peace and joy and delight in God. Thus it would certainly be, if reason had its full power over us. But, alas ! though God and nature and reason make human life thus free from wants, and so full of happiness, yet our passions, in rebeUion against God, against nature and reason, create a new world of evils, and fill human life with imaginary wants and vain dis- quiets. The man of pride has a thousand wants, which only his own pride has created; and these render him as full of trouble, as if God had created him with a thousand appetites, without creating any thing that was proper to satisfy them. Envy and ambition have also their endless wants, which dis- quiet the souls of men, and by their contradictory motions, render them as foolishly miserable as those that want to fly and creep at the same time. Let but any complaining, disquieting man, tell you the ground of his uneasiness, and you will plainly see, that he is the author of his own torment ; that he is vexing himself at some imaginary evil, which will cease to torment him as soon as he is content to be that which God and nature and rea- son require him to be. If you should see a man passing his days in disquiet, because he could not walk upon the water, or catch birds as they fly by him, you would readily confess, that such a one might thank himself for such uneasiness. But now, if you look into all the most tormenting disquiets of life, you will find them all thus absurd; where people are only tormented by their own folly, and 230 vexinf]^ themselves at such thhicps as no more concern them, nor are any more their proper good, than walking upon the water, or catching birds. What can you conceive more silly and extrava- gant, than to suppose a man racking his brains, and studying night and day how to fly? wandering from his own house and home, wearying himself with climbing upon every ascent, cringing to and courting every body he meets, to lift him up from the ground, bruising himself with continual falls, and at last breaking his neck, — and all this from an imagina- tion, that it would be glorious to have the eyes of people gazing up at him, and mighty happy to eat and drink and sleep at the top of the highest trees in the kingdom? would you not readily own, that such a one was only disquieted by his own folly? If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly creatures as these, jjs are nowhere to be found in human life — it may be answered, that wherever you see an ambitious man, there you see this vain and senseless flyer. Again ; if you should see a man that had a large pond of water, yet living in continual thirst, not suffering himself to drink half a draught, for fear of lessening his pond; if you should see him wasting his time and strength in fetching more water to his pond; alway sthirsty, yet always carrying a bucket of water in his hand, watching early and late to catch the drops of rain, gaping after every cloud, and running greedily into every mire and mud, in hopes of water, and always studying how to make every ditch empty itself into his pond ; if you should see him grow grey and old in these anxious labours. 231 and at last end a careful, thirsty life, by falling into his own pond, would you not say, that such a one was not only the author of all his own disquiets, but was foolish enough to be reckoned amongst idiots and madmen ? But yet foolish and absurd as this character is, it does not represent half the follies and absurd disquiets of the covetous man. I could now easily proceed, to show the same effects of all other passions, and make it plainly appear, that all our miseries, vexations, and com- plaints, are entirely of our own making, and that in the same absurd manner as in these instances of the covetous and ambitious man. Look where you will, you will see all worldly vexations but like the vexation of him that was always in mire and mud in search of water to drink, when he had more at home than was sufficient for a hundred horses. Coslia is always telling you, how provoked she is, what intolerably shocking things happen to her, what monstrous usage she sufiers, and what vexations she meets with every where. She tells you that her patience is quite worn out, and there is no bear- ing the behaviour of people. Every assembly that she is at sends her home provoked; something or other has been said, or done, that no reasonable, well-bred person ought to bear. Poor people that want her charity, are sent away with hasty answers, not because she has not a heart to part with any money, but because she is too full of some trouble of her ovv to nattend to the complaints of others. Coelia has no business upon her hands but to receive the income of a plentiful fortune; but yet, by the doleful turn of her mind, you would be apt to think 232 that she had neither food nor lodging. If you see her look more pale than ordinary, if her lips tremble when she speaks to you, it is because she is just come from a visit where Lupas took no notice at all of her, but talked all the time to Lucinda, who has not half her fortune. When cross accidents have so disordered her spirits, that she is forced to send for the doctor, to make her able to eat, she tells him, in great anger at Providence, that she never was well since she was born, and that she envies every beggar that she sees in health. This is the disquiet life of Coelia, who has nothing to torment her but her own spirit. If you could inspire her with Chris- tian humility, you need do no more to make her as happy as any person in the world. This virtue would make her thankful to God, for half so much health as she has had, and help her to enjoy more for the time to come. This virtue would keep off trembhngs of the spirits and loss of appetite, and her blood would need nothing else to sweeten it. I have just touched upon these absurd characters, for no other end, but to convince you in the plainest manner, that the strictest rules of religion are so far from rendering a life dull, anxious, and uncom- fortable, (as is above objected,) that, on the contrary, all the miseries, vexations, and complaints, that are in the world, are all owing to the want of religion ; being directly caused by those absurd passions which religion teaches us to deny. For all the wants which disturb human life, which make us uneasy to our- selves, quarrelsome with others, and unthankful to God; which weary us in vain labours and foolish anxieties; which carry us from project to project, 233 from place to place, in a poor pursuit of we know not what, are the wants which neither God, nor nature, nor reason, hath subjected us to, but are solely infused into us by pride, envy, ambition, and covetousness. So far, therefore, as you reduce your desires to such things as nature and reason require ; so far as you regulate all the motions of your heart by the strict rules of religion, so far you remove yourself from that infinity of wants and vexations which torment every heart that is left to itself. Most people, indeed, confess that religion pre- serves us from a great many evils, and helps us, in many respects, to a more happy enjoyment of our- selves; but then they imagine, that this is only true of such a moderate share of religion as only gently restrains us from the excesses of our passions. They suppose, that the strict rules and restraints of an exalted piety, are such contradictions to our nature, as must needs make our lives dull and uncomfortable. Although the weakness of this objection sufficiently appears from what has been already said, yet I shall add one word more to it. This objection supposes, that religion moderately practised, adds much to the happiness of life; but that such heights of piety, as the perfection of reli- gion requireth, have a contrary effect. It supposes, therefore, that it is happy to be kept from the ex- cesses of envy, but unhappy to be kept from other degrees of envy. That it is happy to be delivered from a boundless ambition, but unhappy to be with- out a more moderate ambition. It supposes also, that the happiness of life consists in a mixture of virtue and vice, a mixture of ambition and humility. 234 charity and envy, heavenly affection and covetous- ness. All which is as absurd as to suppose that it is happy to be free from excessive pain, but unhappy to be without more moderate pains; or that the happiness of health consisted in being partly sick and partly well. For if humility be the peace and rest of the soul, then no one has so much happiness from humility as he that is the most humble. If excessive envy is a torment of the soul, he most perfectly delivers himself from torment that most perfectly extinguishes every spark of envy. If there is any peace and joy in doing any action according to the will of God, he that brings the most of his actions to this rule, does most of all encrease the peace and joy of his life. And thus it is in every virtue; if you act up to every degree of it, the more happiness you have from it. And so of every vice; if you only abate its excesses, you do but little for yourself; but if you reject it in all degrees, then you feel the true ease and joy of a reformed mind. As for example : if religion only restrains the excesses of revenge, but lets the spirit still live within you, in lesser instances, your religion may have made your life a little more outwardly decent, but not made you at all happier or easier in your- self. But if you have once sacrificed all thoughts of revenge, in obedience to God, and are resolved to return good for evil at all times, that you may render yourself more like to God, and fitter for his mercy in the kingdom of love and glory, this is a heigh tof virtue that will make you feel its happiness. Secondly, As to those satisfactions and enjoy- ments which an exalted piety requireth us to deny ourselves, this deprives us of no real comfort of life. 235 For, 1st, Piety requires us to renounce no ways of life where we can act reasonably, and offer what we do to the glory of Sod. All ways of life, all satisfactions and enjoyments, that are within these bounds, are no way denied us by the strictest rules of piety. Whatever you can do, or enjoy, as in the presence of God, as his servant, as his rational crea- ture, that has received reason and knowledge from him — all that you can perform conformably to a rational nature and the will of God, all this is allowed by the laws of piety. And will you think that your life will be uncomfortable, unless you may displease God, be a fool, and mad, and act contrary to that reason and wisdom which he has implanted in you ? As for those satisfactions, which we dare not offer to a holy God, which are only invented by the folly and corruption of the world, which inflame our passions, and sink our souls into grossness and sensuality, and render us incapable of the divine favour, either here or hereafter — surely it can be no uncomfortable state of life, to be rescued by religion from such self-murder, and to be rendered incapable of eternal happiness. Let us suppose a person, destitute of that know- ledge which we have from our senses, placed some- where alone by himself, in the midst of a variety of things which he did not know how to use; that he has by him bread, wine, water, golden dust, iron chains, gravel, garments, fire, &c. Let it be sup- posed, that he has no knowledge of the right use of these things, nor any direction from his senses how to quench his thirst, or satisfy his hunger, or make any use of the things about him. Let it be sup- 236 posed, that in his drought he puts golden dust into his eyes ; when his eyes smart, he puts wine into his ears; that in his hunger, he puts gravel in his mouth ; that in pain, he loads himself with the iron chains; that feeHng cold, he puts his feet in the water ; that being frighted at the fire, he runs away from it ; that being weary, he makes a seat of his bread. Let it be supposed, that through his ignorance of the right use of the things that are about him, he will vainly torment himself whilst he lives — and at last die, blinded with dust, choked with gravel, and loaded with irons. Let it be supposed, that some good being came to him, and showed him the nature and use of all the things that were about him, and gave him such strict rules of using them as would cer- tainly, if observed, make him the happier for all that he had, and deliver him from the pains of hunger and thirst and cold. Now, could you with any reason affirm, that those strict rules of using those things that were about him had rendered that poor man's life dull and uncomfortable ? Now this is in some measure a representation of the strict rules of religion ; they only relieve our ignorance, save us from tormenting ourselves, and teach us to use every thing about us to our proper advantage. Man is placed in a world full of variety of things ; his ignorance makes him use many of them as absurdly as the man that put dust in his eyes to relieve his thirst, or put on chains to remove pain. Religion, therefore, here comes in to his relief, and gives him strict rules for using every thing that is about him ; that by so using them suitably to his own nature, and the nature of the things, he may 237 have always the pleasure of receiving a right benefit from them. It shows him what is strictly right in meat and drink and cloaths; and that he has nothing else to expect from the things of this world, but to satisfy such wants of his own ; and then to extend his assistance to all his brethren, that, as far as he is able, he may help all his fellow-creatures, to the same benefit from the world that he hath. It tells him, that this world is incapable of giving him any other happiness, and that all endeavours to be happy in heaps of money or acres of land, in fine cloaths, rich beds, stately equipage, and show and splendour, are only vain endeavours, ignorant at- tempts after impossibilities ; these things being no more able to give the least degree of happiness than dust in the eyes can cure thirst, or gravel in the mouth satisfy hunger; but, like dust and gravel mis- applied, will only serve to render him more unhappy by such an ignorant misuse of them. It tells him, that although this world can do no more for him, than satisfy these wants of the body, yet that there is a much greater good prepared for man, than eating, drinking, and dressing ; that it is yet invisible to his eyes, being too glorious for the apprehension of flesh and blood ; but reserved for him to enter upon, as soon as this short life is over; where, in a new body, formed to an angelic likeness, he shall dwell in the light and glory of God to all eternity. It tells him, that this state of glory will be given to all those that make a right use of the things of this present world, who do not blind themselves with golden dust, or eat gravel, or groan under loads of iron of their own putting on ; but use bread, water, wine, and 238 garments, for such ends as are according to nature and reason ; and who, with faith and thankfulness, worship the kind Giver of all that they enjoy here and hope for hereafter. Now, can any one say, that the strictest rules of such a rehgion as this, debar us of any of the com- forts of life ? Might it not as justly be said of those rules that only hindered a man from choking himself with gravel ? For the strictness of these rules only consists in the exactness of their rectitude. Who would complain of the severe strictness of a law, that without any exception forbade the putting of dust into our eyes? Who could think it too rigid, that there were no abatements? Now this is the strictness of religion, it requires nothing of us strictly, or without abatements, but where every degree of the thing is wrong, where every indulgence does us some hurt. If religion forbids all instances of revenge without any exception, it is because all revenge is of the nature of poison; and though we do not take so much as to put an end to life, yet if we take any at all, it corrupts the whole mass of blood, and makes it difficult to be restored to our former health. If religion commands a universal charity, to love our neighbour as ourselves, to forgive and pray for all our enemies without any reserve ; it is because all degrees of love are degrees of happiness, that strengthen and support the divine life of the soul, and are as necessary to its health and happiness as proper food is necessary to the health and happiness of the body. If religion has laws agamst laying up treasures 239 upon earth, and commands us to be content with food and raiment ; it is because every other use of the world is abusing it to our own vexation, and turning all its conveniences into snares and traps to destroy us. It is because this plainness and sim- phcity of life secures us from the cares and pains of restless pride and envy, and makes it easier to keep that straight road that will carry us to eternal life. If religion saith, " Sell that thou hast, and give to the poor," it is because there is no other natural or reasonable use of our riches, no other way of making ourselves happier for them ; it is because it is as strictly right to give others that which we do not want ourselves, as it is right to use so much as our own wants require. For if a man has more food than his own nature requires, how base and unrea- sonable is it, to invent foolish ways of wasting it, and make sport of his own full belly, rather than let his fellow-creatures have the same comfort from food which he hath had ? It is so far, therefore, from being a hard law of religion, to make this use of our riches, that a reasonable man would rejoice in that religion which teaches him to be happier in that which he gives away than in that which he keeps for himself — which teaches him to make spare food and raiment be greater blessings to him than that which feeds and clothes his own body. If religion requires us sometimes to fast, and deny our natural appetites, it is to lessen that struggle and war that is in our nature, it is to render our bodies fitter instruments of purity, more obedient to the good motions of divine grace; it is to dry up the springs of our passions that war against the soul, 240 to cool the flame of our blood, and render the mind more capable of divine meditations. So that al- though some abstinences give some pain to the body, yet they so lessen the power of bodily appetites and passions, and so encrease our taste of spiritual joys, that even these severities of religion, when practised with discretion, add much to the comfortable enjoy- ment of our lives. If religion calleth us to a life of watching and prayer, it is because we live amongst a crowd of enemies, and are always in need of the assistance of God. If we are to confess and bewail our sins, it is because such confessions relieve the mind, and restore it to ease; as burdens and weights taken off the shoulders reheve the body, and make it easier to itself. If we are to be frequent and fervent in holy petitions, it is to keep us steady in the sight of our true good, and that we may never want the happi- ness of a lively faith, a joyful hope, and a well- grounded trust in God. If we are to pray often, it is that we may be often happy in such secret joys as only prayer can give — in such communications of the divine presence as will fill our minds with all the happiness that beings not in heaven are capable of. Was there any thing in the world more worth our care, was there any exercise of the mind, or any conversation with men, that turned more to our ad- vantage than this intercourse with God, we should not be called to such a continuance in prayer. But if a man considers what it is that he leaves when he retires to devotion, he will find it no small happiness, to be so often relieved from doing nothing, or no- thing to the purpose; from dull idleness, unpro- 241 fitable labour, or vain conversation. If he considers, that all that is in the world, and all that is doing in it, is only for the body and bodily enjoyments, he will have reason to rejoice at those hours of prayer, which carry him to higher consolations, which raise him above these poor concerns, which open to his mind a scene of greater things, and accustom his soul to the hope and expectation of them. If reli- gion commands us to live wholly unto God, and to do all to his glory, it is because every other way is living wholly against ourselves, and will end in our own shame and confusion of face. As every thing is dark that God does not en- lighten.; as every thing is senseless that has not its share of knowledge from him ; as nothing lives but by partaking of life from him; as nothing exists but because he commands it to be ; so there is no glory or greatness but what is the glory or greatness of God. We indeed may talk of human glory, as we may talk of human life, or human knowledge; but as we are sure that human life implies nothing of our own but a dependent living in God, or enjoying so much life in God; so human glory, whenever we find it, must be only so much glory as we enjoy in the glory of God. This is the state of all creatures, whether men or angels; as they make not themselves, so they enjoy nothing from themselves ; if they are great, it must be only as great receivers of the gifts of God; their power can only be so much of the divine power acting in them ; their wisdom can be only so much of the divine wisdom shining within them ; and their light and glory only so much of the light and glory of God shining upon them. As they are not L SO 242 mer. or angels, because they had a mind to be so themselves, but because the will of God formed them to be what they are; so they cannot enjoy this or that happiness of men or angels, because they have a mind to it, but because it is the will of God, that such things be the happiness of men, and such things the happiness of angels. But now if God be tlius all in all; if his will is thus the measure of all things and all natures ; if nothing can be done but by liis power; if nothing can be seen but by a lii^ht from him : if we have nothing to fear but from his justice; if we have nothing to hope for but from his goodness; if this is the nature of man, thus helpless in himself; if this is the state of all creatures, as well those in heaven as those on earth ; if they are nothing, can do nothing, can suffer no pain, nor feel any happiness, but so far and in such degrees as the ])ower of God does all this: if this be the state of things, then how can we have the least glimpse of oy or comfort, how can we have any peaceful enjoy- nt of ourselves, but by living wholly unto that (jod, using and doing every thing conformably to his will ? A life thus devoted unto God, looking wholly inito him in all our actions, and doing all things suitable to his glory, is so far from being dull and uncomfortable, that it creates new comforts in every thing that we do. On the contrary, would you see how happy they are who live according to their own wills, who cannot submit to the dull and melancholy business of a life devoted unto God ; look at the man in the parable, to whom his Lord hath given one talent. He could jiul bear t!ie thoughts of using his talent accordirjg me 243 to the vvill of him from whom he had it, and there- fore he chose to make himself happier in a way of his own. " Lord," says he, " I knew thee, that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hadst not sown, and gathering where thou hadst not strawed. And I was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth. Lo, there thou hast that is thine." His Lord having convicted him out of his own mouth, despatches him with this sentence, " Cast the unpro- fitable servant into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Here you see how happy this man made himself, by not acting wholly according to his Lord's will. It was, according to his own account, a happiness of murmuring and discontent; I knew thee, says he, that thou wast a hard man : it was a happiness of fears and apprehensions; I was, says he, afraid: it was a happiness of vain labours and fruitless travels; I went, says he, and hid thy talent; and after having been awhile the sport of foolish passions, tormenting fears, and fruitless labour, he is rewarded with dark- ness, eternal weeping, and gnashing of teeth. Now this is the happiness of all those who look upon a strict and exalted piety, that is, a right use of their talent, to be a dull and melancholy state of life. They may live awhile free from the restraints and directions of religion, but instead thereof, they must be under the absurd government of their passions; they must, like the man in the parable, live in mur- murings and discontents, in fears and apprehensions. They may avoid the labour of doing good, of spend- ing their time devoutly, of laying up treasures in heaven, of clothing the naked, of visiting the sick; 244 but then they must, like this man, have labours and pains in vain, that tend to no use or advantage, that do no good either to themselves or others ; they must travel and labour and work and dig, to hide their talent in the earth. They must, like him, at their Lord's coming, be convicted out of their own mouths, be accused by their own hearts, and have every thing that they have said and thought of re- ligion be made to show the justice of their condem- nation to eternal darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth. This is the purchase that they make who avoid the strictness and perfection of religion in order to live happily. On the other hand, would you see a short de- scription of the happiness of a life rightly employed, wholly devoted to God, you must look at the man in the parable, to whom his Lord had given five talents. " Lord," says he, "thou deliveredst unto me five talents : behold I have gained beside them five talents more. His Lord said unto him. Well done, thou good and faithful servant ; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things : enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Here you see a life that is wholly intent upon the improvement of the talents, that is devoted wholly unto God, is a state of happiness, prosperous labours, and glorious success. Here are not, as in the former case, any uneasy passions, murmurings, vain fears, and fruitless labours. The man is not toiling and digging in the earth for no end nor ad- vantage ; but his pious labours prosper in his hands, his happiness encreases upon him: the blessing of five becomes the blessinir often talents; and he is received 245 with a " well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Now as the case of these men in the parable left nothing else to their choice, but either to be happy in using tlieir gifts to the glory of the Lord, or miserable by using them according to their own humours and fancies ; so the state of Christianity leaves us no other choice. All that we have, all that we are, all that we enjoy, are only so many talents from God : if we use them to the ends of a pious and holy life, our five talents will become ten, and our labours will carry us into the joy of our Lord; but if we abuse them to the gratification of our own pas- sions, sacrificing the gifts of God to our own pride and vanity, we shall live here in vain labours and foolish anxieties, shunning religion as a melancholy thing, accusing our Lord as a hard master, and then fall into everlasting misery. We may for awhile amuse ourselves with names and sounds and shadows of happiness; we may talk of this or that greatness and dignity; but if we desire real happiness, we have no other possible way to it but by improving our talents, by so holily and piously using the powers and faculties of men in this present state, that we may be happy and glorious in the powers and faculties of angels in the world to come. How ignorant, therefore, are they of the nature of rehgion, of the nature of man, and the nature of God, who think a life of strict piety and devotion to God to be a dull uncomfortable state, when it is so plain and certain, that there is neither comfort nor joy to be found in any thing else ! 246 CHAPTER XIL The happiness of a life wholly devoted to God further proved, from the vanity, the sensuality, and the ridi- culous poor enjoyments, which they are forced to take up with who live according to their own humours. This respresented in various characters. We may still see more of the happiness of a life devoted unto God, by considering the poor contriv- ances for happiness, and the contemptible ways of life, which they are thrown into who are not under the directions of a strict piety, but seeking after happiness by other methods. If one looks at their lives who live by no rule but their own humours and fancies; if one sees but what it is which they call joy and greatness and happiness ; if one sees how they rejoice and repent, change and fly from one delusion to another; one shall find great reason to rejoice, that God hath appointed a strait and narrow way, that leadeth unto life ; and that we are not left to the folly of our own minds, or forced to take up with such shadows of joy and happiness as the weakness and folly of the world has invented. I say invented, because those things which make up the joy and happiness of the world are mere inven- tions, which have no foundation in nature and reason, are no way the proper good or happiness of man, no way perfect either in his body or his mind, or carry him to his true end. As for instance ; when a man proposes to be happy 247 in ways of ambition, by raising himself to some ima- ginary heights above other people, this is truly an invention of happiness which has no foundation in nature, but is as mere a cheat of our own making, as if a man should intend to make himself happy by climbing up a ladder. If a woman seeks for happi- ness from fine colours or spots upon her face, from jewels and rich cloaths, this is as merely an invention of happiness, as contrary to nature and reason, as if she should propose to make herself happy by paint- ing a post, and putting the same finery upon it. It is in this respect that I call these joys and happi- ness of the world mere inventions of happiness, because neither God, nor nature, nor reason, hath appointed them as such; but whatever appears joyful, Oi- great, or happy in them, is entirely created or invented by the blindness and vanity of our own minds. And it is on these inventions of happiness that I desire you to cast your eye, that you may thence learn, how great a good religion is, which delivers you from such a multitude of follies and vain pursuits as are the torment and vexation of minds that wander from their true happiness in God. Look at Flatus, and learn how miserable they are who are left to the folly of their own passions. Flatus is rich and in health, yet always uneasy, and always searching after happiness. Every time you visit him, you find some new project in his head, he is eager upon it as something that is more worth his while, and will do more for him than any thing that is already past. Every new thing so seizes him, that if you were to take him from it, he would think iiimseif quite undone. His sanguine temper, and 248 strong passions, promise him so much happiness in every thing, that he is always cheated, and is satis- lied with nothing. At his first setting out in hfe, fine cloaths was his dehght, his inquiry was only after the best tailors and peruke-makers, and he had no thoughts of ex- celling in any thing but dress. He spared no ex- pense, but carried every nicety to its greatest height. But this happiness not answering his expectations, he left off his brocades, put on a plain coat, railed at fops and beaux, and gave himself up to gaming with great eagerness. This new pleasure satisfied him for some time; he envied no other way of life. But being by the fate of play drawn into a duel, where he narrowly escaped his death, he left off the dice, and sought for happiness no longer amongst the gamesters. The next thing; that seized his wanderincp imam- nation, was the diversion of the town : and for more than a twelvemonth, you heard him talk of nothing but ladies, drawing-rooms, birth days, plays, balls, and assemblies. But growing sick of these, he had recourse to hard drinking. Here he had many a merry night, and met with stronger joys than any he had felt before. Here he had thoughts of setting up his staff and looking out no further; but unluckily, falling into a fever, he grew angry at all strong liquors, and took his leave of the happiness of being drunk. The next attempt after happiness carried him into tlie field ; for two or three years, nothing made him so happy as hunting ; he entered upon it with all his soul, and leaped more hedges and ditches than had 249 ever been known in so short a time. You never saw him but in a green coat ; he was the envy of all that blew the horn, and always spoke to his dogs in great propriety of language. If you met him at home in a bad day, you would hear him blow his horn, and be entertained with the surprising accidents of the last noble chase. No sooner had Flatus outdone all the world in the breed and education of his dogs, built new kennels, new stables, and bought a new hunting-seat, but he immediately got sight of another happiness, hated the senseless noise and hurry of hunting, gave away the dogs, and was for some time after deep in the pleasures of building. Now he invents new kinds of dovecots, and has such con- trivances in his barns and stables as were never seen before : he wonders at the dulness of the old builders, is v/holly bent upon the improvement of architecture, and will hardly hang a door in the ordinary way. He tells his friends, that he never was so delighted with any thing in his life ; that he has more happi- ness amongst his brick and mortar than ever he had at court ; and that he is contriving how to have some little matter to do that way as long as he lives. The next year he leaves his house unfinished, complains to every body of masons and carpenters, and devotes himself wholly to the business of riding about. After this, you can never see him but on horse-back, and so highly delighted with this new way of life, that he would tell you, give him but his horse and a clean country to ride in, and you might take all the rest to yourself. A variety of new saddles and bridles, and a great change of horses, added much to the pleasure of this new way of life* l2 250 But, however, having after some time tired both himself and his horses, the happiest thing he coukl think of next, was to go abroad and visit foreign countries; and there indeed happiness exceeded hi* imagination, and he was only uneasy that he had begun so fine a life no sooner. The next month he returned home, unable to bear any longer the imper- tinence of foreigners. After this he was a great student for one whole year; he was up early and late at his Italian gram- mar, that he might have the happiness of under- standing the opera, whenever he should hear one, and not be like those unreasonable people that are pleased with they know not what. Flatus is very ill-natured, or otherwise, just as his affairs happen to be when you visit him ; if you find him when some project is almost worn out, you will find a peevish ill-bred man ; but if you had seen him just as he entered upon his riding regimen, or begun to excel in sounding of the horn, you had been saluted with great civility. Flatus is now at full stand, and is doing what he never did in his life before, he is reasoning and reflecting with himself. He loses several days in considering which of his cast-off ways he should try again. but here a new project comes in to his relief. He is now living upon herbs, and running about the country, to get himself into as ffood wind as any runnins footman in the kingdom. I have been thus circumstantial, in so many foolish particulars of this kind of life, because I hope, that every particular folly that you here see will naturally turn itself into an argument for the wisdom and happiness of a religious life. 251 If I could lay before you a particular account of all the circumstances of terror and distress that daily at- tend a life at sea, the more particular I was in the account, the more I should make you feel and rejoice in the happiness of living upon the land. In like manner, the more I enumerate the follies, anxieties, delusions, and restless desires, which go through every part of a life, devoted to liuraan passions and worldly enjoyments the more you must be affected with that peace and rest and solid content which relimon gives to the souls of men. If you but just cast your eye upon a madman or a fool, it perhaps signifies little or nothing to you ; but if you were to attend them for some days, and observe the lamentable madness and stupidity of all their actions, this would be an affecting sight, and would make you often bless yourself for the enjoy- ment of your reason and senses. Just so, if you are only told in the gross of the folly and madness of a life devoted to the world, it makes little or no impression upon you; but if you are shown how such people live every day; if you see the continual folly and madness of all their particular actions and designs, this would be an affecting sight, and make you bless God, for having given you a greater hap- piness to aspire after. So that characters of this kind, the more folly and ridicule they have in them, provided they be but natural, are the more useful to correct our minds; and therefore are nowhere more proper than in books of devotion and practical piety. And as in several cases, we best learn the nature of things by looking at that which is contrary to them ; so perhaps we best apprehend the excellency of wis- 252 dom by contemplating the wild extravagances of folly. I shall therefore continue this method a little further, and endeavour to commend the happiness of piety to you; by showing you, in some other instances, how miserably and poorly they Hve who live with- out it. But you will perhaps say, that the ridiculous, restless life of Flatus, is not the common state of those who resign themselves up to live by their own humours, and neglect the strict rules of religion ; and that therefore it is not so great an argument of the happiness of a religious life as I would make it. I answer, that I am afraid it is one of the most gen- eral characters in life; and that few people can read it without seeing something in \t that belongs to themselves. For where shall we find that wise and happy man, who has not been eagerly pursuing dif- ferent appearances of happiness, sometimes thinking it was here, and sometimes there ? And if people were to divide their lives into particular stages, and ask themselves what they were pursuing, or what it was which they had chiefly in view, when they were twenty years old, what at twentyfive, what at thirty, what at forty, what at fifty, and so on, till they were brought to their last bed ; numbers of people would find, that they had liked and disliked and pursued as many different appearances of happiness as are to be seen in the life of Flatus. And thus it must necessarily be, more or less, with all those who pro- pose any other happiness than that which arises from a strict and regular piety. But secondly, let it be granted, that the genera- lity of people are not of such restless, fickle tempers 253 as Flatus; the difference then is only this, Flatus is continually changing and trying something new, but others are content with some one state; they do not leave gaming, and then fall to hunting. But they have so much steadiness in their tempers, that some seek after no other happiness but that of heap- ing up riches ; others grow old in the sports of the field; others are content to drink themselves to death, without the least inquiry after any other hap- piness. Now is there any thing more happy or reasonable in such a life as this than in the life of Flatus ? Is it not as great and desirable, as wise and happy, to be constantly changing from one thing to another, as to be nothing else but a gatherer of money, a hunter, a gamester, or a drunkard, all your life ? Shall religion be looked upon as a burden, as a dull and melancholy state, for calling men from such happiness as this, to live according to the laws of God, to labour after the perfection of their nature, and prepare themselves for an endless state of joy and glory in the presence of God? But turn your eyes now another way, and let the trifling joys, the gewgaw happiness of Feliciana, teach you how wise they are, what delusion they escape, whose hearts and hopes are fixed upon a happiness in God. If you were to live with Feli- ciana but one half year, you would see all the hap- piness that she is to have as long as she lives. She has no more to come but the poor repetition of that which could never have pleased once, but through a littleness of mind and want of thought. She is to be again dressed fine, and keep her visiting day. She is again to change the colour of her deaths, 254 again to have a new head, and again put patches on her face. She is again to see who acts best at the playhouse, and who sings finest at the opera. She is again to make ten visits in a day, and be ten times in a day trying to talk artfully, easily, and politely about nothing. She is to be again delighted with some new fashion, and again angry at the change of some old one. She is to be again at cards and gaming at midnight, and again in bed at noon. She is to be again pleased with hypocritical compli- ments, and again disturbed at imaginary affronts. She is to be again pleased with her good luck at gaming, and again tormented with the loss of her money. She is again to prepare herself for a birth- night, and again see the town full of good company. She is again to here the cabals and intrigues of the town; again to have secret intelligence of private amours, and early notice of marriages, quarrels, and partings. If you see her come out of her chariot more briskly than usual, converse with more spirit, and seem fuller of joy than she was last week, it is because there is some surprising new dress or new diversion just come to town. These are all the substantials and regular parts of Feliciana's happi- ness ; and she never knew a pleasant day in her life but it was owino; to some one or more of these things. It is for this happiness that she has always been deaf to the reasonings of religion, that her heart has been too gay and cheerful to consider what is right or wrong in regard to eternity ; or to listen to the sound of such dull words, as wisdom, piety, and devotion. It is for fear of losing some of this hap- 255 piness that she dares not meditate on the irnnaor- tality of her soul, consider her relation to God, or turn her thouglits towards those joys which make saints and angels infinitely happy in the presence and glory of God. But now let it here be observed, that as poor a round of happiness as this appears, yet most women that avoid the restraints of religion for a gay life must be content with very small parts of it. As they have not Feliciana's fortune and figure in the world, so they must give away the comforts of a pious life, for a very small part of her happiness. And if you look into the world, and observe the lives of those women whom no arguments can per- suade to live wholly unto God, in a wise and pious employment of themselves, you will find most of them to be such as lose all the comforts of rehgion with- out gaining the tenth part of Feliciana's happiness. They are such as spend their time and fortunes, only in mimicking the pleasures of richer people ; and rather look and long after than enjoy those delusions which are only to be purchased by con- siderable fortunes. But if a, woman of high birth and great fortune, having read the Gospel, should rather wish to be an under servant in some pious family, where wisdom, piety, and great devotion, directed all the actions of every day; if she should rather wish this than to live at the top of Feliciana's happiness; 1 should think her neither mad nor melancholy; but that she judged as rightly of the spirit of the Gospel, as if she had rather wished to be poor Lazarus at the gate, than to be the rich man clothed with purple and fine linen, and faring sumptuously every day. 256 But, to proceed ; would you know what a happiness it is, to be governed by the wisdom of reHgion, and to be devoted to the joys and hopes of a pious Hfe, look at the poor condition of Succus, whose greatest happiness is a good night's rest in bed, and a good meal when he is up. When he talks of happiness, it is always in such expressions as shows you that he has only his bed and his dinner in his thoughts. This regard to his meals and repose makes Succus order all the rest of his time with relation to them. He will undertake no business that may hurry his spirits, or break in upon his hours of eating and rest. If he reads, it shall only be for half an hour, because that is sufficient to amuse the spirits ; and he will read something that may make him laugh, as render- ing the body fitter for its food and rest. Or if he has at any time a mind to indulge a grave thought, he always has recourse to a useful treatise upon the ancient cookery. Succus is an enemy to all party- matters, having made it an observation, that there is as good eating amongst the whigs as the tories. He talks coolly and moderately upon all subjects, and is as fearful of falling into a passion as of catch- ing cold, being very positive that they are both equally injurious to the stomach. If ever you see him more hot than ordinary, it is upon some provok- ing occasion, when the dispute about cookery runs very high, or in the defence of some beloved dish, which has often made him happy. But he has been so long upon these subjects, is so well acquainted with all that can be said on both sides, and has so often answered all objections, that he generally de- cides the matter with great gravity. 257 Succus is very loyal, and as soon as ever he likes any wine he drinks the king's health with all his heart. Nothing could put rebelUous thoughts into his head, unless he should hve to see a proclamation against eating pheasants' eggs. All the hours that are not devoted either to repose or nourishment are looked upon by Succus as waste or spare time. For this reason, he lodges near a coffee-house and a tavern, that when he rises in the morning he may be near the news, and when he parts at night he may not have far to go to bed. In the morning you always see him in the same place in the coffee-room; and if he seems more attentively engaged than ordinary, it is because some criminal has broken out of New- gate, or some lady was robbed last night, but they cannot tell where. When he has learned all that he can, he goes home to settle the matter with the barber's boy that comes to shave him. The next waste time that lays upon his hands is from dinner to supper. And if melancholy thoughts ever come into his head, it is at this time, when he is often left to himself for an hour or more, and that after the greatest pleasure he knows is just over. He is afraid to sleep, because he has heard it is not healthful at that time, so that he is forced to refuse so welcome a guest. But here he is soon relieved by a settled method of playing at cards, till it is time to think of some little nice matter for supper. After this, Succus takes his glass, talks of the excellency of the British constitution, and praises that minister the most who keeps the best table. On a Sunday night you may sometimes hear him condemning the iniquity of the town rakes; and 258 the bitterest thing that he says ai^^ainst them is this, that he verily believes some of them are so aban- doned as not to have a regular meal or a sound night's sleep in a week. At eleven, Succus bids all good night, and part in great friendship. He is presently in bed, and sleeps till it is time to go to the coffee-house next morning. If you were to live with Succus for a twelvemonth, this is all that you would see in his life, except a few curses and oaths, that he uses as occasion offers. And now I cannot help making this reflection — That, as I believe the most likely means in the world, to inspire a person with true piety, was to have seen the example of some eminent professor of religion — so the next thing that is likely to fill one with the same zeal, is to see the folly, the baseness, and poor satisfactions, of a life destitute of religion. As the one excites us to love and admire the wisdom and greatness of religion, so the other may make us fearful of living without it. For who can help blessing God for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory, when he sees what variety of folly they sink into who live without it ? Who would not heartily engage in all the labours and exercises of a pious hfe, " be steadfast, unmoveable, and always abounding in the work of the Lord," when he sees what dull sensuality, what poor views, what gross enjoyments, they are left to who seek for happiness in other ways. So that, whether we con- sider the greatness of religion, or the littleness of all other things, and the meanness of all other en- joyments, there is nothing to be found in the whole nature of things for a thoughtful mind to rest upon but a happiness in the hopes of religion. 259 Consider now with yourself, how unreasonably it is pretended, that a life of strict piety must be a dull and anxious state. For can it with any reason be said, that the duties and restraints of religion must render our lives heavy and melancholy, when they only deprive us of such happiness as has been here laid before you ? Must it be tedious and tiresome to live in the continual exercise of charity, devotion, and temperance, to act wisely and virtuously, to do good to the utmost of our power, to imitate the divine per- fections and prepare yourself for the enjoyment of God ? Must it be dull and tiresome to be delivered from blindness and vanity, from false hopes and vain fears, to improve in holiness, to feel the comforts of conscience in all your actions, to know that God is your friend, that all must work for your good, that neither life nor death, neither men nor devils, can do you any harm ; but that all your sufferings and doings that are offered unto God, all your watchings and prayers and labours of love and charity, all your improvements, are in a short time to be rewarded with everlasting glory in the presence of God; must such a state as this be dull and tiresome for want of such happiness as Flatus or Feliciana enjoys ? Now if this cannot be said, then there is no happiness or pleasure lost by being strictly pious, nor has the devout man any thing to envy in any other state of life. For all the art and contrivance in the world, without religion, cannot make more of human life or carry its happiness to any greater height than Flatus and Fehciana have done. The finest wit, the great- est genius upon earth, if not governed by rehgion, must be as foolish and low and vain in his methods of happiness as the poor Succus. 260 If you were to see a man dully endeavouring all his life to satisfy his thirst by holding up one and the same empty cup to his mouth, you would cer- tainly despise his ignorance. But if you should see others, of brighter parts and finer understandings, ridicuUng the dull satisfaction of one cup, and think- ing to satisfy their own thirst by a variety of gilt and golden empty cups, would you think that these were ever the wiser or happier or better employed for their finer parts ? Now, this is all the difference that you can see in the happiness of this life. The dull and heavy soul may be content with one empty appearance of hap- piness, and be continually trying to hold one and the same empty cup to his mouth all his life. But then let the wit, the great scholar, the fine genius, the great statesman, the polite gentleman, lay all their heads together, and they can only show you more and various empty appearances of happiness ; give them all the world into their hands, let them cut and carve as they please, they can only make a greater variety of empty cups. So that if you do not think it hard to be deprived of the pleasure of gluttony for the sake of religion, you have no occa- sion to think it hard to be restrained from any other worldly pleasure. For, search as deep and look as far as you will, there is nothing here to be found that is nobler or greater than high eating and drinking, unless you look for it in the wisdom and laws of religion. And if all that is in the world are only so many empty cups, what does it signify which you take, or how many you take, or how many you have ? If you would but use yourself to such meditations 261 as these, to reflect upon the vanity of all orders of life without piety, to consider all the ways of the world as only so many diflPerent ways of error, blind- ness, and mistake ; you will soon find your heart made wiser and better by it. These meditations would awaken your soul into a zealous desire of that solid happiness which is only to be found in recourse to God. Examples of great piety are not now common in the world; it may not be your happiness to live within sight of any, or to have your virtue inflamed by their light and fervour. But the misery and folly of worldly men is what meets your eyes in every place, and you need not look far to see how poorly, how vainly, men dream away their lives for want of religious wisdom. This is the reason that I have laid before you so many characters of the vanity of a worldy life, to teach you to make a benefit of the corruption of the age, and that you may be made wise, though not by the sight of what piety is, yet by seeing what misery and folly reigns where piety is not. If you would turn your mind to such reflections as these, your own observation would carry this in- struction much farther, and all your conversation and acquaintance with the world would be a daily conviction to you of the necessity of seeking some greater happiness than all the poor enjoyments of this world can give. To meditate upon the perfec- tion of the divine attributes, to contemplate the glories of heaven, to consider the joys of saints and angels, living for ever in the brightness and glory of the divine presence; these are the meditations of 262 souls advanced in piety, and not so suited to every capacity. But to see and consider the emptiness and error of all worldly happiness; to see the gross- ness of sensuality, the poorness of pride, the stupidity of covetousness, the vanity of dress, the delusion of honour, the blindness of our passions, the uncertainty of our lives, and the shortness of all worldly projects ; these are meditations that are suited to all capacities, fitted to strike all minds ; they require no depth of thought or sublime speculation, but are forced upon us by all our senses, and taught us by almost every thing that we see and hear. This is that wisdom that crieth and putteth forth her voice in the streets, that standeth at all our doors, that appealeth to all our senses, teaching us in every thing and every where, by all that we see, and all that we hear, by births and burials, by sick- ness and health, by life and death, by pains and poverty, by misery and vanity, and by all the changes and chances of life; and there is nothing else for man to look after, no other end in nature for him to drive at but a happiness which is only to be found in the hopes and expectations of religion. CHAPTER XIII. Not only a life of vanity^ or sensuality, but even the most regular hind of life that is not governed by great devotion, sufficiently shows its miseries, its wants, and emptiness, to the eyes of all the world. This repre- sented in various characters. It is a very remarkable saying of our Lord ai;:l 263 Saviour to his disciples, in these words : " Blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear." It teaches us two things : First, That the dullness and heaviness of men's minds, with regard to spiritual matters, is so great, that it may justly be compared to the want of eyes and ears. Secondly, That God has so filled every thing, and every place, with motives and arguments for a godly life, that they who are but so blessed, so happy as to use their eyes and their ears, must needs be affected with them. Now though this was, in a more especial manner, the case of those whose senses were witnesses of the life and miracles and doctrines of our blessed Lord ; yet is it as truly the case of all Christians at this time. For the reasons of religion, the calls to piety, are so written and engraved upon every thing, and present themselves so strongly, and so constantly to all our senses in every thing that we meet, that they can only be disregarded by eyes that see not and ears that hear not. What greater motive to a religious life, than the vanity, the poorness of all worldly enjoyments? and yet who can help seeing and feeling this every day of his life ? What greater call to look towards God, than the pains, the sickness, the crosses, and vexa- tions of this life ? and yet whose eyes and ears are not daily witnesses of them? What miracles could more strongly appeal to our senses, or what message from heaven speak louder to us, than the daily dying and departure of our fellow-creatures? So that the one thing needful, or the great end of life, is not left to le discovered by 6ne reasoning and deep reflections; 264. but it is pressed upon us in the plainest manner, by the experience of all our senses, by every thing that we meet with in life. Let us lut intend to see and hear, and then the whole world becomes a book of wisdom and instruc- tion to us : all that is regular in the order of nature, all that is accidental in the course of things, all the mistakes and disappointments that happen to our- selves, all the miseries and errors we see in other people, become so many plain lessons of advice to us ; teaching us with as much assurance as an angel from heaven, that we can no ways raise ourselves to any true happiness, but by turning all our thoughts, our wishes, and endeavours, after the happiness of another life. It is this right use of the world that I would lead you into, by directing you to turn your eyes upon every shape of human folly, that you may thence draw fresh arguments and motives of living to the best and greatest purposes of your creation. And if you would but carry this intention about you, of profiting by the follies of the world, and of learning the greatness of religion from the littleness and vanity of every other way of life ; if, I say, you would but carry this intention in your mind, you would find every day, every place, and every person, a fresh proof of their wisdom who choose to live wholly unto God. You would then often return home the wiser, the better, and the more strengthened, in religion, by every thing that has fallen in your way. Octavius is a learned, ingenius man, well versed in most parts of literature, and no stranger to any kingdom in Europe. The other day, being just re- 265 covered from a lingering fever, he took upon him to talk thus to his friends : My glass, says he, is almost run out; and your eyes see how many marks of age and death I bear about me : but I plainly feel myself sinking away faster than any standers-by imagine. I fully believe, that one year more will conclude my reckoning. The attention of his friends was much raised by such a declaration, expecting to hear something truly excellent from so learned a man, who had but a year longer to live — when Octavius proceeded in this manner : For these reasons, says he, my friends, I have left off all taverns ; the wine of those places is not good enough for me in this decay of nature. I must now be nice in what I drink; I cannot pretend to do as I have done; and therefore am resolved to furnish my own cellar with a little of the very best, though it cost me ever so much. I must also tell you, my friends, that age forces a man to be wise in many otlier respects, and makes us change many of our opinions and practices. You know how much I have liked a large acquaintance ; I now condemn it as an error. Three or four cheerful, diverting com- panions is all that I now desire ; because I find, that, in my present infirmities, if I am left alone, or to grave company, I am not so easy to myself. A few days after Octavius had made this declara- tion to his friends, he relapsed into his former illness, was committed to a nurse, who closed his eyes before his fresh parcel of wine came in. Young Eugenius, who was present at this dis- course, went home a new man, with full resolutions of devoting himself to God. I never, says Euge- M 30 266 iiius, was so deeply affected with the wisdom and importance of religion, as when I saw how poorly and meanly the learned Octavius was to leave the world through the want of it. How often had 1 envied his great learning, his skill in languages, his know- ledge of antiquity, his address, and line manner of expressing himself upon all subjects ! But when I saw how poorly it all ended, what was to be the last year of such a life, and how foolishly the master of all these accomplishments was then forced to talk, for want of being acquainted with the joys and ex- pectations of piety, 1 was thoroughly convinced, that there was nothing to be envied or desired but a life of true piety ! nor any thing so poor and comfortless as a death without it. Now as the vouns- Euo-enius was thus edified and instructed in the present case; so if you are so hap- py as to have any thing of his thoughtful temper, you will meet with variety of instruction of this kind : you will find that arguments for the wisdom and Iiappiness of a strict piety offer themselves in all places, and appeal to all your senses in the plainest manner. You will find, that all the world preaches to an attentive mind ; and that if you have but ears to hear, almost every thing you meet teaches you some lesson of wisdom. But now, if to these admonitions and instructions which we receive from our senses, from an experience of the state of human life; if to these we add the lights of relifyion, those fjreat truths which the Son of God has taught us; it will then be as much past all doubt that there is but one happiness for man, as tliat there is but one God. For since relii^ion 26T teaches us, that our souls are immortal, that piety and devotion will carry them to an eternal enjoyment of God, and that carnal worldly tempers will sink them into an everlasting misery with damned spirits, what gross nonsense and stupidity is it to give the name of joy or happiness to any thing but that which carries us to this joy and happiness in God ! Were all to die with our bodies, there might be some pre- tence for those different sorts of happiness that are now so much talked of; but since our all begins at the death of our bodies ; since all men are to be im- mortal, either in misery or happiness, in a world entirely different from this ; since they are all has- tening hence at all uncertainties, as fast as death can cut them down ; some in sickness, some in health, some sleeping, some waking, some at midnight, others at cock-crowing, and at all hours that they know not of: is it not certain, that no man can ex- ceed another in joy and happiness, but so far as he exceeds him in those virtues which fit him for a happy death ? Cognatus is a sober, regular clergyman, of good repute in the world, and well esteemed in his parish. All his parishioners say he is an honest man, and very notable at making a bargain. The farmers listen to him with great attention, when he talks of the properest time of selling corn. He has been for twenty years a diligent observer of markets, and has raised a considerable fortune by good manage- ment. Cognatus is very othodox, and full of esteem for our English Liturgy ; and if he has not prayers on Wednesdays and Fridays, it is because his pre- decessors had not used the parish to any such custom. 268 As he cannot serve both his livings himself, he makes it matter of conscience to keep a sober curate upon one of them, whom he hires to take care of all the souls in the parish, at as cheap a rate as a sober man can be procured. Cognatus has been very prosperous all his time ; but still he has had the uneasiness and vexations that they have who are deep in worldly business. Taxes, losses, crosses, bad mortgages, bad tenants and the hardness of the times, are frequent subjects of his conversation ; and a good or bad season has a great effect upon his spirits. Cognatus has no other end in growing rich but that he may leave a considerable fortune to a niece, whom he has politely educated in expensive finery, by what he has saved out of the tithes of two livings. The neighbours look upon Cognatus as a happy clergyman, because they see him (as they call it) in good circumstances; and some of them intend to dedicate their own sons to the Church, because they see how well it has suc- ceeded with Cognatus, whose father was but an ordinary man. But now if Cognatus, when he first entered into holy orders, had perceived how absurd a thing it is to grow rich by the Gospel; if he had proposed to himself the example of some primitive father ; if he had had the piety of the great St. Austin in his eye, who durst not enrich any of his relations out of the revenue of the Church ; if, instead of twenty years' care to lay up treasures upon earth, he had distributed the income of every year, in the most Christian acts of charity and compassion. If, instead of tempting his niece to be proud, and providing her with such 269 ornaments as the apostle forbids, he had clothed, comforted, and assisted numbers of widows, orphans, and distressed, who were all to appear for him at the last day. If instead of the cares and anxieties of bad bonds, troublesome mortgages, and ill bargains, he had had the constant comfort of knowing, that his treasure was securely laid up, where neither moth corrupteth, nor thieves break through and steal — could it with any reason be said, that he had mistaken the spirit and dignity of his order, or lessened any of that happiness which is to be found in his sacred employments ? If instead of rejoicing in the happi- ness of a second living, he had thought it as unbe- coming the office of a clergyman to traffic for gain in holy things as to open a shop. If he had thought it better to recommend some honest labour to his niece, than to support her in idleness by the labours of a curate; better that she should want fine cloaths and a rich husband, than that cures of souls should be farmed about, and brother clergymen not suffered to live by those altars at which they serve. If this had been the spirit of Cognatus, could it with any reason be said, that these rules of religion, this strictness of piety, had robbed Cognatus of any real happiness ? Could it be said, that a life thus gov- erned by the spirit of the gospel, must be dull and melancholy, if compared to that of raising a fortune for a niece? Now as this cannot be said in the present case, so in every other kind of life, if you enter into the particulars of it, you will find, that however easy and prosperous it may seem, yet you cannot add piety to any part of it, without adding so much of a better joy and happiness to it. 270 Look now at that condition of life which draws the envy of all eyes. Negotius is a temperate honest man. He served his time under a man of great trade, but has, by his own management, made it a more considerable busi- ness than ever it was before. For the last thirty years he has written fifty or sixty letters in a week, and is busy in corresponding with all parts of Europe. The general good of trade seems to Negotius to be the general good of life; whomsoever he admires, whatever he commends or condemns, either in Church or State, is admired, commended, or condemned, with some regard to trade. As money is continually pouring in upon him, so he often lets it go in various kinds of expense and generosity, and sometimes in ways of charity. Negotius is always ready to join in any public contribution. If a purse is making at any place where he happens to be, whether it be to buy a plate for a horse-race, or to redeem a prisoner out of gaol, you are always sure of having something from him. He has given a fine ring of bells to a church in the country : and there is much expectation, that he will some time or other make a more beautiful front to the market-house than has yet been seen in any place. For it is the generous spirit of Negotius, to do no- thing in a mean way. If you ask what it is that has secured Negotius from all scandalous vices, it is the same thing that has kept him from all strictness of devotion, it is his great business. He has always had too many im- portant things in his head ; his thoughts have been too much employed, to suffer him to fall either into 271 any courses of rakery or to feel the necessity of au inward, solid piety. For this reason he hears of the pleasures of debauchery, and the pleasures of piety, with the same indifference ; and has no more desire of hving in the one than in the other, because neither of them consists with that turn of mind, and multiplicity of business, which are his happiness. If Negotius was asked, What is it which he drives at in life ? he would be as much at a loss for an an- swer, as if he was asked, what any other person is thinking of. For though he always seems to him- self to know what he is doing, and has many things in his head, which are the motives of his actions; yet he cannot tell you of any one general end of life, that he has chosen with deliberation as being truly worthy of all his labour and pains. He has several confused notions in his head which have been a long time there; such as these, namely, that it is something great to have more business than other people, to have more dealings upon his hands than a hundred of the same profession ; to grow continually richer and richer, and to raise an immense fortune before he dies. The thing that seems to give Negotius the greatest life and spirit, and to be most in his thoughts, is an expectation that he has, that he shall die richer than any of his business ever did. The generality of people, when they think of happiness, think of Negotius, in whose life every instance of happiness is supposed to meet ; sober, prudent, rich, prosperous, generous, and charitable. Let us now, therefore, look at this condition in another but truer light. Let it be supposed, that this same Negotius was a painful, laborious man, 272 every day deep in variety of affairs ; that he neither drank nor debauched : but was sober and regular in his business. Let it be supposed, that he grew old in this course of trading ; and that the end and design of all this labour, and care and application to business, was only this, that he might die possessed of more than a hundred thousand pair of boots and spurs, and as many great coats. Let it be supposed, that the sober part of the world say of him when he is dead, that he was a great and happy man, a thorough master of business, and had acquired a hundred thou- sand pair of boots and spurs when he died. Now if this was really the case, I believe it would be readily granted, that a life of such business was as poor and ridiculous as any that can be invented. But it would puzzle any one to show, that a man that has spent all his time and thoughts in business and hurry, that he might die, as it is said, worth a hundred thousand pounds, is any whit wiser than he who has taken the same pains to have as many pair of boots and spurs when he leaves the world. For if the temper and state of our souls be our whole state; if the only end of life be to die as free from sin and as exalted in virtue as we can : if naked as we came, so naked are we to return, and to stand a trial before Christ, and his holy angels, for ever- lasting happiness or misery ; what can it possibly signify what a man had or had not in this world ? What can it signify what you call those things which a man has left behind him ; whether you call them his, or any one's else ; whether you call them trees, or fields, or birds and feathers ; whether you call them a hundred thousand pounds, or a hundred thousand 273 pair of boots and spurs ? I say call them, for the things signify no more to him than the names. Now it is easy to see the folly of a life thus spent, to furnish a man with such a number of boots and spurs. But yet there needs no better faculty of seeing, no finer understanding to see the folly of a life spent in making a man a possessor of ten towns before he dies. For if when he has got all his towns, or all his boots, his soul is to go to its own place among separate spirits, and his body be laid by in a coffin, till the last trumpet calls him to judgment; where the inquiry will be, how humbly, how devoutly, how purely, how meekly, how piously, how charitably, how heavenly, we have spoken, thought, and acted, whilst we were in the body; how can we say, that he who has worn out his life in raising a hundred thousand pounds, has acted wiser for himself than he who has had the same care to procure a hundred thousand of any thing else? But further : Let it now be supposed, that Nego- tius, when he first entered into business, happening to read the Gospel with attention and eyes open, found that he had a much greater business upon his hands than that to which he had served an appren- ticeship ; that there were things which belong to man, of much more importance than all that our eyes can see ; so glorious, as to deserve all our thoughts ; so dangerous, as to need all our care ; and so certain, as never to deceive the faithful labourer. Let it be supposed, that from reading this book he had dis- covered that his soul was more to him than his body, that it was better to grow in the virtues of the soul, than to have a large body, or a full purse ; that it M 2 27'1 was better to be fit for heaven, than to have variety of fine houses upon the earth ; that it was better to secure an everlasting happiness, than to have plenty of things which he cannot keep; better to live in habits of humility, piety, devotion, charity, and self- denial, than to die unprepared for judgment ; better to be most like our Saviour, or some eminent saint, than to excel all the tradesmen in the world in busi- ness and bulk of fortune. Let it be supposed, that Negotius, believing these things to be true, entirely devoted himself to God at his first setting out in the world, resolving to pursue his business no farther than was consistent with great devotion, humility, and self-denial; and for no other ends but to provide himself with a sober subsistence, and to do all the good that he could to the souls and bodies of his fellow-creatures. Let it therefore be supposed, that instead of the continual hurry of busi- ness he was frequent in his retirements, and a strict observer of all the hours of prayer; that instead of restless desires after more riches, his soul had been full of the love of God and heavenly affections, con- stantly watching against worldly tempers and always aspiring after divine grace ; that instead of worldly cares and contrivances, he was busy in fortifying his soul aijainst all approaches of sin ; that instead of costly show and expensive generosity of a splendid life, he loved and exercised all instances of humihty and lowliness ; that instead of great treats and full . tables, his house only furnished a sober refreshment to those that wanted it. Let it be supposed, that his contentment kept him free from all kinds of envy ; that his piety made him thankful to God in all 275 crosses and disappointments ; that his charity kept him from being rich, by a continual distribution to all objects of compassion. Now had this been the Christian spirit of Nego- tius, can any one say, that he had lost the true joy and happiness of life, by thus conforming to the spirit and living up to the hopes of the Gospel? Can it be said, that a life made exemplary by such virtues as these, which keep heaven always in our sight, which both delight and exalt the soul here, and prepare it for the presence of God hereafter, must be poor and dull, if compared to that of heaping up riches, which can neither stay with us, nor we with them? It would be endless to multiply examples of this kind to show you how little is lost and how much is gained, by introducing a strict and exact piety into every condition of human life. I shall now therefore leave it to your own meditation, to carry this way of thinking farther, hoping that you are enough directed by what is here said, to convince yourself that a true and exalted piety is so far from rendering any life dull and tiresome, that it is the only joy and happi- ness of every condition in the world. Imagine to yourself some person in a consumption, or any other lingering distemper that was incurable. If you was to see such a man wholly intent upon doing every thing in the spirit of religion, making the wisest use of all his time, fortune, and abilities ; if he was for carrying every duty of piety to its greatest height, and striving to have all the advan- tage that could be had from the remainder of his life; if he avoided all business but such as was 276 necessary; if he was averse to all the follies and vanities of the world, had no taste for finery and show, but sought for all his comfort in the hopes and expectations of religion; you would certainly commend his prudence, you would say that he had taken the right method to make himself as joyful and happy as any one can be in a state of such in- firmity. On the other hand, if you should see the same person, with trembhng hands, short breath, thin jaws, and hollow eyes, wholly intent upon business and bargains, as long as he could speak ; if you see him pleased with find cloaths, when he could scarcely stand to be dressed, and laying out his money in horses and dogs, rather than purchase the prayers of the poor for his soul,* which was so soon to be separated from this body, you would certainly con- demn him as a weak silly man. Now as it is easy to see the reasonableness, the wisdom, and happiness of a religious spirit in a consumptive man, so if you pursue the same way of thinking, you will as easily perceive the same wisdom and happiness of a pious temper in every other state of life. For how soon will every man that is in health be in the state of him that is in a consumption ! How soon will he want all the same comforts and satisfactions of reli- * It must be very consoling to a dying man, to think that his well bestowed beneficence, has made the pious poor his friends, and awakened their interest in the salvation of his soul ; but to hold out this as a leading motive to charity, is to transplant that virtue from the only soil in which it can maintain its purity and vigour. The very essence of charity is disinterested good-doing ; and although we may like it the better for its returns of benefit, we must obey its impulses from delight in itself. Where we fail in this, our charity fails, although our deeds of beneficence may still abound D. Y. 277 gion, which every dying man wants ! And if it be wise and happy to live piously, because we have not above a year to live, is it not being more wise, and making ourselves more happy, because we may have more years to come ? If one year of piety before we die is so desirable, is not more years of piety much more desirable? If a man had five fixed years to live, he could not possibly think at all, without intending to make the best use of them all. When he saw his stay so short in this world, he must needs think that this was not a world for him ; and when he saw how near he was to another world tliat was eternal, he must surely think it very necessary to be very dih- gent in preparing himself for it. Now as reasonable as piety appears in such a circumstance of life, it is yet more reasonable in every circumstance of life, to every thinking man. For who but a madman can reckon that he has five years certain to come ? And if it be reasonable and necessary to deny our worldly tempers, and live wholly unto God, because we are certain that we are to die at the end of five years; surely it must be much more reasonable and necessary for us to live in the same spirit, because we have no certainty that we shall live five weeks. Again ; if we were to add twenty years to the five, which is in all probability more than will be added to the lives of many people who are at man's estate ; what a poor thing is this ! how small a dif- ference is there between five and twentyfive years ! It is said, that a day is with God as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day ; because in regard to his eternity, this difference is as nothing. 278 Now as we are all created to be eternal, to live in an endless succession of ages upon ages, where thousands and millions of thousands of years will have no proportion to our everlasting life in God; so with regard to this eternal state, which is our real state, twentyfive years is as poor a pittance as twentyfive days. Now we can never make any true judgment of time as it relates to us, without con- sidering the true state of our duration. If we are temporary beings, then a little time may justly be called a great deal in relation to us, but if we are eternal beings, then the difference of a few years is as nothing. If we are to suppose three different sorts of ra- tional beings, all of different but fixed duration, one sort that lived certainly only a month, the other a year, and the third a hundred years. Now if these beings were to meet together and talk about time, they must talk in a very different language : half an hour to those that were to live but a month must be a very different thing to what it is to those who are to live a hundred years. As therefore time is thus so different a thing with regard to the state of those who enjoy it, so if we would know what time is with regard to ourselves, we must consider our state. Now since our eternal state is as certainly ours as our present state ; since we are as certainly to live for ever as we now live at all ; it is plain that we cannot judge of the value of any particular time, as to us, but by comparing it to that eternal duration for which we are created. If you would know, what five years signify to a being that was to live 279 a hundred, you must compare five to a hundred, and see what proportion it bears to it, and then you will judge right. So if you would know, what twenty years signify to a son of Adam, you must compare it, not to a million of ages, but to an eternal duration, to which no number of millions bears any proportion : and then you will judge right, by finding it nothing. Consider therefore this : how would you condemn the folly of a man, that should lose his share of future glory, for the sake of being rich, or great, or praised, or delighted in any enjoyment, only one poor day before he was to die ? But if the time will come, when a number of years will seem less to every one than a day does now; what a condem- nation must it then be, if eternal happiness should appear to be lost for something less than the enjoy- ment of a day ! Why does a day seem a trifle to us now ? It is because we have years to set against it. It is the duration of years that makes it appear as nothing. What a trifle therefore must the years of man's age appear when they are forced to be set against eternity, when there shall be nothing but eternity to compare them with ! Now this will be the case of every man as soon as he is out of the body ; he will be forced to forget the distinctions of days and years, and to measure time, not by the course of the sun, but by setting it against eternity. As the fixed stars, by reason of our being placed at such distance from them, appear but as so many points; so when we, placed in eternity, shall look back upon all time it will all appear but as a mo- ment. Then a luxury, an indulgence, a prosperity. 280 a greatness of fifty years, will seem to every one that looks back upon it, as the same poor short enjoy- ment as if he had been snatched away in his first sin. These few reflections upon time, are only to show how poorly they think, how miserably they judge, who are less careful of an eternal state, because they may be at some years' distance from it, than they would be, if they knew they were within a few weeks of it. CHAPTER XIV. Of that part of devotion which relates to times and hours of prayer. Of daily early prayer in the morn- ing. How we are to improve our forms of prayer, and how to encrease the spirit of devotion. Having in the foregoing chapters shown the neces- sity of a devout spirit or habit of mind in every part of our common hfe, in the discharge of all our busi- ness, in the use of all the gifts of God; I come now to consider that part of devotion which relates to times and hours of prayer. I take it for granted, that every Christian that is in health is up early in the morning; for it is much more reasonable to suppose a person up early be* cause he is a Christian, than because he is a labourer, or a tradesman, or a servant, or has business that wants him. We naturally conceive some abhorrence of a man that is in bed when he should be at his labour, or in his shop. We cannot tell how to 281 think any thing good of him who is such a slave to drowsiness as to neglect his business for it. Let this, therefore, teach us to conceive how odious we must appear in the sight of heaven if we are in bed, shut up in sleep and darkness when we should be praising God; and are such slaves to drowsiness as to neglect our devotions for it. For if he is to be blamed as a slothful drone, that rather chooses the lazy indulgence of sleep, than to perform his proper share of worldly business ; how much more is he to be reproached that had rather lie folded up in a bed, than be raising up his heart to God in acts of praise and adoration ! Prayer is the nearest approach to God, and the highest enjoyment of him that we are capable of in this life. It is the noblest exercise of the soul, the most exalted use of our best faculties, and the high- est imitation of the blessed inhabitants of heaven. When our hearts are full of God, sending up holy desires to the throne of grace, we are then in our highest state, we are upon the utmost heights of hu- man greatness ; we are not before kings and princes, but in the presence and audience of the Lord of all the world, and can be no higher till death is swal- lowed up in glory. On the other hand, sleep is the poorest, dullest refreshment of the body, and is so far from being intended as an enjoyment that we are forced to receive it either in a state of insensibility, or in the folly of dreams. Sleep is such a dull stupid state of existence, that even amongst mere animals, we despise those most which are most drowsy. He, therefore, that chooses to enlarge the slothful indul- 282 gence of sleep, rather than be early at his devotions to God, chooses the dullest refreshment of the body, before the highest, noblest employment of the soul : he chooses that state which is a reproach to mere animals, rather than that exercise which is the glory of angels. o You will perhaps say, though you rise late, yet you are always careful of your devotions when you are up. It may be so. But what then? Is it well done of you to rise late, because you pray when you are up ? Is it pardonable to waste great part of the day in bed, because some time after you say your prayers? It is as much your duty to rise to pray as to pray when you are risen. And if you are late at your prayers, you offer to God the prayers of an idle, slothful worshipper, that rises to prayers as idle servants rise to their labour. Further; if you fancy that you are careful of your devotions when you are up, though it be your custom to rise late, you deceive yourself; for you cannot perform your devotions as you ought. For he that cannot deny himself this drowsy indulgence, but must pass away good part of the morning in it, is no more prepared for prayer when he is up, than he is })repared for fasting, abstinence, or any other self- denial. He may indeed more easily read over a form of prayer than he can perform these duties ; but he is no more disposed to enter into the true spirit of prayer, than he is disposed to fasting. For sleep thus indulged gives a softness and idleness to all our tempers, and makes us unable to relish any thing but what suits with an idle state of mind, and gratifies our natural tempers as sleep does. So 283 that a person who is a slave to this idleness, is in the same temper when he is up ; and though he is not asleep, yet he is under the effects of it ; and every- thing that is idle, indulgent, or sensual, pleases him for the same reason that sleep pleases him : and on the other hand, every thing that requires care, or trouble, or self-denial, is hateful to him, for the same reason that he hates to rise. He that places any happiness in this morning indulgence, would he glad to have all the day made happy in the same manner ; though not with sleep, yet with such enjoyments as gratify and indulge the body in the same manner as sleep does ; or at least, with such as come as near to it as they can. The remembrance of a warm bed is in his mind all the day, and he is glad when he is not one of those that sit starving in a church. Now, you do not imagine that such a one can truly mortify that body which he thus indulges ; yet you might as well think this, as that he can truly perform his devotions ; or live in such a drowsy state of indulgence, and yet relish the joys of a spiritual life. For surely no one will pretend to sa), that he knows and feels the true happiness of prayer who does not think it worth his while to be early at it. It is not possible in nature, for an epicure to be truly devout; he must renounce this habit of sensuality before he can relish the happiness of devotion. Now, he that turns sleep into an idle in- dulgence, does as much to corrupt and disorder his soul, to make it a slave to bodily appetites, and keep it incapable of all devout and heavenly tempers, as he that turns the necessities of eating into a course of indulgence. 284 A person that eats and drinks too much, does not feel such effects from it as those do who live in notori- ous instances of gluttony and intemperance ; but yet his course of indulgence, though it be not scandalous in the eyes of the world, nor such as torments his own conscience, is a great and constant hinderance to his improvement in virtue ; it gives him " eyes that see not, and ears that hear not :" it creates a sen- suality in the soul, encreases the power of bodily passions, and makes him incapable of entering into the true spirit of religion. Now this is the case of those who waste their time in sleep ; it does not dis- order their lives, or wound their consciences, as no- torious acts of intemperance do; but, like any other more moderate course of indulgence, it silently and by smaller degrees, wears away the spirit of religion, and sinks the soul into a state of dulness and sensu- ality. If you consider devotion only as a time of so much prayer, you may perhaps perform it, though you live in this daily indulgence ; but if you consider it as a state of the heart, as a lively fervour of the soul, that is deeply affected with a sense of its own misery and infirmities, and desiring the Spirit of God more than all things in the world ; you will find that the spirit of indulgence, and the spirit of prayer, cannot subsist together. Mortification of all kinds, is the very life and soul of piety ; but he that has not so small a degree of it, as to be able to be early at his prayers, can have no reason to think, that he has taken up his cross, and is following Christ. What conquest has he got over himself — what right hand has he cut off— what trials is he prepared 285 for — what sacrifice is he ready to ofFer unto God, who cannot be so cruel to himself as to rise to prayer at such a time as the drudging part of the world are content to rise to their labour ? Some people will not scruple to tell you, that they indulge themselves in sleep because they have nothing to do; and that if they had either business or pleasure to rise to, they would not lose so much of their time in sleep. But such people must be told, that they mistake the matter — that they have a great deal of business to do; they have a hardened heart to change; they have the whole spirit of religion to get. For surely he that thinks devotion to be of less moment than business or pleasure, or that he has nothing to do because nothing but his prayers want him, may be justly said to have the whole spirit of religion to seek. You must not, therefore, consider how small a crime it is to rise late ; but you must consider how great a misery it is to want the spirit of religion — to have a heart not rightly aflPected with prayer, and to live in such softness and idleness as makes you incapable of the most fundamental duties of a truly Christian and spiritual life. This is the right way of judging of the crime of wasting great part of your time in bed. You must not consider the thing barely in itself, but what it proceeds from ; what virtues it shows to be wanting ; what vices it naturally strengthens. For every habit of this kind discovers the state of the soul, and plainly shows the whole turn of your mind. If our blessed Lord used to pray early before day ; if he spent whole nights in prayer; if the devout Anna was day and night in the temple ; if St. Paul 286 and Silas at midnight sang praises unto God; if the primitive Christians, for several hundred years, be- sides their hours of prayer in the day-time, met publicly in the churches at midnight, to join in psalms and prayers; is it not certain that these practices showed the state of their heart ? Are they not so many plain proofs of the whole turn of their minds ? And if you live in a contrary state, wasting great part of every day in sleep, thinking any time soon enough to be at your prayers — is it not equally certain, that this practice as much shows the state of your hearts, and the whole turn of your mind ? So that if this indulgence is your way of life, you have as much reason to believe yourself destitute of the true spirit of devotion, as you have to believe the apostles and saints of the primitive Church were truly devout. For as their way of life was a de- monstration of their devotion, so a contrary way of life is as strong a proof of a want of devotion. When you read the Scriptures, you see a religion that is all life and spirit and joy in God — that sup- poses our souls risen from earthly desires and bodily indulgences, to prepare for another body another world, and other enjoyments. You see Christians represented as temples of the Holy Ghost, as children of the day, as candidatesfor an eternal crown, as watch- ful virgins that have their lamps always burning in expectation of the bridegroom. But can he be thought to have this joy in God, this care of eternity, this watchful spirit, who has not zeal enough to rise to his prayers ? When you look into the writings and lives of the first Christians, you see the same that you see in the Scriptures. All is reality, life, and action. 281 Watching and prayers, self-denial and mortification, was the common business of their lives. From that time to this there has been no one eminent for piety, like them, who has not, like them, been eminent for self-denial and mortification. This is the only royal way that leads to a kingdom. But how far are you from this way of life, or rather how contrary to it, if, in- stead of imitating their austerity and mortification, you cannot so much as renounce so poor an indulgence to be able to rise to your prayers ? If self-denials and bodily sufferings, if watchings and fastings, will be marks of glory at the day of judgment, where must we hide our heads that have slumbered away our time in sloth and softness ? You perhaps now find some prentences to excuse yourselves from that severity of fasting and self-denial which the first Christians practised. You fancy that human nature is grown weaker, and that the differ- ence of climates may make it not possible for you to observe their methods of self-denial and austerity in these colder countries. But all this is but pretence ; for the change is not in the outward state of things, but in the inward state of our minds. When there is the same spirit in us that there was in the apostles and primitive Christians, when we feel the weight of religion as they did, when we have their faith and hope, we shall take up our cross, and deny ourselves, and live in such methods of mortification as they did. Had St. Paul lived in a cold country, had he had a constitution made weak with a sickly stomach and often infirmities, he would have done as he advised 'J'imothy, he would have mixed a little wine with his water. But still he would have lived in a state 288 of self-denial and mortification. He would have given this same account of himself; — " I therefore so run, not as uncertainly ; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air : but I keep under my body, and bring it unto subjection, lest that by any means, when I have preached to others I myself should be a cast-away." After all let it now be supposed, that you imagine there is no necessity for you to be so sober and vigilant, so fearful of yourself, so watchful over your passions, so apprehensive of danger, so careful of your salva- tion, as the apostles were. Let it be supposed, that you imagine that you want less self-denial and mor- tification, to subdue your bodies and purify your souls, than they wanted ; that you need not have your loins girt, and your lamps burning, as they had ; will you therefore live in a quite countrary state? Will you make your life as constant a course of softness and indulgence, as theirs was of strictness and self- denial? If, therefore, you should think that you have time sufficient both for prayer and other duties, though you rise late ; yet, let me persuade you to rise early, as an instance of self-denial. It is so small a one, that, if you cannot comply with it, you have no reason to think yourself capable of any other. If I was to desire you, not to study the gratifica- tions of your palate, in the niceties of meats and drinks, I would not insist much upon the crime of wasting your money in such a way, though it be a great one ; but I would desire you to renounce such a way of fife, because it supports you in such a state of sensuality and indulgence as renders you incapable of relishing the most essential doctrines of religion. 289 For the same reason I do not insist much on the crime of wasting so much of your thne in sleep, though it be a great one ; but I desire you to renounce this in- dulgence, because it gives a softness and idleness to your soul, and is so contrary to that lively, zealous, watchful, self-denying spirit, which was not only the spirit of Christ and his apostles, the spirit of all the saints and martyrs which have ever been amongst men, but must be the spirit of all those who would not sink in the common corruption of the world. Here, therefore, we must fix our charge against this practice ; we must blame it, not as having this or that particular evil, but as a general habit, that ex- tends itself through our whole spirit, and supports a state of mind that is wholly wrong. It is contrary to piety ; not as accidental slips and mistakes in life are contrary to it, but in such a manner as an ill habit of body is contrary to health. On the other hand, if you were to rise early every morning as an instance of self-denial, as a method of renouncing indulgence, as a mean of redeeming your time and fitting your spirit for prayer, you would find mighty advantages from it. This method, though it seems such a small circumstance of life, would in all probability be a mean of great piety. It would keep it constantly in your head, that soft- ness and idleness were to be avoided, that self-denial was a part of Christianity. It would teach you to exercise power over yourself, and make you able by degrees to renounce other pleasures and tempers that war against the soul. This one rule would teach you to think of others ; it would dispose your mind to exactness, and be very likely to bring the N 30 290 remaining part of the day under rules of prudence and devotion. But above all, one certain benefit from this me- thod you will be sure of having, it will best fit and prepare you for the reception of the Holy Spirit. When you thus begin the day in the spirit of reli- gion, renouncing sleep because you are to renounce softness and redeem your time, this disposition, as it puts your heart into a good state, so it will pro- cure the assistance of the Holy Spirit; what is so planted and watered will certainly have an increase from God. You will then speak from your heart, your soul will be awake, your prayers will refresh you Hke meat and drink, you will feel what you say, and begin to know what saints and holy men have meant by fervours of devotion. He that is thus prepared for prayers, who rises with these dispositions, is in a very different state from him who has no rules of this kind, who rises by chance, as he happens to be weary of his bed or is able to sleep no longer. If such a one prays only with his mouth — if his heart feels nothing of that which he says — if his prayers are only things of course — if they are a life- less form of words, which he only repeats because they are soon said, there is nothing to be wondered at in all this ; for such dispositions are the natural efl'ect of such a state of life. Hoping, therefore, that you are now enough con- vinced of the necessity of rising early to your prayers, I shall proceed to lay before you a method of daily prayer. 1 do not take upon me to prescribe to you the use of any particular forms of prayer, but only to show you the necessity of praying at such times and 291 in such a manner. You will here find some helps, how to furnish yourself with such forms of prayer, as shall be useful to you. And if you are such a proficient in the spirit of devotion, that your heart is always ready to pray in its own language, in this case 1 press no necessity of borrowed forms. For though 1 think a form of prayer very necessary and expedient for pubhc worship, yet if any one can find a better way of raising his heart unto God in private than by prepared forms of prayer, I have nothing to object against it ; my design being only to assist and direct such as stand in need of assistance. Thus much, I beheve, is certain, that the gene- rality of Christians ought to use forms of prayer at all the regular times of prayer. It seems right for every one to begin with a form of prayer ; and if, in the midst of his devotions, he finds his heart ready to break forth into new and hiffher strains of devo- tion, he should leave his form for a while, and follow those fervours of his heart, till it again wants the assistance of his usual petitions. This seems to be the true Hberty of private devotion ; it should be under the direction of some form ; but not so tied down to it but that it may be free to take such new expressions as its present fervours happen to furnish it with; which sometimes are more affecting, and carry the soul more powerfully to God, than any expressions that were ever used before. All people that have ever made any reflections upon what passes in their own hearts, must know that they are mighty changeable in regard to devo- tion. Sometimes our hearts are so awakened, have such strong apprehensions of the divine presence, 292 are so full of deep compunction for our sins, that we cannot confess them in any language but that of tears. Sometimes the light of God's countenance shines so bright upon us, we see so far into the in- visible world, we are so affected with the wonders of the love and goodness of God, that our hearts worship and adore in a language higher than that of words, and we feel transports of devotion which only- can be felt. On the other hand, sometimes we are so sunk into our bodies, so dull and unaffected with that which concerns our souls, that our hearts are as much too low for our prayers; we cannot keep pace with our forms of confession, or feel half of that in our hearts which we have in our mouths : we thank and praise God with forms of words, but our hearts have little or no share in them. It is therefore highly necessary, to provide against this inconstancy of our hearts, by having at hand such forms of prayer as may best suit us when our hearts are in their best state, and also be most likely to raise and stir them up when they are sunk into dullness. For as words have a power of affecting our hearts on all occasions, as the same thing differently expressed has different effects upon our minds ; so it is reasonable, that we should make this advantage of language, and provide ourselves with such forms of expressions as are most likely to move and enliven our souls and fill them with sentiments suitable to them. The first thing that you are to do, when you are upon your knees, is to shut your eyes, and with a short silence let your soul place itself in the presence of God ; that is, you are to use this or some other 293 better method to separate yourself from all common thoughts, and make your heart as sensible as you can of the divine presence. Now if this recollection of spirit is necessary, as who can say it is not? then how poorly must they perform their devotions who are always in a hurry — who begin them in haste, and hardly allow themselves time to repeat their very form with any gravity or attention ! Theirs is pro- perly saying prayers instead of praying. To proceed; if you were to use yourself (as far as you can) to pray always in the same place; if you were to reserve thai place for devotion, and not allow yourself to do any thing common in it ; if you were never to be there yourself but in times of devotion; if any little room, or (if that cannot be) if any par- ticular part of a room was thus used, this kind of consecration of it, as a place holy unto God, would have an effect upon your mind, and dispose you to such tempers as would very much assist your devo- tion. For by having a place thus sacred in your room, it would in some measure resemble a chapel or house of God. This would dispose you to be always in the spirit of religion when you were there, and fill you with wise and holy thoughts when you were by yourself. Your own apartment would raise in your mind such sentiments as you have when you stand near an altar ; and you will be afraid of think- ing or doing any thing that was foolish near that place, which is the place of prayer and holy inter- course with God. When you begin your petitions, use such various expressions of the attributes of God as may make you most sensible of the greatness and power of the 294 divine nature. Begin therefore in words like these : O Being of all beings. Fountain of all light and glory, gracious Father of men and angels, whose universal Spirit is every where present, giving life and light and joy to all angels in heaven and all creatures upon earth, &c. For these representations of the divine attributes, which show us in some degree the majesty and greatness of God, are an excellent mean of raising our hearts into lively acts of worship and adoration. What is the reason that most peo- ple are so much affected with this petition in the Burial service of our Church — " Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death ?" It is because the joining together so many great expressions gives such a description of the greatness of the Divine Majesty as naturally affects every sensible mind. Although, therefore, prayer does not consist in fine words or studied ex- pressions, yet as words speak to the soul, as they have a certain power of raising thoughts in the soul — so those words which speak to God in the highest manner, which most fully express the power and presence of God, which raise thoughts m the soul most suitable to the greatness and providence of God, are the most useful and most edifying in our prayers. When you direct any of your petitions to our blessed Lord, let it be in some expressions of this kind : O Saviour of the world, God of God, Light of Light, thou that art the brightness of thy Father's glory, and the express image of his person; thou that art the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and end of all tbiiigs ; thou that hast destroyed the power anv 295 of the devil, that hast overcome death ; thou that art entered into the Holy of holies, that sittest at the right hand of the Father, that art high above all thrones and principalities, that makest intercession for all the world ; thou that art the Judge of the quick and dead ; thou that wilt speedily come down in thy Father's glory, to reward all men according to their works, be thou my light and my peace, & For such representations, which describe so m characters of our Saviour's nature and power, are not only proper acts of adoration, but will, if they are repeated with any attention, fill our hearts with the highest fervours of true devotion. Again, if you ask any particular grace of our blessed Lord, let it be in some manner like this : O holy Jesus, Son of the most high God, thou that wast scourged at a pillar, stretched and nailed upon a cross, for the sins of the world, unite me to thy cross, and fill my soul with thy holy, humble, and suffering spirit ! O Fountain of mercy, thou that didst save the thief upon the cross, save me from the guilt of a sinful life ; thou that didst cast seven devils out of Mary Magdalene, cast out of my heart all evil thoughts and wicked tempers ! O Giver of life, thou that didst raise Lazarus from the dead, raise up my soul from the death and darkness of sin ! Thou that didst give to thy apostles power over unclean spirits, give me power over my own heart. Thou that didst appear unto thy disciples when the doors were shut, do thou appear unto me in the secret apartment of my heart. Thou that didst cleanse the lepers, heal the sick, and give sight to the blind, cleanse my heart, heal the disorders of my soul, and fill me with hea- venly light. 296 Now these kinds of appeals have a double advan- tage : first, as they are so many proper acts of our faith whereby we not only show our belief of the miracles of Christ, but turn them at the same time into so many instances of worship and adoration. Secondlv, As they strengthen and encrease the faith of our prayers, by presenting to our minds so many instances of that power and goodness which we call upon for our own assistance. For he that appeals to Christ, as casting out devils and raising the dead, has then a powerful motive in his mind to pray ear- nestly, and depend faithfully upon his assistance. Again; in order to fill your prayers with excellent strains of devotion, it may be of use to you to observe this further rule. When at any time, either in reading the Scriptures or any book of piety, you meet with a passage that more than ordinarily affects your mind, and seems as it were to give your heart a new motion towards God, you should try to turn it into the form of a petition, and then give it a place in your prayers. By this means you would be often improving your prayers, and storing yourself with proper forms of making the desires of your heart known unto God. At all the stated hours of prayer, it will be of great benefit to you, to have something fixed, and something at liberty, in your devotions. You should have some fixed subject, which is constantly to be the chief matter of your prayer at that particular time ; and yet have liberty to add such other petitions as your condition may then require. For instance : As the morning is to you the beginning of a new life ; as God has then given you a new enjoyment of 297 yourself, and a fresh entrance into the world, it is highly proper, that your first devotions should be a praise and thanksgiving to God, as for a new crea- tion ; and that you should offer and devote body and soul, all that you are and all that you have, to his service and glory. Receive therefore every day as a resurrection from death, as a new enjoyment of life; meet every rising sun with such sentiments of God's goodness as if you had seen it and all things new created upon your account : and under the sense of so great a blessing, let your joyful heart praise and magnify so great and glorious a Creator. Let therefore praise and thanksgiving, and obla- tion of yourself to God, be always the fixed and certain subject of your first prayers in the morning; and then take the liberty of adding such other devo- tions as the accidental difference of your state or the accidental difference of your heart shall then make most needful and expedient for you. For one of the greatest benefits of private devotion consists in rightly adapting our prayers to those two conditions, the difference of our state and the difference of our hearts. By the difference of our state is meant the differ- ence of our external state or condition, as of sickness, health, pains, losses, disappointments, troubles, par- ticular mercies or judgments from God, all sorts of kindnesses, injuries, or reproaches from other people. Now as these are great parts of our state of life, as they make great difference in it, by continually changing — so our devotion will be made doubly beneficial to us, when it watches to receive and sanc- tify all these changes of our state, and turns them N 2 233 all into so many occasions of a more particular appli- cation to God, of such thanksgivings, such resigna- tion, such petitions, as our present state more espe- cially requires. And he that makes every change in his state a reason of presenting unto God some particular petitions suitable to that change, will soon find that he has taken an excellent mean not only of praying with fervour, but of living as he prays. The next condition, to which we are always to adapt some part of our prayers, is the difference of our hearts ; by which is meant the different state of the tempers of our hearts, as of love, joy, peace, tranquility, dullness and dryness of spirit, anxiety, discontent, motions of envy and ambition, dark and disconsolate thoughts, resentments, fretfulness, and peevish tempers. Now as these tempers, through the weakness of our nature, will have their succes- sion more or less, even in pious minds — so we should constantly make the present state of our heart the reason of some particular application to God. If we are in the delightful calm of sweet and easy passions, of love and joy in God, we should then offer the grateful tribute of thanksgiving to God, for the possession of so much happiness, thankfully own- ing and acknowledging him as the bountiful Giver of it all. If, on the other hand, we feel ourselves laden with heavy passions, with dullness of spirit, anxiety and uneasiness, we must then look up to God in acts of humility, confessing our unworthiness, opening our troubles to him, beseeching him in his good time to lessen the weight of our infirmities, and to deliver us from such passions as oppose the purity and perfection of our souls. Now by thus watching 299 and attending to the present state of our hearts, and suiting some of our petitions exactly to their wants, we shall not only he well acquainted with the disorders of our souls, but also be well exercised to the method of curing them. By this prudent and wise applica- tion of our prayers, we shall get all the relief from them that is possible ; and the very changeableness of our hearts will prove a mean of exercising a greater variety of holy tempers. Now, by all that has here been said, you will easily perceive, that persons careful of the greatest benefit of prayer ought to have a great share in the forming and composing their own devotions. As to that part of their prayers which is always fixed to one certain subject, in that they may use the help of forms composed by other persons; but in that part of their prayers which they are always to suit to the present state of their life, and the present state of their heart, there they must let the sense of their own condition help them to such kinds of petition, thanksgiving, or resignation, as their present state more especially requires. Happy are they who have this business and employment upon their hands.. And now, if people of leisure, whether men or women, who are so much at a loss how to dispose of their time, who are forced into poor contrivances, idle visits, and ridiculous diversions, merely to get rid of hours that hang heavily upon their hands; if such were to appoint some certain spaces of their time to the study of devotion, searching after all the means and helps to attain a devout spirit; if they were to collect the best forms of devotion, to use themselves to transcribe the finest passages of Scripture-prayers ;. 300 rf they were to collect the devotions, confessions, petitions, praises, resignations, and thanksgivings, which are scattered up and down in the Psalms, and range them under proper heads, as so much proper fuel for the flame of their own devotion ; if their minds were often thus employed, sometimes meditat- ing upon them, sometimes getting them by heart, and making them as habitual as their own thoughts, how fervently would they pray who came thus pre- pared to prayer ! And how much better would it be to make this benefit of leisure time, than to be dully and idly lost in the poor impertinences of a playing, visiting, wandering life ! How much better would it be to be thus furnished with hymns and anthems of the saints, and teach their souls to ascend to God, than to corrupt, bewilder, and confound their hearts with the wild fancies, the lustful thoughts of a lewd poet ! Now though people of leisure seem called more particularly to this study of devotion, yet persons of much business or labour must not think themselves excused from this, or some better method of improv- ing their devotion. For the greater their business is, the more need they have of some such method as this, to prevent its power over their hearts, to secure them from sinking into worldly tempers, and preserve a sense and taste of heavenly things in their minds. And a little time, regularly and constantly employed to any one use or end, will do great things and pro- duce mighty effects. And it is for want of considering devotion in this light, as something that is to be nursed and cherished with care, as something that is to be made part of 301 our business, that is to be improved with care and contrivance, by art and method and a diUgent use of the best helps ; it is for want of considering it in this hght, that so many people are so little benefited by it, and live and die strangers to that spirit of de- votion which, by a prudent use of proper means, they might have enjoyed in a high degree. For though the spirit of devotion is the gift of God, and not attainable by any mere power of our own, yet it is mostly given, and never withheld from those who, by a wise and diligent use of proper means, prepare themselves for the reception of it. And it is amaz- ing to see how eagerly men employ their parts, their sagacity, time, study, application, and exercise — how all helps are called to their assistance, when any thing is intended and desired in worldly matters ; and how dull, negligent, and unimproved they are, how little they use their parts, sagacity, and abilities, to raise and encrease their devotion. Mundanus is a man of excellent parts, and clear apprehension. He is well advanced in age, and has made a great figure in business. Every part of trade and business that has fallen in his way has had some improvement from him; and he is always contriving to carry every method of doing any thing well to its greatest height. Mundanus aims at the greatest perfection in everything. The soundness and strength of his mind, and his just way of thinking upon things, make him intent upon removing all imperfections. He can tell you all the defects and errors in all the common methods, whether of trade, building, or improving land or manufactures. The clearness and strength of his understanding, which he is constantly 302 improving, by continual exercise in these matters, by often digesting Iiis tlioughts in writing, and try- ing every thing every way, has rendered him a great master of most concerns in human hfe. Thus has Mundanus gone on, encreasing his knowledge and judgment as fast as his years came upon him. The one only thing which has not fallen under his im- provement, nor received any benefit from his judicious mind, is his devotion ; this is just in the same poor state it vvas when he was only six years of age; and the old man prays now in that little form of words which his mother used to hear him repeat night and morning. This Mundanus, that hardly ever saw the poorest utensil or ever took the meanest trifle into his hand without considering how it might be made or used to better advantage, has gone all his life long pray- ing in the same manner as when he was a child, with- out ever considerino- how much better or oftener he might pray, without considering how improvable the spirit of devotion is, how many helps a wise and reasonable man may call to his assistance, and how necessary it is that our prayers should be enlarged, varied, and suited to the pcirticular state and condi- tion of our lives. If Mundanus sees a book of de- votion, he passes it by as he does a spelling-book, because he remembers that he learned to pray so many years ago, under his mother, when he learned to spell. Now how poor and pitiable is the conduct of this man of sense, who has so much judgment and un- derstanding in every thing but that which is the whole wisdom of man ! And how miserably do many 303 people, more or less, imitate this conduct ! All which seems to be owing to a strange infatuated state of negligence, which keeps people from con- sidering what devotion is. For if they did but once proceed so far as to reflect about it, or ask themselves any questions concerning it, they would soon see that the spirit of devotion vvas like any other sense or understanding that is only to be improved by study, care, application, and the use of such means and helps as are necessary to make a man a proficient in any art or science. Classicus is a man of learning, and well versed in all the best authors of antiquity. He has read them so much that he has entered into their spirit, and can very ingeniously imitate the manner of any of them. All their thoughts are his thoughts, and hecan express himself in their language. He is so great a friend to this improvement of the mind, that if he lights on a young scholar he never fails to advise him concerning his studies. Classicus tells his young man, he must not think that he has done enough when he has only learned languages; but that he must be daily conversant with the best authors, read them again and again, catch their spirit by living with them, and that there is no other way of becom- ing like them, or of making himself a man of taste and judgment. How wise might Classicus have been, and how much good might he have done in the world, if he had but thought as justly of devotion as he does of learning ! He never indeed says any thing shock- ing or offensive about devotion, because he never thinks or talks about it. It suffers nothing from 304 him but neglect and disregard. The two Testa- ments would not have had so much as a place amongst his books but that they are both to be had in Greek. Classicus thinks that he sufficiently shows his re- gard for the holy Scriptures when he tells you, that he has no other books of piety besides them. It is very well, Classicus, that you prefer the Bible to all other books of piety : he has no judgment that is not thus far of your opinion. But if you will have no other book of piety besides the Bible, because it is the best, how comes it, Classicus, that you do not content yourself with one of the best books amongst the Greeks and Romans? How comes it that you are so greedy and eager after all of them ? How comes it that you think the knowledge of one is a necessary help to the knowledge of the other ? How comes it that you are so earnest, so laborious, so expensive of your time and money, to restore broken periods, and scraps of the ancients? How comes it that you read so many commentators upon Cicero, Horace, and Homer, and not one upon the Gospel? How comes it that your love of Cicero and Ovid makes you love to read an author that writes like them — and your esteem for the Gospel gives you no desire, nay, prevents you reading such books as breathe the very spirit of the Gospel ? How comes it that you tell your young scholar, he must not con- tent himself with barely understanding his authors, but must be continually reading them all, as the only mean of entering into their spirit, and forming his own judgment according to them? Why then must the Bible lie alone in your study ? 305 Is not the spirit of the saints, the piety of the holy followers of Jesus Christ, as good and necessary a mean of entering into the spirit and taste of the Gospel, as the reading of the ancients is of entering into the spirit of antiquity? Is the spirit of poetry only to be got by much reading of poets and orators ? And is not the spirit of devotion to be got in the same way, by frequent reading the holy thoughts and pious strains of devout men ? Is your young poet to search after every line that may give new wings to his fancy or direct his imagination ? And is it not as reasonable for him who desires to improve in the divine life — that is, in the love of heavenly things — to search after every strain of devotion that may move, kindle, and inflame the holy ardour of his soul ? Do you advise your orator to translate the best orations, to commit much of them to memory, to be frequently exercising his talent in this manner, that habits of thinking and speaking justly may be formed in his mind, — and is there not the same benefit and advantage to be made by books of devo- tion ? Should not a man use them in the same way, that habits of devotion and aspiring to God in holy thoughts may be well formed in his soul ? Now the reason why Classicus does not think and judge thus reasonably of devotion, is owing to his never thinking of it in any other manner than as the repeating a form of words. It never in bis life entered into his head, to think of devotion as a state of the heart, as an improvable talent of the mind, as a temper that is to grow and encrease like our reason and judgment, and to be formed in us by such a regular diligent use of proper means as are neces- 306 sary to form any other wise habit of mind. And it is for want of this that he has been content all his life with the bare letter of prayer, and eagerly bent upon entering into the spirit of heathen poets and orators. And it is much to be lamented, that numbers of scholars are more or less chargeable with this exces- sive folly ; so neghgent of improving their devotion, and so desirous of other poor accomphshments, as if they thought it a nobler talent to be able to write an epigram in the turn of Martial, than to live and think and pray to God in the spirit of St. Austin. And yet, to correct this temper, and fill a man with a quite contrary spirit, there seems to be no more required than the bare belief of the truth of Chris- tianity. And if you were to ask Mundanus and Classicus, or any man of business or learning, whether piety is not the highest perfection of man, or devotion the greatest attainment in the world, they must both be forced to answer in the affirmative, or else give up the truth of the Gospel. For to set any accom- plishment against devotion, or to think any thing or all things in the world can bear any proportion to its excellency, is the same absurdity in a Christian as it would be in a philosopher to prefer a meal's meat to the greatest improvement in knowledge. For as philosophy professes purely the search and inquiry after knowledge, so Christianity supposes, intends, desires, and aims at nothing else but the raising fallen man to a divine life, to such habits of holiness, such degrees of devotion, as may fit him to enter among the holy inhabitants of the kingdom of 307 heaven. He that does not believe this of Chris- tianity may be reckoned an infidel; and he that believes thus much has faith enough to give him a right judgment of the value of things, to support him in a sound mind, and enable him to conquer all the temptations which the world shall lay in his way. To conclude this chapter. Devotion is nothing else but right apprehensions and right affections towards God. All practices therefore that heighten and improve our true apprehensions of God, all ways of life that tend to nourish, raise, and fix our affec- tions upon him, are to be reckoned so many helps and means to fill us with devotion. As prayer is the proper fuel of this holy flame, so we must use all our care and contrivance to give prayer its full power; as by alms, self-denial, fre- quent retirements, and holy readings, composing forms for ourselves, or using the best we can get, adding length of time, and observing hours of prayer; changing, improving, and suiting our devotions to the condition of our lives and the state of our hearts. Those who have most leisure, seem more especially called to a more eminent observance of these holy rules of a devout life. And they who, by the ne- cessity of their state and not through their own choice, have but little time to employ thus, must make the best use of that little time they have. For this i? the certain way of making devotion produce a devout life. 308 CHAPTER XV. Of chanting or singing of psalms in our private devo- tions. Of the excellency and benefit of this kind of devotion. Of the great effects it hath upon our hearts* Of the means of performing it in the best manner. You have seen in the foregoing chapter what means and methods you are to use to raise and improve your devotion — how early you are to begin your prayers, and what is to be the subject of your first devotions in the morning. There is one thing still remaining, that you must be required to observe, not only as fit and proper to be done, but such as cannot be neglected without great prejudice to your devotions. And that is to begin all your prayers with a psalm. This is so right, is so beneficial to devotion, has so much effect upon our hearts, that it may be insisted upon as a common rule for all persons. I do not mean, that you should read over a psalm, but that you should chant or sing one of those psalms, which we commonly call the reading psalms. For singing is as much the proper use of a psalm as devout sup- plication is the proper use of a form of prayer. And a psalm only read is very much like a prayer that is only looked over. Now the method of chanting a psalm, such as is used in the colleges in the universities and in some churches, is such as all persons are capable of. The change of the voice in thus chanting of a psalm is so small and natural that every body is able to do it, and yet sufficient to raise and keep up the glad- 309 iiess of our hearts. You are therefore to consider this chanting of a psalm as a necessary beginning of vour devotions, as something that is to awaken all that is good and holy within you, that is to call your spirits to their proper duty, to set you in your best posture towards heaven, and tune all the powers of your soul to worship and adoration. For there is nothing that so clears a way for your prayers, nothing that so disperses dullness of heart, nothing that so purifies the soul from poor and little passions, nothing that so opens heaven, or carries your heart so near it, as these songs of praise. They create a sense and dehght in God, they awaken holy desires, they teach you how to ask, and they prevail with God to give. They kindle a holy flame, they turn your heart into an altar, your prayers into incense, and carry them as a sweet-smelling savour to the throne of grace. The difference between singing and reading a psalm will easily be understood, if you consider the difference between reading and singinfj a common song that you like. Whilst you only read it, you only like it, and that is all ; but as soon as you sing it, then you enjoy it, you feel the delight of it, it has got hold of you, your passions keep pace with it, and you feel the same spirit within you that seems to be in the words. If you were to tell a person that has such a song, that he need not sing it, that it was sufficient to peruse it, he would wonder what you meant ; and would think you as absurd as if you were to tell him, that he should only look at his food, to see whether it was good, but need not eat it ; for a song of praise not sung, is very like any other good thing not made use of. 310 You will perhaps say, that sinking is a particular talent that belongs only to particular people, and that you have neither voice nor ear to make any music. If you had said that singing is a general talent, and that people differ in that as they do in all other things, you had said something much truer. For how vastly do people diflPer in the talent of thinking, which is not only common to all men, but seems to be the very essence of human nature. How readily do some people reason upon every thing; and how hardly do others reason upon any thing. How clearly do some people discourse upon the most abstruse matters; and how confusedly do others talk upon the plainest subjects. Yet no one desires to be excused from thought or reason or discourse because he has not these talents as some people have them. But it is fully as just for a per- son to think himself excused from thinking upon God, from reasoning about his duty to him, or dis- coursing about the means of salvation, because he has not these talents in any fine degree ; this is fully as just as for a person to think himself excused from singing the praises of God because he has not a fine ear or a musical voice. For as it is speaking, and not graceful speaking, that is a required part of prayer ; as it is bowing, and not genteel bowing, that is a proper part of adoration ; so it is singing, and not artful fine singing, that is a required way of praising God. If a person was to forbear praying because he had an odd tone in his voice, he would have as good an excuse as he has that forbears from singing psalms because he has but little management of his voice. 311 And as a man's speaking his prayers, though in an odd tone, may yet sufficiently answer all the ends of his own devotion ; so a man's singing of a psalm, though not in a very musical way, may yet suffi- ciently answer all the ends of rejoicing in and prais- ing God. Secondly, This objection might be of some weight if you were desired to sing to entertain other people, but is not to be admitted in the present case, where you are only required to sing the praises of God, as a part of your private devotion. If a person that has a very ill voice, and a bad way of speaking, was desired to be the mouth of a congregation, it would be a very proper excuse for him to say that he had not a voice or a way of speaking that was proper for prayer. But he would be very absurd if, for the same reason, he should neglect his own private devotions. Now this is exactly the case of singing psalms ; you may not have the talent of singing, so as to be able to entertain other people, and therefore it is reasonable to excuse yourself from it ; but if for that reason you should excuse yourself from this way of praising God, you would be guilty of a great absurdity; because singing is no more required for the music that is made by it than prayer is required for the fine words that it contains, but as it is the natural and proper expression of a heart rejoicing in God. Our blessed Saviour and his apostles sung a hymn; but it may reasonably be supposed, that they rather rejoiced in God than made fine music. Do but so live, that your heart may truly rejoice in God, that it may feel itself affected with the praises of 312 God, and then you will find that this state of your heart will neither want a voice nor an ear to find a tune for a psalm. Every one, at some time or other, finds himself able to sing in some degree; there are some times and occasions of joy that make all people ready to express their sense of it in some sort of har- mony. The joy that they feel forces them to let their voice have a part in it. He therefore that saith he wants a voice or an ear to sing a psalm mis- takes the case ; he wants that spirit that really re- joices in God; the dullness is in his heart, and not in his ear; and when his heart feels a true joy in God, when it has a full relish of what is expressed in the psalms, he will find it very pleasant to make the motions of his voice express the motions of his heart. Singing, indeed, as it is improved into an art, as it signifies the running of the voice through such and such a compass of notes, and keeping time with a studied variety of changes, is not natural, nor the effect of any natural state of the mind; so, in this sense, it is not common to all people any more than those antic and invented motions which make fine dancing are common to all people. But singing, as it signifies a motion of the voice suitable to the motions of the heart, and the changing of its tone accordin^r to the meanincj of the words which we utter, is as natural and common to all men as it is to speak high when they threaten in anger, or to speak low when they are dejected and ask for a pardon. All men therefore are singers, in the same maimer as all men think, speak, laugh, and lament. For singing is no more an invention than grief or joy is an invention. 313 Every state of the heart naturally puts the body into some state that is suitable to it, and is proper to show it to other people. If a man is angry or disdainful, no one need instruct him how to express these passions by the tone of his voice. The state of his heart disposes him to a proper use of his voice. If therefore there are but few singers of divine songs, if people want to be exhorted to this part of devo- tion, it is because there are but few whose hearts are raised to that height of piety to feel any motions of joy and deHght in the praises of God. Imagine to yourself that you had been with Moses when he was led through the Red Sea; that you had seen the waters divide themselves and stand on a heap on both sides; that you had seen them held up till you had passed through, then let fall upon your enemies ; do ycH think that you should then have wanted a voice or an ear to have sung; with Moses, "The Lord is my strength and my song, and he is become my salvation," &c. ? I know your own heart tells you, that all people must have been sing- ers upon such an occasion. Let this therefore teach you, that it is the heart that tunes a voice to sing the praises of God, and that if you cannot sing these same words now with joy, it is because you are not so affected with the salvation of the world by Jesus Christ as the Jews were, or you yourself would have been, with their deliverance at the Red Sea. That it is the state of the heart that disposes us to rejoice in any particular kind of singing may be easily proved from a variety of observations upon human nature. An old debauchee may, according to the language of the world, have neither voice nor O 30 314 ear, if you only sing a psalm or a song in praise of virtue to him ; but if, in some easy tune, you sing something that celebrates his former debauches, he will then, though he has no teeth in his head, show you that he has both a voice and an ear to join such music. You then awaken his heart, and he as naturally sings to such words as he laughs when he is pleased. And this will be the case in every song that touches the heart; if you celebrate the ruling passion of any man's heart, you put his voice in tune to join with you. Thus, if you can find a man whose ruling temper is devotion, whose heart is full of God, his voice will rejoice in those songs of praise which glorify that God that is the joy of his heart, though he has neither voice nor ear for other music. Would you therefore delightfully perform this part of devo- tion, it is not so necessary to learn a tune, or practise upon notes, as to prepare your heart; for, as our blessed Lord saith, " out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders," &c. : so it is equally true that out of the heart proceed holy joys, thanksgiving, and praise. If you can once say, with David, " My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed," it will be very easy and natural to add, as he did, " I will sing and give praise," &c. Secondly, Let us now consider another reason for this kind of devotion. As singing is a natural effect of joy in the heart, so it has also a natural power of rendering the heart joyful The soul and body are so united that they have each of them power over one another in their actions. Certain thoughts and sentiments in the soul produce such and such motions and actions in the body; and, on the other hand, 315 certain motions and actions of the body have the same power of raising such and such thoughts and sentiments in the soul. So that as singing is the natural effect of joy in the mind, so it is as truly a natural cause of raising joy in the mind. As devotion of the heart naturally breaks out into outward acts of prayer, so outward acts of prayer are natural means of raising the devotion of the heart. It is thus in all states and tempers of the mind ; as the inward state of the mind produces outward actions suitable to it, so those outward actions have the Hke power of raising an inward state of mind suitable to them. As anger produces angry words, so angry words encrease anger. So that if we barely consider human nature, we shall find that singing or chanting the psalms is as proper and necessary to raise our hearts to a delight in God as prayer is proper and necessary to excite in us the spirit of devotion. Every reason for one is in all respects as strong a reason for the other. If therefore you would know the reason and necessity of singing psalms, you must consider the reason and necessity of praising and rejoicing in God; because singing of psalms is as much the true exercise and support of this spirit of thanksgiving as prayer is the true exercise and support of the spirit of devotion. And you may as well think, that you can be devout as you ought without the use of prayer, as that you can rejoice in God as you ought without the practice of singing psalms. Be- cause this singing is as much the natural language of praise and thanksgiving as prayer is the natural language of devotion. 316 The union of soul and body is not a mixture of their substances, as we see bodies united and mixed together, but consists solely in the mutual power that they have of acting upon one another. If two persons were in such a state of dependence upon one another, that neither of them could act or move or think or feel or suffer or desire any thing without putting the other into the same condition, one might properly say, that they were in a state of strict union although their substances were not united together. Now this is the union of the soul and body ; the substance of the one cannot be mixed or united with the other; but they are held together in such a state ot^ union, that all the actions and sufFerino^s of the one are at the same time the actions and sufferings of the other. The soul has no thought or passion but the body is concerned in it ; the body has no action or motion but what in some degree affects the soul. Now, as it is the sole will of God that is the reason and cause of all the powers and effects which you see in the world; as the sun gives light and heat, not because it has any natural power of so doing; as it is fixed in a certain place, and other bodies moving about it, not because it is in the nature of the sun to stand still, and in the nature of other bodies to move about it, but merely because it is the will of God that they should be in such a state. As the eye is the organ or instrument of seeing, not because the skins and coats and humours of the eye have a natural power of giving sight ; as the ears are the organs or instruments of hearing, not because the make of the ear has any natural power over 317 sounds, but merely because it is the will of God that seeino- and hearinfy should be thus received : so, in like manner, it is the sole will of God, and not the nature of a human soul or body, that is the cause of this union betwixt the soul and the body. Now if you rifjhtly apprehend this short account of the union of the soul and body, you will see a great deal into the reason and necessity of all the outward parts of religion. This union of our souls and bodies is the reason both why we have so little and so much power over ourselves. It is owing to this union that we have so little power over our souls ; for as we cannot pre- vent the effects of external objects upon our bodies, as we cannot command outward causes, so we cannot always command the inward state of our minds ; because, as outward objects act upon our bodies without our leave, so our bodies act upon our minds by the laws of the union of the soul and the body: and tiius you see it is owing to this union that we have so little power over ourselves. On the other hand, it is owing to this union that we have so much power over ourselves. For as our souls in a great measure depend upon our bodies, and as we have great power over our bodies, as we can command our outward actions and oblige our- selves to such habits of life as naturally produce habits in the soul, as we can mortify our bodies and remove ourselves from objects that inflame our pas- sions ; so we have a great power over the inward state of our souls. Again, as we are masters of our outward actions, as we can force ourselves to outward acts of reading, praying, singing, and the like, and 31S as all these bodily actions have an efiPect upon the soul, as they naturally tend to form such and such tempers in our hearts ; so, by being masters of these outward bodily actions, we have great power over the inward state of the heart. And thus it is owing to this union we have so much power over ourselves. Now from this you may also see the necessity and benefit of singing psalms, and of all the outward acts of religion ; for if the body has so much power over the soul, it is certain that all such bodily actions as affect the soul are of great weight in religion. Not as if there was any true worship or piety in the actions themselves, but because they are proper to raise and support that spirit, which is the true worship of God. Though, therefore, the seat of religion is in the heart, yet since our bodies have a power over our hearts, since outward actions both proceed from and enter into the heart, it is plain that outward ac- tions have a great power over that religion which is seated in the heart. We are therefore as well to use outward helps as inward meditation, in order to beget and fix habits of piety in our hearts. This doctrine may easily be carried too far; for by calling in too many outward means of worship, it may degenerate into superstition ; as, on the other hand, some have fallen into the contrary extreme. For because religion is justly placed in the heart, some have pursued that notion so far as to renounce vocal prayer and other outward acts of worship, and have resolved all religion into a quietism or mystic intercourse with God in silence. Now these are two extremes equally prejudicial to true religion and ought not to be objected either 319 against internal or external worship. As you ought not to say, that I encourage that quietism by plac- ing religion in the heart; so neither ought you to say, that I encourage superstition by showing the benefit of our outward acts of worship. For since we are neither all soul nor all body ; seeing none of our actions are either separately of the soul or separ- ately of the body; seeing we have no habits but such as are produced by the actions both of our souls and bodies ; it is certain, that if we would arrive at habits of devotion, or delight in God, we must not only meditate and exercise our souls, but we must practise and exercise our bodies to all such outward actions as are conformable to these inward tempers. If we would truly prostrate our souls before God, we must use our bodies to postures of lowliness; if we desire true fervours of devotion, we must make prayer the frequent labour of our lips. If we would bani&h all pride and passion from our hearts, we must force ourselves to all outward actions of patience and meekness. If we would feel inward motions of joy and delight in God, we must practise all the out- ward acts of it, and make our voices call upon our hearts. Now therefore you may plainly see the reason raid necessity of singing of psalms ; it is because outward actions are necessary to support inward tem- pers; and therefore the outward act of joy is neces- sary to rise and support the inward joy of the mind. If any people were to leave oft prayer, becciuse they seldom find the motions of their hearts answer- ing the words which they speak, you would charge them with great absurdity. You would think it 320 very reasonable that they sliould continue their prayers, and be strict in observing all times of prayer, as the most likely means of removing the dullness and indevotion of their hearts. Now this is very much the case as to singing of psalms ; people often sing without finding any inward joy suitable to the words which they speak ; therefore they are careless of it or wholly neglect it ; not considering that they act as absurdly as he that should neglect prayer because his heart was not enough affected with it. For it is certain, that this singing is as much the natural mean of raising motions of joy in the mind as prayer is the natural mean of raising devotion. I have been the longer upon this head because of its great importance to true religion. For there is no state of mind so holy, so excellent, and so truly perfect as that of thankfulness to God, and conse- quently nothing is of more importance in religion than that which exercises and improves this habit of mind. A dull, uneasy, complaining spirit, which is sometimes the spirit of those that seem careful of religion, is yet, of all tempers, the most contrary to religion, for it disowns that God which it pretends to adore. For he sufficiently disowns God who does not adore him as a being of infinite goodness. If a man does not believe that all the world is as God's family, where nothing happens by chance, but all is guided and directed by the care and providence of a being that is all love and goodness to all his creatures; if a man do not beheve this from his heart, he cannot be said truly to believe in God. And yet he that has this faith has faith enough to overcome the world and always be thankful to God. 321 For he that beUeves that every thing happens to him for the best cannot possibly complain for the want of something that is better. If therefore you live in murraurings and complaints, accusing all the accidents of life, it is not because you are a weak, infirm creature, but it is because you want the first principle of religion, a right belief in God. For as thankfulness is an express acknowledgment of the goodness of God towards you, so repinings and com- plaints are as plain accusations of God's want of goodness towards you. On the other hand, would you know who is the greatest saint in the world : it is not he who prays most or fasts most; it is not he who gives most alms, or is most eminent for temperance, chastity, or justice ; but it is he who is always thankful to God, who wills every thing that God willeth, who receives every thing as an instance of God's goodness, and has a heart always ready to praise God for it. All prayer and devotion, fasting and repentance, meditation and retirement, all sacraments and ordi- nances, are but so many means to render the soul thus divine, and comformable to the will of God, and to fill it with thankfulness and praise for every thing that comes from God. This is the perfection of all virtues ; and all virtues that do not tend to it, or proceed from it, are but too many false ornaments of a soul not converted unto God. You need not therefore now wonder, that I lay so much stress upon singing a psalm at all your devo- tions, since you see it is to form your spirit to such joy and thankfulness to God as is the highest per- fection of a divine and holy life. o 2 322 If any one would tell you the shortest, surest way to all happiness and all perfection, he must tell you to make a rule to yourself, to thank and praise God for every thing that happens to you. For it is cer- tain, that whatever seeming calamity happens to you, if you thank and praise God for it, you turn it into a blessing. Could you therefore work miracles, you could not do more for yourself than by this thank- ful spirit, for it heals with speaking a word, and turns all that it touches into happiness. If therefore you would be so true to your eternal interest, as to pro- pose this thankfulness as the end of all your reli- gion: if you would but settle it in your mind, that this was the state that you were to aim at by all your devotions, you would then have something plain and visible to walk by in all your actions, you would then easily see the effect of your virtues, and might safely judge of your improvement in piety. For so far as you renounce all selfish tempers and motions of your own will, and seek for no other happiness but in the thankful reception of every thing that happens to you, so far you may be safely reckoned to have advanced in piety. . And although this be the highest temper that you can aim at, though it be the noblest sacrifice that the greatest saint can offer unto God, yet it is not tied to any time or place or great occasion, but is always in your power, and may be the exercise of every day. For the common events of every day are sufficient to discover and exercise this temper, and may plainly show you how far you are governed in all your actions by this thankful spii'it. And for this reason, I exhort vou to this method in your 323 devotion, that every day may be made a day of thanksgiving, and that the spirit of murmur and dis- content may be unable to enter into the heart which is often employed in singing the praises of God. It may perhaps, after all, be objected, that -although the great benefit and excellent effects of this prac- tice are very apparent, yet it seems not altogether so fit for private devotion ; since it can hardly be per- formed without making our devotions public to other people, and seems also liable to the charge of sound- ing a trumpet at our prayers. It is therefore answered; First, That great numbers of people have it in their power to be as private as they please; such per- sons therefore are excluded from this excuse, which, however it may be so to others, is none to them. Therefore let such take the benefit of this excellent devotion. Secondly, Numbers of people are by the necessity of their state, as servants, apprentices, prisoners, and families in small houses, forced to be continu- ally in the presence or sight of somebody or other. Now, are such persons to neglect their prayers, be- cause they cannot pray without being seen ? Are they not rather obliged to be more exact in them, that others may not be witnesses of their neglect, and so corrupted by their example? Now what is here said of devotion, may surely be said of this chanting a psalm, which is only a part of devotion. The rule is this ; do not pray that you may be seen of men, but if your confinement obliges you to be always in the sight of others, be more afraid of being seen to neglect than of being seen to have recourse to prayer. 324 Thirdly, The short of the matter is this. Either people can use such privacy in this practice as to have no hearers, or they cannot. If they can, then this objection vanishes as to them; and if they can- not, they should consider their confinement, and the necessities of their state, as the confinement of a prison ; and then they have an excellent pattern to follow, they may imitate St. Paul and Silas, who sang praises to God in prison, though we are expressly told that the prisoners heard them. They therefore did not refrain from this kind of devotion for fear of being heard by others. If therefore any one is in the same necessity, either in prison or out of prison, what can he do better than to follow this example ? I cannot pass by this place of Scripture, without desiring the pious reader to observe, how strongly we are here called upon to this use of psalms, and what a mighty recommendation of it the practice of these two great saints is. In this their great dis- tress, in prison, in chains, under the soreness of stripes, in the horror of niglit, the divinest, holiest thing they could do was to sing praises unto God. And shall we, after this, need any exhortation to this holy practice? Shall we let the day pass with- out such thanksgivings, as they would not neglect in the night ? Shall a prison, chains, and darkness, furnish them with songs of praise, and shall we have no sinffinffs in our closets ? Further, let it also be observed, that while these two holy men were thus employed in the most exalted part of devotion, doing that on earth which angels do in heaven, that " the foundations of the 325 prison were shaken, all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed." And shall we now ask for motives to this divine exercise, when instead ot arguments we have here such miracles to con- vince us of its mighty power with God ? Could God by a voice from heaven more expressly call us to these songs of praise than by thus showing us, how he hears, delivers, and rewards those that use them ? But this by the way. I now return to the objection in hand; and answer, Fourthly, That the privacy of our prayers is not destroyed by our having but by our seeking wit- nesses of them. If therefore nobody hears you but those you cannot separate yourself from, you are as much in secret, and your Father who seeth in secret will as truly reward your secresy, as if your were seen by him alone. Fifthly, Private prayer, as it is opposed to prayer in public, does not suppose that no one is to have any witness of it. For husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, parents and children, masters and ser- vants, tutors and pupils, are to be witnesses to one another of such devotion as may truly and properiv be called private. It is far from being a duty to conceal such devotion from such near relations. In all these cases therefore, where such relations some- times pray together in private and sometimes apart by themselves, the chanting of a psalm can have nothing objected against it. Our blessed Lord commands us, when we fast, to " anoint cur heads and wash our faces, that we appear not unto men to fast, but unto our Father which is hi secret." But this only means, that we 326 must not make public ostentation to the world of our fasting. For if no one was to fast in private, or could be said to fast in private, but he that had no witnesses of it, no one could keep a private fast but he that lived by himself; for every family must know who fasts in it. Therefore the privacy of fasting does not suppose such a privacy as excludes every body from knowing it, but such a privacy as does not seek to be known abroad. Cornehus, the devout centurion, of whom the Scripture saith, that he gave much, and prayed to God alvvay, saith unto St. Peter, "four days ago I was fasting untill this hour." Now that this fasting was sufficiently private and acceptable to God appears from the vision of an angel, with which the holy man was blessed at that time. But that it was not so private as to be entirely unknown to others appears from the relation of it here, so from what is said in another place, that he "called two of his household servants, and a devout soldier of them who waited upon him continually." So that Cornelius's fasting was so far from being unknown to his family, that the soldiers and they of his household were made devout themselves by continually waiting upon him, that is, by seeing and partaking of his good works. As therefore the privacy or excellency of fasting is not destroyed by being known to some particular persons, neither would the privacy or excellency of your de- votions be hurt though, by chanting a psalm, you should be heard by some of your family. The whole of the matter is this. Great part of the world can be as private as they please ; therefore let them use this excellent devotion between God 327 and themselves. Another great part of the world must and ought to have witnesses of several of their devotions; let them therefore not neglect the use of a psalm at such times as it ought to be known to those with whom they live that they do not neglect their prayers. For surely there can be no harm in being known to be singing a psalm at such times as it ought to be known that you are at your prayers. And if at other times you desire to be in such secrecy at your devotions as to have nobody suspect it, and for that reason forbear your psalm, I have nothing to object against it, provided that at the known hours of prayer you never omit this practice. For who would not be often doing in the day that which ISt. Paul and Silas would not neglect in the middle of the night? If, when you are thus sing- ing, it should come into your head how the prison shaked and the doors opened when St. Paul sung, it would do your devotion no harm. Lastly, Seeing our imaginations have great power over our hearts, and can mightily affect us with their representations, it would be of great use to you, if, at the beginning of your devotions, you were to ima- gine to yourself some such representations as might heat and warm your heart into a temper suitable to those prayers that you are then about to offer unto God. As thus, before you begin your psalm of praise and rejoicing in God, make this use of your imagination. Be still, and imagine to yourself, that you saw the heavens open and the glorious choirs of cherubim and seraphim about the throne of God. Imagine that you here the music of those angelic voices that cease not day and night to sing the glo- ries of Him that is and was and is to come. 328 Help your imagination with such passages of Scrip- ture as these : Rev. vii, 9, " I beheld, and lo, in hea- ven a great multitude which no man could number, of all nations and kindreds and people and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes and palms in their hands; and they cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God, which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb. And all the angels stood round about the throne, and fell before the throne on their faces, and worshipped God, saying. Amen: blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honour and power and strength be unto God, for ever and ever. Amen." Think upon this till your imagination has carried you above the clouds, till it has placed you amongst those heavenly beings, and made you long to bear a part in their eternal music. If you will but use yourself to this method, and let your imaginations dwell upon such representations as these, you will soon find it to be an excellent mean of raising the spirit of devotion within you. Always therefore begin your psalm or song of praise with these imaginations ; and at every verse of it, imagine yourself amongst those heavenly companions, that your voice is added to theirs, and that you, with a poor and low voice, are singing that on earth which they are singing in heaven. Again, sometimes imagine that you had been one of those that joined with our blessed Saviour when he sung a hymn. Strive to imagine to yourself with what majesty he looked ; fancy that you had stood close by him surrounded with his glory. Think how 329 your heart would have been inflamed, what ecstacies of joy you would have then felt, when singing with the Son of God. Think again and again with what joy and devotion you would then have sung had this been really your happy state, and what a punishment you should have thought to have been silent; and let this teach you how to be affected with psalms and hymns of thanksgiving. Again, sometimes imagine to yourself that you saw holy David with his hands upon his harp, and his eyes fixed upon heaven, calling in transport upon all the creation, sun and moon, light and darkness, day and night, men and angels, to join with his raptu- rous soul in praising the Lord of Heaven. Dwell upon this imagination till you think you are singing with this divine musician, and let such a companion teach you to exalt your heart unto God in the fol- lowing psalm; which you may constantly use first in the morning : Psalm cxiv, " I Avill magnify thee, O God, my king; and I will praise thy name for ever and ever," &c. These following psalms, as the 34th, 96th, i03rd, 111th, 146th, 147th, are such as won- derfully set forth the glory of God ; and therefore you may keep to any one of them, at any particular hour, as you like; or you may take the finest parts of any psalms, and so adding them together, may make them fitter for your own devotion. 330 CHAPTER XVI. Devotions recommended at nine 6 clock in the morning, called in Scripture the third hour of the day. The subject of these prayers is humility. I AM now come to another hour of prayer, which in Scripture is called the third hour of the day; hut ac- acording to our way of iiumhering the hours, it is called the ninth hour of the mornino;. The devout Christian must at this time look upon himself as called upon by God to renew his acts of prayer, and address himself ao;ain to the throne of o-race. There is indeed no express command in Scripture to repeat our devotions at this hour. But then it is to be considered also, that neither is there any express command to begin and end the day with prayer. So that if that be looked upon as a reason for neglect- ing devotion at this hour, it may as well be urged as a reason for neglecting devotion both at the begin- ning and end of the day. But if the practice of the saints in all ages of the world, if the customs of the pious Jews and primitive Christians be of any force with us, we have authority enough to persuade us, to make this hour a constant season of devotion. The Scriptures show us how this hour was con- secrated to devotion both by Jews and Christians ; so that if we desire to number ourselves amongst those whose hearts were devoted unto God, we must not let this hour pass without presenting us to him in some solemnities of devotion. And besides this 331 authority for this practice, the reasonableness of it is sufficient to invite us to the observance of it. For if you were up at a good time in the morning, your first devotions will have been at a proper distance from this hour; you will have been long enough at other business to make it proper for you to return to this greatest of all business, the raising your soul and affections unto God. But if you have risen so late as to be hardly able to begin your first devotions at this hour, which is proper for your second, you may thence learn, that the indulging yourselves in the morning sleep is no small matter; since it sets you so far back in your devotions, and robs you of those graces and blessings which are obtained by fre- quent prayers. For if prayer has power with God, if it looses the bands of sin, if it purifies the soul, reforms our hearts, and draws down the aids of divine grace ; how can that be reckoned a small matter which robs us of an hour of prayer? Imagine yourself somewhere placed in the air, as a spectator of all that passes in the world ; and tliat you saw in one view, the devotions which all Chris- tian people offer unto God every day. Imagine that you saw some piously dividing the day and night, as the primitive Christians did, and constant at all hours of devotion, singing psalms Lud calling upon God at all those times that saints and martyrs received their gifts and graces from God. Imagine that you saw others living without any rules, as to times and frequency of prayer, and oi^iy at their de- votions sooner or later, as sleep and laziness happen to permit them. Now if you were to see this as God sees it, hov/ do you suppose you should be af- 332 fected with this sight ? What judgment do you imagine you should pass upon these different sorts of people ? Could you think that those who were thus exact in their rules of devotion got nothing by their exactness ? Could you think that their prayers were received just in the same manner, and procured to them as little blessing, as the prayers of those do to them who prefer laziness and indulgence to times and rules of devotion ? Could you take the one to be as true servants of God as the other? Could you imagine that those who were thus different in their lives would find no difference in their states after death ? Could you think it a matter of indifferency, to which of these people you were most like? If not, let it he now your care to join yourself to that number of devout people, to that soceity of saints, amongst whom you desire to be found when you leave the world. And although the bare number and repetition of our prayers is of little value; yet since prayer rightly and attentively performed is the most natural means of amending and purifying our hearts — since impor- tunity and frequency in prayer is as much pressed upon us by Scripture as prayer itself — we may be sure that when we are frequent and importunate in our prayers, we are taking the best means of obtain- in o- the hiohest benefits of a devout life. And on the other hand, they who through negligence, lazi- ness, or any other indulgence, render themselves cither unable ..or uninclined to observe rules and hours of devotion, we may be sure that they deprive themselves of those graces and blessings which an exact and fervent devotion procures from God. 333 Now as this frequency of prayer is founded iii doctrines of Scripture, and recommended to us by the practice of the true worshippers of God ; so we ought not to think ourselves excused from it but where we can show that we are spending our time in such business as is more acceptable to God than these returns of prayer. Least of all must we imagine, that dulhiess, negligence, indolence, or diversions can be any pardonable excuses for our not observing an exact and frequent method of devotion. If you are of a devout spirit, you will rejoice at those returns of prayer which keep your soul in a holy enjoyment of God, which change your passion into divine love, and fill your heart with stronger joys and consolations than you can possibly meet with in any thing else. And if you are not of a devout spirit, then you are moreover obliged to this frequency of prayer, to train and exercise your heart into a true sense and feeling of devotion. Now seeing the Holy Spirit of the Christian religion, and the example of the saints of all ages, call upon you thus to divide the day into hours of prayer; so it will be highly beneficial to you, to" make a right choice of those matters which are to be the subject of your prayers, and to keep every hour of prayer appropriated to some particular sub- ject, which you may alter or enlarge, according as the state you are in requires. By this mean you will have an opportunity of being large and particular in all the parts of any virtue or grace which you then make the subject of your prayers. And bv asking for it in all its parts, and making it the sub- stance of a whole prayer once every day, you will 334 soon find a mighty change in your heart, and that you cannot thus constantly pray for all the parts of any virtue every day of your life, and yet live the rest of the day contrary to it. If a worldly-minded man was to pray every day against all the instances of a worldly temper — if he should make a large description of the temptations of covetousness, and desire God to assist him to re- ject them all, and to disappoint him in all his covetous designs, he would find his conscience so much awak- ened that he would be forced either to forsake such prayers or to forsake a worldly life. The same will hold true in any other instance. And if we ask, and have not, it is because we ask amiss. Because we in cold and general forms, such as only name tlie virtues without describing their particular parts, such are not enough particular to our condition, and there- fore make no change in our hearts. Whereas, when a man enumerates all the parts of any virtue in his prayers, conscience is thereby awakened, and he is frighted at seeing how far short he is of it. And this stirs him up to an ardour in devotion, when he sees how much he wants of that virtue which he is praying for. I have, in the last chapter, laid before you the excellency of praise and thanksgiving, and recom- mended that as the subject of your first devotion in the morning. And because an humble state of soul is the very state of religion, because humility is the life and soul of piety, the foundation and support of every virtue and good work, the best guard and security of all holy affections — I shall recommend humiUty to you, as highly proper to be made the 335 constant subject of your devotions, at this third hour of the day, earnestly desiring you to think no day safe, or likely to end well, in which you have not thus early put yourself in this posture of humility, and called upon God to carry you through the day, in the exercise of a meek and lowly spirit. This virtue is so essential to the right state of our souls, that there is no pretending to a reasonable or pious life without it. We may as well think to see without eyes, or live without breath, as to live in the spirit of religion without the spirit of humility. And although it is thus the soul and essence of all rehgious duties, yet is it, generally speaking, the least understood, the least regarded, the least in- tended, the least desired and sought after, of all other virtues, amongst all sorts of Christians. No people have more occasion to be afraid of the approaches of pride than those who have made some advances in a pious life. For pride can grow as well upon our virtues as our vices, and steals upon us on all occasions. Every good thought that we have, every good action that we do, lays us open to pride, and exposes us to the assaults of vanity and self- satisfaction. It is not only the beauty of our per- sons, the gifts of fortune, our natural talents, and the distinctions of life, but even our devotions and aims, our fastings and humiliations, expose us to fresh and strong temptations of this evil spirit. And it is for this reason, that 1 so earnestly advise every devout person to begin every day in this exercise of humility, that he may go on in safety under the pro- tection of this good guide, and not fall a sacrifice to his own progress in those virtues which are to save mankind form destruction. rom 336 Humility does not consist in having a worse opinion of ourselves than we deserve, or in abasinii,- ourselves lower than we really are. But as all virtu is founded in truth, so humility is founded in a tru and just sense of our weakness, misery, and sin. H that rightly feels and lives in this sense of his cond tion, lives in humility. The weakness of our state appears from our inability to do any thing as of our- selves. In our natural state we are entirely without any power ; we are indeed active beings but can only act by a power that is every moment lent us f God. We have no more power of our own to mov a hand or stir a foot than to move the sun or stop the clouds. When we speak a word, we feel no more power in ourselves to do it than we feel ourselves able to rise the dead. For we act no more within our own power, or by our own strength, when we speak a word or make a sound, than the apostles acted within their own power, or by their own strength, when a word from their mouth cast out devils and cured diseases. As it was solely the power of God that enabled them to speak to such purposes, so it is solely the power of God that enables us to speak at all. We indeed find that we can speak, as we find that we are alive ; but the actual exercise of speaking is no more in our power than the actual enjoyment of life. This is the dependent, helpless poverty of our state ; which is a great reason for humility; for since we neither are nor can do any thing of ourselves, to be proud of any thing that we are or of any thing that we can do, and to ascribe glory to ourselves for these things as our own ornaments, has the guilt 337 both of stealing and lying. It has the guilt of steal- ing, as it gives to ourselves those things vi^hich only belong to God. It has the guilt of lying, as it is the denying the truth of our state, and pretending to be something that we are not. Secondly, Another argument for humility is founded in the misery of our condition. Now the misery of our condition appears in this, that we use these borrowed powers of our nature to the torment and vexation of ourselves and our fellow-creatures. God Almighty has entrusted us with the use of reason, and we use it to the disorder and corruption of our nature. We reason ourselves into all kinds of folly and misery, and make our lives the sport of foolish and extravagant passions — seeing after ima- ginary happiness in all kinds of shapes, creating to ourselves a thousand wants, amusing our hearts with false hopes and fears, using the world worse than irrational animals, envying, vexing, and tormenting one another with restless passions and unreasonable contentions. Let any man but look back upon his own life, and see what use he has made of his reason, how little he has consulted it, and how much less he has followed it; — what foolish passions, what vain thoughts, what needless labours, what extravagant projects, have taken up the greater part of his life ; — how foolish he has been in his words and conversation; how seldom he has done well with judgment, and how often he has been kept from doing ill by accident ; how seldom he has been able to please himself, and how often he has displeased others; how often he has changed his counsels, hated what he loved and loved P 30 338 what he hated ; how often he has been enraged and transported at trifles, pleased and displeased with the very same things, and constantly changing from one vanity to another : — let a man but take this view of his own life, and he will see reason enough to con- fess that pride was not made for man. Let him but consider, that if the world knew all that of him which he knows of himself — if they saw what vanity and passions govern his inside, and what secret tempers sully and corrupt his best actions, he would have no more pretence to be honoured and admired for his goodness and wisdom than a rotten and distempered body to be loved and admired for its beauty and comeliness. This is so true, and so known to the hearts of almost all people, that nothing would appear more dreadful to them than to have their hearts thus fully discovered to the eyes of all beholders. And perhaps there are few people in the world who would not rather choose to die than to have all their secret folUes, the errors of their judgments, the vanity of their minds, the falseness of their pretences, the frequency of their vain and disorderly passions, their uneasiness, hatred, envies, and vexations, made known unto the world. And shall pride be entertained in a heart thus conscious of its own miserable behaviour? Shall a creature in such a condition, that he could not sup- port himself under the shame of being known to the world in his real state, shall such a creature, because his shame is only known to God, to holy angels, and his own conscience, shall he, in the sight of God and holy angels, dare to be vain and proud of himself! 339 Thirdly, If to this ye add the shame and guilt of sin, we shall find a still greater reason for humility. No creature that had lived in innocence would have thereby got any pretence for self-honour and esteem ; because, as a creature, all that it is or has or does is from God, and therefore the honour of all that be- longs to it is only due to God. But if a creature that is a sinner, and under the displeasure of the great Governor of all the world, and deserving no- thing from him but pains and punishments for the shameful abuse of his powers, if such a creature pre- tends to self-glory for any thing that he is or does, he can only be said to glory in his shame. Now how monstrous and shameful the nature of sin is, is sufficiently apparent from that great atone- ment that is necessary to cleanse us from the guilt of it. Nothing less has been required to take away the guilt of our sins than the sufferings and death of the Son of God. Had he not taken our nature upon him, our nature had been for ever separated from God, and incapable of ever appearing before him. And is there any room for pride or self-glory whilst we are partakers of such a nature as this ? Have our sins rendered us so abominable and odious to him that made us, that he could not so much as receive our prayers, or admit our repentance, till the Son of God made himself man, and became a suffer- ing advocate for our whole race ; and can we, in this state, pretend to high thoughts of ourselves ? Shall we presume to take delight in our own worth who are not worthy so much as to ask pardon for our sins without the mediation and intercession of the Son of God? 340 Thus deep is the foundation of humility laid, in these deplorable circumstances of our condition — which show, that it is as great an offence against truth and the reason of things, for a man in this state of things, to lay claim to any degrees of glory, as to pretend to the honour of creating himself. If man will boast of any thing as his own, he must boast of his misery and sin ; for there is nothing else but this that is his own property. Turn your eyes towards heaven, and fancy that you saw what is doing there — that you saw cherubim and seraphim and all the glorious inhabitants of that place all united in one work — not seeking glory from one another, not labouring their own advance- ment, not contemplating their own perfections, not singing their own praises, not valuing themselves and despising others, but all employed in one and the same work, all happy in one and the same joy — " casting down their crowns before the throne of God, giving glory and honour and power to him alone." Then turn your eyes to the fallen world, and consider how unreasonable and odious it must be for such poor worms, such miserable sinners, to take delight in their own fancied glories, whilst the highest and most glorious sons of heaven seek for no other greatness and honour but that of ascribing all honour and greatness and glory to God alone. Pride is only the disorder of the fallen world, it has no place amongst other beings; it can only sub- sist where ignorance and sensuahty, lies and false- hood, lusts and impurity reign. Let a man, when he is most delighted with his own figure, look upon a crucifix, and contemplate our blessed Lord stretched 341 out, and nailed upon a cross ; and let him consider, how absurd it must be, for a heart full of pride and vanity to pray to God, through the sufferings of such a meek and crucified Saviour ? These are the reflections that you are often to meditate upon, that you may thereby be disposed to walk before God and man in such a spirit of humility as becomes the weak, miserable, sinful state of all that are descended from fallen Adam. When you have, by such general reflections as these, convinced your mind of the reasonableness of humility, you must not content yourself with this, as if you were therefore humble, because your mind acknowledges the reasonableness of humility, and declares against pride. But you must immediately enter yourself into the practice of this virtue, like a young beginner that has all of it to learn, and can learn but little at a time, and that with great difficulty. You must consider, that you have not only this virtue to learn, but that you must be content to proceed as a learner in it all your time, endeavouring after greater degrees of it, and every day practising acts of humility, as you every day practise acts of devotion. You would not imagine yourself to be devout, because in your judgment you approved of prayers, and often declared your mind in favour of devotion. Yet how many people imagine themselves humble enough, for no other reason but because they often commend humility, and make vehement declarations against pride ! Cebcus is a rich man, of good birth and very fine parts. He is fond of dress, curious in the smallest matters that can add any ornament to his person. 342 He is haughty and imperious to all his inferiors, is very full of every thing that he says or does, and never imagines it possible for such a judgment as his to be mistaken. He can bear no contradiction, and discovers the weakness of your understanding as soon as ever you oppose him. He changes every thing in his house, his habit, and his equipage, as often as any thing more elegant comes in his way. C^cus would have been very religious but that he always thought he was so. There is nothing so odious to Csecus as a proud man ; and the misfortune is, that in this he is so very quick-sighted that he discovers in almost every body some strokes of vanity. On the other hand, he is exceedingly fond of humble and modest persons. Humility, says he, is so amiable a quality that it forces our esteem wherever we meet with it. There is no possibility of despising the meanest person that has it, or of esteeming the greatest man that wants it. Csecus no more suspects himself to be proud than he suspects his want of sense. And the reason of it is, because he always finds himself so in love with humility and so enraged at pride. It is very true, Caecus, you speak sincerely, when you say you love humility and abhor pride. You are no hypocrite, you speak the true sentiments of your mind; but then take this along with you, Caecus, that you only love humility and hate pride in other people. You never once in your life thought of any other humility, or of any other pride, than that which you have seen in other people. The case of Ceecus is a common case; many people live in all the instances of pride, and indulge 343 every vanity that can enter into their minds, and yet never suspect themselves to be governed by pride and vanity, because they know how much they disUke proud people, and how mightily they are pleased with humility and modesty wherever they find them. All their speeches in favour of humility, and all their railings against pride, are looked upon as so many true exercises and effects of their own humble spirit. Whereas in truth these are so far from being proper acts or proofs of humility that they are great argu- ments of the want of it. For the fuller of pride any one is himself, the more impatient will he be at the smallest instances of it in other people. And the less humility any one has in his own mind, the more will he demand and be dehghted with it in other people. You must therefore act by a quite contrary mea- sure, and reckon yourself only so far humble as you impose every instance of humility upon yourself, and never call for it in other people — so far an enemy to pride, as you never spare it in yourself, nor ever censure it in other persons. Now, in order to do this, you need only consider that pride and humility signify nothing to you but so far as they are your own — that they do you neither good nor harm but as they are the tempers of your heart. The loving, therefore, of humility, is of no benefit or advantage to you but so far as you love to see all your own thoughts, words, and actions, governed by it. And the hating of pride does you no good, is no perfec- tion in you, but so far as you hate to harbour any degree of it in your own heart. Now in order to begin and set out well in the 344 practice of humility, you must take it for granted that you are proud, that you have all your life been more or less infected with this unreasonable temper. You should believe also, that it is your greatest weakness, that your heart is most subject to it, that it is so constantly stealing upon you that you have reason to watch and suspect its approaches in all your actions. For this is what most people, espe- cially new beginners in a pious life, may with great truth think of themselves. For there is no one vice that is more deeply rooted in our nature, or that receives such constant nourishment from almost every thing that we think or do. There being hardly any thing in the world that we want or use, or any action or duty of life, but pride finds some mean or other to take hold of it. So that at what time soever we begin to offer ourselves to God, we can harldly be surer of any thing than that we have a great deal of pride to repent of. If therefore you find it disagreeable to your mind, to entertain this opinion of yourself, and that you cannot put yourselves amongst those that want to be cured of pride, you may be as sure as if an angel from heaven had told you, that you have not only much but all your humility to seek. For you can have no greater sign of a more comfirmed pride than when you think that you are humble enough. He that thinks he loves God enough, shows himself an entire stranger to that holy passion ; so he that thinks he has humility enough, shows that he is not so much as a beginner in the practice of true humility. 345 CHAPTER XVII. The practice of humility is made difficult by the general spirit and temper of the world. Christianity requires us to live contrary to the world. Every person, when he first applies himself to the exercise of the virtue of humility, must, as I said before, consider himself as a learner, that is, to learn something that is contrary to former tempers and habits of mind, and which can only be got by daily and constant practice. He has not only as much to do as he that has some new art or science to learn, but he has also a great deal to unlearn. He is to forget and lay aside his own spirit, which has been a long while fixing and forming itself; he must forget and depart from abundance of passions and opinions, which the fashion and vogue and spirit of the world have made natural to him. He must lay aside his own spirit ; because as we are born in sin, so in pride, which is as natural to us as self-love, and continually springs from it. And this is the reason why Chris- tianity is so often represented as a new birth and a new spirit. He must lay aside the opinions and pas- sions which he has received from the world; because the vogue and fashion of the world, by which we have been carried away as in a torrent, before we could pass right judgments of the value of things, is in many respects contrary to humility ; so that we must unlearn what the spirit of the world has taught us before we can be governed by the spirit of humility. The devil is called in Scripture the prince of this p2 346 world, because he lias great power in it, because many of its rules and principles are invented by this evil spirit, the father of all lies and falsehood, to separate us from God and prevent our return to happiness. Now, according to the spirit and vogue of this world, whose corrupt air we have all breathed, there are many things that pass for great and honour- able, and most desirable, which yet are so far from beinff so that the true irreatness and honour of our nature consist in the not desiring them. To abound in wealth, to have fine houses, and rich cloaths, to be beautiful in our persons, to have titles of dignity, to be above our fellow-creatures, to command the bows and obeisance of other people, to be looked on with admiration, to overcome our enemies with power, to subdue all that oppose us, to set out ourselves in as much splendour as we can, to live hitrhlv and mamiificentlv, to eat and drink and delight ourselves in the most costly manner, these are the great, the honourable, the desirable things, to vvhich the spirit of the world turns the eyes of all people. and many a man is afraid of standing still, and not engaging in the pursuit of these things, lest the same world should take him for a fool. The history of the Gospel is chiefly the history of Christ's conquest over this spirit of the world. And the number of true Christians is only the number of those who, following the spirit of Christ, have lived contrary to this spirit of the world. " If any man hath not the spirit of Christ, he is none of his." Again, " Whosoever is born of God, over- comcth the world. — Set your affections on things 847 above, and not on things on the earth ; for ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." This is the lanofuaffe of the whole New Testament. This is the mark of Christianity ; j/ou are to be dead, that is, dead to the spirit and temper of the world, and to live a new life in the spirit of Jesus Christ. But notwithstanding the clearness and plainness of these doctrines which thus renounce the world, yet great part of Christians live and die slaves to the customs and temper of the world. How many people swell with pride and vanity, for such things as they would not know how to value at all but that they are admired in the world ! Would a man take ten years' more drudgery in business to add two horses more to his coach but that he knows that the world most of all admires a coach and six? How fearful are many people of having their houses poorly fur- nished, or themselves meanly clothed, for this only reason, lest the world should make no account of them, and place them amongst low and mean people ! How often would a man have yielded to the haughtiness and ill nature of others, and shown a submissive temper, but that he dares not pass for such a poor-spirited man in the opinion of the world ! Many a man would often drop a resentment, and forgive an affront, but that he is afraid if he should, the world would not forgive him. How many would practise Christian temperance and sobriety in its ut- most perfection, were it not for the censure which the world passes upon such a life ! Others have frequent intentions of hving up to the rules of Chris- tian perfection, which they are frighted from by con- sidering what the world would say of them. 348 Thus do the impressions which we have received from living in the world enslave our minds, that we dare not attempt to be eminent in the sight of God and holy angels, for fear of being little in the eyes of the world. From this quarter arises the greatest difficulty of humility, because it cannot subsist in any mind but so far as it is dead to the world, and has parted with all desires of enjoying its greatness and honours. So that in order to be truly humble you must unlearn all those notions which you have been all your life learning from this corrupt spirit of the world. You can make no stand against the assaults of pride, the meek affections of humility can have no place in your soul, till you stop the power of the world over you, and resolve against a blind obedi- ence to its laws. And when you are once advanced thus far, as to be able to stand still in the torrent of worldly fashions and opinions, and examine the worth and value of things which are most admired and valued in the world, you have gone a great way in the gain- ing of your freedom, and have laid a good foundation for the amendment of your heart. For as great as the power of the world is, it is all built upon a blind obedience, and we need only open our eyes to get quit of its power. Ask who you will, learned or unlearned, every one seems to know and confess, that the general tem- per and spirit of the world is nothing else but humour, tolly, and extravagance. Who will not own, that the wisdom of philosophy, the piety of religion, were always confined to a small number? and is not this expressly owning and confessing, that the common spirit and temper of the world, is neither according 349 to the wisdom of philosophy, nor the piety of reli- gion. The world, therefore, seems enough con- demned even by itself, to make it very easy for a thinking man to be of the same judgment. And therefore I hope you will not think it a hard saying, that in order to be humble you must withdraw your obedience from that vulgar spirit which gives laws to fops and coquettes, and form your judgments accord- ing to the wisdom of philosophy and the piety of re- ligion. Who would be afraid of making such a change as this? Again, to lessen your fear and regard to the opinion of the world, think how soon the world will disregard you, and have no more thought or concern about you than about the poorest animal that died in a ditch. Your friends, if they can, may bury you with some distinction, and set up a monument, to let posterity see that your dust lies under such a stone; and when that is done all is done. Your place is filled up by another, the world is just in the same state it was, you are blotted out of its sight, and as much forgotten by the world as if you had never be- longed to it. Think upon the rich, the great, and the learned persons, that have made great figures and been high in the esteem of the world; many of them died in your time, and yet they are sunk and lost and gone, and as much disregarded by the world as if they had been only so many bubbles of water. Think again, how many poor souls see heaven lost, and lie now expecting a miserable eternity, for their service and homage to a world that thinks itself every whit as well without them, and is just as merry as it was when they were in it. 350 Is it therefore worth your while to lose the small- est degree of virtue, for the sake of pleasing so bad a master and so false a friend as the world is ? Is it worth your while to bow the knee to such an idol as this, that so soon will have neither eyes nor ears nor a heart to regard you, instead of serving that great and holy and mighty God that will make all his servants partakers of his own eternity ? Will you let the fear of a false world, that has no love for you, keep you from the fear of that God who has only created you that he may love and bless you to all eternity? Lastly, You must consider what behaviour the profession of Christianity requireth of you with re- gard to the world. Now this is plainly delivered in these words : " Who gave himself for our sins, that he might dehver us from this present evil world." Christianity therefore impUeth a deliverance from this world ; and he that professeth it, professeth to live contrary to every thing and every temper that is peculiar to this evil world. St. John declareth this opposition to the world in this manner, " They are of the world: therefore speak they of the world, and the world heareth them. We are of God." This is the description of the followers of Christ ; and it is proof enough, that no people are to be reckoned Christians in reality, who in their hearts and tempers belong to this world. " We know," saith the same apostle, " that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness." Christians therefore can no further know that they are of God than so far as they know they are not of the world; that is, that they do not Uve accord- 351 ing.to the waj^s and spirit of the vvorld. For all the ways and maxims and politics and tempers of the vvorld lie in wickedness. And he is only of God, or born of God in Christ Jesus, who has overcome this world, that is, who has chosen to live by faith and govern his actions by the principles of a wisdom revealed from God by Christ Jesus. St. Paul takes it for a certainty so well known to Christians, that they are no longer to be considered as living in this world, that he thus argues from it as from an undeniable principle, concerning the abolishing the rites of tlie Jewish law : " Wherefore if ye be dead vvith Christ from the rudiments of the world, why, as though living in the world, are ye subject to ordinances?" There could be no argu- ment in this but in the apostle's taking it for unde- niable, that Christians knew that their profession required them to have done with all the tempers and passions of the world, to live as citizens of the new Jerusalem, and to have their conversation in heaven. Our blessed Lord himself has fully determined this point in these words : " They are not of this world, as I am not of this world." This is the state of Christianity with regard to this vvorld. If you are not thus out of and contrary to the world, you want the distinguishing mark of Christianity ; you do not belong to Christ but by being out of the world, as he was out of it. We may deceive ourselves, if we please, vvith vain and softening comments upon these words ; but they are and will be understood, in their first simphcity and plainness, by every one that reads them in the same spirit that our blessed Lord spoke 352 them. And to understand them in any lower, less significant meaning, is to let carnal wisdom explain away that doctrine by which itself was to be de- stroyed. The Christian's great conquest over the world is all contained in the mystery of Christ upon the cross. It was there, and from thence, that he taught all Christians how they were to come out of and conquer the world, and what they were to do in order to be his disciples. And all the doctrines, sacraments, and institutions of the Gospel, are only so many ex- plications of the meaning and appplications of the benefit of this great mystery. And the state of Christianity implieth nothing else but an entire, absolute conformity to that spirit which Christ show- ed in the mysterious sacrifice of himself upon the cross.* Every man therefore is only so far a Christian as he partakes of the spirit of Christ. It was this that made St. Paul so passionately express himself, " God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ." But why does he glory ? Is it because Christ had suffered in his stead, and had excused him from suffering? No, by no means. But it was because his Christian profession had called him to the honour of suffering with Christ, and of dying to the world under reproach and con- tempt, as he had done upon the cross. For he im- * The state of Christianity, if we understand the author's meaning of the word state, imph'es justification by faith in the Christian atonement as tlie ground of acceptance with God, and conformity to the spirit of Christ as a certain and necessary result of this, or a bringing of the work which justification commences to its destined completion. — D. Y. 353 mediately adds, "by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world." This you see was the reason of his glorying in the cross of Christ, be- cause it had called him to a like state of death and crucifixion to the world. Thus was the cross of Christ, in St. Paul's days, the glory of Christians; not as it signified their not being ashamed to own a master that was crucified, but as it signified their glorying in a rehgion, which was nothing else but a doctrine of the cross, that called them to the same suffering spirit, the same sacrifice of themselves, the same renunciation of the world, the same humihty and meekness, the same patient bearing of injuries, reproaches, and contempts, and the same dying to all the greatness, honours, and happiness of this world, which Christ showed upon the cross. To have a true idea of Christianity, we must not consider our blessed Lord as suffering in our stead, but as our representative,* acting in our name, and * If by our Lord's suffering as our representative, the author meant that in his own person he sustained our responsibilities, and answered the demand for penal suffering which justice had made upon us, the doctrine of substitution is substantially main- tained, although in this sense of the term we are at a loss to see the use of the distinction contended for, between suffering in our stead and suffering as our representative. But if by representa- tion be meant our Lord's becoming bound to make up the defi- ciency of our suffering on our supposed merit, that his merit being combined with ours, justice might receive an adequate satisfaction between us; this is a doctrine unknown to Scripture, and imprac- ticable in the experience of every one who understands the sub- ject. We have no merit, nor any means of presenting merit, but what are derived from the sufferings of Christ. That the cruci- fixion of Christ, in our stead, has quite the reverse of a tendency to discourage us from crucifying the deeds of the body in connection with him, the reader will perceive by perusing the Introductory Essay— D. Y. 354 with such particular merit, as to make our joining with him acceptable unto God. He suffered and was a sacrifice, to make our sufferings and sacrifice of ourselves fit to be received by God. And we are to suffer, to be crucified, to die, to rise with Christ, or else his crucifixion, death, and resurrection, will pro- fit us nothing. The necessity of this conformity to all that Christ did and suffered upon our account is very plain from the whole tenor of Scripture. First, As to his sufferings, this is only the condi- tion of our being saved by them, " If we suffer with him we shall also reign with him." Secondly, As to his crucifixion : " knowing this that our old man is crucified with him," &c. Here you see, Christ is not crucified in our stead; but unless our old man be really crucified with him, the cross of Christ will profit us nothing.* Thirdly, As to the death of Christ, the condition is this : " If we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him." If therefore Christ be dead alone, if we are not dead with him, we are as sure, from this Scripture, that we shall not live with him. Lastly, As to the resurrection of Christ, the Scripture showeth us how we are to partake of the benefit of it : " If ye be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the riffht hand of God." Thus you see how plainly the Scripture sets forth our blessed Lord as our representative, acting and suffering in our name, binding and obliging us to conform to all that he did and suffered for us. ♦ See preceding Note. — D. Y. 355 It was for this reason that the holy Jesus said of his disciples, and in them of all true believers, " they are not of this world, as I am not of this world. Because all true believers, conforming to the sufferings, cruci- fixion, death, and resurrection of Christ, live no longer after the spirit and temper of this world, but their " life is hid with Christ in God." This is the state of separation from the world to which all orders of Christians are called. They must so far renounce all worldly tempers, be so far governed by the things of another life, as to show that they are truly and really crucified, dead, and risen with Christ. And it is as necessary for all Christians, to conform to this great change of spirit, to be thus in Christ new creatures, as it was neces- sary that Christ should suffer, die, and rise again, for our salvation. How high the Christian life is placed above the ways of this world, is wonderfully described by St. Paul, in these words : " Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh ; yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet henceforth know we him no more. Therefore if any man be in Christ he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold all things are become new." He that feels the force and spirit of these words can hardly bear any human interpretation of them. Henceforth, says he, that is, since the death and resurrection of Christ, the state of Christianity is become so glorious a state that we do not even consider Christ himself as in the flesh upon earth, but as a God of glory in heaven ; we know and consider ourselves not as men in the flesh, but as fellow-members of a new society. 356 that are to have all our hearts, our tempers, and con- versation in heaven. Thus is it that Christianity- has placed us out of and above the world; and we fall from our calling as soon as we fall into the tem- pers of the world. Now as it was the spirit of the world that nailed our blessed Lord to the cross; so every man that has the spirit of Christ, that opposes the world as he did, will certainly be crucified by the world some way or other. For Christianity still lives in the same world that Christ did; and these two will be utter enemies, till the kingdom of darkness is entirely at an end. Had you lived with our Saviour as his true disciple, you had then been hated as he was; and if you now live in his spirit, the world will be the same enemy to you now that it was to him then. " If you were of the world," saith our blessed Lord, "the world would love its own ; but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you." We are apt to lose the true meaning of these words, by considering them only as an historical description of something that was the state of our Saviour and his disciples at that time. But this is reading the Scripture as a dead letter; for they ex- actly describe the state of true Christians, at this and all other times, to the end of the world. For as true Christianity is nothing else but the spirit of Christ, so whether that spirit appear in the person of Christ himself, or his apostles, or followers in any age, it is the same thing : whoever hath his spirit will be hated, despised, and condemned by the world, as he was. For the world will always love its own, 357 and none but its own : this is as certain and unchange- able as the contrariety betwixt light and darkness. When the holy Jesus saith, " If the world hate you," he does not add by way of consolation, that it may some time or other cease its hatred, or that it will not always hate you ; but he only gives this as a reason for your bearing it, " you know that it hated me, before it hated you ;" signifying, that it was he, that is his Spirit, that, by reason of its con- trariety to the world, was then and always would be hated by it. You will perhaps say that the world is now be- come Christian, at least that part of it where we live; and therefore the world is not now to be con- sidered in that state of opposition to Christianity as when it was Heathen. It is granted, the wo>*ld now professeth Christianity, but will any one say, that this Christian world is of the spirit of Christ? Are its general tempers the tempers of Christ? Are the passions of sensuality, self-love, pride, covetous- ness, ambition, and vain-glory, less contrary to the spirit of the Gospel now that they are amongst Chris- tians, than when they were amongst Heathens ? Or will you say, that the tempers and passions of the Heathen world are lost and gone ? Consider, secondly, what you are to mean by the world. Now this is fully described to our hands by St. John. " All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life." &c. This is an exact and full description of the world. Now will you say, that this world is become Christian ? But if all this still subsists, then the same world is now in being, and the same enemy to 358 Christianity that it was in St. John*s days. It was this world that St. John condemned, as being not of the Father; whether therefore it outwardly pro- fesseth, or openly persecuteth Christianity, it is still in the same state of contrariety to the true spirit and holiness of the Gospel. And indeed the world by professing Christianity, is so far from being a less dangerous enemy than it was before, that it has by its favours destroyed more Christians than ever it did by the most violent persecution. We must therefore be so far from considering the world as in a state of less enmity and opposition to Christianity than it was in the first times of the Gospel, that we must guard against it as a greater and more danger- ous enemy now than it was in those times. It is a greater enemy, because it has greater power over Christians by its favours, riches, honours, rewards, and protections, than it had by the fire and fury of its persecutions. It is a more dangerous enemy, by having lost its appearance of enmity. Its outward profession of Christianity makes it no longer con- sidered as an enemy, and therefore the generality of people are easily persuaded to resign themselves up to be governed and directed by it. How many consciences are kept quiet, upon no other foundation but because they sin under the authority of the Christian world ! How many directions of the Gos- pel lie by unregarded, and how many persons read them with unconcern, for no other reason but because they seem unregarded by the Christian world ! How many compliances do people make to the Christian world, without any hesitation or remorse, which, if they had been required of them only by Heathens, 359 would have been refused as contrary to the holiness of Christianity ! Who could be content with see- ing how contrary his life is to the Gospel but because he sees that he lives as the Christian world doth ? Who that reads the Gospel would want to be per- suaded of the necessity of great self-denial, humility, and poverty of spirit, but that the authority of the world has banished this doctrine of the cross? There is nothing therefore that a good Christian ought to be more suspicious of, or more constantly guard against, than the authority of the Christian world. And all the passages of Scripture which represent the world as contrary to Christianity, which require our separation from it, as from a Mammon of unrighteousness, a monster of iniquity, are all to be taken in the same strict sense, in relation to the present world. For the change that the world has undergone, has only altered its methods, but not lessened its power of destroying religion. Christians had nothing to fear from the Heathen world but the loss of their lives; but the world, become a friend, makes it difficult for them to save their religion. Whilst pride, sensuality, covetousness, and ambition, had only the authority of the Heathen world. Chris- tians were thereby made more intent upon the con- trary virtues. But when pride, sensuality, covetous- ness, and ambition, have the authority of the Chris- tian world, then private Christians are in the utmost danger, not only of being shamed out of the practice, but of losing the very notion of the piety of the Gospel. There is therefore hardly any possibility of saving yourself from the present world but by considering 360 it as the same wicked enemy to all true holiness as it is represented in the Scriptures ; and by assuring yourself, that it is as dangerous to conform to its tempers and passions now that it is Christian as when it was Heathen. For only ask yourself, Is the piety, the humility, the sobriety of the Christian world, the piety, the humility, and sobriety of the Christian spirit ? If not, how can you be more undone by any world than by conforming to that which is Christian ? Need a man do more to make his soul unfit for the mercy of God, than by being greedy and ambi- tious of honour ? Yet how can a man renounce this temper without renouncing the spirit and temper of the world in which you now live ? How can a man be made more incapable of the spirit of Christ than by a wrong value for money ; and yet how can he be more wrong in his value of it than by following the authority of the Christian world ? Nay, in every order and station of life, whether of learning or busi- ness, either in Church or State, you cannot act up to the spirit of religion without renouncing the most <'-eneral temper and behaviour of those who are of the same order and business as yourself. And though human prudence seems to talk mighty wisely about the necessity of avoiding particularities, yet he that dares not be so weak as to be particular, will be often oblifi-ed to avoid the most substantial duties of Christian piety. These reflections will, I hope, help you to break through those difficulties, and resist those tempta- tions, which the authority and fashion of the world have raised against the practice of Christian humility. 361 CHAPTER XVIII. How the education which men generally receive in their youth makes the doctrines of humility difficult to he practised. The spirit of a better education repre- sented in the character of Paternus, Another difficulty in the practice of humility arises from our education. We are all of us, for the most part, corruptly educated, and then committed to take our course in a corrupt world ; so that it is no won- der if examples of great piety are so seldom seen. Great part of the world are undone by being born and bred in families that have no religion ; where they are made vicious and irregular, by being like those with whom they first lived. But this is not the thing I now mean ; the education that I here intend is such as children generally receive from vir- tuous and sober parents and learned tutors and go- vernors. Had we continued perfect, as God created the iir-st man, perhaps the perfection of our nature had been a sufficient self-instruction for every one. But as sickness and diseases have created the necessity of medicines and physicians, so the change and dis- order of our rational nature have introduced the necessity of education and tutors. And as the only end of the physician is to restore nature to its own state, so the only end of education is to restore our rational nature to its proper state. Education, there- fore, is to be considered as a reason borrowed at second hand, which, as far as it can, is to supply the Q 30 362 loss of original perfection. And as physic may justly be called the art of restoring health, so education should be considered in no other light than as the art of recovering to man the use of his reason. Now as the instruction of every art or science is founded upon the discoveries, the wisdom, experi- ence, and maxims of the several great men that have laboured in it ; so human wisdom, or right use of our reason, which young people should be called to by their education, is nothing else but the best expe- rience and finest reasonings of men that have de- voted themselves to the study of wisdom and the improvements of human nature. All therefore that great saints and dying men, when fullest of light and conviction, and after the highest improvement of their reason, all that they have said of the necessity of piety, of the excellency of virtue, of their duty to God, of the emptiness of riches, of the vanity of the world; all the sentences, judgments, reasonings, and maxims of the wisest of philosophers, when in their highest state of wisdom, should constitute the com- mon lessons of instruction for youthful minds. This is the only way to make the young and ignorant part of the world the better for the wisdom and knowledge of the wise and ancient. An education which is not wholly intent upon this, is as much beside the point as an art of physic that has little or no regard to the restoration of health. The youths that attended upon Pythagoras, So- crates, Plato, and Epictetus, were thus educated. Their every-day lessons and instructions were so many lectures upon the nature of man, his true end, and the right use of his faculties; upon the immor- 863 tality of tlie soul, its relation to God, the beauty of virtue, and its agreeableness to the divine nature ; upon the dignity of reason, the necessity of temper- ance, fortitude, and generosity, and the shame and folly of indulging our passions. Now as Christianity has, as it were, new created the moral and rehgious world, and set every thing that is reasonable, wise, holy, and desirable, in its true point of light; so one would expect that the education of youth should be as much bettered and amended by Christianity, as the faith and doctrines of religion are amended by it. As it has introduced such a new state of things, and so fully informed us> of the nature of man, the ends of his creation, the state of his condition ; as it has fixed all our goods and evils, taught us the means of purifying our souls, pleasing God, and becoming eternally happy; one might naturally suppose, that every Christian country abounded with schools for the teaching, not only a few questions and answers of a catechism, but for the forming, training, and practising youths in such an outward course of life as the highest precepts, the ^strictest rules, and the sublimest doctrines of Chris- tianity require. An education under Pythagoras or Socrates had no other end but to teach you to think, judge, act, and follow such rules of life as Pythagoras and So- crates used. And is it not as reasonable to suppose, that a Christian education should have no other end but to teach youth how to think and judge and act and live according to the strictest laws of Christianity? At least one would suppose, that in all Christian schools the teaching of youth to begin their lives 364 in the spirit of Christianity, in such severity of be- haviour, such abstinence, sobriety, humiUty, and de- votion, as Christianity requires, should not only be more, but a hundred times more regarded than any or all things else. For our education should imitate our guardian angels, suggest nothing to our minds but what is wise and holy — help us to discover and subdue every vain passion of our hearts, and every false judgment of our minds. And it is as sober and reasonable to expect and require all this benefit of a Christian education, as to require that physic should strengthen all that is right in our nature, and remove that which is sickly and diseased. But, alas ! our modern education is not of this kind. The first temper that we try to awaken in children is pride — as dangerous a passion as that of lust. We stir them up to vain thoughts of themselves, and do every thing we can to puft up their minds with a sense of their own abilities. Whatever way of life we intend them for, we apply to the fire and vanity of their minds, and exhort them to every thing from corrupt motives. We stir them to action from prin- ciples of strife and ambition, from glory, envy, and a desire of distinction, that they may excel others and shine in the eyes of the world. We repeat and in- culcate these motives upon them till they think it a part of their duty to be proud, envious, and vain-glo- rious of their own accomplishments. And when we have taught them to scorn to be outdone by any, to bear no rival, to thirst after every instance of applause, to be content with nothincj but the hifijhest distinc- tions, then we begin to take comfort in them, and promise the world some mighty things from youths of such a glorious spirit. 365 If children are intended for holy orders, we set before them some eminent orator, whose fine preach- ing has made him the admiration of the age, and carried him through all the dignities and prefer- ments of the Church. We encourage them to have these honours in their eye, and to expect the reward of their studies from them. If the youth is intended for a trade, we bid him look at all the rich men of the same trade, and consider how many now are carried about in their stately coaches, who began in the same low degree as he now does. We awaken his ambition, and endeavour to give his mind a right turn, by often teUing him how very rich such and such a tradesman died. If he is to be a lawyer, then we set great counsellors, lords, judges, and chancellors, before his eyes. We tell him what great fees and great applause attend fine pleading. We exhort him to take fire at these things, to raise a spirit of emulation in himself, and to be content with nothing less than the highest honours of the long robe. That this is the nature of our best education is too plain to need any proof; and I believe there are few parents but would be glad to see these instructions daily given to their children. And after all this, we complain of the effects of pride; we wonder to see grown men actuated and governed by ambition, envy, scorn, and a desire of glory — not considering that they were all the time of their youth called up- on to all their action and industry upon the same principles. You teach a child to scorn to be outdone, to thirst for distinction and applause ; and is it any wonder 366 that be continues to act all his life in the same man- ner ? Now if a youth is ever to be so far a Christian as to govern his heart by the doctrines of humility, I would fain know at what time he is to begin it; or, if he is ever to begin it at all, why we train him up in tempers quite contrary to it ? How dry and poor must the doctrine of humility sound to a youth that has been spurred up to all his industry by ambition, envy, emulation, and a desire of glory and distinction ! And if be is not to act by these principles when he is a man, why do we call him to act by them in his youth ? Envy is acknowledged by all people to be the most ungenerous, base, and wicked passion that can enter into the heart of man. And is this a temper to be instilled, nourished, and established in the minds of young people ? I know it is said, that it is not envy but emulation that is intended to be awakened in the minds of young men. But this is vainly said. For when children are taught to bear no rival, and to scorn to be outdone by any of their age, they are plainly and directly taught to be envious. For it is impossible for any one to have this scorn of being outdone, and this contention with rivals, without burning with envy against all those that seem to excel him, or get any mark of distinction. So that what children are taught is rank envy, and only covered with a name of a less odious sound. Secondly, If envy is thus confessedly bad, and it be only emulation that is endeavoured to be awakened in children, surely there ought to be great care taken, that children may know the one from the other. That they may abominate the one as a great crime^ 36T whilst they give the other admisvsion into their minds. But if this were to be attempted, the fineness of the distinction betwixt envy and emulation would show that it were easier to divide them in words than to separate them in action. For emulation, when it is defined in its best manner, is nothing else but a re- finement upon envy, or rather the most plausible part of that black and venomous passion. And though it is easy to separate them in the notion, yet the most acute philosopher, that understands the art of dis- tinguishing ever so well, if he gives himself up to emulation, will certainly find himself deep in envy. For envy is not an original temper, but the natural, necessary, and unavoidable effect of emulation or a desire of glory. So that he who establishes the one in the minds of people necessarily fixes the other there. And there is no other possible way of destroying envy but by destroying emulation or a desire of glory. For the one always rises and falls in proportion to the other. I know it is said in defence of this method of edu- cation, that ambition and a desire of glory are neces- sary to excite young people to industry; and that if we were to press upon them the doctrines of humility, we should deject their minds and sink them into dull- ness and idleness. But the people who say this do not consider that this reason, if it has any strength, is fully as strong against pressing the doctrines of humihty upon grown men, lest we should deject their minds, and sink them into dullness and idleness. For who does not see that middle-aged men want as much the assistance of pride, ambition, and vain-glory, to spur them up to action and industry, as children 368 do ? And it is very certain, that the precepts of humility are more contrary to the designs of such men, and more grievous to their minds, when they are pressed upon them, than they are to the minds of young persons. This reason therefore why chil- dren should not be trained up in the principles of true humility is as good a reason why the same hu- mility should never be required of grown men. Thirdly, Let those people who think that children would be spoiled if they were not thus educated con- sider this. Could they think, that if any children had been educated by our blessed Lord, or his holy apostles, their minds would have been sunk into dull- ness and idleness? Or could they think, that such children would not have been trained up in the pro- foundest principles of a strict and true humility ? Can they say that our blessed Lord, who was the meekest and humblest man that ever was on earth, was hin- dered by his humility from being the greatest example of worthy and glorious actions that ever were done by man ? Can they say that his apostles, who lived in the humble spirit of their master, did therefore cease to be laborious and active instruments of doing good to all the world? A few such reflections as these are sufficient to expose all the poor pretences for an education in pride and ambition. Paternus lived about two hundred years ago ; he had but one son, whom he educated himself in his own house. As they were sitting together in the iijarden, when the child was ten years old, Paternus thus began to him. " The little time that you have been in the world, my child, you have spent wholly with me ; and my 369 love and tenderness to you have made you look upon me as your only friend and benefactor, and the cause of all the comfort and pleasure that you enjoy. Your heart I know would be ready to break with grief if you thought this was the last day that I should live with you. But, my child, though you now think yourself mighty happy, because you have hold of my hand, you are now in the hands and under the tender care of a much greater Father and Friend than I am, whose love to you is far greater than mine, and from whom you receive such blessings as no mortal can give. That God whom you have seen me daily worship, whom I daily call upon to bless both you and me and all mankind, whose wondrous acts are recorded in those Scriptures which you constantly read; that God who created the heavens and the earth, who brought a flood upon the old world, who saved Noah in the ark, who was the God of Abra- ham, Isaac, and Jacob, whom Job blessed and praised in the greatest afflictions, who delivered the Israelites out of the hands of the Egyptians, who was the pro- tector of righteous Joseph, Moses, Joshua, and holy Daniel, who sent so many prophets into the world, who sent his Son Jesus Christ to redeem mankind; this God who has done all these great things, who has created so many millions of men, who lived and died before you were born, with whom the spirits of good men that are departed this life now live, whom infinite numbers of angels now worship in heaven ; this great God who is the Creator of worlds, of angels, and men, is your loving Father and Friend, your good Creator and nourisher, from whom, and not from me, you received your being ten years ago, at the 82 370 time tliat I planted that little tender elm which you there see. I myself am not half the age of this shady oak under which we sit; many of our fathers have sat under its boughs, we have all of us called it ours in our turn, though it stands and drops its mas- ters as it drops its leaves. "You see, my son, this wide and large firmament over our heads, where the sun and moon and all the stars appear in their turns. If you were to be carried up to any of these bodies at this vast distance from us, you would still discover others, as much above you as the stars that you see here are above the earth. Were you to go up or down, east or west, north or south, you would find the same height without any top, and the same depth without any bottom. And yet, my child, so great is God, that all these bodies added together are but as a grain of sand in his sight. And yet you are as much the care of this great God and Father of all worlds and all spirits, as if he had no son but you, or there was no creature for him to love and protect but you alone. He numbers the hairs of your head, watches over you sleeping or waking, and has preserved you from a thousand dangers, which neither you nor I know any thing of. How poor my power is, and how little I am able to do for you, you have often seen. Your late sickness has shown you how little I could do for you in that state; and the frequent pains of your head are plain proofs that I have no power to remove them. I can bring you food and medi- cines, but have no power to turn them into your relief and nourishment. It is God alone that can do this for you. Therefore, my child, fear and 371 worship and love God. Your eyes indeed cannot yet see him. But all things you see are so many marks of his power and presence, and he is nearer to you than any thing that you can see. Take him for your Lord and Father and Friend ; look up unto him as the fountain and cause of all the good that you have received from my hands ; and reverence me only as the bearer and minister of God's good things unto you. And he that blessed my father before I was born will bless you when I am dead. " Your youthful little mind is only yet acquainted with my family, and therefore you think there is no happiness out of it. But, my child, you belong to a greater family than mine, you are a young member of the family of this Almighty Father of all nations, who has created infinite orders of angels, and num- berless generations of men, to be fellow-members of one and the same society in heaven. You do well to reverence and obey ray authority, because God has given me power over you, to bring you up in his fear, and to do for you as the holy fathers recorded in Scripture did for their children who are now in rest and peace with God. I shall in a short time die, and leave you to God and yourself, and if God forgiveth my sins, I shall go to his Son Jesus Christ, and live amongst patriarchs and prophets, saints and martyrs, where I shall pray for you, and hope for your safe arrival at the same place. Therefore, my child, meditate on these great things, and your soul will soon grow great and noble by so meditating upon them. Let your thoughts often leave these gardens, these fields and farms, to contemplate upon God and heaven, to consider upon angels and the spirits of good men living in light and glory. 372 " As you have been used to look to me in all your actions, and have been afraid to do any thing unless you first knevr my will, so let it now be a rule of your life, to look up to God in all your actions, to do every thing in his fear, and to abstain from every thing that is not according to his will. Bear him always in your mind, teach your thoughts to rever- ence him in every place, for there is no place where he is not. " God keepeth a book of life, wherein all the ac- tions of all men are written ; your name is there, my child, and when you die, this book will be laid open before men and angels, and according as your actions are there found, you will either be received to the happiness of those holy men who have died before you, or be turned away amongst wicked spirits, that are never to see God any more. Never forget this book, my son, for it is written, it must be opened, you must see it, and you must be tried by it. Strive therefore to fill it with your good deeds, that the handwriting of God may not appear against you. " God, my child, is all love and wisdom and good- ness; and every thing that he has made and every action that he does is the effect of them all. There- fore you cannot please God but in so far as you strive to walk in love, wisdom, and goodness. As all wisdom, love, and goodness, proceed from God, so nothing but love, wisdom, and goodness, can lead to God. When you love that which God loves, you act with him, you join yourself to him ; and when you love what he dislikes, then you oppose him, and separate yourself from him. This is the true and the right way; think what God loves, and do you love it with all your heart. 373 " First of all, my child, worship and adore God, think of him magnificently, speak of him reverently, magnify his providence, adore his power, frequent his service, and pray unto him frequently and con- stantly. " Next to this, love your neighbour, which is all mankind, with such tenderness and affection as you love yourself. Think how God loves all mankind, how merciful he is to them, how tender he is of them, how carefully he preserves them, and then strive to love the world as God loves it. God would have all men to be happy; therefore do you will and desire the same. All men are great instances of divine love, therefore let all men be instances of your love. " But above all, my son, mark this, never do any thing through strife or envy or emulation or vain- glory. Never do any thing in order to excel other people, but in order to please God, and because it is his will that you should do every thing in the best manner that you can. For if it is once a pleasure to you to excel other people, it will by degrees be a pleasure to you to see other people not so good as yourself. Banish, therefore, every thought of self- pride, and self-distinction, and accustom yourself to rejoice in all the excellences and perfections of your fellow- creatures, and be as glad to see any of their good actions as your own. For God is as well pleased with their well doings as with yours : so you ought to desire that every thing that is wise and holy and good may be performed in as high a manner by other people as by yourself. " Let this therefore be your only motive and spur 374. to all good actions, honest industry, and business, to do every thing in as perfect and excellent a manner as you can, for this only reason, because it is pleasing to God, who desires your perfection, and writes all your actions in a book. When I am dead, my son, you will be master of all ray estate, which will be a great deal more than the necessities of one family require. Therefore as you are to be charitable to the souls of men, and wish them the same happiness with you in heaven, so be charitable to their bodies, and endeavour to make them as happy as you upon earth. As God has created all things for the com- mon good of all men, so let that part of them which has fallen to your share be employed as God would have all employed, for the common good of all. Do good, ray son, first of all to those that most deserve it, but remember to do good to all. The greatest sinners receive daily instances of God's goodness towards them, he nourishes and preserves them, that they may repent and return to him ; do you there- fore imitate God, and think no one too bad to re- ceive your relief and kindness when you see that he wants it. " I am teaching you Latin and Greek, not that you should desire to be a great critic, a fine poet, or an eloquent orator. I would not have your heart feel any of these desires, for the desire of these ac- complishments is a vanity of the mind, and the mas- ters of them are generally vain men. For the desire of any thing that is not a real good, lessens the application of the mind after that which is so. But I teach you these languages, that at proper times you may look into the history of past ages, 375 and learn the methods of God's providence over the world — that, reading the writings of the ancient sages, you may see how wisdom and virtue have been the praise of great men of all ages, and fortify your mind by their wise sayings. " Let truth and plainness therefore be the only ornament of your language, and study nothing but how to think of all things as they deserve, to choose every thing that is best, to live according to reason and order, and to act in every part of your life in conformity to the will of God. " Study how to fill your heart full of the love of God, and the love of your neighbour, and then be content to be no deeper a scholar, no finer a gentle- man, than these tempers will make you. As true religion is nothing else but simple nature governed by right reason, so it loves and requires great plain- ness and simplicity of life. Therefore avoid all superfluous shows of finery and equipage, and let your house be plainly furnished with moderate con- veniences. Do not consider what your estate can afford, but what right reason requires. Let your dress be sober, clean, and modest, not to set out the beauty of your person, but to declare the sobriety of your mind, that your outward garb may resemble the inward plainness and simplicity of your heart. For it is highly reasonable, that you should be one man, all of a piece, and appear outwardly such as you are inwardly. As to your meat and drink, in them observe the highest rules of Christian temper- ance and sobriety; consider your body only as the servant and minister of your soul; and only so nour- ish it as may best perform an humble and obedient service to it. 376 " But, my son, observe this as a most principal thing, which I shall remember you of as long as I live with you. Hate and despise all human glory, for it is nothing else but human folly. It is the greatest snare and the greatest betrayer that you can possibly admit into your heart. Love humility in all its instances, practise it in all its parts, for it is the noblest state of the soul of man ; it will set your heart and affections right towards God, and fill you with every temper that is tender and affectionate towards men. Let every day therefore be a day of humility, condescend to all the weakness and infir- mities of your fellow- creatures, cover their frailties, love their excellences, encourage their virtues, re- lieve their wants, rejoice in their prosperities, com- passionate their distress, receive their friendship, overlook their unkindness, forgive their malice, be a servant of servants, and condescend to do the lowest offices to the lowest of mankind. " Aspire after nothing but your own purity and perfection, and have no ambition but to do every thing in so reasonable and religious a manner that you may be glad that God is every where present and sees and observes all your actions. The great- est trial of humility is an humble behaviour towards your equals in age, estate, and condition of life. Therefore be careful of all the motions of your heart towards these people. Let all your behaviour to- wards them be governed by unfeigned love. Have no desire to put any of your equals below you, nor any anger at those that would put themselves above you. If they are proud, they are ill of a very bad distemper, let them therefore have your tender pity; 37T and perhaps your meekness may prove an occasion of their cure. But if your humility should do them no good, it will however be the greatest good that you can do to yourself. Remember that there is but one man in the world with whom you are to have perpetual contention, and be always striving to exceed him, and that is yourself. The time of practising these precepts, my child, will soon be over with you, the world will soon slip through your hands, or rather you will soon shp through it; it seems but the other day since I re- ceived from my dear father these same instructions that I am now leaving with you. And the God that gave me ears to hear, and a heart to receive what my father said unto me, will, I hope, give you grace to love and follow the same instructions." Thus did Paternus educate his son. Can any one now think that such an education as this would weaken and deject the minds of young people, and deprive the world of any worthy and reasonable labours ? It is so far from that, that there is nothing so likely to ennoble and exalt the mind, and prepare it for the most heroical exercise of all virtues. For who will say, that a love of God, a desire of pleasing him, a love of our neighbour, a love of truth, of reason, and virtue, a contemplation of eternity, and the rewards of piety, are not stronger motives to great and good actions than a little un- certain popular praise ? On the other hand, there is nothing in reality that more weakens the mind, and reduces it to meanness and slavery, nothing that makes it less master of its own actions, or less capable of following 378 reason, than a love of praise and honour. For as praise and honour are often given to things and persons where they are not due, as that is generally most praised and honoured that most gratifies the humours, fashions, and vicious tempers of the world ; so he that acts upon the desire of praise and applause must part with every other principle; he must say black is white, put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter, and do the meanest, basest things, in order to be applauded. For in a corrupt world, as this is, worthy actions are only to be supported by their own worth, where, instead of behig praised and honoured, they are most often reproached and persecuted. So that to educate children upon a motive of emulation, or a desire of glory, in a world where glory itself is false, and most commonly given wrong, is to destroy the natural integrity and fortitude of their minds, and give them a bias which will oftener carry them to base and mean than great and worthy actions. CHAPTER XIX. How the method of educating daughters makes it diffi- cult for them to enter into the spirit of Christian hu- mility. How miserably they are injured and abused by such an education. The spirit of a better educa- tion represented in the character of Eusebia, That turn of mind which is taught and encouraged in the education of daughters makes it exceedingly difficult for them to enter into such a sense and prac- tice of humility as the spirit of Christianity requires. 379 The right education of this sex is of the utmost importance to human Hfe. There is nothing that is more desirable for the common good of all the world. For though women do not carry on the trade and business of the world, yet as they are mothers and ' mistresses of famiUes, that have for some time the care of the education of their children of both sorts, they are entrusted with that which is of the greatest consequence to human life. For this reason, good or bad women are likelj'' to do as much good or harm in the world as good or bad men in the greatest business of life. For as the health and strength, or weakness, of our bodies, is very much owing to their methods of treating us when we were young; so the soundness or folly of our minds is not less owing to those first tempers and ways of thinking which we eagerly received from the love, tenderness, authority, and constant conversation of our mothers. As we call our first language our mother-tongue, so we may as justly call our first tempers our mother-tempers; and perhaps it may be found more easy to forget the language than to part entirely with those tempers which we learnt in the nursery. It is therefore much to be lamented, that this sex, on whom so much depends, who have the first forming both of our bodies and our minds, are not only educated in pride, but in the silliest and most contemptible part of it. They are not indeed suf- fered to dispute with us the proud prizes of arts and sciences, of learning and eloquence, in which 1 have much suspicion they would often prove our superiors : but we turn them over to the study of beauty and 380 dress, and the whole world conspires to make them think of nothing else. Fathers and mothers, friends and relations, seem to have no other wish towards the little girl, hut that she may have a fair skin, a fine shape, dress well, and dance to admiration. Now if a fondness for our persons, a desire of beauty, a love of dress, be a part of pride (as surely it is a most contemptible part of it) the first step towards a woman's humility seems to require a re- pentance of her education. For it must be owned that, generally speaking, good parents are never more fond of their daughters than when they see them too fond of themselves, and dressed in such a manner as is a great reproach to the gravity and so- briety of the Christian life. And what makes this matter still more to be lamented is this, that women are not only spoiled by this education, but we spoil that part of the world which would otherwise furnish most instances of an eminent and exalted piety. For I believe it may be affirmed, that for the most part there is a finer sense, a clearer mind, a readier apprehension, and gentler dispositions in that sex than in the other. All which tempers, if they were truly improved by proper studies and sober methods of education, would in all probability carry them to greater heights of piety than are to be found amongst the generality of men. For this reason, I speak to this matter with so much openness and plainness, because it is much to be lamented, that persons so naturally qualified to be great examples of piety should, by an erroneous education, be made poor and gaudy spectacles of the greatest vanity. The Church has formerly had 381 eminent saints in that sex, and it may reasonably be thought that it is purely owing to their poor and vain education, that this honour of their sex is for the most part confined to former ages. The corruption of the world indulges them in great vanity, and mankind seem to consider them in no other view, than as so many painted idols, that are to allure and gratify their passions ; so that if many women are vain, light, gewgaw creatures, they have this to excuse themselves, that they are not only such as their education has made them, but such as the generality of the world allows them to be. But then they should consider, that the friends to their vanity are no friends of theirs; they should consider that they are to live for themselves, that they have as great a share in the rational nature as men have; that they have as much reason to pretend, and as much necessity to aspire after the highest accomplishments of a Christian and solid virtue, as the gravest and wisest among Christian philosophers. They should consider, that they are abused and in- jured and betrayed from their only perfection, when- ever they are taught, that any thing is an ornament in them that is not an ornament in the wisest amongst o mankind. It is generally said, that women are naturally of little and vain minds ; but this I look upon to be as false and unreasonable as to say that butchers are naturally cruel; for as their cruelty is not owing to their nature, but to their way of life, which has changed their nature, so whatever littleness and vanity is to be observed in the minds of women, it is like the cruelty of butchers, a temper that is 882 wrought into them by that life which they are taught and accustomed to lead. At least this much must he said, that we cannot charge any thing upon their nature, till we take care that it is not perverted by their educution. And on the other hand, if it were true that they were thus naturally vain and light, then how much more blameable is that education which seems con- trived to strengthen and encrease this folly and weakness of their minds ! For if it were a virtue in a woman to be proud and vain in herself, we could hardly take better means to raise this passion in her than those that are now used in her education. Matilda is a fine woman, of good breeding, great sense, and much religion. She has three daughters that are educated by herself. She will not trust them with any one else, or at any school, for fear they should learn any thing ill. She stays with the dancing master all the time he is with them, because .she will hear every thing that is said to them. She has heard them read the Scriptures so often, that they can repeat great part of it without book; and there is scarcely a good book of devotion but you may find in their closets. Had Matilda Uved in the first ages of Christianity, when it was practised in the fullness and plainness of its doctrines, she had in all probabihty been one of its greatest saints. But as she was born in corrupt times, where she wants examples of Christian perfection, and hardly ever saw a piety higher than her own, so she has many defects and communicates them all to her daughters. Matilda never was meanly dressed in her life ; in him," had he not great reason to praise God for appointing iiim, in such a particular manner, to be the instru- ment of his glory ? And if one person is born here, and another there ; if one falls amongst riches, and another into poverty ; if one receives his flesh and blood from these parents, and another from those, 465 for as particular ends as the man was born blind ; have not all people the greatest reason to bless God, and to be thankful for their particular state and con- dition, because all that is particular in it is as directly- intended for the glory of God and their own good, as the particular blindness of that man who was so born that " the works of God might be manifested in him ?" How noble an idea does this give us of the divine omniscience presiding over the whole world, and governing such a long chain and combination of seeming accidents and chances, to the common and particular advantage of all beings ! So that all per- sons, in such a wonderful variety of causes, accidents, and events, should all fall into such particular states as were foreseen and foreordained to their best ad- vantage, and so as to be most serviceable to the wise and glorious ends of God's government of all the world. Had you been any thing else than what you are, you had, all things considered, been less wisely pro- vided for than you are now ; you had wanted some circumstances and conditions that are best fitted to make you happy yourself and serviceable to the glory of God. Could you see all that which God sees, all that happy chain of causes and motives, which are to move and invite you to a right course of life, you would see something to make you like that state you are in as fitter for you than any other. But as you cannot see this, so it is here that your Christian faith and trust in God is to exercise itself, and render you as grateful and thankful for the happi- ness of your state as if you saw every thing that contributes to it with your own eyes. But now if v2 466 this is the case of every man in the world, thus blessed with some particular state that is most con- venient for him, how reasonable is it for every man to will that which God has already willed for him; and, by a pious faith and trust in the divine good- ness, thankfully to adore and magnify that wise Providence which he is sure has made the best choice for him of those things which he could not choose for himself! Every uneasiness at our own state is founded upon comparing it with that of other people, — which is fully as unreasonable as if a man in a dropsy should be angry at those that prescribe different things to him from those which are prescribed to people in health. For all the different states of life are like the different states of diseases ; what is a remedy to one man in his state may be poison to another. So that to murmur because you are not as some others are, is as if a man in one disease should murmur that he is not treated like him that is in another. Whereas if he were to have his will he would be killed by that which will prove the cure of another. It is just thus in the various conditions of life; if you give yourself up to uneasiness, or complain at any thing in your state, you may, for aught you know, be so ungrateful to God as to murmur at that very thing which is to prove the cause of your sal- vation. Had you it in your power to get that which you think is so grievous to want, it might perhaps be that very thing which of all others would most expose you to eternal damnation. So that whether we consider the infinite goodness of God, that can- 467 not choose amiss for us, or our own great ignorance of what is most advantageous to us, there can be nothing so reasonable and pious as to have no will but that of God's ; and desire nothing for ourselves, in our persons, our state and condition, but that which the good providence of God appoints us. Further; As the good providence of God thus introduces us into the world, into such states and conditions of life as are most convenient for us, so the same unerring wisdom orders all events and changes in the whole course of our lives, in such a manner as to render them the fittest means to exer- cise and improve our virtue. Nothing hurts us, no- thing destroys us, but the ill use of that liberty with which God 'has entrusted us. We are as sure that nothing happens to us by chance as that the world itself was not made by chance ; we are as certain that all things happen and work together for our good as that God is goodness itself. So that a man has as much reason to will every thing that happens to him, because God wills it, as to think that is wisest which is directed by Infinite Wisdom. This is not cheating or soothing ourselves into any false contentment or imaginary happiness ; but is a satisfaction grounded upon as great a certainty as the being and attributes of God. For if we are right in believing God to act over us with infinite wisdom and goodness, we cannot carry our notions of conformity and resignation to the divine will too high ; nor can we ever be deceived, by thinking that to be best for us which God has brought upon us. For the providence of God is not more concerned in the government of night and day, and the variety of 468 seasons, than in the common course of events, that seem most to depend upon the mere wills of men. So that it is as strictly right to look upon all worldly accidents and changes, all the various turns and al- terations in your own life, to be as truly the effects of Divine Providence, as the rising and setting of the sun, or the alterations of the seasons of the year. As you are therefore always to adore the wisdom of God in the direction of these things; so it is the same reasonable duty always to magnify God as an equal director of every thing that happens to you in the course of your own life. This holy resignation and conformity of your will to the will of God being so much the true state of piety, I hope you will think it proper to make this hour of prayer a constant season of applying to God for so great a gift; that by thus constantly praying for it, your heart may be habitually disposed towards it, and always in a state of readiness to look at every thing as God's, and to consider him in every thing ; that so every thing that befalls you may be received in the spirit of piety, and made a mean of exercising some virtue. There is nothing that so powerfully governs the heart, that so strongly excites us to wise and reasonable actions, as a true sense of God's presence. But as we cannot see or apprehend the essence of God, so nothing v/ill so constantly keep us under a lively sense of the presence of God as this holy resignation, which attributes every thing to him and receives every thing as from him. Could we see a miracle from God, how would our thoughts be affected with a holy awe and veneration of his presence ! But if we consider every thing as 469 God's doing, either by order or permission, we shall then be afFected with common things as they would be who saw a miracle. For as there is nothing to afFect you in a miracle but as it is the action of God and bespeaks his presence; so when you consider God as acting in all things and all events, then all things will become venerable to you, like miracles, and fill you with the same awful sentiments of the divine presence. Now you must not reserve the exercise of this pious temper to any particular times or occasions, or fancy how resigned you will be to God, if such or such trials should happen. For this is amusing yourself with the notion or idea of resig- nation, instead of the virtue itself. Do not there- fore please yourself vvith thinking how piously you would act and submit to God in a plague or famine or persecution, but be intent upon the perfection of the present day; and be assured that the best way of showing a true zeal is to make little things the occasions of great piety. Begin therefore in the smallest matters and most ordinary occasions, and accustom your mind to the daily exercise of this pious temper in the lowest oc- currences of life. And when a contempt, an affront, a little injury, loss, or disappointment, or the smallest events of every day, continually raise your mind to God in proper acts of resignation, then you may justly hope that you shall be numbered amongst those that are resigned and thankful to God in the greatest trials and afflictions. 470 CHAPTER XXIII. Of evening prayer. Of the nature and necessity of ex- amination. How we are to be particular in the con- fession of all our sins. How we are to Jill our minds with a just horror and dread of all sin. I AM now come to six o'clock in the evening, which, according to the Scripture account, is called the twelfth or last hour of the day. This is a time so proper for devotion, that I suppose nothing need be said to recommend it as a season of prayer to all peo- ple that profess any regard to piety. As the labour and action of every state of life is generally over at this hour, so this is the proper time for every one to call himself to account, and review all his behaviour from the first action of the day. The necessity of this examination is founded upon the necessity of repentance. For if it be necessary to repent of all our sins, if the guilt of unrepented sins still continue upon us, then it is necessary, not only that all our sins, but the particular circumstances and aggrava- tions of them, be known and recollected and brought to repentance. The Scripture saith, " If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." Which is as much as to say, that then only our sins are forgiven, and we cleansed from the guilt and unrighteousness of them, when they are thus confessed and repented of. There seems therefore to be the greatest neces- sity, that all our daily actions be constantly observed 471 and brought to account, lest by a negligence we load ourselves with the guilt of unrepented sins. This examination therefore of ourselves every evening, is not only to be considered as a commend- able rule, and fit for a wise man to observe, but as something that is as necessary as a daily confession and repentance of our sins ; because this daily repen- tance is of very little significancy, and loses all its chief benefit, unless it be a particular confession and repentance of the sins of that day. This examina- tion is necessary to repentance in the same manner as time is necessary ; you cannot repent or express your sorrow, unless you allow some time for it ; nor can you repent, but so far as you know what it is that you are repenting of. So that when it is said, that it is necessary to examine and call your actions to account ; it is only saying, that it is necessary to know what and how many things you are to repent of. You perhaps have hitherto only used yourself to confess yourself a sinner in general, and ask forgive- ness in the gross, without any particular remembrance or contrition for the particular sins of that day. And by this practice you are brought to believe, that the same short, general form of confession of sin in general is a sufficient repentance for every day. Suppose another person should hold, that a confes- sion of our sins in general once at the end of every week was sufficient ; and that it was as well to con- fess the sins of seven days altogether as to have a particular repentance at the end of every day. I know you sufficiently see the unreasonableness and impiety of this opinion, and tha 'you think it is easy enough to show the danger and folly of it. Yet 472 vou cannot bring one argument against such an opin- ion but what will be as good an argument against such a daily repentance as does not call the particular sins of that day to a strict account. For as you can bring no express text of Scripture against such an opinion, but must take all your arguments from the nature of repentance, and the necessity of a particular repentance for particular sins, so every argument of that kind must as fully prove the necessity of being very particular in our repentance of the sins of every day ; since nothing can be justly said against leav- ing tbe sins of the whole week to be repented for in the gross but what may as justly be said against a daily repentance, which considers the sins of that day only in the gross. Would you tell such a man, that a daily confession was necessary to keep up an abhorrence of sin, that the mind would grow hard- ened and senseless of the guilt of sin without it? And is not this as good a reason for requiring that your daily repentance be very express and particular for your daily sins? For if confession is to raise an abhorrence of sin^ surely that confession which con- siders and lays open your particular sins, that brings them to light with all their circumstances and aggra- vation, that requires a particular sorrowful acknow- ledgment of every sin, must in a much greater degree fill the mind with an abhorrence of sin, than that which only in one and the same form of words, con- fesses you only to be a sinner in general. For as this is nothing but what the greatest saint may justly say of himself, so the daily repeating of only such a confession has nothing in it to make you truly ashamed of your own way of life. 473 Again ; must you not tell such a man that by leaving himself to such a weekly, general confession, he would be in great danger of forgetting a great many of his sins ? But is there any sense or force in this argument, unless you suppose that our sins are all to be remembered, and brought to a particular repentance ? And is it not necessary that our par- ticular sins be not forgotten, but particularly remem- bered in our daily as in a repentance at any other time? So that every argument for a daily confession and repentance, is the same argument for the con- fession and repentance of the particular sins of every day. Because daily confession has no other reason or necessity but our daily sins ; and therefore is no- thing of what it should be but so far as it is a re- pentance and sorrowful acknowledgment of the sins of the day. You would, I suppose, think yourself chargeable with great impiety, if you were to go to bed without confessing yourself to be a sinner, and asking pardon of God ; you would not think it sufficient that you did so yesterday. And yet, if, without any regard to the present day, you only repeat the same form of words that you used yesterday, the sins of the present day may justly be looked upon to have had no repentance. For if the sins of the present day require a new confession, it must be such a new confession as is proper to itself. For it is the state and condition of every day that is to determine the state and manner of your repentance in the evening; otherwise the same general form of words is rather an empty formality, that has the appearance of a duty, than such a true performance of it as is necessary to make it truly useful to you. 474 Let it be supposed, that on a certain day you have been guilty of these sins ; that you have told a vain lie upon yourself, ascribing something falsely to yourself through pride; that you have been guilty of detraction, and indulged yourself in some degree of intemperance. Let it be supposed, that on the next day you have lived in a contrary manner; that you have neglected no duty of devotion, and been the rest of the day innocently employed in your proper business. Let it be supposed, that on the evening of both these days you only use the same confession in general, considering it rather as a duty that is to be performed every night than as a repen- tance that is to be suited to the particular state of the day. Can it with any reason be said that each day has had its proper repentance ? Is it not as good sense to say, there is no difference in the guilt of these days, as to say that there need be no different repentance at the end of them ? Or how can each of them have its proper repentance but by its having a repentance as large and extensive and particular as the guilt of each day ? Again; let it be supposed, that in that day, when you had been guilty of the three notorious sins above mentioned, that in your evening repentance you had only called one of them to mind. Is it not plain that the other two are unrepented of, and that there- fore their guilt still abides upon you ? So that you are then in the state of him who commits himself to the night without the repentance for such a day as had betrayed him into two such great sins. Now these are not needless particulars, or such scrupulous niceties as a man need not trouble himself about : 475 but are such plain truths as essentially concern tlie very life of piety. For if repentance is necessary, it is full as necessary that it be rightly performed, and in due manner. And I have entered into all these particulars, only to show you in the plainest manner, that examination and a careful review of all the actions of the day, is not only to be looked upon as a good rule, but as something as necessary as repentance itself. If a man is to account for his expenses at night, can it be thought a needless ex- actness in him, to take notice of every particular expense in the day ? And if a man is to repent of his sins at night, can it be thought too great a piece of scrupulosity in him, to know and call to mind what sins he is to repent of? Further ; though it should be granted that a con- fession in general may be a sufficient repentance for the end of such days as have only the unavoidable frailties of our nature to lament ; yet even this fully proves the absolute necessity of this self-examination; for without this examination who can know that he has gone through any day in this manner ? Again ; an evening repentance, which thus brings all the actions of the day to account, is not only necessary to wipe off the guilt of sin, but is also the most certain way to amend and perfect our lives.* For it is only such a repentance as this that touches the heart, awakens the conscience, and leaves a horror and detestation of sin upon the mind. For instance, if it should happen, that upon any parti- cular evening, all that you could charge yourself with should be this, namely, a hasty, negligent, perform- * See Note, page 221. 476 ance of your devotions, or too much time spent in an impertinent conversation ; if the unreasonableness of these things were fully reflected upon and acknow- ledged; if you were then to condemn yourself before God for them, and implore his pardon and assisting grace, what could be so likely a mean to prevent your falhng into the same faults the next day ? Or if you should fall into them again the next day; yet, if they were again brought to the same examination and coiidemnation in the presence of God, their happening again would be such a proof to you of your own folly and weakness, would cause such a pain and remorse in you mind, and fill you with such shame and confusion at yourself, as would, in all probability, make you exceedingly desirous of greater perfection. Now in the case of repeated sins, this would be the certain benefit that we should receive from this examination and confession ; the mind would thereby be made humble, full of sorrow and deep compunction, and by degrees forced into amendment. Whereas a formal, general confession, that is only considered as an evening duty, that overlooks the particular mistakes of the day, and is the same whether the day be spent ill or well, has little or no effect upon the mind; a man may use such a daily confession, and yet go on sinning and confessing all his life, without any remorse of mind, or true desire of amendment. For if your own particular sins are left out of your confession, your confessing of sin in general has no more effect upon your mind than if you had only confessed that all men in general are sinners. And there is nothing in any confession to 477 show that it is yours, but so far as it is a self-accu- sation, not of sin in general, or such as is common to all others, but of such particular sins as are your own proper shame and reproach. No other confes- sion but such as thus discovers and accuses your own particular guilt, can be an act of true sorrow, or real concern at your own condition. And a confession that is without this sorrow and compunction of heart has nothing in it, either to atone for past sins, or to produce in us any true reformation and amendment of life. To proceed; in order to make this examination still further beneficial, every man should oblige himself to a certain method in it. As every man has something particular in his nature, stronger in- clinations to some vices than others, some infirmities that stick closer to him, and are harder to be con- quered than others ; and as it is as easy for every man to know this of himself as to know whom he likes or dislikes; so it is highly necessary that these parti- cularities of our natures and tempers should never escape a severe trial at our evening repentance : I say, a severe trial, because nothing but a rigorous severity against these natural tempers is sufficient to conquer them. They are the " right eyes," that are not to be spared, but to be plucked out and cast from us. For as they are the infirmities of nature, so they have the strength of nature, and must be treated with great opposition, or they will soon be too strong for us. He, therefore, who knows him- self most of all subject to anger and passion, must be very exact and constant in his examination of this temper every evening. He must find out every slip 478 that he has made of that kind, whether in thought or word or action ; he must shame and reproach and accuse himself before God, for every thing that he has said or done in obedience to his passion. He must no more allow himself to forget the examina- tion of this temper than to forget his whole prayers. Again ; if you find that vanity is your prevailing temper, that is always putting you upon the adorn- ment of your person, and catching after every thing that compliments or flatters your abilities, never spare or forget this temper in your evening examina- tion; but confess to God every vanity of thought or word or action that you have been guilty of, and put yourself to all the shame and confusion for it that you can. In this manner should all people act with regard to their chief frailty, to which their nature most inclines them. And though it should not immediately do all that they would wish, yet by a constant practice it would certainly in a short time produce its desired effect. Further; as all states and employments of life have their particular dangers and temptations, and expose people more to some sins than others, so every man that wishes his own improvement should make it a necessary part of his evening examination, to consider how he has avoided or fallen into such sins as are most common in his state of life. For as our business and condition of life has great power over us, so nothing but such watchfulness as this can secure us from those temptations to which it daily exposes us. The poor man, from his condition of hfe, is always in danger of repining and uneasi- ness; the rich man is most exposed to sensuality and 479 indulgence : the tradesman to lying and unreasonable gains; the scholar to pride and vanity; so that in every state of life, a man should always, in his ex- amination of himself, have a strict eye upon those faults to which his state of Hfe most of all exposes him. Again : as it is reasonable to suppose that every good man has entered into, or at least proposed to himself, some method of holy living, and set himself to observe some such rules as are not common to other people, and only known to himself; so it should be a constant part of his night recollection, to ex- amine how and in what degree he has observed them, and to reproach himself before God for every neglect of them. By rules I here mean such rules as relate to the well-ordering of our time, and the business of our common life ; such rules as prescribe a certain order to all that we are to do, our business, devotion, mortifications, readings, retirements, con- versation, meals, refreshments, sleep, and the like. Now as good rules relating to all these things are certain means of great improvement, and such as all serious Christians must needs propose to themselves, so they will hardly ever be observed to any purpose, unless they are made the constant subject of our evening examination. Lastly : You are not to content yourself with a hasty general review of the day, but you must enter upon it with deliberation; begin with the first action of the day, and proceed step by step through every particular matter that you have been concerned in, and so let no time, place, or action, be overlooked. An examination thus managed, will in a little time make you as different from yourself as a wise man is 480 diflPereiit from an idiot. It will give you such a new- ness of mind, such a spirit of wisdom and desire of perfection, as you were an entire stranger to before. Thus much concerning the evening examination. I proceed now to lay before you such considerations as may fill your mind with a just dread and horror of all sin, and help you to confess your own, in the most passionate condition and sorrow of heart. Consider first, how odious all sin is to God, what a mighty baseness it is, and how abominable it ren- ders sinners in the sieht of God: — that it is sin alone that makes the great difference betwixt an angel and the devil; and that every sinner is, so far as he sins, a friend of the devil's, and carrying on his work against God; — that sin is a greater ble- mish and defilement of the soul, than any filth or disease is a defilement of the body. And to be content to live in sin is a much greater baseness than to desire to wallow in the mire, or love any bodily impurity. Consider how you must abhor a creature that deli<]:hted in nothinff but filth and nastiness, that hated every thing that was decent and clean ; and let this teach you to apprehend how odious that soul that delights in nothing but the im- purity of sin must appear unto God. For all sins, whether of sensuality, pride, or falseness, or any other irregular passion, are nothing else but the filth and impure diseases of the rational soul. And all righteousness is nothing else but the purity, the de- cency, the beauty, and perfection of that spirit which is made in the image of God. Again : learn what horror you ought to have for the guilt of sin, from the greatness of that atonement 481 which has been made for it. God made the world by the breath of his mouth, by speaking a word, but the redemption of the world has been a work of longer labour. How easily God can create beings we learn from the first chapter of Genesis; but how difficult it is for infinite mercy to forgive sins we learn from that costly atonement, those bloody sacrifices, those pains and penances, those sicknesses and deaths, which all must be undergone before the guilty sinner is fit to appear in the presence of God, Ponder these great truths: that the Son of God was forced to become man, to be partaker of all our infirmities, to undergo a poor, painful, miserable, and contemptible life, to be persecuted, hated, and at last nailed to a cross, that by such sufferings he might render God propitious to that nature in which he suffered; — that all the bloody sacrifices and atonements of the Jewish law were to represent the necessity of this great sacrifice and the great displea- sure God bore to sinners ;— that the world is still ujider the curse of sin, and certain marks of God's displea- sure at it ; such as famines, plagues, tempests, sick- ness, diseases, and death. Consider that all the sons of Adam are to go through a painful sickly life, de- nying and mortifying their natural appetites, and crucifying the lusts of the flesh, in order to have a share in the atonement of our Saviour's death; — that all their penances and self-denials, all their tears and repentance, are only made available by that great intercession which is still making for them at the right hand of God. Consider these great truths : that this mysterious redemption, all these sacrifices and sufferings, both X 30 483 of God and man, are only to remove the guilt of sin ; and then let this teach you with what tears and contrition you ought to purge yourself from it. After this general consideration of the guilt of sin, which has done so much mischief to your nature, and ex- posed it to so great punishment, and made it so odious to God, that nothing less than so great an atonement of the Son of God, and so great repentance of our own, can restore us to the divine favour. Consider next your own particular share in the guilt of sin. And if you would know with what zeal you ought to repent yourself, consider how you would exhort another sinner to repentance; and what repentance and amendment you would expect from him whom you judged to be the greatest sinner in the world. Now this case every man may justly reckon to be his own. And you may fairly look upon yourself to be the greatest sinner that you know in the world. For though you may know abundance of people to be guilty of some gross sins, with which you cannot charge yourself, yet you may justly con- demn yourself as the greatest sinner that you know. And that for these following reasons : First, Because you know more of the folly of your own heart than you do of other people's ; and can charge yourself with various sins, that you only know of yourself, and cannot be sure that other sinners are guilty of them. So that as you know more of the folly, the baseness, the pride, the deceitfulness, and negligence of your own heart, than you do of any one's else, so you have just reason to consider your- self as the greatest sinner that you know ; because you know more of the greatness of your own sins than you do of other people's. 483 Secondly, The greatness of our guilt arises chiefly from the greatness of God's goodness towards us, from the particular graces and blessings, the favours, the lights, and instructions, that we have received from him. Now as these graces and blessings, and the multitude of God's favours towards us, are the great aggravations of our sins against God, so they are only known to ourselves. And therefore every sinner knows more of the afji^ravations of his own guilt than he does of other people's ; and consequently may justly look upon himself to be the greatest sin- ner that he knows. How good God has been to other sinners, what light and instruction he has vouch- safed to them ; what blessings and graces they have received from him ; how often he has touched their hearts with holy inspirations, you cannot tell. But all this you know of yourself; therefore you know greater aggravations of your own guilt, and are able to charge yourself with greater ingratitude than you can charge upon other people. And this is the rea- son why the greatest saints have in all ages con- demned themselves as the greatest sinners, because they knew some aggravations of their own sins which they could not know of other people's. The right way, therefore, to fill your heart with true contrition, and a deep sense of your own sins, is this : You are not to consider or compare the out- ward form or course of your life with that of other people's, and then think yourself to be less sinful than they, because the outward co»urse of your life is less sinful than theirs. But in order to know your own guilt, you must consider your own parti- cular circumstances, your health, your sickness, your 484 youth or age, your particular calling, the happiness of your education, the degrees of light and instruc- tion that you have received, the good men that you have conversed with, the admonitions that you have had, the good books that you have read, the num- berless multitude of divine blessings, graces, and favours that you have received, the good motions of grace that you have resisted, the resolutions of amendment that you have often broken, and the checks of conscience that you have disregarded. For it is from these circumstances that every one is to state the measure and greatness of his own guilt. And as you know only the circumstances of your own sin, so you must necessarily know how to charge yourself with higher degrees of guilt than you can charge upon other people. God Almighty knows greater sinners, it may be, than you are ; because he sees and knows the cir- cumstances of all men's sins : but your own heart, if it is faithful to you, can discover no guilt so great as your own ; because it can only see in you those cir- cumstances on which great part of the guilt of sin is founded. You may see sins in other people that you cannot charge upon yourself; but then you know a number of circumstances of your own guilt that you cannot lay to their charge. And perhaps that per- son that appears at such a distance from your virtue, and so odious in your eyes, would have been much better than you are, had he been altogether in your circumstances, and received all the same favours and graces from God that you have. This is a very hum- bling reflection, and very proper for those people to make who measure their virtue by comparing the out- 485 ward course of their lives with that of other people's. For look at whom you will, however different from you in his way of life, yet you can never know, that he has resisted so much divine grace as you have, or that in all your circumstances he would not have been much truer to his duty than you are. Now this is the reason why I desired you to con- sider how you would exhort that man to confess and bewail his sins, whom you looked upon to be one of the greatest sinners. Because if you will deal justly, you must fix the charge at home, and look no farther than yourself. For God has given no one any power of knowing the true greatness of any sins but his own ; and therefore the greatest sinner that every one knows is himself. You may easily see how such a one in the outward course of his life breaks the laws of God ; but then you can never say that, had you been exactly in all his circumstances, you should not have broken them more than he has done. A seri- ous and frequent reflection upon these things will mightily tend to humble us in our own eyes, make us very apprehensive of the greatness of our own guilt, and very tender in censuring and condemning other people. For who would dare to be severe against other people, when, for aught he can tell, the severity of God may be more due to him than to them ? Who would exclaim against the guilt of others when he considers that he knows more of the greatness of his own guilt than he does of theirs ? How often you have resisted God's Holy Spirit ; how many motives to goodness you have disregarded; how many parti- cular blessings you have sinned against ; how many good resolutions you have broken ; how many checks 486 and admonitions of conscience you have stifled, you very well know ; but how often this has been the case of other sinners you know not. And therefore the greatest sinner that you know must be yourself. Whenever therefore you are angry at sin or sinners, whenever you read or think of God's indignation and wrath at wicked men, let this teach you to be the most severe in your censure, and most humble and contrite in the acknowledo-raent and confession of your own sins, because you know of no sinner equal to yourself. Lastly, to conclude this chapter: Having thus examined and confessed your sins at this hour of the evening, you must afterwards look upon yourself as still obliged to betake yourself to prayer again, just before you go to bed. The subject that is most proper for your prayers at that time is death. Let your prayers, therefore, then be wholly upon it, reckoning up all the dangers, uncertainties, and terrors of death ; let them contain every thing that can affect and awaken your mind into just apprehen- sions of it. Let your petitions be all for right sentiments of the approach and importance of death; and beg of God, that your mind may be possessed with such a sense of its nearness, that you may have it always in your thoughts, do every thing as in sight of it, and make every day a day of preparation for it. Represent to your imagination, that your bed is your grave; that all things are ready for your inter- ment ; that you are to have no more to do with this world ; and that it will be owing to God's great mercy, if you ever see the light of the sun again, or 487 have another day to add to your works of piety. And then commit yourself to sleep, as into the hands of God; as one that is to have no more opportunities of doing good ; hut is to awake amongst spirits that are separate from the body, and waiting for the judgment of the last great day. Such a solemn resignation of yourself into the hands of God every evening, and parting with all the world as if you were never to see it any more, and all this in the silence and darkness of the night, is a practice that will soon have excellent effects upon your spirit. For this time of the night is exceedingly proper for such prayers and meditations; and the likeness which sleep and darkness have to death will contribute very much to make your thoughts about it the more deep and affecting. So that, I hope, you will not let a time so proper for such prayers be ever passed over without them. CHAPTER XXIV. The conclusion. Of the excellency and greatness of a devout spirit. I HAVE now finished what I intended in this treatise. I have explained the nature of devotion, both as it signifies a life devoted to God, and as it signifies a regular method of daily prayer. I have now only to add a word or two in recommendation of a life governed by this spirit of devotion. For though it is as reasonable to suppose it the desire of all Chris- 488 tians to arrive at Christian perfection, as to suppose, that a sick men desire to be restored to perfect health ; yet experience shows us, that nothing wants more to be pressed, repeated, and forced upon our minds, than the plainest rules of Christianity. Vol- untary poverty, virginity, and devout retirement, have been here recommended as things not necessary, yet highly beneficial to those that would make the way to perfection the most easy and certain. But Christian perfection itself is tied to no particular form of life ; but is to be attained, though not with the same ease, in every state of life. This has been fully asserted in another place, where it has been shown, that Christian perfection *' calls no one (necessarily) to a cloister, but to the full performance of those duties which are necessary for all Christians, and common to all states of life."* So that the whole of the matter is plainly this : vir- ginity, voluntary poverty, and such other restraints of lawful things, are not necessary to Christian per- fection ; but are much to be commended in those who choose them as helps and means of a more safe and speedy arrival at it. It is only in this manner and in this sense that I would recommend any par- ticularity of hfe ; not as if perfection consisted in it, but because of its great tendency to produce and support the true spirit of Christian perfection. But the thing which is here pressed upon all is a life of great and strict devotion ; which, I think, has been sufficiently shown to be equally the duty and happiness of all orders of men. Neither is there any thing in any particular state of life that Christ. Perfect, p. 2. 489 can be justly pleaded as a reason for any abatements of a devout spirit. But because, in this polite age of ours, we have so lived away the spirit of devotion, that many seem afraid even to be suspected of it, imagining great devotion to be great bigotry; that it is founded in ignorance and poorness of spirit, and that little, weak, and dejected minds, are generally the greatest proficients in it. It shall here be fully shown, that great devotion is the noblest temper of the o;rcatest and noblest souls; and that thev who think it receives anv advantage from ignorance and poorness of spirit, are themselves not a little but entirely ignorant of the nature of devotion, the nature of God, and the nature of themselves. People of fine parts and learning, or of great know- ledge in worldly matters, may perhaps think it hard to have their want of devotion charged upon their ignorance. But if they will be content to be tried by reason and Scripture, it may soon be made appear, that a want of devotion, wherever it is, either amongst the learned or unlearned, is founded in gross igno- rance, and the greatest blindness and insensibility that can happen to a rational creature. And that devotion is so far from being the effect of a little and dejected mind, that it must and will be always high- est in the most perfect natures. And first, who reckons it a sign of a poor, little mind, for a man to be full of reverence and duty to his parents, to have the truest love and honour for his friend, or to excel in the highest instances of gratitude to his benefactor? Are not these tempers in the highest degree in the most exalted and per- fect minds? And yet what is high devotion but X 2 490 the highest exercise of these tempers of duty, re- verence, love, honour, and gratitude, to the amiable, glorious parent, friend, and benefactor of all man- kind? Is it a true greatness of mind, to reverence the authority of your parents, to fear the displeasure of your friend, to dread the reproaches of your bene- factor? And must not this fear and dread and reverence be much more just and reasonable and honourable when they are in the highest degree towards God ? Now as the higher these tempers are, the more are they esteemed amongst men, and are allowed to be so much the greater proofs of a true greatness of mind; so the higher and greater these same tempers are towards God, so much the more do they prove the nobility, excellence, and greatness of the mind. So that so long as duty to parents, love to friends, and gratitude to benefactors, are thought great and honourable tempers; devotion, which is nothing else but duty, love, and gratitude to God, must have the highest place amongst our highest virtues. If a prince, out of his mere goodness, should send you a pardon by one of his slaves, would you think it a part of your duty to receive the slave with marks of love, esteem, and gratitude for his great kindness, in bringing you so great a gift ; and at the same time think it a meanness and poorness of spirit, to show love, esteem, and gratitude to the prince, who of his own goodness freely sent you the pardon? And yet this would be as reasonable as to suppose that love, esteem, honour, and gratitude, are noble tempers, and instances of a great soul, when they 491 are paid to our fellow- creatures ; but tlie effects of a poor, ignorant, dejected mind, when they are paid to God. Further: that part of devotion which expresses itself in sorrowful confessions, and penitential tears of a broken and a contrite heart, is very far from being any sign of a little and ignorant mind. For who does not acknowledge it an instance of an in- genuous, generous, and brave mind, to acknowledge a fault and ask pardon for any offence ? And are not the finest and most improved minds the most remarkable for this excellent temper ?, Is it not also allowed, that the ingenuity and excellence of a man's spirit is much shown, when his sorrow and indigna- tion at himself rises in proportion to the folly of his crime, and the goodness and greatness of the person he has offended? Now if things are thus, then the greater any man's mind is, the more he knows of God and himself, the more will he be disposed to prostrate himself be- fore God, in all the humblest acts and expressions of repentance. And the greater the ingenuity, the generosity, judgment, and penetration of his mind are, the more will he exercise and indulge a pas- sionate, tender sense of God's just displeasure : and the more he knows of the greatness, the goodness, and perfection of the divine nature, the fuller of shame and confusion will he be at his own sins and ingratitude. And on the other hand, the more dull and ignorant any soul is, the more base and ungene- rous it naturally is, the more senseless it is of the goodness and purity of God, so much the more averse will it be to all acts of humble confession and repent- 492 ance. Devotion, therefore, is so far from being best suited to little ignorant minds, that a true elevation of soul, a lively sense of honour, and great knowledge of God and ourselves, are the greatest natural helps that our devotion hath. And on the other hand, it shall here be made appear, by variety of arguments, that indevotion is founded on the most excessive ifjnorance. And, first, our blessed Lord and his apostles were eminent instances of great and frequent devotion. Now if we will grant (as all Christians must grant) that their great devotion was founded in a true know- ledge of the nature of devotion, the nature of God, and the nature of man ; then it is plain, that all those that are insensible of the duty of devotion, are in this excessive state of ignorapnce, they neither know God nor themselves nor devotion. For if a right knowledge in these three respects produces great de- votion, as in the case of our Saviour and his apostles, then a neglect of devotion must be chargeable upon ifjiiorance. Again : how comes it that most people have re- course to devotion when they are in sickness, dis- tress, or fear of death ? Is it not because this state shows them more of the want of God and their own weakness than they perceive at other limes ? Is it not because their infirmities, their approaching end, convince them of something which they did not half perceive before ? Now if devotion at these seasons is the effect of a better knowledge of God and our- selves, then the neglect of devotion at other times is always owing to great ignorance of God and our- selves. 493 Further : as indevotion is ignorance, so it is the most shameful ignorance, and such as is to be charged with the greatest folly. This will fully appear to any one that considers by what rules we are to judge of the excellency of any knowledge or the shameful- ness of any ignorance. Now knowledge itself would be no excellence nor ignorance any reproach to us but that we are rational creatures. But if this be true, then it follows plainly, that that knowledge which is most suitable to our rational nature, and which most concerns us as such to know, is our highest, finest knowledge ; and that ignorance which relates to things that are most essential to us as ra- tional creatures, and which we are most concerned to know, is of all others the most gross and shameful ignorance. If therefore there be any things that concern us more than others, if there be any truths that are more to us than all others, he that has the fullest knowledge of these things, that sees these truths in the clearest, strongest Hght, has, of all others, as a rational creature, the clearest understanding and the strongest parts. If therefore our relation to God be our greatest relation, if our advancement in his favour be our highest advancement, he that has the highest notions of the excellence of this relation, he that most strongly perceives the highest worth and great value of holiness and virtue, that judges every thing little, when compared with it, proves himself to be master of the best and most excellent know- ledge. If a judge has fine skill in painting, archi- tecture, and music, but at the same time had gross and confused notions of equity, and a poor, dull ap- 494 prehension of the value of justice, who would scruple to reckon him a poor, ignorant judge ? If a bishop should be a man of great address and skill in the arts of preferment, and understanding how to raise and enrich his family in the world, but should have no taste or sense of the maxims and principles of the saints and fathers of the church ; if he did not conceive the holy nature and great obligations of his calUng, and judge it better to be crucified to the world than to live idly in pomp and splendour, who would scruple to charge such a bishop with want of understanding? If we do not judge and pronounce after this manner, our reason and judgment are but empty sounds. But now, if a judge is to be reckoned ignorant, if he does not feel and perceive the value and worth of justice; if a bishop is to be looked upon as void of understanding, if he is more experienced in other things than in the exalted virtues of his apostolical calling ; then all common Christians are to be looked upon as more or less knowing, according as they know more or less of those great things which are the common and greatest concern of all Christians. If a gentleman should fancy that the moon is no bigger than it appears to the eye, that it shines with its own light, that all the stars are only so many spots of light ; if, after reading books of astronomy, he should still continue in the same opinion, most people would think he had but a poor apprehension. But if the same person should think it better to provide for a short life here than to prepare for a glorious eternity hereafter, that it was better to be rich than to be eminent in piety, his ignorance and 495 dullness would be too great to be compared to any thing else. There is no knowledge that deserves so much as the name of it but that which we call judgment. And that is the most clear and improved understand- ing which judges best of the value and worth of things. All the rest is but the capacity of an animal, it is but mere seeing and hearing. And there is no excellence of any knowledge in us, till we exercise our judgment and judge well of the value and worth of things. If a man had eyes that could see beyond the stars, or pierce into the heart of the earth, but could not see the things that were before him, or discern any tiring that was serviceable to him, we should reckon that he had but a very bad sight. If another had cars that received sounds from the world in the moon, but could hear nothing that was said or done upon earth, we should look upon him to be as bad as deaf. In like manner, if a man has a memory that can retain a great many things; if he has a wit that is sharp and acute in arts and sciences, or an imagination that can wander agreeably in fictions, but has a dull, poor apprehension of his duty and relation to God, of the value of piety, or the worth of moral virtue, he may very justly be reckoned to have a bad understanding. He is but like the man that can only see and hear such things as are of no benefit to him. As certain therefore as piety, virtue, and eternal happiness are of the most concern to man, as certain as the immortahty of our nature and relation to God are the most glorious circumstances of our nature, 496 so certain is it that be who dwells most in contem- plation of them, whose heart is most affected with them, who sees farthest into them, who best com- prehends the value and excellency of them, who judges all worldly attainments to be mere bubbles and shadows in comparison of them, proves himself to have, of all others, the finest understanding and the strongest judgment. And if we do not reason after this manner, or allow this method of reasoning, we have no arguments to prove that there is any such thing as a wise man or a fool. For a man is proved to be a natural, not because he wants any of his senses, or is incapable of every thing, but because he has no judgment, and is entirely ignorant of the worth and value of things. He will perhaps choose a fine coat rather than a large estate. And as the essence of stupidity consists in the entire want of judgment, in an ignorance of the value of things, so on the other hand, the essence of wisdom and know- ledge must consist in the excellency of our judgment, or in the knowledge of the worth and value of things. This therefore is an undeniable proof that he who knows most of the value of the best things, who judges most rightly of the things which are of most concern to him, who had rather have his soul in a state of Christian perfection than the greatest share of worldly happiness, has the highest wisdom, and is at the farthest distance from men that are naturals tliat any knowledge can place him. On the other hand, he that can talk the learned languages, and repeat a great deal of history, but prefers the indul- gence of his body to the purity and perfection of his 497 soul, who is more concerned to get a name or an estate here than to live in eternal glory hereafter, is in the nearest state to that natural who chooses a painted coat rather than a large estate. He is not called a natural by men, but he must appear to God and heavenly beings as in a more excessive state of stupidity, and will sooner or later certainly appear so to himself. But now if this be undeniably plain, that we can- not prove a man to be a fool but by showing that he has no knowledge of things that are good and evil to himself, then it is undeniably plain that we cannot prove a man to be wise but by showing that he has the fullest knowledge of thincrs that are his greatest good and his greatest evil. If therefore God be. our greatest good; if there can be no good but in his favour, nor any evil but in departing from him, then it is plain that he who judges it the best thing he can do to please God to the utmost of his power, who worships and adores him with all his heart and soul, who had rather have a pious mind than all the dignities and honours in the world, shows himself to be in the highest state of human wisdom. To proceed ; we know how our blessed Lord acted in a human body; it was "his meat and drink to do the will of his Father which is in heaven." And if any number of heavenly spirits were to leave their habitations in the light of God, and be for a while united to human bodies, they would certainly tend towards God in all their actions, and be as heavenly as they could in a state of flesh and blood. They would certainly act in this manner, because they 498 would know that God was the only good of all spirits ; and that whether they were in the body or out of the body, in heaven or on earth, they must have every degree of their greatness and happiness from God alone. All human spirits, therefore, the more exalted they are, the more they know their divine Original, the nearer they come to heavenly spirits, by so much the more will they live to God in all their actions, and make their whole life a state of devotion. Devotion therefore is the greatest sign of a great and noble genius, it supposes a soul in its highest state of knowledge; and none but little and blinded minds that are sunk into ignorance and vanity are destitute of it. If a human spirit should imagine some mighty prince to be greater than God, we should take it for a poor ignorant creature ; all people would acknow- ledge such an imagination to be the height of stu- pidity. But if this same human spirit should think it better to be devoted to some mighty prince than to be devoted to God, would not this still be a greater proof of a poor, ignorant, and blinded nature ? Yet this is what all people do who think any thing better, greater, or wiser, than a devout life. So that which way soever we consider this matter, it plainly appears that devotion is an instance of great judgment, of an elevated nature ; and the want of devotion is a certain proof of the want of understanding. The greatest spirits of the heathen world, such as Pytha- goras, Socrates, Plato, Epictetus, Marcus Antonius, &c., owed all their greatness to the spirit of devotion, They were full of God; their wisdom and deep con- templations tended only to deliver men from the 499 vanity of the world, the slavery of bodily passions, that they might act as spirits that came from God, and were soon to return to him. Again ; to see the dignity and greatness of a de- vout spirit, we need only compare it with other tem- pers that are chosen in the room of it. St. John tells us, that " all in the world (that is, all the tem- pers of a worldly life) is the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life." Let us therefore consider what wisdom or excellency of mind there is required to qualify a man for these dehghts. Let us suppose a man given up to the pleasures of the body; surely this can be no sign of a fine mind, or an excellent spirit; for if he has but the temper of an animal, he is great enough for these enjoyments. Let us suppose him to be devoted to honours and splendours ; to be fond of glitter and equipage ; now if this temper required any great parts or fine understanding to make a man capable of it, it would prove the world to abound with great wits. Let us suppose him to be in love with riches, and to be so eager in the pursuit of them as never to think he has enough ; now this passion is so far from supposing any excellent sense or great understanding, that blindness and folly are the best supports that it hath. Let us, lastly, suppose him in another light, not singly devoted to any of these passions, but as it mostly happens, governed by all of them in their turns; does this show a more exalted nature than *o spend his days in the service of any one of them ? For to have a taste for these things, and to be devo- ted to them, is so far from arguing any tolerable parts or understandinij, that thev are suited to the dullest 500 weakest minds, and require only a great deal of pride and folly to be greatly admired. But now, let libertines bring any such charge as this, if they can, against devotion. They may as well endeavour to charge light with every thing that belongs to darkness. Let them but grant that there is a God, and providence, and then they have granted enough, to justify the wisdom and support the honour of devotion. For if there is an infinitely wise and good Creator, in whom we live, move, and have our being, whose providence governs all things in all places, surely it must be the highest act of our un- derstanding to conceive rightly of him; it must be the noblest instance of judgment, the most exalted temper of our nature, to worship and adore this uni- versal providence, to conform to its laws, to study its wisdom, and to live and act every where, as in the presence of this infinitely good and wise Creator. Now he that lives thus, lives in the spirit of de- votion. And what can show such great parts and so fine an understanding as to live in this temper ? For if God is wisdom, surely he must be the wisest man in the world who most conforms to the wisdom of God, who best obeys his providence, who enters farthest into his designs, and does all he can, that God's will may be done on earth as it is done in heaven. A devout man makes a true use of his reason ; he sees through the vanity of the world, discovers the corruption of his nature and the blindness of his passions. He lives by a law which is not visible to vulgar eyes; he enters into the world of spirits; he compares the greatest things, sets eternity against time; and chooses rather to be for ever great in the 301 presence of God when he dies, than to have the greatest share of worldly pleasure whilst he lives. He that is devout is full of these great thoughts; he lives upon these noble reflections, and conducts him- self by rules and principles, which can only be ap- prehended, admired, and loved, by reason. There is nothing therefore that shows so great a genius, nothing that so raises us above vulgar spirits, nothing that so plainly declares a heroic greatness of mind, as great devotion. When you suppose a roan to be a saint, or all devotion, you have raised him as much above all other conditions of life as a philosopher is above an animal. Lastly, courage and bravery are words of a great sound, and seem to signify a heroic spirit; but yet humility, which seems to be the lowest, meanest, part of devotion, is a more certain argument of a noble and courageous mind. For humility contends with greater enemies, is more constantly engaged, more violently assaulted, bears more, suffers more, and requires greater courage to support itself, than any instances of worldly bravery. A man that dares be poor and contemptible in the eyes of the world, to approve himself to God ; that resists and rejects all human glory, that opposes the clamours of his passions, that meekly puts up with all injuries and wrongs, and dares stay for his reward till the invisible hand of God gives to every one their proper places, endures a much greater trial, and exerts a nobler fortitude, than he that is bold and daring in the fire of battle. For the boldness of a soldier, if he is a stranger to the spirit of devotion, is rather weakness than fortitude ; it is at best but mad passion and heated spirits, and has no more true valour in it than 502 the fury of a tiger. For as we cannot lift up a hand, or stir a foot, but by a power that is lent us from God, so bold actions that are not directed by the laws of God, as so many executions of his will, are no more true bravery than sedate mahce is Christian patience. Reason is our universal law, that obliges us in all places and at all times ; and no actions have any honour but so far as they are instances of our obe- dience to reason. And it is as base and cowardly to be bold and daring against the principle of reason and justice, as to be bold and daring in lying and perjury. Would we therefore exercise a true for- titude, we must do all in the spirit of devotion, be valiant against the corruptions of the world and the lusts of the flesh and the temptations of the devil ; for to be daring and courageous against these ene- mies is the noblest bravery that a human mind is capable of. I have made this digression, for the sake of those who think a great devotion to be bigotry and poor- ness of spirit ; that by these considerations they may see, how poor and mean all other tempers are, if compared to it; that they may see, that all worldly attainments, whether of greatness, wisdom, or bravery, are but empty sounds ; that there is nothing wise or great or noble in a human spirit but rightly to know and heartily worship and adore the great God that is the support and life of all spirits whether in heaven or on earth. THE END. Wm. Collins & Co., Printerf, Candlcrigg Court, Glr,8gow. Princeton Theological Seminarv Libraries 1 1012 01197 4393 Date Due PACULT* ' , \y \j ZUW - f)